October 20
THE CHILD (dir., Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne) (75)
Back to the hustlers' world of LA PROMESSE but it's also, more strikingly, the other side of THE SON - both being tales of redemption, specifically what needs to happen after a terrible thing is done so it can be (morally) undone. But THE SON is a tale of Forgiveness, the most exalted form of expiation - because a sin/transgression creates a duty on the victim as well, the duty to rise above hatred - while this is a tale of Punishment, operating on the more prosaic level of the perpetrator's need to cleanse himself morally by doing penance. Obv. less sublime, and also schematic like much of the brothers' work - he redeems the wrong done to one boy by rescuing another boy, just as Olivier Gourmet in THE SON did his duty to one boy by forgiving another - but the stark moral landscape feeds into the stark physical landscape (the usual windswept streets, payphones, culverts) to create undeniable highlights. Twice I held my breath, riveted to the screen - when Renier falls to his knees asking forgiveness, then later when he tries to help the kid out of the freezing river (water seems to hold an atavistic terror for the brothers, what with this and the Death Pond in ROSETTA). Kudos also for delaying the girlfriend's righteous anger - most films would have her lashing out when she finds out about the [SPOILER] but this saves it for later, when Renier has become aware of what he's done and feels her rage more acutely. Cruel to be kind, etc...
FORTY SHADES OF BLUE (dir., Ira Sachs) (47)
Sachs mentions Loach and Pialat in the press notes - and I swear he's quoting LE GARCU in that bit where everyone dances in formation on the dance-floor - but his own film is a lot neater, and less interesting as it goes on. The first 15 mins. or so are superb, driven by contrasts - Rip Torn's angry edge vs. golden light and warm soul-music; dark bearlike Torn vs. long angular Russian blonde Dina Korzun - with a jagged rhythm reminiscent of Alan Rudolph. Then Darren Burrows turns up, very dull as Torn's son (actually worse than dull; he's supposed to be damaged, but just seems smug and sulky), and Korzun becomes the outsider who operates as the film's conscience, telling Americans how spoiled they are ('back home in Rrrussia', etc etc); she doesn't even seduce the son out of revenge - which might have complicated matters - they just kind of end up together because Torn is treating them badly (he, meanwhile, gets reduced to a stock tyrant, barking orders into phones). Good intentions, major disappointment.
VIVA CUBA! (dir., Juan Carlos Cremata) W/O
Strangely enough, I had a Mojito just a few minutes before watching this; pure coincidence, only realised it later. (This will hopefully be the last mention of pre-movie boozing on this blog.) The film itself turns out to be a kidpic shot on crappy-looking video, with straight-faced Che iconography and a Revolutionary message on class equality. I only lasted 15 mins. though it's well-made if that's what you're looking for, and won the Kids' Movie prize at Cannes and everything. Me, I think I'll peruse the Festival synopses a bit more carefully from now on.
DARK HORSE (dir., Dagur Kari) (61)
Deadpan sub-Jarmusch slacker comedy in dirty b&w; hugely, unexpectedly funny for about an hour, but why do these things always run out of steam? (Makes you appreciate DUCK SEASON even more.) I recall just one shot from the last 20 minutes - you'll know the one; you literally can't miss it - whereas I recall all kinds of good stuff before that. The girl in the bakery talking to the doughnuts (she's on drugs at the time). Grandma's house introduced via a strange whirring sound - hero looks worried - then a tree suddenly toppling into frame (cue Grandma, wielding a chainsaw). "When you talk about A-level taxes and B-level taxes, my mind goes blank and I don't want to live anymore." Dad's dodgy friend, who tries to explain the situation to our hero ("Let's say that you are the colour green..."). The girl with a bust of her torso in her bedroom - "That's me, mass-produced" - and hero surreptitiously brushing his hands against the nipples when her back is turned. The magistrate who levitates (!) for his daughter's little friends at her birthday party ("Can you do magic tricks?"). Ultimate Bringing-Down-the-House Moment: hero and heroine talk in a cafe - "I think I'm coming down with the 'flu"; "Hmm, could be an ear infection" - as one ... then two ... then three elephants appear, solemnly ambling down the street through the window behind them.
TIME TO LEAVE (dir., Francois Ozon) (55)
Why do people bother with terminal-illness movies? You can't win. Go for raw realism, chemo treatments etc and you end up with a downer; consciously try to aestheticise the experience (as this does), and you risk being labelled glossy and shallow. Having hero look at people in the park with rueful yearning, see his childhood self in the mirror, think back to the moment long ago when he first (presumably) realised he was gay, is obv. inadequate but quite effective. Having him start being cruel and selfish - refusing to share his death with others (who don't even know he's dying) - rather than try to be nice to everyone, is refreshing. Having him meet a waitress who asks him to have her baby (her husband is sterile) is at first distracting, then courageous, because the thing turns into a mess (the husband has to strip as well, so hero can get it up in the first place, and they end up on the bed in a tangle of limbs) and the audience find themselves laughing shamefacedly at a terminal-illness movie. Having him start to throw up and bang his head against the wall in the final act is too little, too late. The ending is total DEATH IN VENICE, the whole thing elegant and disposable. Question I Wish I'd Asked Ozon in the Q&A: So what do people who've actually lost loved ones to cancer in real life think of your movie? Also, beware: Arvo Part is back in the (art)house.
Back to the hustlers' world of LA PROMESSE but it's also, more strikingly, the other side of THE SON - both being tales of redemption, specifically what needs to happen after a terrible thing is done so it can be (morally) undone. But THE SON is a tale of Forgiveness, the most exalted form of expiation - because a sin/transgression creates a duty on the victim as well, the duty to rise above hatred - while this is a tale of Punishment, operating on the more prosaic level of the perpetrator's need to cleanse himself morally by doing penance. Obv. less sublime, and also schematic like much of the brothers' work - he redeems the wrong done to one boy by rescuing another boy, just as Olivier Gourmet in THE SON did his duty to one boy by forgiving another - but the stark moral landscape feeds into the stark physical landscape (the usual windswept streets, payphones, culverts) to create undeniable highlights. Twice I held my breath, riveted to the screen - when Renier falls to his knees asking forgiveness, then later when he tries to help the kid out of the freezing river (water seems to hold an atavistic terror for the brothers, what with this and the Death Pond in ROSETTA). Kudos also for delaying the girlfriend's righteous anger - most films would have her lashing out when she finds out about the [SPOILER] but this saves it for later, when Renier has become aware of what he's done and feels her rage more acutely. Cruel to be kind, etc...
FORTY SHADES OF BLUE (dir., Ira Sachs) (47)
Sachs mentions Loach and Pialat in the press notes - and I swear he's quoting LE GARCU in that bit where everyone dances in formation on the dance-floor - but his own film is a lot neater, and less interesting as it goes on. The first 15 mins. or so are superb, driven by contrasts - Rip Torn's angry edge vs. golden light and warm soul-music; dark bearlike Torn vs. long angular Russian blonde Dina Korzun - with a jagged rhythm reminiscent of Alan Rudolph. Then Darren Burrows turns up, very dull as Torn's son (actually worse than dull; he's supposed to be damaged, but just seems smug and sulky), and Korzun becomes the outsider who operates as the film's conscience, telling Americans how spoiled they are ('back home in Rrrussia', etc etc); she doesn't even seduce the son out of revenge - which might have complicated matters - they just kind of end up together because Torn is treating them badly (he, meanwhile, gets reduced to a stock tyrant, barking orders into phones). Good intentions, major disappointment.
VIVA CUBA! (dir., Juan Carlos Cremata) W/O
Strangely enough, I had a Mojito just a few minutes before watching this; pure coincidence, only realised it later. (This will hopefully be the last mention of pre-movie boozing on this blog.) The film itself turns out to be a kidpic shot on crappy-looking video, with straight-faced Che iconography and a Revolutionary message on class equality. I only lasted 15 mins. though it's well-made if that's what you're looking for, and won the Kids' Movie prize at Cannes and everything. Me, I think I'll peruse the Festival synopses a bit more carefully from now on.
DARK HORSE (dir., Dagur Kari) (61)
Deadpan sub-Jarmusch slacker comedy in dirty b&w; hugely, unexpectedly funny for about an hour, but why do these things always run out of steam? (Makes you appreciate DUCK SEASON even more.) I recall just one shot from the last 20 minutes - you'll know the one; you literally can't miss it - whereas I recall all kinds of good stuff before that. The girl in the bakery talking to the doughnuts (she's on drugs at the time). Grandma's house introduced via a strange whirring sound - hero looks worried - then a tree suddenly toppling into frame (cue Grandma, wielding a chainsaw). "When you talk about A-level taxes and B-level taxes, my mind goes blank and I don't want to live anymore." Dad's dodgy friend, who tries to explain the situation to our hero ("Let's say that you are the colour green..."). The girl with a bust of her torso in her bedroom - "That's me, mass-produced" - and hero surreptitiously brushing his hands against the nipples when her back is turned. The magistrate who levitates (!) for his daughter's little friends at her birthday party ("Can you do magic tricks?"). Ultimate Bringing-Down-the-House Moment: hero and heroine talk in a cafe - "I think I'm coming down with the 'flu"; "Hmm, could be an ear infection" - as one ... then two ... then three elephants appear, solemnly ambling down the street through the window behind them.
TIME TO LEAVE (dir., Francois Ozon) (55)
Why do people bother with terminal-illness movies? You can't win. Go for raw realism, chemo treatments etc and you end up with a downer; consciously try to aestheticise the experience (as this does), and you risk being labelled glossy and shallow. Having hero look at people in the park with rueful yearning, see his childhood self in the mirror, think back to the moment long ago when he first (presumably) realised he was gay, is obv. inadequate but quite effective. Having him start being cruel and selfish - refusing to share his death with others (who don't even know he's dying) - rather than try to be nice to everyone, is refreshing. Having him meet a waitress who asks him to have her baby (her husband is sterile) is at first distracting, then courageous, because the thing turns into a mess (the husband has to strip as well, so hero can get it up in the first place, and they end up on the bed in a tangle of limbs) and the audience find themselves laughing shamefacedly at a terminal-illness movie. Having him start to throw up and bang his head against the wall in the final act is too little, too late. The ending is total DEATH IN VENICE, the whole thing elegant and disposable. Question I Wish I'd Asked Ozon in the Q&A: So what do people who've actually lost loved ones to cancer in real life think of your movie? Also, beware: Arvo Part is back in the (art)house.
posted by Theo at 4:46 PM
2 Comments:
Dark Horse was one of the handful of UCR films I skipped, and it didn't turn up at Toronto. It better get no higher than a 52.
Good job dissing Forty Shades of Generic Indiewood Tedium.
*For* kiddie commies. And no. Trust me on this one.
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