Change Your Image
Shakespeare-2
Reviews
House of Sand and Fog (2003)
Guerrillas in the mist
Ben Kingsley richly deserves to be considered as Best Actor at this year's Oscar award ceremony for his role in "House of Sand and Fog". His role as Massoud Behrani, an Iranian colonel who immigrates to the United States, easily ranks among the most stellar male performances of 2003. Kingsley manages to lend warmth and likeability to a character who is not without his faults, namely a sometimes autocratic attitude toward his wife and family, and a certain flair for real estate wheeling and dealing.
But U.S. audiences may not take very kindly to this film, which is harshly critical of American behavior toward the "huddled masses yearning to breathe free" who pass through Lady Liberty's golden door. "House of Sand and Fog" shows how Behrani, a high-ranking official in his homeland, must accept low-paying jobs (manual labour, mom-and-pop-store retail sales) to support his family and pay for his son's education. The film further shows Americans treating immigrants as if they were just off the boat, ignorant of American law and their rights, easily intimidated. It shows Americans continually mispronouncing foreign names and getting angry when foreigners fail to "speak English".
The film is weak in several respects, mainly in its plot devices, which are sometimes crude and obvious. For instance, would police deputy Lester Burdon (Ron Eldard) really become involved with a woman on whom he has just served an eviction notice? And why on earth would he continually drink wine and beer in her presence when he knows she is a recovering alcoholic? As the film progresses, these plot devices snowball into a seemingly never-ending series of misfortunes that assume the epic proportions of Greek tragedy. It's a shame that "House of Sand and Fog" didn't take a different route, one that might have turned the clash and conflict of cultures into comprehension and conciliation.
Cold Mountain (2003)
Unforgettable battle scene, forgettable film
I would recommend seeing "Cold Mountain" for one reason, and one reason only. The battle sequence at the very beginning of the film is truly a military masterpiece, a scene that graphically conveys the mud, blood and guts of war, masterfully employing the various techniques of cinematography, direction and makeup toward this end. In my view, this is one of the best battle scenes that I have ever seen committed to film.
That being said, "Cold Mountain" fails utterly in other respects -- first and foremost, as the romance it purports and is advertised to be. Jude Law is credible enough as Inman, the Confederate soldier who braves Union armies and the Home Guard of his own state of North Carolina to return to the woman of his dreams. But why on earth would any man spend three years dreaming of Ada Monroe, or at least Nicole Kidman's incarnation of the southern belle? Nicole Kidman's character is truly an ice maiden -- a pale, cold, rather remote and distant blonde. Believe it or not, Nicole Kidman's character is dwarfed and overshadowed by the rest of the cast. Both major and minor characters alike are more colourful by far.
Renee Zellweger may very well garner a Best Supporting Actress nomination for her role as Ruby, a poor backwoods girl (somewhere between Doris Day's Calamity Jane and Donna Douglass's Elly Mae Clampett) who teaches Ada the survival skills her preacher father (Donald Sutherland) has failed to instill.
"Cold Mountain" fails as a romance, but works as a meditation on man's inhumanity to man. One only wishes that the cruelty were not so relentless.
Peter Pan (2003)
If you believe in fairies, slap your heads!
This is a postscript to my earlier review of "Peter Pan". I forgot to mention that Ludivine Sagnier's Tinkerbell is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, one of the most annoying performances in film history.
This is all the more disappointing because this young French actress has shone in two recent films, "Eight Women" and "Swimming Pool". I assume "Peter Pan" is her first role in an American film. Isn't it always the way? Established foreign actors and actresses get lousy parts in American films and must pay their dues all over again.
As Rodney Dangerfield would say, "No respect, no respect..."
Girl with a Pearl Earring (2003)
A Pearl of great price
"Girl with a Pearl Earring" is a film about Vermeer that might well have been filmed by Vermeer. By this, I mean that its cinematographic techniques (especially interiors) show a thorough understanding of the dynamics of Vermeer's paintings -- their lighting and composition. The interplay of light and shadow, of bright and dark colors contrasted against duller, more muted backgrounds, make "Girl with a Pearl Earring" a visually stunning joy to behold.
The interplay of the characters of the film add a layer of texture to the visual background, just as Vermeer might have added a glaze to highlight the basic tones of one of his works. Scarlett Johansson has a sweet, charming innocence about her amid the corruption and intrigue of the rest of the cast. Yet we readily believe that she also possesses, if not genius in her own right, at least a certain native intelligence that allows her to meet Vermeer on his own terms, and not merely as a love interest or a sex object.
Colin Firth's Vermeer is weak and indecisive, unable or unwilling to rebel against the strictures of his society. The remaining actors and actresses are uniformly excellent, making the film one of those rare and enjoyable ensembles. The palette of characters includes a domineering matriarch, a pathologically suspicious wife, a lecherous patron of the arts (Tom Wilkinson) and a detestably vengeful little girl.
It occurred to me, after leaving the film, that Vermeer's piercing of the servant-girl's earlobe to attach the pearl earring was rich with sexual symbolism, as if he had taken her virginity and drawn blood, then given her the pearl earring that betokens his love for her. Like the entire relationship between Vermeer and Griet, this act is a delicate, understated, yet powerful expression of real (though unconsummated) passion. Such is the power of art.
"Girl with a Pearl Earring" is indeed a pearl of great price.
Mona Lisa Smile (2003)
Finally, a film that doesn't insult our intelligence!
I didn't expect much going into "Mona Lisa Smile". I figured it was going to be a rehash of all the movies ever made about teachers. You know, from "Goodbye Mr. Chips" and "The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie", to "The Dead Poets' Society" and "Mr. Holland's Opus". But "Mona Lisa Smile" pleasantly surprised me, especially the uncompromising, principled ending.
Another thing that pleased me was the film's assumption of an intelligent, educated audience that does not require any dumbing-down of art and culture. "Mona Lisa Smile" rattles off names of artists and their works as if it fully expected moviegoers to be conversant with them. In at least one case, the film names neither the artist nor the work (Picasso's "Demoiselles d'Avignon"). All of these things are taken as givens, as part and parcel of a sophisticated audience's cultural baggage -- quite a change from the usual pap that Hollywood spoonfeeds us!
Moreover, the film sometimes speaks volumes by what it doesn't say but simply shows, taking for granted that we will fill in the blanks from our knowledge of the history of the period (that is, the early 1950s). There is one oblique reference to McCarthyism. A photo of an atomic explosion reminds us of the post-WWII, Cold War era. A game show on TV triggers a memory of the payola scandal. Again, "Mona Lisa Smile" credits us with brains rather than insulting our intelligence.
Mercifully, the title of the film is not simply a reference to Julia Roberts' famous beestung, collagen-enhanced lips. As Kirsten Dunst's character explains toward the end of the movie, Mona Lisa's smile is not necessarily an indication that she is happy and content -- any more than the women of the 1950s with their dream homes and seemingly perfect lives. "Mona Lisa Smile" is ultimately an indictment of those in society who perpetrate and perpetuate secrets and lies, and a tribute to those through whom the truth prevails.
Something's Gotta Give (2003)
You've got male chauvinism, or Paris when it fizzles
It's hard to believe "Something's Gotta Give" was directed by a woman. I guess the rest of the gang at the storyboard conference must have been men. Why? Because, instead of allowing its heroine to triumph over heartache and achieve closure, it makes her one more notch on the giant killer's belt. Because it spends, like, forever on the "cute and funny" groping and fumbling of an older woman's sexual encounter with a men her own age, but never lets us see her experience lovemaking with a younger man who is clearly interested in both her mind AND her body.
The film is as sappy and hokey as they come. It doesn't help that it ends in Paris, for Pete's sake (the city of lights and all that crap), and has a song score cribbed, I swear, from "Le Divorce".
The film is also occasionally a little too broad in its humor. I can live with the tired shtick of Jack Nicholson's repeated trips to the emergency ward, and his physical slapstick. But I find it offensive that an actress of Diane Keaton's stature should be subjected to the ultimate indignity of having to do a totally gratuitous, almost full frontal nude scene. Integral to the plot, you say? Perhaps. But did we really need to see Diane's knockers when her knickers would have sufficed? When Jack Nicholson's "Mr. Midnight" makes its debut (and not just his tush), then we can talk.
The film is also the latest victim of that increasingly common Hollywood malady, not knowing when to stop. I saw a couple leave the theatre exactly halfway through the show. The whole production is at least a half-hour too long.
For all its faults, "Something's Gotta Give" does have a few moments of psychological and emotional truth, especially the way Jack and Diane break down and cry after being intimate, he perhaps for the first time in his life, she for the first time in years since ending her marriage. But the writers even manage to screw that up by foisting a protracted crying jag on Diane a little later on.
By the way, Frances McDormand is woefully underutilized. And we don't get to see nearly enough of Keanu Reeves. Now, if only he could have shown the full Monty ...
21 Grams (2003)
Worth its weight in gold
"21 Grams" (by the director of "Amores perros") is a definite contender for best movie of 2003.
Although Benicio del Toro is one of its stars, don't expect an action/adventure flick in the "Traffic" genre. "21 Grams" has more in common with such films as "Memento", "Turtle Diary" and "Betrayal" -- all of which tell their story in reverse chronological order.
"21 Grams" does not follow exactly the same pattern, but the first half of the film is somewhat disjointed and obviously out of logical sequence. Moviegoers need to have a little patience as they gradually get to know the three main characters and their families, and slowly come to see the connections between them. Destiny or fate is clearly the main theme here.
The trio -- a born-again ex-con, an upper-middle-class housewife and a man in need of a heart transplant -- experience their fair share of tragedy, grief and loss. Yet the film is ultimately life-affirming and hopeful, as they all find a modicum of peace and resolution of their inner drama.
"21 Grams" is worth its weight in gold!
The Last Samurai (2003)
Cruise's Last Stand
Cruise's Last Stand
Tom Cruise's performance as Captain Nathan Algren in "The Last Samurai" is one of his better roles. I especially liked the scenes where Algren drunkenly promotes new weaponry and shocks a genteel crowd with a few home truths about the butchery of war; where he finally focuses his thoughts and fights like a true samurai; and where he learns his first words in Japanese. I was also moved by the delicate, understated romance between Algren and Taka, the widow of a man he killed.
I have to admit that I didn't expect much from Cruise in "The Last Samurai".Yes, he has delivered solid performances in "Born on the Fourth of July" and "Magnolia". But he will probably forever be remembered for dancing in his underwear in "Risky Business". Like legions of moviegoers and movie critics, I plead guilty to dismissing Cruise as a pretty face, but not much of an actor.
But whatever you think of Cruise's acting ability, I think he displays courage and deserves respect for taking this role in this film at this juncture in American history. Cruise's character in "The Last Samurai" empathizes with a foreign people, the Japanese. He is sent to teach them the military techniques of the West. He ends up learning the ancient ways and fighting with them on the battlefield. He blames General Custer's arrogance and megalomania for the massacre of his troops at the Battle of Little Big Horn. He feels guilt for his government's treatment of native American Indians.
It is not difficult to see the parallels between the world of Nathan Algren and our own, in which the US government has deployed half the might of its military force and technology to impose its political will on the peoples of Afghanistan and Iraq. In "The Last Samurai", we see Tom Cruise, Edward Zwick and the Hollywood establishment's liberal-democratic response to the muscle-flexing and warmongering of the Bush administration.
You could say that Hollywood has deployed a Cruise missile of its own.
Panj é asr (2003)
There was hope & despair in Afghanistan at 5 in the afternoon
In "At Five in the Afternoon", we follow the fortunes of a young woman in Afghanistan and her family. Nogreh is caught between two worlds. On the one hand, she attends a school where the teacher encourages girls to become doctors, engineers and even President. At the same time, Nogreh must wait until she steps out of her father's home before she lifts the veil of her burka and trades flat-soled shoes for high heels.
Nogreh is a very idealistic and ambitious young woman who emulates Benazir Bhutto of Pakistan and dreams of being President of her own country some day. Yet she has been kept in a state of childlike naivety and ignorance about politics at home and abroad, due to the teachings of the Koran, Shariah (Islamic law) and the Taliban.
It is exciting to hear the young girls debate the status of women in their country. But the film is also sympathetic and understanding toward the old Afghanistan, symbolized by Nogreh's father. He bewails that "Blasphemy has overrun the city" and the world, as he knew it, has ceased to exist. To add pathos to the situation, he feels he can confide his feelings only to a dumb animal -- his donkey, who "knows nothing but hay".
The film's title echoes a recurring verse from Federico Garcia Lorca's poem, "Lament for Ignacio Sanchez Mejia", about the goring of a bullfighter. Like Lorca's poem, "At Five in the Afternoon" is clouded over by a somber atmosphere of tragedy, death and despair. Yet the film remains remarkable for its astonishingly hopeful -- and indeed radical and revolutionary -- vision of hope for Afghanistan and indeed all of the Arab world.
Bruce Almighty (2003)
Silly yet saintly
The trailers (or previews) for "Bruce Almighty" led me to believe that it would be a frivolous frolic, full of toilet and tit-and-ass humor. And indeed it was. But the film turned out to be much more than an exercise in excess. It proved to be a movie with a message and a meaning. "Bruce Almighty" starts out silly -- but ends up saintly.
Jim Carrey stars as Bruce Nolan, a TV reporter who yearns to advance beyond feel-good human-interest items to more serious (and prestigious) news coverage as an anchorman. He fails to appreciate the things he already has, not least of which is his girlfriend, Grace Connelly (Jennifer Aniston). God finally steps in, embodied by Morgan Freeman. He gives Bruce his powers and takes a little holiday Himself.
Predictably, Bruce uses God's powers in all kinds of piddling and picayune ways, such as parting a bowl of soup like the Red Sea in "The Ten Commandments". But he starts hearing voices in his head -- the unanswered prayers of the world, or at least his immediate neighborhood. First, he tries to make sense out of the voices by organizing them. (The Post-It note sequence is priceless.)
Then he tries to make the voices go away by granting all of the things people pray for. But he soon learns that people should be careful what they wish for, and that his actions have dire consequences. As Tobey Maguire said in "Spiderman", "With great power comes great responsibility."
In the end, Bruce learns to value the humble but happy life he has always had. And he learns that being God is not about performing cheap magic tricks with the universe. It is about loving creatures who are free not to love Him back. It is also about teaching human beings that, like Dorothy in "The Wizard of Oz", they themselves have the power to answer their prayers. Or, as Gandhi put it, to "be the change that you want to see in the world".
Deeply religious people might take offence at some of the jokes in "Bruce Almighty". But that shouldn't stop them from seeing the film. Ultimately, its moral theology and philosophy of prayer are as sound and firm as the house built on rock in the gospels. As for non-believers, they may quibble with the medium -- but they can't find fault with the message.
Irréversible (2002)
Moviemaking ass backwards
I rarely walk out of a movie, but I couldn't endure more than 20 minutes of "Irreversible". It's not that I was offended by the subject matter (gang rape and gay sex). Nor did I take exception to the crude language -- and there's plenty of it, including references to fisting, but nothing I'm not used to as a gay man myself. Heck, I didn't even object to the name given to a gay leather/SM bar in the early sequences of the film. ("The Rectum" ... How's that for subtlety?)
What did me in was the sheer annoying pretentiousness of the filmmaker's technique (or lack thereof). "Irreversible" makes Dogma look like Capra. The leather bar scene might have been shot in a blender through a red filter, with a garbage truck for background noise. It was the cinematographic equivalent of Chinese water torture. I finally walked out, leaving a mostly unfinished soda behind, and made sure I got a free pass to compensate for the purgatory I had just endured.
I heartily recommend this film ... never be seen by anyone.
Les invasions barbares (2003)
The Decline of Denys Arcand
Before I went to see "The Barbarian Invasions", the buzz in Cannes was that it packed an incredible emotional punch. Apparently, the critics were moved to tears. The subject matter certainly warrants such a response. After all, the film is about a man with terminal cancer, who reconciles with his wife and son, and renews acquaintances with old friends.
Personally, "The Barbarian Invasions" left me dry-eyed and stony-faced. First of all, I find it incredible that Louise and Sebastien can so suddenly and completely forgive Remy, a cheating husband and an absent father. More importantly, I find it hard to sympathize with a man who, by his own admission, has learned nothing by the end of his life.
The version shown in Cannes had 12 minutes cut from it. I couldn't help wondering if I was seeing the same one. The editing seemed choppy at times, some of the scenes rather brief and abrupt.
The title seems to have very little to do with the film as a whole. There is a very brief allusion to 9/11 as the beginning of the barbarian invasions that attacked the heart of the American empire, but that is all.
I went to see the film with my sister in Montreal. She's a pediatric nurse, and says the depiction of hospital conditions is bang on. Granted. But Remy's son (Stephane Rousseau) magically transforms an empty floor into a state-of-the-art private room. He overcomes opposition from the hospital administrator and a union shop steward. He has a seemingly endless supply of cash at his disposal. (It would be interesting if someone sat down and did the math.) He obtains heroin to ease his father's suffering, while a narc (Roy Dupuis) turns a blind eye. It's all too easy and thus too much to swallow, even if we accept it as exaggeration for comic effect.
Years ago, I saw "The Decline of the American Empire", to which "The Barbarian Invasions" is a sequel or companion-piece. "The Decline" was far superior. It gave us a much better feel for the relationships among Remy, his wife, his mistresses and his other university professor friends. My friends and I talked about "The Decline" for years. We had endless fun citing lines from the script at the oddest moments.
"The Barbarian Invasions" has its good points. Some characters are cardboard caricatures. (Remy's more recent mistresses, in particular, annoyed me no end.) But Dorothee Berryman managed to touch my heart briefly, and Marie-Josee Croze certainly deserved her Cannes Best Actress award as a junkie who redeems herself.
There is an interesting bit about how genius has presided over certain critical moments in history. There is the usual academic name-dropping, reminiscent of "The Decline"'s references to Susan Sontag and other luminaries of the intelligentsia. Arcand also takes a few jabs at the Catholic Church, but fails to analyze or explain its "decline" -- or to offer a viable alternative in its place.
But, ultimately, "The Barbarian Invasions" is immediately forgettable. To be sure, there are echoes of "The Decline" -- similar set-pieces of dialogue, even similar dolly and other camera shots. When Yves Jacques served dinner to the assembled friends, I thought for sure it would be coulibiac again. But the sequel just doesn't hold a candle to the original. If you want to see Denys Arcand before his decline, see "The Decline".
Laurel Canyon (2002)
Deep canyon, shallow people
"Laurel Canyon" is a depressingly passionless exercise in storytelling. Frances McDormand brings a modicum of bite and edge to the film. Other than that, I found the script rather dull, lifeless and boring, virtually devoid of humour.
The characters are stereotypical and divided into two basic categories. The central couple (Christian Bale and Kate Beckinsale are dour and serious. She is writing a dissertation on the lovelife of fruitflies and its implications for Homo sapiens, for heaven's sake. The people around them (Frances McDormand and the band she is producing) are made out to be spontaneous, alive and exciting.
But they are merely filling the emotional void of their lives with sex, drugs, and rock and roll. The drugs are good, but the sex is nothing but tawdry titillation, and even their music doesn't "pull them in", as Kate Beckinsale observes. It takes forever for them to put an album together, thanks partly to the relentless, pestering cell-phone calls of Claudia, an entrepreneur interested only in making a buck off whatever will sell.
Even the patients at Christian Bale's psychiatric hospital seem pretty sane. They can only manage psychotic episodes. They are not even capable of full-out psychosis.
Kate Beckinsale is (quite unbelievably) sucked into this emotional vacuum, almost to the point of having sex with her boyfriend's mom (Frances McDormand). Christian Bale, on the other hand, stolidly resists yielding to temptation.But the film suggests that his moral scruples are stogdy and stultifying.
I swear the whole sordid affair caused the young fellow next to me to doze off in his seat. After enduring this dreary meditation on what passes for passion in the 21st century, I wanted to go to sleep too. And never wake up.
Russkiy kovcheg (2002)
Adrift without a compass
"Russian Ark" is advertised as being a cinematic achievement: a 90-minute film shot in one continuous take. In my view, this is the least interesting aspect of the film. It doesn't help that some sequences wind their way through shadowy subterraneous staircases.
More impressive is the final sequence, in which a cast of 3,000 actors exits en masse from the Hermitage (or the Winter Palace), a museum in St. Petersburg. The costumes and wigs are breathtakingly lavish and sumptuous. This is visually the most enjoyable aspect of the film.
Several things bothered me about "Russian Ark". It is not so much cinema as theatre -- and theatre of the absurd at that. Its tone is surrealistic, non-linear, dreamlike. We travel back and forth through time. The boundaries between centuries are blurred. This is bound to cause confusion for viewers not well versed in world history, let alone the history of the Russian people. It helps if viewers have some knowledge of period costume. They can then distinguish among the Medici-style headdresses of the 16th century, the powdered wigs and waistcoats of the 18th, and the starched, pointed collars of the 19th. Otherwise, viewers are likely to feel that they are adrift without a compass -- not a good thing when you are aboard an ark. Mind you, the widespread historical illiteracy of modern times justifies the guide's assertion that "Everyone sees the future, but no one remembers the past."
Equally annoying are the Eurocentric and reactionary tone of the whole affair. One gets the distinct impression of a nostalgia for an era of "culture" seen through the lens of the leisured upper class. Artistically speaking, this "culture" is to be found only in Europe. (Our Virgil-like guide sniffs, "Russian music gives me hives." Russian authors and composers (Pushkin, Glinka) are mentioned dismissively in passing. ("I read Pushkin in French. Nothing special.") Politically, this "culture" is monarchical, autocratic, anti-democratic, anti-revolutionary. Russia's Golden Age stretches back to the days of Catherine the Great and ended, it seems, with the Romanoffs (Nicholas and Alexandra). After that, if we are to believe "Russian Ark", came nothing but revolution, war and bloodshed too horrible to contemplate or even visualize on screen. Yet the film mentions two historical events that were disastrous for Russia and for the Hermitage: the Napoleonic wars and the siege of Stalingrad (as St. Petersburg was later called). Both involved invasions by European armies.
"Russian Ark" offers an interesting meditation on history as the dialectic between death and eternity, time and timelessness. Art, literature, music and (by extension) cinema capture "eternal people". The only problem is, these people (like the guide in "Russian Ark") are stuck forever in time, smelling of formaldehyde and death. Culture and history are worth preserving only insofar as they shed light on the present and the future. As George Santayana wrote, "Those who do not learn from history are condemned to repeat it."
Im toten Winkel - Hitlers Sekretärin (2002)
"Blind Spot" should be required viewing
The title of this German documentary ("Im Toten Winkel - Hitlers Sekretarin") would be more accurately translated as "The Dead Zone: Hitler's Secretary". An even better title would be "Dead Calm", as in the eye of a hurricane. The narrator or interviewee, Traudl Humps Junge, maintains that -- far from being at the hub of the Nazi regime and privy to sensitive political and military information -- she was actually completely out of the loop in the splendid isolation of the Wolf's Lair.
But "Blind Spot" is an equally apt description of Frau Junge's vantage point on Hilter and the war years, especially at the beginning of her career. The Hitler she knew was partly a creation of her own mind. She admits that she was attracted to him as a benevolent father figure, one she needed to compensate for the shortcomings of her own parents. The Hitler she depicts in the first half of the documentary is light-years removed from the Hitler portrayed by Noah Taylor in the recent feature film "Max".Frau Junge's Hitler is almost endearing ("gentle" is her word), with his fondness for his pet dog Blondie, and his abstemious lifestyle as a vegetarian and teetotaller.
Yet, in retrospect, Frau Junge wonders why she did not see Hitler for the monster he turned out to be. If nothing else, he lived in total denial of the realities of global conflict and mass genocide. He preferred to eat with his secretaries and avoid the war talk of his male staff. When travelling through a devastated Germany by train, he kept the window blinds pulled down. He was careful about his diet, yet this did not prevent him from being dyspeptic and suffering from digestive complaints.
In the second half of the documentary, Frau Junge details Hitler's last days before committing suicide in his bunker. Over and over, she uses the same three adjectives like a refrain or leitmotiv: "nightmarish", "weird", "macabre". Her face shows little emotion, except when she speaks of the six Goebbels children who were injected with poison because their mother could not conceive of life after the Third Reich. Her voice is calm and strong. (Indeed, I found myself able to udnerstand much of the original German because her diction was so clear.) Her version of events does not sound rehearsed. Like anyone else recalling a distant past, she sometimes forgets to recount something and must backtrack. She is a credible witness to history -- and yet, at the same time, her story is that of someone wearing blinkers or with tunnel vision. As the old saying goes, "Hindsight is better than foresight", and "There is none so blind as he who will not see."
Hitler's denial of reality, and Frau Junge's "blind spot", are the reflection in microcosm of an entire nation's unwillingness, for decades, to acknowledge its responsibility for the horrors of the Nazi regime. Frau Junge says that even the revelations of the death camps, and the Nuremberg trials, were not enough to force the German people to look themselves squarely in the face. She herself did not tell her story for almost 60 years.
Just before the lights go up, we learn that Frau Junge died of cancer the day after the documentary premiered in Berlin. In her last conversation with the filmmakers, she confessed, "I think I am just now beginning to forgive myself."
Être et avoir (2002)
A voir (Must see)
The Jesuits have a saying: "Give me a child until he is seven, and after that you may do what you like with him." The French documentary "Etre et Avoir" (To Be and To Have) bears out the truth of this statement.
Over the course of a year in Georges Lopez's one-room schoolhouse in the French rural region of Auvergne, we see how even very young children already have well-defined personalities. One is almost tempted to conclude that their characters are set in stone by the age of six or seven. We are gradually introduced to shy, withdrawn Nathalie, strong and capable Julien, lackadaisical Jojo. By the end of the documentary, one wishes there might be a sequel (along the lines of Michael Apted's "7 Up" series), so that we could see how these children fare later in life.
The title of the film has two meanings. On a literal level, it refers to the infinitives of the two basic French verbs, which all pupils must learn to conjugate. But, on a more profound level, the title refers to the fact that education is more that simply learning one's ABCs. It is about shaping a child's character and attitude to life. Schoolteacher Georges Lopez uses everyday situations to teach his small charges, not only reading, writing and arithmetic, but the value of work, strategies for resolving conflicts, and other valuable people skills.
The documentary starts off a little slowly and could be more tightly edited in its opening sequences. But soon the viewer is hooked and drawn into this little world in microcosm -- and perhaps nostalgic for that once-in-a-lifetime period of our lives, when innocence and joy have not yet lost their lustre, and all things seem possible.
Xiao cai feng (2002)
Film comes apart at the seams
Boys meet girl. Girl meets books. Boys lose girl.
Whoever said "No girl was ever spoiled by reading a book"?
"Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress" is supposed to be an ode to the transforming power of music and literature, beauty and love. But it fails to fulfil its promise, and downplays transformations of another kind. It makes light of the Cultural Revolution effected in China by Chairman Mao Zedong, portrays the Chinese people as unschooled rubes. It overlooks the fact that the primary means of disseminating Chairman Mao's wisdom was, in fact, a book -- his "Little Red Book". All we get is a rehash of simplistic contrasts between revolutionary and reactionary, peasant and bourgeois.
In the end, of course, progress and modernity triumph. Or do they? The much-vaunted "culture" of bourgeois intellectuals, embodied in the novels of Balzac, Dumas and Stendhal, ultimately yields the decadent opulence of consumerism. The re-educated boys' greatest gift to the little Chinese seamstress is to teach her how to read (and think). But in the end, the best they can offer her is a little bottle of perfume by Yves Saint Laurent.
Ironically, progress proves to be destructive, wiping out the past. But the film's denouement reaches neither the soaring heights of joy, nor the searing depths of tragedy, "Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress" manages no more than a wistful nostalgia.
The Core (2003)
For hard-Core fans only
This is one film you should not see without wearing Depends. You'll wet your pants with laughter at this silly, sappy, pseudo-scientific saga with its senseless script. (How's that for alliteration?) It breaks my heart to see actors like Hilary Swank (Boys Don't Cry), Aaron Eckhart (Possession) and Stanley Tucci (A Midsummer Night's Dream) having to recite such fatuous dialogue with a straight face. In Ms. Swank's case, boys don't cry -- but she should.
Aside from the ridiculous story and script, I resent the blatant product placements. Within minutes of the opening credits, we are treated to, not one, but two ads for Pepsi and Mountain Dew. Oh, and keep your eyes open for the split-second flash of the Nike swoosh.
Parts of "The Core" just scream for audience participation a la Rocky Horror. At one point, someone lands an uppercut on Stanley Tucci's chin. I could help blurting out, "Thanks -- I needed that!" And later in the film, the score was so reminiscent of "2001: A Space Odyssey" that I started doing the boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom of "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" (also the theme of the "Wings of Man" commercial).
It's ironic that the craft drilling its way into the Earth's core is named Virgil. Like Dante's Virgil, "The Core" leads us into two hours of pure hell.
Perhaps there should be a sequel. They could always call it "Destiny's Child". (If you've seen the movie, you'll understand.)
El crimen del padre Amaro (2002)
The real crime is that this film was nominated for an Oscar
Let me get this straight. Pedro Almodovar's "Talk to Her" wasn't even entered in the race for Best Foreign Film of 2002, but this Mexican melodrama was? Puh-leeze.
Okay, I grant you that "The Crime of Padre Amaro" is well acted by both its leading and supporting cast. I am even prepared to admit that the movie is well shot or filmed. But the story and script are all wrong. I don't care if the screenplay was adapted from another source. What part of "based upon" doesn't the director understand? Other works, even great or popular literary works, have been tinkered with to good advantage. (A case in point is "Gone with the Wind", which uses very little of the dialogue from the Margaret Mitchell's novel, and eliminates several minor characters, but was hailed as substantially faithful to the original.)
The problem with "Padre Amaro" is ... well, Padre Amaro (played by Gael Garcia Bernal). A handsome young priest, fresh out of the seminary, is appointed vicar of a parish steeped in corruption and cynicism, and placed in a situation that challenges his vow of celibacy. So you would expect some conflict between his idealism and the cynicism of those around him, wouldn't you? And a struggle between his vow as a priest and his urges as a man?
But that's not what you get. Instead, we see the young priest dutifully act as hatchet man for his worldly superiors, and give in to the urges of the flesh with nary or barely a fight. The result is a film with not enough contrast or conflict among disparate elements. To paraphrase a popular saying, it is not one rotten apple that spoils the whole barrel. Rather, it is the whole barrel that spoils the only healthy apple left.
To be fair, there are two virtuous characters in this film: Father Natalio, who works to protect peasant farmers from the exactions of drug lords, and Agustina Sanjuanera, the parish priest's loving, caring mistress. But these are minor characters whose goodness does not suffice to compensate for the main character's fall from grace.
The name "Amaro" is only one letter removed from the Spanish word "amargo", which means bitter ... and that's the taste this film left in my mouth.
Spider (2002)
I remember Mama -- well, sort of ...
"Spider" is one of those movies that is difficult, almost impossible, to review without giving away the whole show. I twigged to the theme or concept very early on, and spent the rest of the film watching to see how it would play out.
When you see the adult Spider in scenes that he could not possibly have witnessed as a boy, you know something is up. When Miranda Richardson plays a dual role, the ante is upped even more. When another character undergoes a sudden transformation, it takes the film to a whole new level.
Listen closely as Spider sings a best-loved Christmas carol, and that will give you a further clue to what the movie is all about.
I would also warn you that the trailer or preview is a bit of a cheat, i.e., misleading. But then, that seems to be a common advertising ploy these days.
"Spider" is brilliantly acted by the stellar cast of Ralph Fiennes, Miranda Richardson, Gabriel Byrne and Lynn Redgrave. One only wishes that director David Cronenberg had spun his web a little finer. Some might see his film as an exercise in Freudian psychology. Others, of a feminist bent, might view it as a misogynistic diatribe. Either way, "Spider" is about a subtle as a shovel over the head.
The Guru (2002)
When Sari met Kali
When Sari met Kali
There are two real stars in "The Guru". One, of course, is lead actor Jimi Mistry as the self-styled "guru of sex", spouting a philosophy of pleasure that can most aptly be described as a cross between Dr. Ruth and Dr. Phil. It's a tough assignment, but Mistry (ahem) rises to the occasion and (ahem, ahem) pulls it off. It doesn't hurt that the Indian actor is eye candy from any angle, with a winning and winsome smile, and the way he dances "to his inner beat".
The other "star" of "The Guru" is its Bollywood-extravaganza-style choreography. When the cast drops everything to stage a musical number, it just fills you with a pure and exuberant joy.
Christine Baranski, Marisa Tomei and Heather Graham lend their talents to this inspired bit of silliness, but it is really Jimi Mistry's vehicle all the way. His charm and energy give the film its heart and soul.
The Life of David Gale (2003)
Could have been better executed
When I first saw the preview (or trailer) for "The Life of David Gale", I had two immediate gut reactions. (1) The title sucked big time -- boring! (2) I figured out the gimmick (or the punchline) right away.
After seeing the movie in its entirety, I still feel the same way about the title, and I was not far wrong about what the ending would be. The film reached its conclusion by a more circuitous route than I anticipated, but I felt it was predictable nonetheless. Competent, but predictable.
I found myself distracted by minor details. Those of you who speak Spanish should watch the signs at the prison for a major booboo (spelling error). I was also put off by the names of some of the characters. For instance, David Gale (Kevin Spacey) gets involved with one of his students, a girl who goes by the unlikely name of Berlin. Kate Winslet's character, a journalist, is a (pseudo) feminist who wants to be taken seriously. So why on earth does she sport a moniker like "Bitsy"? Counterproductive, if you ask me.
David Gale is saddled with a fatal flaw, but no reason for it. This smacks of the modern-day tendency to blame all character weaknesses on our genes and to deny any personal responsibility for them. The classic definition of a tragic hero is someone with a flaw that arouses fear and pity. David Gale's flaw rightly makes us fear for him. But do we pity him? I certainly don't. And that means the film, too, has a tragic flaw.
Cidade de Deus (2002)
R for repetitive
I'll admit up front that "City of God" is technically stylish and innovative filmmaking. But as storytelling, it leaves a great deal to be desired. And talk about violent! After two hours, I felt as if I had watched a year of American television. I lost track of the shots fired and the bodies piling up. I suppose "City of God" is meant to be a shocking commentary on the state of Brazilian society, but I very quickly stopped caring about any of the characters or what happened to them. If the film had been less scattered and more focused, and if it had been less cynical and more hopeful, I might have sat up and paid attention. As it is, I spent much of the film either wishing it was over, or sleeping through it. (Mind you, I'm probably the only person who ever slept through the D-Day sequence of "Saving Private Ryan". But that's another story.)
I came out of the cinema thinking of various alternative titles for the film. Here's a few to give you an idea of my state of mind:
Gods and Mobsters Brazil .66 Nobody Gets Out Alive (apologies to Jim Morrison) Boys from Brazil in the 'Hood
You get my drift ... I rate "City of God" R for repetitive.
Metropolis (1927)
Using the heritage of the past to build a vision of the future
Last night, I saw the most recently restored version of "Metropolis" at an art-house/repertory cinema. I am 46 going on 47. The demographic in the theater, on the contrary, was heavily stacked in favor of the college crowd. I assumed the majority were young film students coming to see one of the all-time classics.
To my great sorrow, I distinctly heard snickering around me during the film. No doubt, the object of their ridicule was the exaggerated facial expressions and gestures of the actors in Fritz Lang's masterpiece. That I grant you. Perhaps, too, a decade after the fall of communism, the young people could afford to look down their noses at the naivete of Lang's message of understanding and cooperation between capital and labor. ("The mediator between the head and the hands must be the heart!")
I dare say, too, the young people of today are not conversant with the many biblical references and images that Lang uses to tell his tale. For instance, he compares machinery to Moloch, the pagan god to whom parents sacrificed their children in Old Testament times. Lang also reappropriates the Tower of Babel myth, combining it with images of Hebrew slavery in Egypt before Moses the deliverer came along. Maria's sermon preaches a messianic hope, against a backdrop of crosses and candles, in the catacombs, no less.
But surely the college crowd cannot have been mocking the technical brilliance of "Metropolis". Filmed 75 years ago, long before the special-effects wizardry of our own era, Lang's film is breathtaking in its visual impact, its architectural vision of the future, its depiction of a world where man is dominated by machines.
At times, Lang's art-deco inspired Metropolis is uncannily prophetic (and, for us, reminiscent) of the Nazi and Fascist milieus of the 1930s. It is precisely this vision of the future -- and not only the distant future, but (even more eerily) the future only a few years away -- that is Lang's greatest achievement.
I defy any director of our time to adapt and retell the story of "Metropolis", and do it half as well as Fritz Lang did.
One final note: I saw this latest version of "Metropolis" mainly to hear the original score. I must admit I liked the "Metropolis" theme best of all. There was one piece (I forget where in the film) that seemed to me somewhat inappropriate and out of place. On the whole, it was fine music. Still, I remain fond of the more modern Giorgio Moroder score (plus songs by various artists, such as Freddie Mercury) in the partially colorized version of "Metropolis".
Max (2002)
Portrait of the artist as a young madman
To be quite frank, I didn't find much to praise about "Max".
I like John Cusack a lot as an actor, but thought he was woefully miscast as Max Rothman, a Jewish art dealer in 1918. Cusack's American accent is forgivable, since everybody else speaks English in the film. (Only Noah Taylor manages a credible German accent.) But Cusack's look and mannerisms are far too 21-st-century to let us believe in his screen persona for a second. Cusack struck me as a kind of Connecticut Yankee in Kaiser Wilhelm's court.
It doesn't help that the script uses expressions and turns of phrase that are also anachronistic.
The female cast members are totally wasted. Leelee Sobieski might as well not be there at all, and she looks far too puffy and overly made up to be anybody's idea of a sexy mistress.
The climax (pun intended) of the film is entirely predictable. Surely the scriptwriter could have thought of a subtler denouement. I also found little finesse in the director's cutting back and forth from scenes of culture-loving Jews in an ambiance of wealth, and less-than-cultured Germans in squalid surroundings.
Noah Taylor's performance is fine, yet flawed. His Hitler is almost human, although of course more pitiful than likeable. But the portrayal goes over the top in at least one scene, where Hitler's speechifying degenerates into mere foaming at the mouth. Noah Taylor's last speech is more controlled and thus more credible. And even then, his leap from the lowbrow beer-hall crowd to a hall of middle-class hausfraus is too abrupt and hard to swallow.
I give the movie a 3 out of 5 -- max!