Reality (Philadelphia Film Festival)

Having seen Matteo Garrone's "Gomorrah" will not prepare you for his new film, this year's Cannes Gran Prix winner "Reality." It's pretty much an 180* turn from that grounded, despairing work. Garrone her shifts to a much lighter and brasher tone and a flashier style, drawing from Fellini and Max Ophuls to craft a sendup of trivial ambition and religious devotion. His greatest asset comes in the form of Aniello Arena, apparently an imprisoned member of the Mafia (whom Garrone may have found while doing research for his previous film). This may be the only film he's ever in, and he surely gives the performance of a lifetime, playing his Luciano as vivacious and awed and out of his mind. Uniformly strong, he helps the film through its bland setup and patchier sections to help Garrone bring his emblematic story to good fruition.

We first see Luciano in his favored habitat, entertaining at a wedding. He hams it up as a drag queen alongside Enzo (Raffaele Ferrante), a vapid celebrity who got pretty far on "Big Brother." Much praised for his amusing antics, Luciano wants the stardom and admiration Enzo has. His current life as a seller of fish and cooking robots lacks those things, but it takes the incessant pressuring of his daughters and the support of his large family to get him to try and audition for the show. 

Now, obviously, men in their 30s and 40s are unlikely to compete against hot and fit people a decade or so younger than they are. Nor should they: at that point in one's life, the time for lazing around in pools and fucking everyone in sight is most likely diminishing. But, for whatever reason, Luciano gets incredibly into the idea of being on this empty show. Following an audition where he said he gave his all, he starts thinking his behavior is constantly monitored. Previously focused on making every dollar he could, Luciano starts being more charitable, to the delight of his Catholic assistant Michele (Nando Paone). At this point, the film begins making clearer analogies to the pursuit of salvation. It follows this trajectory all the way to the final sequence, which I thought was transcendent but which will annoy or turn many off. 

The last shot (rhyming with the first) is a work of genius. Throughout the film, Garrone shows his range, carefully composing certain shots and letting the camera run often for minutes on end. He lets himself loose, showing a side that was unseen in at least "Gomorrah" (though I know he's made crazier films in the past). The music, too, is also key in determining the mood, and though it cloys at the start, it helps things literally soar by the end. Maybe it's a little dated (though it's kinda beside the point), and maybe it won't leave a totally lasting imprint, but "Reality" is worth taking in. Arena's acting alone totally validates seeing it. B

Tuesday, After Christmas

A schlubby, married banker is having a blissful affair with his child's dentist. He's weighed down by this deception, and feels increasingly distanced from his wife and daughter, who are oblivious. He's getting anxious; he knows he won't be able to keep this hidden forever, and he has started to become as insistent and controlling with his mistress as his wife (whom he at one point, indirectly perhaps, refers to as "Mom") is with him. The clandestine relationship has been going on for five months, and he still has no idea how to handle it. He seems to expect to continue onwards with the same arrangement into the distant future. But he knows subconsciously it's inevitable that he'll have to tell.

Even though there's not a whole lot to it in terms of narrative, "Tuesday, After Christmas" is a very hard movie to make. If we don't feel close to these characters, their personal business is going to be quite dull indeed. This seems obvious, but in a film with this sort of subject matter, immersion becomes ever the more important in separating it from other films about the same topic. That Radu Muntean has made as much out of this as he has is extremely impressive. He and his fellow screenwriters Alexandru Baciu and Razvan Radulescu know their characters (surprisingly, given that they're all men, especially the wife) and the relationships between them well and move from scene to finely tuned scene with incredible ease. He and his cinematographer Tudor Lucaciu have chosen to film with a muted palette and with not-too-showy long takes to give the feel of sustained semi-realism and despair (also: the cigarette smoke looks gorgeous). And he and his actors, Mimi Branescu, Maria Popiastu, and Mirela Oprisor, have worked to convey an almost all-encompassing feeling of naturalism; this may be the single most important element of the film, and the whole works only as much as the actors allow it to (which is to say, pretty darn well).

There are a number of smart choices made with regards to the plot details. Setting it at Christmastime creates a parallel between the illusion of Santa to the daughter and the illusion of the affair. In some ways, revealing the fabrication would be just as heartbreaking in each case. Another particular that Muntean plays close attention to is the occupations of the leads. This is most important in the case of the women. Having the mistress be a family doctor sets up an interesting, awkward, and beautifully executed scene in which the parents come to take their daughter to get her braces put on. This moment gets added resonance later on, but is even at the time a telling and overtly choreographed episode. Coming back to the idea of jobs, having the wife work in the courts (presumably as a lawyer) gives her a sheen of precision and a range of knowledge of how to take people down. This, balanced with her often informal demeanor, makes her (at least to me) a recognizable type and a full character. A stronger character than the mistress, I must say, though not overwhelmingly so.

These characters could fail to work off paper. This is not the case, though, because the performers have the abilities required to make them believable. Branescu (who had a role in the exceptional "Outbound") is able to show Paul the banker's isolation, unhappiness, naive defensiveness, and anxiety quite well, even if at times he looks a little unsure (probably the character). Popiastu, given the weakest role and the least number of scenes to bring things together, does what she can with it anyways with charm and agitation, though it isn't entirely convincing. The best performance here is by Oprisor, who gives us both ends of her emotional spectrum to devastating effect. These three, plus the actress who plays Popiastu's mother (I can't find her name), make the film constricting and absorbing (while the actors playing Branescu's parents provide a comic interest). Brilliantly sequenced, with flaws only due to characterization and the resulting portrayal, "Tuesday, After Christmas" definitely fits securely into the rich, remarkable Romanian New Wave. B+

Is Dragos Bucur's character Cristi a holdover from "Police, Adjective"? An in-joke or cameo of some sort? Just a bit strange to give the character the same name.

The Skin I Live In

The strong opening hour of "The Skin I Live In" is let down by the second half, which clears things up with unsettling, punch-packing revelations but fails to maintain the extremely precise tone that Pedro Almodóvar set the film up with. The mood of the film is informed greatly by the carefully framed cinematography, the adept art direction, and the brilliant violin-heavy score by Almodóvar regular Alberto Iglesias, which may indeed be the year's finest. The mediocre, repetitive, generally tedious middle section (a flashback that leaves the movie's setting) lets air in on things, but lacks the earlier part's striking control and doesn't fit at all into the grand scheme of the film. It might have been beneficial to the film for Almodóvar to keep tighter reins on the actions, and, furthermore, let only a couple of crazy eruptions result instead of having the film feel almost complete after the conclusion of its first part. This prevents "The Skin I Live In" from getting a truly deep grip on the viewer.

I was certainly affected by Almodóvar's work, however, which has a lot to say about bodies, particularly the command people have over them (the film examines plastic surgery and rape most prominently). He goes a little over the top with this, and the irony in more than a few instances is too much. On the opposite end of the spectrum, the director has some of the problems with sentimentality that made "Broken Embraces" feel sappy. Once he stops being so scrupulous, the film goes in all sorts of directions, only some of which are good for the picture.

I really shouldn't say too much about the plot of the film. It's best to go in absolutely cold. Also because I'm not totally sure I understood the film (even if its supposedly spelled out ultimately), which ultimately didn't make logistical ends meet for me. The biggest reveal is surely disquieting, but, while obviously intended to be pretty bizarre (and raising some strange questions), it ends up feeling very ludicrous. The acting isn't quite as solid as it should've been, and even though Robert Alamo as Zeca makes the deepest impression, he's still wildly uneven (as are Antonio Banderas, Elena Anaya, Marisa Paredes, Blanca Suarez, and Jan Cornet for that matter). "The Skin I Live In" is a true original (albeit adapted from a novel by Thierry Jonquet) that would have done better in the long run being more pared down and less brash. But I guess that's what makes it Almódovar. B-

Le Havre

I've never seen an Aki Kaurismaki movie before, but I've heard much of his style. "Le Havre" displays a unbendingly quirky filmmaker, who lets in only flashes of the world outside the titular French locale. Though definitely pretty amusing at times, "Le Havre"'s happy-go-lucky demeanor undermines a lot of possible interest and suspense, and the film feels very surface-deep. Yet Andre Wilms' superb lead performance redeems things, making the mood of innocuousness feel human and not manufactured.

Wilms plays Marcel Marx, a shoeshiner beloved in his neighborhood but with little money (he's run up insanely large tabs at all the stores in the vicinity of his house that he'll never pay). He lives a modest life with his wife Arletty (Kari Outinen), always cleaning and cooking, and his dog Laika (credited as Laika; Kaurismaki's dog perhaps?). This balance is complicated by two major events: his wife getting really sick and having to be hospitalized, and the finding and taking in of an on-the-run African immigrant named Idrissa (Blondin Miguel) who is looking to find his mother in London.

The idea works better in practice than in theory, but all the same, the freedoms that the movie seems to be on the verge of giving its characters are shut out (by Kaurismaki's intense devotion to his method, no less). The fact that I'm even talking about these things though represents an atmospheric success remarked upon by other critics: the sense of place here is quite solid. But things never come alive to quite the degree that they could, though having Little Bob meet up with his estranged wife (who is supposedly his wife in real life as well) is a nice, interesting way of opening the movie up. B

Martha Marcy May Marlene; Tyrannosaur; Once Upon a Time in Anatolia (Philadelphia Film Festival)

I saw two of these three as part of the Philly Film Festival, but "Martha Marcy" (which is now technically in its general release) played earlier in the fest so it's valid in rounding up here. I saw about 15 minutes of "House of Tolerance" (or "Pleasures," whichever you wish to call it), but I walked out so I could catch the end of Game 7 between the Cardinals and the Rangers. Much more interesting, as far as I could tell.

Sean Durkin has made one of the year's most propulsive, engaging films with "Martha Marcy May Marlene." Yet despite being so magnetic, it falls far, far short of being a great film. Durkin is a phenomenal director when it comes to look and atmosphere, but he stumbles mightily in the area of screenwriting. He fails to develop the plot to a satisfactory degree, and thus is unable to reach the heights he's more than capable of achieving.

Martha (Elizabeth Olson), who joined a cult due to her lack of a stable family (and who was renamed Marcy May), ultimately gets fed up and leaves to lay low with her sister Lucy (Sarah Paulson), who's on vacation in Connecticut. But Martha's flashbacks and cult-induced tendency towards uncouth behavior quickly start to alienate Lucy and her husband Ted (Hugh Dancy), and Martha's future seems uncertain.

The film's depiction of the cult is unsettling and riveting, full of many beautifully observed details (the men eating as a group, then the women) and POV quirks (rituals are seen from Martha's eyes). But it would be nice if there was just more there, since when the film comes to a close, we feel as if we only caught a glimpse of this faction. When you have John Hawkes at his absolute best, it's a pity to underuse him. (He does have one particularly extraordinary scene, where he sings and plays on guitar a tune called "Marcy's Song.") And Olson's work calls for more as well.

The film's strongest element is its overwhelming technical prowess. Jody Lee Lipes and Zachary Stuart-Pontier do incredible jobs with cinematography and editing, respectively. Though sometimes Lipes uses the wrong lenses in the wrong places, he accomplishes a stark, rattling visual style. And Stuart-Pontier's deft cross-cutting between the present and the past borders on too good at times-- editing usually isn't this seamless anymore. Yet Durkin confuses the pieces he has for a full puzzle when indeed there are some big holes that aren't filled. Thus, though it impresses in spades, "Martha Marcy May Marlene" isn't a full enough work. B-

Paddy Considine's "Tyrannosaur," is a cohesive film, but feels banal and unassured in ways that Durkin was able to avoid. A drunkard named Joseph (Peter Mullan), depressed after kicking his dog to death and being persecuted by the goons of the store owner whom he annoyed, looks for some support in the form of Hannah (Olivia Colman). In his abrasive way, he at first insults Hannah's naivete and devout Christian piety but eventually forms a strong bond with her. She needs some emotional aid as well, seeing that her husband James (Eddie Marsan) is a violent, manipulative, despicable version of his former self.

If it weren't for Colman's magnificent supporting performance, this movie wouldn't be moving in the slightest. It's still not that affecting, but Colman gives it all she can give. Considine does her and Mullan (solid as well) absolutely no favors, soundtracking the film as if it were a folly and piling on disaster after cliche disaster with the grace of a Disney auteur. If I still favored Jim Sheridan over Terence Davies (who, admittedly, did come to mind during this film's better moments), I think I would enjoy this. No dice. C

Nuri Bilge Ceylan has one of the most distinctive eyes in cinema today. Neither of the films of his that I've seen ("Distant" and "Climates") ever caught up to their images. "Once Upon a Time in Anatolia" perfectly illustrates why the man should stick to photography or video art and stop with the pretense of making feature length narrative motion pictures. None of the film's rambling philosophy or stilted, patently unfunny comedy ever rings true in the way a single still does. What would have been nice if all of these images had been his, but in fact, Ceylan lifts a whole lot from the canon of Abbas Kiarostami: the use of the zigzag landscape, dashboard cam, the apple rolling from the tree downstream just like the can does in "Close-Up."

Despite these problems, Ceylan has still made a somewhat interesting film with great shots and many memorable, well-defined characters (a prosecutor, a driver, and a police chief among them). It follows a convoy of police officials as they drive around looking for a buried body at the mercy of the captured killer. In a regular film, this section would only take up a fraction of the film. The body would be found and that would be that. But Ceylan decides to devote 120 of 150 minutes on it, and thus incites us into thinking more about this process. I don't think much comes of it at the end, but it's a solid approach. Ultimately, it's less about what happens to the suspected killer and more about what happened to the body and the family of the deceased.

I was rather annoyed with the film's main character, a righteous doctor (Muhammet Uzuner) who seems to be solving everyone's problems and having all sorts of profound psychological quieries. I think most people who can take this guy will enjoy the movie, and those who can't (like me) will be less likely to appreciate it. As for Ceylan, he's becoming a director like Nicolas Winding Refn whose films I like in theory but not all that much in practice. It always seems like he's aspiring to far less than he could. C+

Take Shelter

I'm often very into performance-driven, high-concept works like Jeff Nichols' "Take Shelter." Unfortunately, this film doesn't reach the same heights as its peers due to patchy screenwriting and a dreary rhythm. But it does feature one of the best performance work of the year: a sweaty, committed piece of acting by Michael Shannon, working as the film's borderline schizophrenic lifeblood. He's not always fun to watch, but the film would be rendered ineffective if he were. Seeing him go for broke, it's hard not to be disappointed in Nichols for not coming through.

"Take Shelter" follows about a week in the life of Curtis LaForche (Shannon), a satisfied family man and construction worker, as he gets increasingly freaked out by his dreams and hallucinations of inclement weather (possible symptoms of the insanity that's continued to plague his institutionalized mother since her 30's). Trying to prevent horrific damage, he ends up threatening his relationship with his wife Samantha (Jessica Chastain), who's already somewhat occupied making life nice for her deaf daughter Hannah (Tova Stewart). She's not too happy about his spending money (even taking out a loan) on a decked-out tornado shelter when the family could be saving up for a summer in Myrtle Beach. But for Curtis, survival is the only thing worth thinking about.

This potentially brilliant scenario proves to be too tricky for Nichols to pull off. For one, the writing often just isn't there. The final storm scene is an example of when tension can be a bad thing; Nichols draws it out way too far and ends up making a heavy-handed fool of Jessica Chastain. Her part in particular suffers throughout the film. Nichols' debut work, "Shotgun Stories," was centered around father-son conflict and featured primarily male actors. Perhaps that's why "Take Shelter"'s treatment of Samantha doesn't fully work?

Also, Nichols doesn't examine the storm in the fullest way he possibly could have. The film does make a connection between money and the storm, but all the same, the idea of it representing the economic crisis is a bit too muted. But, on an even more fundamental level, fascination with storms (separate from worry), which propels many a storm chaser, is left somewhat in the dark as well. I must say though that the way in which Nichols implements a possible and much-remarked-upon religious angle (displayed in by far the film's best scene, when Curtis vehemently preaches to a stupefied cafeteria, as well as in the fact that Curtis is in his 30's) is ace. But all-in-all, "Take Shelter" is too locked-down for its own good. Nichols may have had to sacrifice some of the intensity, but perhaps it would have been a better film if he had opened it up a bit. B-

Michael (Philadelphia Film Festival)

Both the champions and detractors have a point. Cannes competition entry "Michael" is by no means a perfect film, and director Markus Schleinzer may not have entirely dealt with some thorny morality problems. But at the same time, he aggressively evokes both space and sound to put you alongside the characters. He also decides not to show any of the explicit content, only leaving suggestions of what happened. By doing this for us, he prepares us for hints at even more upsetting possibilities.

The film centers on the pedophile titular character (Michael Fuith), who has imprisoned a (sadly nameless except in the credits) boy (David Rauchenberger) in his house behind retractable shutters, soundproofing, and barricaded doors. He feeds the kid and lets him watch television, but he also does unspeakable things to him. And he wretchedly stamps out the child's forms of escape (storing all the letters he's written to his parents in a hidden box).

Though one scene may have shown Michael having a cry, there's no indication of ethics for him. He apparently can go on with his life without moral reproach (which is emphasized via religion). So one has to wonder: what happened to him as a kid? What led to this despicable man? At the film's ending (sure to be extremely divisive), we see members of his family, but they seem completely oblivious to the horrific depths to which Michael has plunged.

Another query Schleinzer is raising is: how does the rest of the world view pedophiles? Obviously they're detested, but what about when people don't know who they're dealing with? Michael is an insurance person, and he talks on the phone a lot with many people. It reminded me of the Mr. Show sketch with the rapist who has to identify himself as one everywhere he goes. But this is the real world, and that doesn't happen.

Since Schleinzer tries to make the style as cut-and-dry as possible, the way he sequences the events is the channel through which we sense his judgment. The ending is probably most prominent in sensing what he's trying to say, as it's incongruous in a natural sequence. I would agree that the ending isn't handled in exactly the best way possible. A friend called it manipulative and that it is. But it also sheds some light on mothers and sons in general, as well as a terrifying semi-absolution. At 96 minutes, "Michael" is short and insubstantial. It definitely has its problems. But it does have some things to say, with impeccable craft to say them with, and it does a good job of taking apart every bit of Michael's life. B

Melancholia

*If you want to go into this film cold, I would suggest not reading this review and waiting until after you've seen it to see what I have to say. There's a level of detail I want to go into that having to dodge spoilers prevents. I also reveal plot information about other films by Lars Von Trier. Of course, just in case you're curious and read on anyways, I've supplied a plot summary.*

Lars Von Trier continues to deal harshly with humanity in his work. "Dogville" saw the vindictive main character massacre the residents of the town that brutally mistreated her. "Antichrist" (which I have yet to see in its entirety, fwiw) was not shy in its violent sexual content. And in "The Five Obstructions," he subjected a former hero of his, Jorgen Leth, to tortuous filmmaking exercises in order to prove that the man who made "The Perfect Human" was not indeed perfect. I'm not critical of his employment of these (in some light, perhaps) nihilistic events, however. In continuing to wield a heavy hand, Von Trier sheds light on some unsavory attributes of mankind: our capacity for horrible acts and our burning need for closure and revenge, mostly. He may be obvious (he's been criticized for it), but his output is all the more powerful for it.

In "Melancholia," Von Trier settles on obliteration as the fate of his leads (and, to be sure, all the souls on Earth). And this time, though I can definitely admire his precision and control with his ideas, it's hard for me to say what he's doing. The people of the world are seriously down in the dumps, and things are not helped by a planet called Melancholia crashing right into the Earth. I get that. But the purpose of the movies that came before feels a lot less present. Von Trier seems to think he's making a parable (he's limited the setting to an expansive mansion in the middle of nowhere and its surroundings, and limited the events to a wedding and a visit not soon after), but the key element, the lesson or statement, was neglected.

Yet, as I noted before, on a surface level I liked what LVT was doing. Ultimately the film is structured around the decision to have the world end or not. I found the last image of the film incredibly cheesy. That being said, the film would have possibly felt like a surrender to convention if the director hadn't had the determination to orchestrate such a explosive moment. LVT's level of control and detail is also enthralling: he focuses intensely on the ensemble cast, though especially on Kirsten Dunst and Charlotte Gainsbourg (who have marked sections of the film dedicated to their characters, Justine and Claire). The film also looks beautiful, courtesy of the glossy, intoxicatingly lit cinematography by Manuel Alberto Claro.

The movie follows Justine (Dunst, who won Best Actress at Cannes for her punishing work) from one of the highest heights of human elation (getting married) to one of the lowest lows (severe depression). One of the first scenes, where her wedding limo gets caught on a narrow road on the way to the reception, shows her laughing with her husband Michael (Alexander Skarsgard). But as she arrives (late) to the party (filled to the brim with characters) and carries on increasingly more slugglishly with the elaborate proceedings set up by her overplanning sister Claire (Gainsbourg, who won Best Actress at Cannes two years ago for appearing in a Von Trier work), things are clearly wrong. In the sky, this is mirrored: the stars get out of line, and Melancholia looks to be coming closer (indicated by Claire's rich and astronomy-fancying husband John, played by Kiefer Sutherland).

This is an interesting scenario, purposefully directed as stilted and made ever the more drawing by the opening barrage of possible outcomes at the end of the world (i.e. you want to see the route between Point A and Point B). But in the end, it's not a whole lot more than that, and thus I will forget it a lot sooner than I will other cinematic creations by Von Trier. The precision on display should be appreciated, but to me that doesn't mean all that much in the end. C+

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+

Drive

"Drive" is a bearable but nonetheless disappointing effort from one of the most overrated filmmakers out there: Nicolas Winding Refn, who's made downright lamentable works in the past, including "Bronson" and "Valhalla Rising." Faith in this guy is ridiculously assured. He again and again takes potentially interesting ideas and runs them into the ground, and yet he continues to get validation, now even in the form of a Best Director prize from Cannes for his latest.

Due to all the magic-sounding hype, I was expecting something that would make my jaw drop. I wanted to see something distinct. I wanted to be awed. And I thought that finally, finally, with the right actors and the right story, Refn could pull something like that off. But when the supposedly esteemed first scene rolled by looking and sounding like something straight out of Need For Speed, I knew that things weren't going to run smoothly. In fact, this letdown cast a shadow over the rest of the film for me, and so I was never able to really appreciate anything other than the solid production design and the supporting work of Carey Mulligan and Kaden Leos as a mother and son.

Ryan Gosling alternates between smiling diffidently and growling aggressive warnings as the Driver (a.k.a. the Kid), whose life basically revolves around cars. He's a mechanic, a stuntman, and a getaway man, and even when he's not working, he's driving through LA. Though he affects a bravado, complete with toothpick and scorpion jacket, we see him as a barren soul, sleep-deprived, anonymous, using the drive as an out-of-body experience. We as the audience pick this up, but Refn could've done better by playing up these elements a little more (which is not entirely achieved by showing Gosling driving in close-ups over and over again, which he does).

The Driver runs into Irene (Mulligan) in his apartment building, and, as they find themselves meeting often, the two grow drawn to each other, even though she has a kid (Leos) and a husband, known as Standard (Oscar Isaac), who is on his way out of prison. This section is more human than anything I've seen by Refn up to this point. But it is not to last, as the Driver gets himself inextricably involved in jobs and deals set up by Bernie Rose (Albert Brooks) and his pizzeria-owner partner Nino (Ron Perlman).

And, at a certain point, with the brief use of a character, Blanche (Christina Hendricks), the film crosses a line. On the other side, it breaks with respectability and descends into increasingly cartoonish violence. By the time Brooks stabs a guy in the eye with a fork and then jams a knife into his throat, the initial shock of the savagery has worn off, and what we're left with is sad excess. This is ultimately what has been undermining Refn's works, and it will continue to do so unless the man can get a hold of himself. With "Drive," he's out of touch, though a bit less so than before. C

Telluride 2011, Day 4: Footnote

Telluride 38 is over, and although it was somewhat exhausting, I am sad to see it go. On the final day at the festival, I tried to get into Asghar Farhadi’s much-loved and Berlin-winning “A Separation,” but, for the first time, I was shut out due to a massive turnout at a small venue. Thus, wanting to see at least one more film while I was in Colorado, I made my way over to see Joseph Cedar’s “Footnote.” I had wanted to watch it, due to a recommendation or two and its Best Screenplay prize at Cannes, but I didn’t have the highest expectations. I had read some negative coverage earlier in the year and figured that it might be below average.

Instead, powered by Cedar’s rightfully awarded script (in Hebrew), “Footnote” is sharp and haunting, a propulsive film that ruminates on the cost of a great legacy. It centers on the awarding of the Israel Prize, given for excellence in research of the Talmud, as the thorough Eliezer Scholnik (Shlomo Bar-Aba) realizes his career dream by winning it. The problem is, his much more well-known son Uriel (Lior Ashkenazi) was actually supposed to have been given the honors. The announcement has already been made in the paper, though, so Uriel feels as if Eliezer would be devastated if he found out that he had lost and that Uriel (whom he resents) was the real recipient. But the judges, especially the chief (Micah Lewensohn), who has ties to Eliezer’s past, feel as if the prize would be trivialized if given to someone who wasn’t voted the winner. Thus, a shattering choice is created that will birth horrible consequences no matter the way taken.

It doesn’t help that Eliezer is an insufferable narcissist who has a reputation for covering all the bases but no major works to show it. His winning the award seems as times to make no sense even to him, but it would boost opinions of his career and thus he really wants it. Uriel consciously made sure never to nominate himself for the prize any of the many years that Eliezer has been trying to win it, but he receives a nod by one of the judges and finds himself in a decidedly unenviable position: both wanting prestige and happiness for his father. Meanwhile, his own son isn’t satisfying Uriel’s grand plans for his future and another strain comes as a result.

The film is exceptionally written, full of strong scenes, the most prominent one coming when Uriel is informed of the situation by the judges in an extremely small room. The characters always sound like real people and what they say is all the more piercing for it. Ashkenazi’s terrific performance as Uriel definitely helps the film as well, as he nails the part’s mix of conviction and uncertainty. The film’s use of close-ups also adds a layer of anxiety to the already tense mood.

I think “Footnote” is a couple steps below a masterpiece due to its suitably traditional but enervating and too forceful score (Cedar lacks the confidence in other places that he displays in his writing) and at times not living up to the clarity and thematic prowess of its centerpiece discussion. I also can see some (possible) echoes of the work of Zadie Smith in the film’s structure and the characters’ traits. But these flaws can be forgotten once you get pondering Cedar’s perceptiveness. B+

That's it for me. It was a great festival, and I hope to return next year.

Telluride 2011, Day 2: The Kid With a Bike; Into the Abyss; The Artist

Saturday, the first full day of the 38th edition, was packed with a number of highlights, as well as the first disappointing film of the festival (though I did actually like certain aspects of it). I started the day off with one of the most important and most anticipated features of the year, "The Kid With a Bike" by Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne, which tied for second place at Cannes. I'm a fan of the brothers' previous works, especially "The Son." Yet, though some had called it glorious, I was worried by the critiques (such as this one) that the duo had made a bland picture.

Having now seen it, I can say that the film is very interesting and involving, with a plot that's exquisitely put together. It starts in medius res, as we see young Cyril (Thomas Doret) calling his father's apartment for what appears to be the umpteenth time. Left in a foster home, he clings to the hope that his father will pick him back up; yet, as it becomes clear, this appears to be an unlikely possibility. Cyril, though, with his mix of naivete and street smarts, tries again and again to get his father back, breaking out of whatever confinement he finds himself currently in, going back to every place he ever visited with his dad and trying to work out where he's gone to.

Once, being pursued by counselors of the foster home, he attaches himself to a random woman, who turns out to be Samantha (Cecile de France). Though she's propelled into Cyril's life in odd circumstances, she begins to take an interest in his happiness and well-being, letting him live with her on the weekends, getting back the bike he believes was stolen from his father (who actually sold it), and helping him in his search.

Who he ultimately finds his father to be is a man who is having a hard time keeping himself afloat and who wants nothing to do with him. Jeremie Renier, who played the criminally neglectful father who sold his baby in "The Child," is perfectly cast, as you can see a sort of shared history between this character and the other one. This connection makes Cyril's revelation all the more heartbreaking, and, in turn, his search for another father figure (a position he tries putting a disturbingly friendly gang leader) ever the more compelling. Doret, debuting in the lead role, makes the film even more emotionally encompassing, with his constantly shifting and palpable feelings of anger and optimism. Though at times it admittedly does feel a little like it seems to be heading nowhere, and though it doesn't get to the heights that the Dardennes have at some points, "The Kid With a Bike" nonetheless balances watchability and reflection possibly better than anything else so far at Telluride. B+

Coming off of somewhat underwhelming documentaries and features, Werner Herzog's "Into the Abyss: A Tale of Death, a Tale of Life" is the best film he's made in some time. Examining a case that sent one of the defendants to his death and another to live out most of the rest of his life in prison (hence the title), Herzog develops a study of both the motives for crime and revenge (via capital punishment, which he vehemently opposes).

The film makes it clear early on that the two men, Michael Perry and Jason Burkett, are guilty for the killings with which they've been charged. A couple of people in the film, including the attackers themselves, seem to think they are innocent in some way or another, but the evidence is overwhelming. So instead, Herzog, after showing us (with police footage and interviews with members of the force) exactly what transpired, probes into the environment of the perpetrators and victims.

We come to see Conroe, Texas as a town that passes criminal activity from father to son and from brother to brother. Almost every man interviewed in the film has gone to jail at least once. We come to see how a crime with baffling motives (the three people were murdered over a car) has horrific, staggering effects. And we come to see how one could feel that capital punishment would provide strong catharsis as well as a hypocritical continuation of violence. The film at 106 minutes feels uncomfortably long, but it's very valuable how Herzog takes his time and allows us to see all sides. I was humbled and jarred. A-

The initial run of strong cinema ended, though, when I caught Michel Hazanavicius' appealing but annoyingly derivative "The Artist," done up in black and white and with almost no spoken dialogue. Despite two terrific performances by Cannes Best Actor Jean Dujardin and Berenice Bejo and some strong montages and ideas, the film wore thin far before it supposed to by having the plot go on autopilot in the final half. Dujardin plays George Valentin, a top performer in silent films, famous for performing with his dog, who can better the mood of a group of people just by flashing his exceptionally charming smile. At the peak of his fame, he bumps into Peppy Miller (Bejo), who gets a small slice of attention by giving him a kiss caught on the cover of Variety. She goes on to audition as a dancer at Kinograph Films, where George works, and would have been fired by the Kinograph's money-hungry studio head Zimmer (John Goodman) were it not for George's intervention.

But soon enough, George loses his power when Zimmer decides to make the switch from silent films to talkies, and Peppy quickly reaches the renown with which George once was blessed. He tries to save silent films by making one of his own on his own money (earning the nickname "The Artist" as a result) but no one is really interested anymore and thus his total decline seems unable to be prevented. Hazanavicius' banal depiction of George's self-destruction through booze made me check out about 3/4 of the way into the film, and thus the end, which is clearly intended to be the most "delightful" thing you ever saw (or so everyone says it is), was at least partially lost on me. With the acting ability available here, and the handful of good scenes, it's a pity that the script lets everyone down. C+

Midnight in Paris

Juggling wonder for the City of Lights and spite for those who can't take the time to enjoy it, Woody Allen's "Midnight in Paris" is too clumsy to be great but strong in enough areas to be a worthwhile entertainment. Reminiscent of one of Allen's comic short stories, the film presents a clever if cliched idea in a delectable way. However, the work as a whole leaves something to be desired. Allen seems to have lost his touch navigating satire, and only does the straight comedy and romance well.

Owen Wilson, whose surprised face hugely aids the film's impact, plays Gil, an unsatisfied writer of vacuous films. Even though he apparently was a bad English student, he is still enraptured in the classics and wants to make a literary contribution. He goes with his fiancee Inez (Rachel McAdams) and her ultra-conservative family to Paris to take in the marvels. Inez thinks Gil should stay "doing what he does best" and quit with the dreamy novel stuff, perhaps because she knows the difference in paychecks between a novelist and a screenwriter. She also wants to see Paris (a city she says she would never live in) by absorbing it without contemplation, way opposed to Gil's agenda, and when she encounters her former professor Paul (Michael Sheen), purveyor of pretentious knowledge and sex appeal, she can.

Gil wants out of things being planned for him, and so he gets lost wandering one night after a wine tasting. I hadn't read much about the film going in, so what happens next came as somewhat of a surprise to me. I'll leave it the same way for you, but I will say that with it Allen supplies the material for an engrossing film, one that speaks about how the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence and how people always think that their moment in history is the least interesting and the most screwed up. Admittedly, the film speechifies these points a little (subtlety is not one of Allen's strengths), and paints brushstrokes that go a little too wild at times, but certain setups and jokes (especially the one involving Surrealism and "The Exterminating Angel") are well executed.

Unfortunately, much of the film's writing is poor (characters say the same things over and over again) and the acting, save Wilson's, isn't able to salvage it. There is, however, sterling technical proficiency on display here. Several shots are startling in the way they unfold: the camera roams before the primary characters appear out of the side of the frame, and in one instance the camera does a 180* in a superbly controlled long take. In the present moment, I see the film as not working as well as it could have (given the cogency of the concept, it could have possibly been one of Allen's best films). But it does have some minor triumphs, and maybe it'll improve with age. B-

The Tree of Life

Despite having a monumental idea that has all the makings for a project that never gets made, “The Tree of Life” satisfies the grand reach that it sets for itself. It may not give a universal look at the growth of the world and of humanity, but that’s because it can’t: Terrence Malick is an American, Christian filmmaker and thus can only be expected to filter his story through that sort of lens. But even if he’s unable to make the film that everyone wants, what he’s done here is simply unbelievable.

Overwhelming is a dramatic understatement when describing “The Tree of Life.” The audience watches the universe meld together, with ripples, explosions, and, to be certain, dinosaurs. All of this would be enough to blow anyone’s mind completely. But it doesn’t end there: we also see childhood, and every influence by which it is affected. If this childhood seems too idealized, then that’s because it is supposed to be: it’s the product of memories.

These memories are subjective and objective, and the whole film, both in its design and in its action, is about the meeting between these two POVs. There are often dolly shots through houses, or into trees. These seem to be depicting the presence of God, as he moves through the world, watching. I originally thought these shots didn’t have a purpose in the film, but they ultimately are very important.

The movie starts with something that seems to throw it off, which I realized in hindsight was the intention of the brilliant structure by Malick. After a biblical quote (from Job) and a motif of light that appears a few times in the film, we are shown some important passages that color our understanding of the rest of the movie. Mrs. O’Brien (Jessica Chastain), the mother in a small-town post-WWII family, narrates the differences between the forceful nature and the passive grace. This is over a flood of images, which at this point are frustratingly incomprehensible. She then finds that her second son, R.L., has died in a war (implied to be Vietnam), depicted with a chillingly executed shock cut between violent sobbing and airplane propellers. We then move to the present where Jack (Sean Penn), her oldest son, is having problems keeping interest in his wife, his job, and his world (“gone to the dogs,” he calls it in a perceptive moment). He has apparently said things he didn’t mean about his brother’s death, which happened very long ago, and is reminiscing about when he was a kid, egged on by his father and increasingly disillusioned as time went on.

After showing the making of the known world and giving cinema some of its most glorious images (drawing from some famous telescopic shots), Jack’s growing up is magnificently realized. We see how he became the man that he is, each pivotal moment. The resentments he (played here by Hunter McCracken) bears towards his domineering father (Brad Pitt) are most prominently noted. Hard on all of his kids, Mr. O’Brien wants them to step boldly ahead in the way of nature, not to roll with the punches as grace would (which he calls “naïve,” along with his wife). Other determining forces are seen: criminals move through the town (whom Mrs. O’Brien gives water, a symbol used to such great effect to make Tarkovsky proud), the drowning of a friend, engaging in transgressive activities. Overall, the film’s meticulous, detailed view of maturation has few, if any, peers in recent memory.

But that’s not the only area in which that happens. Cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki, who worked with Malick on “The New World,” gives one of the most astonishing performances in camerawork in cinema history. It’s the stuff to spawn thousands of visual essays. What he does is innovative and immersive: he imitates the emotion of the scene in the photography. For example, to convey Jack’s going-through-the-motions feelings as a grown man, he has the camera race through public spaces at waist level and uses a disjointed form of Snorricam (where the camera is attached to the actor, charting their movement). Also strong is the use of music (some of which is composed by Alexandre Desplat), which overpowers you. Obviously referential of Stanley Kubrick’s “2001: A Space Odyssey” in how it pairs space actions with opera, it uses the music to try to reach the sublime (and it often does).

It’s a wonder that Malick can actually make another film (namely “The Burial”) after this one. This movie is a marvel, for not only all of what I’ve said above but also having one of the most believable views of the afterlife (if that’s what it is) that I’ve ever seen. (Also worth mentioning is his giving of voiceovers to many of his characters, both biblical and similar to Faulkner's "As I Lay Dying.") I’ll need to see it more than once, but it feels (though it’s definitely not) almost absolute. If it had never been made, only speculated, people could have united completely around it. Even if it doesn’t appeal to everyone, and even if it admittedly isn’t impeccable start-to-finish (the human section working better than the planetary one), it’s a treasure, worthy of its Palme d'Or and (one can only hope) more awards. A

Cannes 2011: Prévisions Finales

I haven't been posting as many film reviews lately as 1) I've haven't had that much time to see recently released films and 2) following the developments of the Cannes Film Festival has been involving and right now the festival feels like the only relevant event in the film world. After Sunday, when the awards for the Main Competition are announced, things will change, and we'll get back to regularly scheduled programming, etc. But for now, this is what's been on my mind, and here are my final predictions, since pretty much all films in the running for the Palme d'Or have finished screening for critics:

Competition Jury: Robert De Niro, Olivier Assayas, Martina Gusman, Mahamat-Saleh Haroun, Jude Law, Nansun Shi, Uma Thurman, Johnnie To, Linn Ullman

Palme d’Or: Once Upon a Time in Anatolia, Nuri Bilge Ceylan

Reasoning: Reviews haven't been all strong, but at the same time there have been enough that note this as prime Palme material, which may be echoed by the jury (who seem like they could really warm up to its heavy basis on imagery). Plus, Ceylan is due.

Gran Prix: The Kid With a Bike, Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne

Reasoning: Probably the most previously successful contenders in the field this year, the Dardennes have NEVER gone home empty handed when they've played in Competition at Cannes. They've won 2 Palmes (for "Rosetta" and "The Child"), directed Olivier Gourmet to a Best Actor (for "The Son"), and snagged Best Screenplay last time they were here with "Lorna's Silence." Even though I don't think another Palme is possible, a Gran Prix (which they've never won before) could be a good way to celebrate their new work. This may be the jury that neglects to give them an award, but with Haroun on the jury (who's said to be influenced by them), I think they'll pull out with something.

Jury Prize: Drive, Nicolas Winding Refn

Reasoning: The populist favorite of the festival, Refn's film (as Guy Lodge has noted) will probably have garnered the support of Law and Thurman, not to mention Assayas and To. Many have said this will win the Palme, but I don't think it'll quite manage that.

Best Actor: Brad Pitt, The Tree of Life

Reasoning: "The Tree of Life" will not be denied an award. And this is an avenue that has been essentially approved by all critics. (I know they don't decide the award, but they must have some perception of what's going on).

Best Actress: Tilda Swinton, We Need to Talk About Kevin

Reasoning: Despite the possibilities of Emily Browning and Kirsten Dunst, I think Swinton had this sealed up on the second day of the festival, when her film premiered. The praise has been overwhelming.

Best Director: Michel Hazanavicius, The Artist

Reasoning: Hazanavicius will get awarded for branching out from his previous films (James Bond spoofs) and actually making something serious. A Palme is definitely possible, but this route seems a lot more logical for the jury.

Best Screenplay: Le Havre, Aki Kaurismaki

Reasoning: Another movie that needs validation for its success. Kaurismaki has gone as far as the Gran Prix before, and could go the full distance, but the jury seems both for and against that happening. At least it'll win this.

Prominent empty-handers: "The Skin I Live In," "Melancholia," and "This Must Be the Place" (the jury could rally for this one, but the reviews intimated this was not such a good movie).

My Joy (Philadelphia Cinefest)

I had big expectations for Sergei Loznitsa's "My Joy," a Cannes 2010 Competition film that piqued my interest from early on and has held it for the 11 months since then. Unfortunately, when I got to seeing it, it began to lose it. This is a film where a little tightening up would go a long way, as it develops a weighty thesis for much of its running time but loses its focus too often to come through. It is also an extremely dispiriting work, and its final scene sears with its notion of irreparability. If you don't want to be emotionally rocked, do not see this film. If you're sensitive, you may come out with some sort of scar. At the same time, it both is and isn't as harsh as people have said it is. You have been warned.

If you're okay with that... This film follows Georgy (Viktor Nemets, channeling sincerity and apathy), a trucker with a flour shipment who, after getting stuck in a traffic jam, travels with a girl prostitute (played pretty well by Olga Shuvalova) back to her hometown so he can get to where he's going faster. His sojourn, intended to take a day at most, ends up costing him much more time than he imagined and also goes to highlight that he wasn't really going anywhere in the first place.

The (nameless) town where he stops is the archetypal town which no one leaves, where people stop to lay low and end up staying forever. Loznitsa is perhaps somewhat trying to move people to action with this film, in a sort of Sherman Alexie-esque sort of way, but instead of showing positive action, Loznitsa instead is observing its counterpoint, crippling lethargy.

Georgy just centers the film, which operates in the way of Richard Linklater's "Slacker," by moving around to follow the people who come into contact with him. We see a man who was forever broken by the execution of his father by returning soldiers, and the execution of officers by a major who loses everything, including his fiancee and his name, as a result (due to his hiding away in the town). These characters foreshadow the person Georgy will eventually become. Their stories are dealt with in scenes set in the time of Second World War, shot with lenses and costumes that remind one of Quentin Tarantino's "Inglourious Basterds" and Elia Suleiman's "The Time That Remains." This chronological scramble offers opportunities for Loznitsa opportunities for creating disorientation, and the fact that you don't know when the winter of the film's final third takes place is interesting.

The film's strongest asset in disorientation (and otherwise, perhaps), though, is Oleg Mutu's camera. It pulsates with intensity as it watches characters, and constantly favors busy compositions that are uncommon in cinema. At certain points, the screen shows many different actions occurring at once, which creates both the feeling of spontaneity and contrivance. There is also some beautiful embellishment of strange developments in the plot, such as a sex scene that is more interesting because it can't be entirely understood. (The art direction in the deteriorating house where it takes place is also sterling.)

So there's a lot going on here. It just doesn't all work. If this film was 10-15 minutes shorter (I would cut the scene in the prison and the one with the soldiers carrying the coffin), it would be much more successful. If it understood when to, as critics have said of it, lay it on thick and when to restrain itself, it would pack an better punch, betting meaning harder on an ideological level. But instead it pulls on too long and leaves you on the floor with your wind knocked out, locking the doors and leaving no one to assist you. I hope that "In the Fog of Latvia," Loznitsa's next work (set to be his second as a fiction filmmaker after many documentaries), proves more refined. B-

The Housemaid (Hanyo) (2010)

Im Sang-soo knows how to compose a shot and track forwards or backwards. He's truly talented with that. He's not so good, though, at sustaining any sort of interest, as "The Housemaid," his remake of a film made just over 40 years ago, is irritatingly dull in its slow crawl from scene to scene. I'm fine with slow movies, but there's scarcely a point for this movie to be one, and thus it is very boring. It's supposed to be "provocative," or something (that's what the ads and critics have been saying), but I'm pretty sure the only provoking that'll be happening will be the pinching administered to your arm to keep yourself awake.

I love unbelievable cinematography as much as the next man. More so, probably. But there are also some things that are more important than having your film look good. For example, it doesn't help much when you don't have ANY characters that you can relate to in the slightest. The main character in this film (played by Do-yeon Jeon) finds out information way after we do, and thus cannot really hold our attention. She's a maid who after a little while at her post starts being basically forced (via red wine) into having sex with the father of the family. It shouldn't be too much of a SPOILER, but she gets pregnant. The film would possibly be effective if it let us catch on to this as she did, but due to the film's objective POV (which attempts to pick up on all of the action in this household), we have already processed this information for quite some time before it comes as a revelation to her. A film similar in premise is Roman Polanski's "The Ghost Writer," which achieves wonders by putting the audience and the main character on the same level.

Back to the plot. The wife of course is pissed off when she finds out, when her (annoying) mother tells her because the experienced maid in the house informed on the main character. This makes little to sense as a plot device, as the experienced maid seems to be the only character that we have a chance at relating to. Then again, she basically tossed out all of her credibility as a believable character when flailed around in a random drunken rage. That leaves just about no one (except for the girl of the family, who's only a secondary character), unless you're about to sympathize with a lecherous man or petty grandmother. Me neither. Maybe I just knew too much coming in, or something, but this film didn't really connect with me. I wouldn't really risk taking the chance of it not connecting with you, either.

The film develops and develops, until it doesn't really matter what happens. We don't care about the characters, and thus we don't care about what they do. Simple as that. I wish I had spent my evening in a much different way than waiting it out through 106 minutes of unimaginative cinema like "The Housemaid." The camerawork is something to behold, but all the same, that can't be the only thing that's good about a movie. It's like eating a pie crust without filling inside it. C-

Nostalgia for the Light (Nostalgia de la luz)

"Next to the stars in the sky, the troubles of Chile may seem insignificant. But if you laid them out on a table, they would be a galaxy."

"Nostalgia for the Light" made me think about astronomy in entirely different ways. It makes a parallel between the universe as a whole and the Atacama Desert, where much of a dark period in Chilean history took place and is preserved. By doing this, the film compares the history of humanity with the history of the individual (of those people missing relatives, and of director Patricio Guzman's own life and interests), and confronts massive, mind-blowing notions. It reminds one of films like "Waltz With Bashir" and "Shoah" in how it captures the human tendency to want both to look towards the future, to keep discovering, and also to throw away the past. As in those films, there are people who don't want to let go, who see how that would be even more catastrophic than enduring the catastrophe itself. "Nostalgia for the Light" stands like the bodies left in the Atacama as a way to hold onto history, and thus remains about as valuable as films can get.

The film is an ideological overload on first look, and close attention and repeated viewing is probably necessary. The entry point is the director, who was very into astronomy when he was young, when technological advancement was prided upon, before the political problems in Chile eroded these things. However, we learn this is not the only bad patch of Chilean history: the 19th century seems to be something that nobody wants to think about. This is so much the case that concentration camps were built atop the mines of that time, in an attempt to leave the period behind. Add to that the fact that those under Pinochet placed the corpses of people they murdered in the Atacama, leaving them both well-kept but at the same time infuriatingly decomposed. This has saddened the people who have looked and looked to find the remains of bodies that once housed people they once knew. To some, the shreds they find are cathartic, but to others, they only give to the desire to find something impossible to reach.

The film's overall craftsmanship is marvelous. The cinematography (contrasting the red, rough desert and the white, clean telescopes, as well as space, for further comparison) and the score are both resonant. I only criticize the director's decision to apply iMovie grade effects and (at times) conventional documentary techniques to the film, but, as a friend notes, neither hurts the film too much and both can be somewhat validated. "Nostalgia for the Light" consciously evokes a sliver of land and a country for most of its 90 minutes but at the same time, it opens out into the sky to survey our steps forward and our steps back, our history expanding and contracting again to one day leave us. "Nostalgia for the Light" makes sure that this won't happen in the present day. A

Rubber

Made as straight pulp, "Rubber" by Quentin Dupieux maybe would be more successful than it is. But then again, that would be pretty, ahem, tiresome. We see a tire come to life and make things (including human beings) blow up by harnessing some sort of power. This happens many times over the course of the film, always shot in the exact same way. No insight into the character of the tire, as a banal but more entertaining film would attempt to do. Just an Anton Chigurh type, one that can only be stopped with death and not even that.

So, to counterbalance this, we have a meta-narrative involving a nerdy dude apparently on order from an unseen boss who sets up "spectators" with binoculars to watch the tire. This is considered "watching a movie," and although I see what Dupieux is aiming at with this conceit, it fails due to the fact that it makes little to no sense. Of course, suspending disbelief is step one in watching a movie about a serial murdering tire. But in a film anything is possible, we all know. Having people watch action from miles away that goes inside and outside of buildings with binoculars, though, just makes no logical sense even in a fantastical film such as "Rubber" and is too clunky to be accepted. The reason this section is in here is to both pad the film (it's only 85 minutes long anyways) and also to look at the dynamics of audiences, specifically midnight ones. I get it, but Dupieux could have achieved it with more gusto and with less of a heavy hand than he does.

I guess the resulting mishmash produces more interesting results than otherwise, though. Jack Plotnick as the orchestrating dude does pretty well, most notably when he gives an aimless monologue on when he went with his family to the mountains. Plus, Stephen Spinella as Lt. Chad brings down the house with an arresting opening speech, and even though I think his character (who gets out of the trunk of a car, talks, and gets right back in) should have been contained in this scene, he does end up supplying the film with a bit more life. "Rubber" doesn't really manage to satisfy for the most part. It has some memorable characters and a bizarre atmosphere, but skids ultimately to disposability. C+

Heartbeats (Les amours imaginaires)

Anyone who enjoys good, calculated art direction, costumes, and cinematography may go into cardiac arrest while watching Xavier Dolan's enjoyably opulent "Heartbeats." Even though some have grumbled at his homages to films like Wong Kar-wai's "In the Mood for Love" and Gregg Araki's "Mysterious Skin," a film that makes your head constantly spin is definitely not a bad thing. It has a plot that isn't exactly remarkable, but rather perfectly tightens and loosens at the right moments, allowing you to be both astonished by what you see and also chafed by a bit of narrative tension. One has to be craving a film like this for it to work like magic, so those who aren't too crazy from the sound of it should probably step back, but I predict those who have it in mind will relish it quite a bit.

We follow Francis (played by Dolan himself) and Marie (Monia Chokri), two friends who both see Nicolas (Niels Schneider) as their soul mate. At first they all just hang out together, but soon Francis and Marie are trying to one-up each other to win over Nico. That's pretty much it, but I think Dolan is wise in not letting the plot upstage the production. That is, until the end, when the movie really needs it and when a jolt of drama helps big time.

Perhaps to illuminate the story, or maybe to pad the movie up to a 95-minute running time, we also have clips of people describing their own personal love stories. The movie when it hits these patches feels a bit jerky, and these sorts of things are usually trite, but I have to say these sections actually work pretty well.

All the acting is good as well, especially Dolan, who my friend describes as almost like a silent-movie star in his emotions. He's definitely a great screen presence (apparently he acted before he started directing films), and he solidifies this late in the film when he pulls a completely unexpected move (something like a spastic convulsion) off brilliantly. "Heartbeats" will perhaps bring to mind for its viewers recent films such as "Broken Embraces" and "I Am Love." Let me tell you: it's better than both of them. B+