FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION

Written by Eugene Levy and Christopher Guest
Directed by Christopher Guest

It starts around September and goes right through until January when the nominations are announced. Hollywood slowly unveils their most thought-provoking, most dramatic, most controversial films. Some launch in hundreds of theatres throughout North America; others launch in just dozens. Every facet of the way the film is marketed needs to be just right. The stars need to make the talk-show rounds while the critical circles lay claim to their yearly favorites. You don’t want to be oversold and disappoint nor do you want to go unnoticed. What you want is your name called at that ungodly hour. When it is, you will no longer be introduced by your name alone. From now on, your name will always be preceded by Academy Award Nominee. The moniker will open doors for you, get you better scripts with better directors and better paychecks. If you’re none too careful though, it could also get you an overinflated ego that could cause major rifts on set. The doors that open lead to bigger rooms which means bigger possibility for public humiliation when you start to think you’re so much better than you actually are. All of this also means huge potential for laughs and jabs should the entire process of an actor’s performance on it’s way to an Oscar nomination be parodied, especially if it is to be parodied by writers, Christopher Guest and Eugene Levy, of BEST IN SHOW and WAITING FOR GUFFMAN fame. Huge potential can go either way though and sadly for Guest, Levy and the rest of the gang, their latest, FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION, a movie about a movie that starts to generate Oscar buzz, does not live up to its own awards season hype.

As the cast of characters is introduced and the scene is set, promise is shown. Guest himself plays Jay Berman, the director of the small Hollywood production, “Home for Purim.” The film stars veteran film actress, Marilyn Hack (Catherine O’Hara), as a mother nearing her death whose family has come home for the Jewish holiday. Joining Hack in front of the camera are Dad (Harry Shearer), son (Christoper Moynihan), daughter (Parker Posey) and her (scandal!) girlfriend (Mary Pat Hooligan). Other Guest regulars like John Michael Higgins as a neurotic PR guy and Jennifer Coolidge as a vapid producer fill out the space behind the camera. Bob Balaban and Michael McKean play the possessive writing team while Fred Willard and Jane Lynch play entertainment show hosts with permanent smiles hiding their empty souls. The size of the cast stretches so far that when Marilyn learns that an internet site believes her performance to be Oscar worthy, the reaction ripples further than it should. There is no time to develop anyone past the quirkiness that exemplifies most Guest character creations. With a running time of under an hour and half, clearly the time could have been taken. O’Hara’s Hack does receive more focus than any other but even her storyline seems to be missing an enormous chunk as her progression goes from intriguing to perplexing. The Oscar buzz leads to more attention and more focus on the cast and then suddenly, the film ends. I felt as though nothing had happened when so much should have.


While the film does not satisfy on the surface, it does make a strong statement on the ridiculousness of the awards season. Now I’m an Oscar enthusiast but even I can acknowledge how silly the whole thing is. The title, FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION, comes from a common practice for production companies to take out full page ads in Variety asking Academy voters to consider a particular performance when they are making their picks. In the context of Guest’s film, it seems to be asking voters to consider something else entirely, like how out of control this process has become. Recognizing certain performances over others negates the craft itself and creates a hierarchy of status amidst the acting community. As if actors didn’t doubt their abilities enough to begin with, the need for an Oscar to validate your career choice forces talent to become second to recognition. Guest’s inclusion of the entertainment show or film critics and fair-weather executive producers only further criticizes all the hands that manipulate the machine. No role in Hollywood goes untouched by Guest; they all get swept up in the false reality of the pinnacle of success known as the Academy Awards.

Ironically, Catherine O’Hara’s performance in FOR YOUR COSIDERATION has begun to generate some Oscar buzz of its own (which I just contributed to). But anyone who knows a thing or two about what gets a name onto an Oscar ballot knows that no matter how good a performance is (and this one is pretty darn good but not that good), if said performance is better than the film it comes from, the walk to the podium gets that much longer. Christopher Guest better make sure he books ad space in Variety early.

FAST FOOD NATION

Written by Eric Schlosser & Richard Linklater
Directed by Richard Linklater

I’ve tried on a number of occasions to eliminate McDonald’s from my diet. The first time I tried was a few years back, after reading Eric Schlosser’s non-fiction work, FAST FOOD NATION. I remember going to buy fries for the last time before reading the chapter entitled, “Why the Fries Taste so Good.” I had to go for that last fry before I could never look at them the same way again. I went for months without a Big Mac or a Quarter Pounder with cheese but it didn’t last. Eventually I succumbed to my cravings that persisted despite the time that had elapsed. I knew what I was doing was wrong but as I bit into my two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles and onions on a sesame seed bun, I conveniently forgot about all the chemicals in the meat, the subliminal advertising geared towards toddlers and the migrant, illegal workers in dangerous meat rendering factories that made my burger possible. No sooner had I had my last bite did my stomach twist into a tangled mess. The pain was both horrible and familiar. Unfortunately, Richard Linklater’s narrative interpretation of Schlosser’s novel is nowhere near as nauseating or as a big a turn-off as the feeling of a Big Mac sitting at the bottom of your stomach.

The decision to translate FAST FOOD NATION from a non-fiction work of in-depth investigative journalism into a narrative film is a bold one. I was apprehensive at first but Schlosser’s involvement co-writing the screenplay with Linklater made me less so. Shaping facts into a story certainly humanizes the global implications of the fast food industry but if the narrative is not compelling then there isn’t much of a point. FAST FOOD NATION tells different stories to show the wide reach of how many are affected by the fast food industry. Greg Kinnear plays Don Anderson, an advertising executive responsible for The Big One, the latest burger success at Mickey’s, the fictional fast food chain at the center of the film. Don must investigate reports that there are significant traces of cow manure in the meat (Fun!). Ashley Johnson plays Amber, a teenage Mickey’s employee who juggles school and work while she begins to see her role in the corporate machine that is waiting in her future. Wilmer Valderrama and Catalina Sandino Moreno play Raul and Sylvia, two Mexican illegal immigrants who have been brought into the United States specifically to work at the rendering plant that manufactures the millions of patties that become The Big One. Very little is revealed about the characters themselves as they are merely symbols for the bigger picture. Consequently, there is very little identification with the film. A film that is trying to tell everyone, “America … this is what you’ve become,” needs the audience to feel like this is their America.


What FAST FOOD NATION best exemplifies is America’s complacency with the progression of its society. The problems don’t stop at Mickey’s. The fast food industry is merely just one faceless industry that is driving the American people into hopeless futures. Kinnear’s Don is a prime example. He has spent his life packaging products, feeding them to people the way they like it. All the while, he has also been feeding his convenient lies to himself as well. A successful burger comes at a cost and as he travels from his board room to the assembly line and begins speaking with people who don’t have any stake in the production of The Big One, he understands that there are truths under his lies that he cannot go on ignoring. By the time we see him bite into his third burger, his apprehension to do so is rampant. Yet, he still takes that bite. This is what we do. We get fed a ton of information from different angles. The product pushers tell us how wonderful it is and the non-believers prove otherwise. Schlosser’s book, which clearly details all the subtle atrocities the fast food industry unleashes into the fabric of America to make one more dollar at the expense of its loyal customers, is well researched and fact-checked. The flip side to the convenience of fast food, from obesity to the exploitation of underage employees, is being discussed by too many people and with increasing validity to be ignored. Yet millions still take that bite.

Linklater does not shy away from expressing his disappointment in the American people nor does he mince words about his lack of optimism relating to making change on the subject. Each character’s story is brought to a close and none of them are any better for any of their efforts. Some end up exactly where they wanted not to. Some end up continuing to support the industry despite their newfound knowledge. All these choices are made to ensure money is still coming in, to ensure the American dream is still within reach. Even the youth of tomorrow fail at their attempts to affect the future. The attempt itself does show a trace of Linklater’s hope, albeit it fleeting. Despite all this, Linkalter still wants to do his part. The last ten minutes of FAST FOOD NATION bring about some of the more gruesome footage found in the film. We finally get a tour of the “kill floor” at the rendering plant, with plenty of blood and eaad cow to go around. The nausea comes too late in FAST FOOD NATION but you certainly won’t be rushing for another burger any time soon.

LITTLE CHILDREN

Written by Todd Field and Tom Perrotta
Directed by Todd Field

Writer and director, Todd Field has a special talent. He has a knack for making his audience squirm in their seats while their stomachs turn. He is not a master horror filmmaker but rather a minimal dramatist with a keen understanding of the peculiarities of human behaviour. I left his latest film, LITTLE CHILDREN, feeling like I might throw up, just as I had when I left his first and last film, IN THE BEDROOM. Only this time, I left with more than just feeling that I had been emotionally hollowed; this time I left feeling puzzled. At this point, I would ordinarily explain briefly what LITTLE CHILDREN was about but that is a task I cannot do briefly. Put simply, without grasping any of its scope at all, LITTLE CHILDREN is another slice of life picture about the banalities of suburban existence. The mommies meet in the park on a daily basis and ogle the one single dad amongst them as their kids run amuck. Husbands turn to internet pornography or other women to get the fixes they stopped getting from their wives before sitting down to dinner with them. And this particular neighborhood welcomes back a former resident, fresh from his stint in jail for exposing himself to a minor, by plastering every post on the street with signs that ask, “Are your children safe?” Field’s timely reveal of the story elements and skillfully vigorous visuals draw you in to the raw unraveling of his characters, gracefully played by Kate Winslet, Patrick Wilson and Jennifer Connelly. LITTLE CHILDREN is fascinating and compelling without having any clear reason why it is either of these things. You may ask yourself where this is all going when you watch but you won’t care to know the answer.

Life gets stale when you aren’t paying attention or even when you’re just trying to master the juggling act. Life is also very good at throwing another ball into the mess when you’ve just gotten the hang of juggling three. On one day, in the park and on a dare, Sarah Pierce (Winslet) introduces herself to Brad Adamson (Wilson). She has wagered five dollars with the other mommies that she can get Brad’s phone number. Both Brad and Sarah are married but that doesn’t factor into this game. At least it doesn’t until the bet somehow goes too far and the two kiss. They catch themselves and each other completely off guard. Sarah is married to a man she doesn’t love and has a three-year-old daughter for whom she has more distaste than love for. Brad has not been able to pass the bar exam since finishing law school and spends his evenings away from his wife (Connelly) watching teenagers skateboard when he’s supposed to be studying. Their kiss is meant to taunt the other mommies but instead it cracks their worlds open to reveal new possibilities. It isn’t long before they meet again and it isn’t long after that until they end up naked in Sarah’s laundry room. Given what an inattentive sap her husband is, it is a joy to watch Sarah send Brad signals, showing off her new bathing suit at the public pool or asking Brad to rub lotion on her back. It is also exciting to watch Brad reluctantly respond to these signals. He has a stunning and brilliant woman in his life and yet he navigates towards Sarah. It isn’t love that is growing between them but an energy that affirms to each that they are in fact alive.


LITTLE CHILDREN’s secondary plot is also brilliantly executed but adds a level of depth to a film that was already dug pretty deep to start with. When Ronnie (Jackie Earle Haley) moves back in with his mother (Phyllis Somerville), there is outrage amongst the residents of this suburb at the “pervert’s” arrival. Whereas Ronnie’s return defines the period in which Sarah and Brad’s affair takes place, it also makes the film seem as if it were trying to tackle more than it should have. The abuse Ronnie endures from some of the locals encourages sympathy for him but he is not reformed. Tying both plots together seamlessly, Ronnie violates his parole and, with flippers and snorkel in place, crashes the public pool in the middle of a heat wave, while Sarah and Brad flirt carefully in the shade. Ronnie lusts for all the tiny legs treading in the water until he is discovered. Amidst hysteria, all the children exit the pool into the arms of their parents and they all stare horrifically as authorities escort him out. What happens next is the perfect example of the dark humour that runs throughout LITTLE CHILDREN. Panic turns back into play in a split second as all the children jump back into the pool and the parents resume their previous conversations. Is Ronnie’s presence in the neighborhood truly causing anyone to lose sleep or is it just the drama that they all love? Crave? Need?

It was only after I left the theatre that I was able to reel in all my thoughts on LITTLE CHILDREN. A conversation in a yellow cab led me to see that the key lies in the title. As Sarah runs from the responsibility of having a daughter, as Brad plays football with his buddies when he should be studying, as Sarah’s husband surfs for porn while he’s at work, as Brad’s wife purposefully drops her spoon on the floor so she can look under the table to catch her husband playing with Sarah’s feet, it becomes clear that every one of these adults is doing the exact same thing; they are all acting like little children.

STRANGER THAN FICTION

Written by Zach Helm
Directed by Mark Forster

“Life is stranger than fiction,” or so the saying goes. Borrowing from the expression, Mark Forster’s STRANGER THAN FICTION is about one man’s life that has become the subject of soon-to-be published fiction. An as yet undetermined narrator announces at the very start that, “This is a story about a man named Harold Crick.” That narrator is revealed to be author Karen Eiffel (the always absorbing Emma Thompson), whose previous novels have all ended with her protagonists dying to serve the story’s greater purpose. Somehow, her voice has found its way from the pages that tell Harold’s story to the head of a man actually named Harold Crick (Will Ferrell). As she pushes through the novel that has taken her a decade to complete, Harold begins to hear her voice wherever he goes. As she points out his obsessive-compulsive behaviour, he begins to question the strict structure that has kept his life in order for years. When Eiffel announces that he is unknowingly spiraling towards his imminent death, he has heard enough. The funny thing is Harold’s death was imminent before someone told him it was. He just needed someone to remind him that he should probably get around to doing some living while he was still alive.

But is this actually a story about Harold Crick? Is it not just as much a story about Karen Eiffel? After all, she knows the story she is telling so well that her words and voice have torn some line in the fabric of the universe to make it into Harold’s head. I don’t know how likely that is in real life but I’m pretty sure it would never happen if there weren’t an intense cerebral connection between the two parties involved or if he weren’t a complete fabrication of one’s imagination. At first glance, Crick and Eiffel seem like people on entirely opposite ends of the spectrum. After a closer look, they are clearly in opposition to each other but they inhabit the very same spectrum. Both are shown as obsessive-compulsive people. Harold counts his brush strokes and goes to bed at exactly the same time each night. Karen lives a reclusive life in a starkly white apartment, extinguishing her cigarettes in spit-damp tissues she tucks away in her pockets. Both attempt to exert high levels of restraint in their lives to maintain the illusion that they command the direction their lives will take, one through chaos and the other through control. It is also a convenient way to avoid experiencing anything frighteningly unknown.


Eiffel struggles with how to kill Crick for most of the film. How do you kill someone to make a literary point when their life barely has any relevance to begin with? Meanwhile, Harold’s recent bout with schizophrenia has him seeing how the tiniest changes in his life can make it all the more exciting. Funny how the knowledge that death may be around the corner acts as a good kick in the ass. The connection between Crick and Eiffel also exposes their attitudes towards life and death while helping each of them heal their apprehensions towards both realities. Crick had conveniently eliminated the possibility of death from his calculated existence. Eiffel’s eerie fascination with death had stopped her from seeing her own possibilities for happiness in life. As the two become more aware of the other’s existence, and subsequently more comfortable with that, they each begin to see what they were not seeing prior. Life will not be and will never seem worth living if you don’t take risks, no matter how small they may be; from wearing a sweater instead of a tie for a change to stepping outside your apartment and meeting new people.

STRANGER THAN FICTION is smart without being superior, funny without being asinine. Forster’s previous work has either bored me (MONSTER’S BALL), frustrated me (STAY) or filled my heart with warmth and my eyes with tears (FINDING NEVERLAND). Here he creates a poignant piece about a woman telling the story of a man because its easier than telling her own story. Her real problem with killing Harold Crick is that she no longer knows if she wants to. Killing Harold would just mean metaphorically killing herself again. Writing Harold’s newfound appreciation for life has sparked her own and Forster hopes her reminder will be one to us as well. Not to sound too morbid but our deaths are as imminent as Harold’s. The film’s subtle layers expose a simple insight about the distance between our lives and the stories we tell about our lives. These stories are told to create meaning and give shape but we all run the risk of missing out in the process if we don’t allow for the unexpected.

BABEL

Written by Guillermo Arriaga
Directed by Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu

Mexican director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu has a point to make with his second Hollywood offering, BABEL. He wants us to see how we don’t listen to each other and to what extent that is making all of our lives more difficult. To do this, he tells four different stories where characters find themselves in situations where they are not understood despite all their efforts to be. These stories stretch across the globe, from Tokyo to Mexico and center around an incident in Morocco that sparks an international scandal. Inarritu treats his imagery like poetry and has created a stunning picture with pacing that ranges from peacefully prophetic to tensely wrenching. But despite its unmitigated design, there is a larger irony undermining BABEL. It is a film concerned with the struggles faced when trying to get your point across that also wants to show how our lives are all connected yet its four storylines stretch to connect to each other and the point gets somewhat lost in that process.

Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett play Richard and Susan, an American married couple on a sour vacation in Morocco. Their youngest child has just died of natural causes and they have come to try to forget. Instead, the guilt and anger they could not express at home has only become more prominent in their isolation. A stray bullet hits Susan in the shoulder while she glares out her tour bus window and her vacation goes from bad to potentially tragic. The unfolding of this scenario best exemplifies Inarritu’s views on the frustration that often goes alongside communication. A desperately frightened Richard must get his wife medical attention in a town without a hospital and where no one speaks his language. He finds one tour guide who carries him through the experience, facilitating his translation. Speech is not his only barrier as this small Moroccan village’s medical treatment is far from what Richard is accustomed to in his privileged life at home in California. He then runs into trouble where one would not expect him to. He is unable to convey the seriousness of his wife’s condition to the remaining tour bus passengers, most of them American. He requires their support but they don’t listen to a word he says, focusing solely on their own needs, some selfish and some reasonable. As Richard is rightfully focused on his wife’s needs, he isn’t listening to them either and arguments ensue. Richard’s communicative difficulties also extend to one other person, Susan. Writer Guillermo Arriaga brings us to the most intimate frustration with understanding here when these two people require a brush with death to get them to be quiet enough to hear how afraid each other is and how responsible each feels for the death of their child.


The remaining plots branch out from this incident but whereas the execution of the plights is poignantly told, the connections themselves are weak or vice versa. Richard and Susan’s children run into trouble of their own when their Mexican Nanny, Amelia (Adriana Barraza) takes them over the border so that she can attend her son’s wedding. When reentering the United States, the border patrol are suspicious and begin asking many questions. Amelia does not have difficulties speaking English but does not answer their questions as well as she should. The film loses some focus here, as the patrollers’ approaches are more racist in nature than anything else. Whereas racism is certainly another form of fear and misunderstanding, this dire situation feels easily unavoidable and contrived to serve the film’s purpose. Meanwhile, in Tokyo, a deaf and mute teenage girl deals with the loss of her mother and fights to be heard when she can’t make any noise. Cheiko is played by Rinko Kikuchi; it is a vibrant and commanding performance. She herself cannot hear what others are trying to say and is limited in how she can communicate her own feelings and desires. Her struggle is only intensified by her lack of physical connection to other people, as she is an aggravated virgin. All of her attempts to entice are thwarted by her silent aggression and her incapacity to get anyone to hear her is heartbreaking. In many ways, her storyline is the most effective but it is only tied to the whole of the film because her father’s rifle was used in Susan’s shooting in Morocco.

The word “babel” finds its roots in an association to the Hebrew verb “balal,” which means to confuse or confound. Hence, when someone is said to be babbling, they are not communicating their point properly, just spewing out a bunch of unnecessary words that end up being entirely pointless. All of Inarritu’s words and images are carefully chosen and constructed in a concise fashion that is on many levels successful, but by trying to get across so much, he ends up narrowly but sadly missing his own point.

RUNNING WITH SCISSORS

Written and Directed by Ryan Murphy

In 2002, author Augusten Burroughs published his memoir, entitled RUNNING WITH SCISSORS. It went on to find success and praise, as well as skepticism regarding its authenticity. The book chronicles Augusten’s formative years where he was sent to live with his mother’s psychiatrist and his family (the Finches) while she dealt with her manic depression. The book has a dry humour that refuses pity for Augusten’s numerous woes. Reading it brings about many laughs but at no point in time does it come across as a factual retelling of events. One almost needs to distrust the author to find his humour. To ponder Augusten’s perils as if they were plausible would plunge any heart into deep pain. So we laugh instead. That is after all what Augusten’s style incites. What is lacking in the book finds even less presence in the film. Purpose. You can tell your own story and you can embellish it all you like but if your journey doesn’t lend any meaning to my own then it becomes more useful in serving your own ego than enriching mine. Writer/Director Ryan Murphy’s translation segments Augusten’s book into a visual compilation of his favorite literary moments that lead nowhere and reveal very little about the man behind the memoir.

Bearing Burroughs’ weight is actor Joseph Cross. Cross plays Burroughs with a near-permanent face of silent awe throughout. He cannot comprehend how his life took such a bizarre turn. His youthful grin hints to his strong character while his conscientious eyes confirm his understanding that the path he has been forced upon will not lead to a fulfilling life. Augusten must bounce back and forth between his mother’s (Annette Bening) home and the Finch’s, where he is further bounced around from one psychological mess to another. Whether Augusten is sitting in the Finch parlor with feeble, subservient mother, Agnes (Jill Clayburgh) while she nibbles at dog kibble or passively accepting older daughter Hope’s (Gwyneth Paltrow) abuse towards her cat or hovering over a toilet bowl to observe the sign from God that has come in the form of Dr. Finch’s (Brian Cox) stool, he always looks lost. Going home doesn’t help either as what waits for him there is often just as outlandish but more so scarring as his mother’s psychoses could one day kill her or one day be his. As lost as he gets, at times joining in the mentally unstable fun, he never lets go entirely of the railing that has helped him maintain his balance all the while. Respectful but problematic as someone in his position needs to become mostly unrecognizable in order to find himself again, Augusten’s lines of sanity are much more blurred in print then on screen as Murphy does not construct any build in character, shuffling Cross around repeatedly as though his life took place in a pinball machine.


RUNNING WITH SCISSORS is both a dream and a nightmare for actors. It all depends on who you are and whom you’re playing. Bening and Cross get the most screen time by far. The rest of the cast drift in and out of the narrative, giving each of them very little time to make their mark. It also doesn’t help matters that everyone is playing a character with some degree of mental defect. As a result, Paltrow and Joseph Fiennes (as Augusten’s thirty something year old lover, Bookman) overact their characters into caricature. More veteraned actors like Clayburgh and Alec Baldwin (as Augustan’s father) have very little screen time but manage to subtly give humanity to their madness, making some of the most evident impacts on Augusten. Of course, Augusten is overshadowed by Bening as Deirdre. His mother needed to be the focus whenever she was in the room so it is only fitting that Augusten struggle for attention in a movie about himself. Thankfully, Bening delivers a performance that is as layered as her character is medicated, justifying the spotlight and delighting her audiences yet again.

The chemistry between the ensemble and a sundry soundtrack make RUNNING WITH SCISSORS reasonably enjoyable but it does not bring you anywhere near Augusten’s heart. A new hair style and a fashionable scarf are not character development. RUNNING WITH SCISSORS may amuse in its audacity but despite surrounding Augusten with psychologically damaging absurdities every step of the way, it fails to show any real insight into what made Augusten the man he became.

SHORTBUS

Written and Directed by John Cameron Mitchell

I can’t speak for all the ladies out there but there comes a point in every boy’s life when he discovers he has a penis and how good it feels to lavish said penis with much attention. Sadly, the realization that there is more to life than satisfying your penis’ urges does not subsequently occur for every boy. In the opening scene of John Cameron Mitchell’s provocative new film, SHORTBUS, James (Paul Dawson) sits immersed in his bathtub. He has a video camera in hand and it is not long before he turns his focus to his flaccid member. What follows is a pulsating montage that introduces most of the film’s other players and sets the tone, announcing in a barrage of eruptions exactly what to expect. Broken up by sweeping spurts of an animated New York City (strikingly animated by John Bair), James bends over backwards for some good old fashioned auto-fellatio until his boyfriend, Jamie (PJ DeBoy), comes home; sex therapist, Sofia (Sook-Yin Lee) gets busy with her husband (Raphael Barker) all over their apartment before she fakes an orgasm rather convincingly; and dominatrix/prostitute, Severin (Lindsay Beamish), whips her latest John while he asks her views on world events and adds his own, uh, personal squiggles to the Jackson Pollock above his bed. There is no use hiding the sex in a movie about sex and you know instantly whether this is a movie for you or not. Sex controls these people’s lives. It motivates their decisions, stands in the way of their happiness and, for a little while, their frustrations become mirrors unto our own sexuality.

John Cameron Mitchell is a man who clearly thinks about sex very often. That being said, he clearly doesn’t just think about it with the head between his legs but the one on top of his shoulders as well. His previous feature film, HEDWIG AND THE ANGRY INCH (which he also wrote and starred in), smashed walls surrounding gender identification and forced people to see the person and not just the genitalia. With SHORTBUS, Mitchell dives deeper into desire and sexual identity. Characters like lovers, James and Jamie, want to open up their relationship and talk themselves through it to make sure they survive the transition. When they let a third man in on their fun, they blur the lines between love and sex. Like many others, they want to push themselves towards the exploration of their desires but they also ignore the emotional ramifications of being so open-minded. Meanwhile, Severin’s persona is hyper-sexualized to the point of being one-dimensional. She makes sure she comes across as a powerful sexual being but owning one’s sexuality outright means running the risk of having that become the dominant facet of your identity or, as in Severin’s case, it becomes a convenient rock to hide behind. In one of the film’s more touching plot lines, Severin’s rebellion pushes her so far from herself that she can no longer even say her real name out loud.


Serving as the opposing repression to Severin’s expression is the relationship between Sofia and Rob. Given her role as a couples’ therapist, the twosome strive for complete openness but what they maintain hidden are their deepest sexual desires and issues. In one of the film’s more brilliant moments of subtlety, Sofia, locked in her bathroom, is determined to give herself an orgasm, something she has never been able to do by herself or with the aid of someone else. The progression is coming along smoothly until Rob’s music blaring from the living room takes her out of the moment. The funny thing is that his music is purposefully that loud so that Sofia can’t hear him masturbating. When she storms in on him, he hurries to close his laptop so that she doesn’t see the sadomasochistic porn he’s watching. Whereas they seemed earlier to have a very healthy sex life together, it is revealed here that their connection only goes so far. Sofia does not know of Rob’s S&M interests and he doesn’t know she’s never been able to climax. As a result, neither is being fully honest with themselves or with each other causing their hang-ups to transition into actual marital problems.

SHORTBUS is not without its shortcomings. Hiring actors who are willing to do almost anything on camera means potentially not hiring the best people for the roles. While Lee and Beamish exhibit both strength and vulnerability in their roles, creating a quiet intimacy between them, the Jamie’s are merely amateurish. Deboy is devoid of personality and Dawson is meant to be downtrodden but comes off more as passive. Their surface performances lend to the film’s inability to go to the depths it needs to. Given that the film is trying to delineate between the physical and emotional permeation of one’s body and soul, just scratching the surface is not enough. In that sense, SHORTBUS is like mediocre sex – it passes the time and it is enjoyable but it doesn’t make your body ache for more and everything you felt during is gone by the time you get out of the shower.

MARIE ANTOINETTE

Written and Directed by Sofia Coppola

It is very quiet. Austrian Archduchess, Marie Antoinette (Kirsten Dunst), aged 15, has just been betrothed to Louis XVI (Jason Schwartzman), the future king on France. Throughout the long trip from Austria to France, there is an odd expression on everyone’s face. It’s as if the air itself is uncomfortable. As the French court awaits Marie Antoinette’s arrival, they putter around amidst the leaves and talk amongst themselves about nothing at all. They all seem to be thinking something to themselves. Judging from the same puzzled expressions on the moviegoers’ faces at the screening of Sofia Coppola’s MARIE ANTOINETTE I attended, I think they might be thinking how strange the entire scenario seems. Everything feels a little bit slow, a little too quiet and mostly out of place. It is too early to give up on the film at this point. After all, this is Coppola’s follow-up to the haunting, offbeat LOST IN TRANSLATION. We are in good hands. This uneasiness must be in step with what Marie Antoinette is going through. Once she finds her footing, I’m sure she will break out of her shell and show these French folk how to live freely and the film will follow. Well, Marie Antoinette, the person, gets the hang of it but sadly, MARIE ANTOINETTE, the movie, never does. It remains hollow and aimless, leaving me wondering how Coppola could have been happy with it.

Coppola took a decidedly different and brave approach to chronicling the woman who became the queen of France at
age 19. She cast American actors in French roles and did not have them speak French or even with an accent. She boosts the soundtrack with 80’s new wave music instead of music of the period. The choices are meant to highlight the lonely plight of Marie Antoinette, to show that her emotional journey is timeless. Only Dunst shows hardly any emotion in the title role so there is nothing to take away. She can handle isolated and she can party with the best of them but she doesn’t show any turmoil or inner-conflict. It doesn’t help that Coppola’s script features naturalistic dialogue either. People rattle on about nonsense and gossip but rarely ever say anything of note to each other. Perhaps this is what Coppola had intended to show but meaningless conversation needs to give insight into a character’s mind at the very least. Here, all the minds are empty.


If it weren’t for the fashion and the food (and the fortune that must have been spent on making everything look so lavish), there would be nothing at all to focus on. For such famous historical figures, very little actually seems to happen to them. For what seems like half the movie, the entire plot focuses on how Louis won’t have sex with Marie Antoinette. It is certainly a pressing matter as an heir has to be produced in order to validate their marriage. If it is not consummated, it may even be annulled. When the “great work” was finally done, Marie Antoinette is elated but there is no explanation as to why it was so difficult to begin with nor does it seem like it became any more frequent afterwards. Her brother had a chat with the future king and that supposedly did the trick. There is no mention as to what that chat was about so your guess is as good as mine as to what finally turned him on. Historically, Marie Antoinette became the scapegoat for France’s increasing deficit. Whereas the majority of France’s money had been sunk into the 7 Years’ War and aiding the Americans in their struggle for independence from England, the masses pointed their fingers at Marie Antoinette’s frivolous spending. She went from an adored queen to being chased from her palace. The build that led to that change must have been tumultuous but Coppola leaves history at the door while very little happens inside. By the time the mob shows up to drive her and the king out, it feels more like a device than a moment in time.

I can see why the French booed at Cannes. MARIE ANTOINETTE is a calculated project that was troubled since its conception (Coppola abandoned it during the script writing process to create LOST IN TRANSLATION because she wasn’t sure how to make it work). The deliberate disregard for historical accuracy may have been valiant to start but finished feeling labored. Coppola’s previous works relied on emotion more so than dialogue to get under the skin of the viewer. Their success announced great promise for MARIE ANTOINETTE but Coppola lost her edge somewhere amongst the hundreds of pairs of Minolo Blahniks custom made for the film. A lesser director would not have taken such an ambitious approach to this story. A lesser director would have made a film far worse than this one. May MARIE ANTOINETTE be but a misstep along the path of a brilliant career.

THE QUEEN

Written by Peter Morgan
Directed by Stephen Frears

In August of 1997, Diana, the former Princess of Wales, was killed in a car accident. An international sense of grief overtook the modern world. She was charitable, a humanitarian, and a beautiful one at that. She was adored by millions for being flawed, for never rising above the level of the people or appearing entitled. She was modern royalty, a royalty that connected with the masses instead of one that looked down at its people from a pedestal. And while the families of the world grieved the loss of an icon with an outpouring of emotion, one family chose to keep the loss to themselves, a private family matter. That family was the Royal Family. Director Stephen Frears (MRS. HENDERSON PRESENTS) bravely crosses the gates of Buckingham Palace to show the millions who watched from outside what might have been going on inside during the week following Diana’s death in this intimate and delicate portrayal of THE QUEEN.

Frears shows both respect and restraint in his telling of this tale. No one character, including Diana, is over glorified, making all points of view and perspectives relevant and reasonable. For all his nobility, Frears’ directorial efforts are surpassed by a sensitive and balanced script by writer Peter Morgan (and by the delightfully enigmatic performance by Helen Mirren as The Queen, but more on that later). Morgan’s script came together from a collection of interviews and discreet contacts. The remaining details were filled in by his imagination. The result draws many lines, leaving opposing forces on each side of the gate. Two months prior to Diana’s death, Prime Minister Tony Blair (Michael Sheen) was elected to office with a landslide win. He represented the modern man and the people hoped his youth would bring England a desperate revolution. England though, will always be caught between the old and the new as long as the Monarchy exists. The Monarchy by nature cannot be modern. It is steeped in tradition, some that even the family laugh at. But though they may laugh at them, they are always upheld. What the Queen does not see coming is that her allegiance to tradition has brought her and her family so far removed from her people that they no longer understand them. As the Royal Family continued to say nothing regarding Diana’s death, the public pointed their anger for their loss directly at them, insinuating that they had no compassion, no hearts. But as much as the Queen did not consider their feelings, the people did not consider hers. Different people grieve in different fashions and Morgan’s script shows the Queen’s decision to not speak publicly about Diana’s death not as a cold decision, but one that placed her family first, especially her grandsons. The very public death was also a very private matter. The closed gate between both parties never allowed either to fully comprehend the other.


By now you have heard how good Mirren is as The Queen. Trust me, you will continue to hear this until the moment she walks up to the stage to accept her Oscar (or at the very least, a BAFTA). Mirren’s humane performance is often hilarious and always insightful. In one moment, she is sarcastically dismissing the newly elected Blair; in another she is lost but determined to understand, her eyes fixed on a television interview of Diana talking about the way the Royal Family treated her. From her side of the gate, she has given her entire life to her people; they will always love her for it and respect her decisions. Mirren’s eyes are always searching for understanding, while maintaining her dignity and exhibiting restraint. At first it seems she is searching to understand why the reaction to Diana’s death is so massive. To her, Diana had always been trouble and had brought so much shame upon her family. As her search continues though, she is striving to make sense of the disdain and contempt she feels growing in her people. It is not that she is no longer connected to them; it is just that she doesn’t see where they are coming from anymore. How could she? She knows a very different side of Diana’s story than they do. In one very simple yet overwhelming scene, The Queen gets her four-wheel drive vehicle stuck in a stream. She is alone, surrounded by nature and waiting for someone to come pick her up. In that moment, she is overtaken. She says nothing but her mind’s thoughts echo the daunting position she is in. The mother of her grandsons is dead; her people have turned on her; she is the bloody Queen of England and she is stuck in a stream! It is all too much and she bursts into tears. She is only human after all.

I must admit, I did not get swept up in the worldwide grief over Diana’s death. Of course, I saw the enormous size of it but I was just not taken in by it. Even with my detached position, it is impossible to avoid being taken in to it when watching THE QUEEN. It is also not possible to support but one side thanks to Frears and Morgan. Being placed on both sides only allows for the possibility of tapping in to both expressions of grief. The grief is only heightened by the inability for both sides to empathize with the other. There is no way to know for certain how the Royal Family actually grieved the death of Diana but when THE QUEEN impartially opens the gates that have since been closed, one might hope this telling is close to the truth, if only because this possible truth will certainly heal.

THE DEPARTED

Written by William Monahan
Directed by Martin Scorcese

This is it, folks. It’s the one you’ve all been waiting for. It is a true return to form, style and relevance. It has been all too easy, almost expected, to laud Martin Scorcese pictures with praise in recent years. The man has talent and has crafted some of cinema’s landmark films, from TAXI DRIVER to GOODFELLAS. The industry was naming his last picture, THE AVIATOR, the film of the year. That seemed exaggerated, an all too safe a thing to say. To name the same of his previous epic mess, GANGS OF NEW YORK, was even more absurd. There seemed to be regret for not crowning him king earlier for more deserving efforts. The later pity praise felt apologetic instead of congratulatory. The films themselves felt manufactured for mass appeal, devoid of personal involvement and often a courting of industry acceptance. This time is different. This time Scorcese feels concise and calculated, like a man with a purpose, focus. This time Scorcese has left his hopes for accolades behind him and engineered his own cinematic rebirth. This time Scorcese says goodbye to his past and embraces THE DEPARTED.

Borrowing its intricately woven story from the 2002 Japanese film, INFERNAL AFFAIRS, THE DEPARTED stars Leonardo Dicaprio and Matt Damon as moles infiltrating both sides of a war between the law and organized crime. Dicaprio plays Billy Costigan, a Boston State Policeman with a family history entrenched in crime. As he is trying to make a new name for his family, he is thrown back into the world he worked so hard to escape. Costigan will go undercover and make his way into the confidence of Boston’s biggest crime boss, Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson). Costello, meanwhile, has his own man on the inside of the Boston State Police, Colin Sullivan (Damon). Sullivan was brought under Costello’s wing when he was just a boy who was doing well in school. Both Costigan and Sullivan sought power. Costigan’s power lied in authority and changing his apparent destiny through hard work. Sullivan was seduced by a different kind of power. He still had to work hard but he had the muscle to back him up when he needed it. Dicaprio’s and Damon’s solid performances heighten the tension and make for insightful character studies. As Costigan, Dicaprio is anxious and unstable. Pretending to be a brute with nothing to live for and no reason to do bad other than it being his genetic makeup goes against everything he’s ever struggled with. His eyes flare up and his whole body flinches every time he is around intense violence; he never seems to get used to it. As Sullivan, Damon is a confident, cocky liar who gets off on how many people he’s fooling and just how well he is fooling them, from his colleagues on the force (a supporting cast consisting of Martin Sheen, Mark Wahlberg and Alec Baldwin) to his psychiatrist girlfriend, Madolyn (the relatively unknown and engaging Vera Farmiga). When it becomes apparent that both teams have been permeated, the game to catch the rat becomes tenser the closer each gets to figuring the other out. Amidst growing suspicion and fear of getting caught, THE DEPARTED becomes unpredictable and entrancing.


The surprisingly layered performance of Nicholson as Costello is one of THE DEPARTED’s best features. I expected that Nicholson could pull off a mob boss in his sleep but he brings experience and the effects of time to the role. Like one would expect, one doesn’t become a mob boss from being a nice guy. Costello is evil right through. He finds amusement in how a body slumps over to the side instead of forward when he blows a bullet through the back of her head. He has grown accustomed to getting everything he wants, to having no one stand in his way. To some extent though, he has grown bored and complacent with this lifestyle. He knows of nothing else but knows that alternatives exist. He seems to live his life appreciative of his position but with regret, or at least an awareness, that he did not make other decisions. When he speaks of Costigan’s father as a guy who could have been a big boss if he wanted to but didn’t, the acknowledgment alone highlights the power of choice. When he tells Costigan that he should go back to school, it highlights his own choices.

Something Costello is fond of saying is that “No one gives it to you; you have to take it.” It is a mantra for Costello and it seems like one for Scorcese as well regarding his approach to this film. Scorcese’s command of THE DEPARTED can be felt in the composition of each shot, in the energy of the omnipresent soundtrack and the grasp of the subject matter. Like Costello, Scorcese has been coasting in recent years; the results have been passable, at times solid, but always tired. THE DEPARTED announces Scorcese’s return to making affirmative choices again, and the right one’s at that.

THE SCIENCE OF SLEEP

Written and Directed by Michel Gondry

I am half asleep while writing this review. I think that’s appropriate. I think, therefore I am awake? Maybe I’ll fall in and out of my own dreams while I write but I doubt it. With rare exceptions, I do not have any difficulty differentiating between my subconscious and my conscious life. The same cannot be said for Stéphane (Gael Garcia Bernal), the naïve and enigmatic dreamer who carries us charismatically through writer/director Michel Gondry’s THE SCIENCE OF SLEEP. Stéphane has an easier time living in his dreams than in his monotonous day-to-day life where nothing seems to go the way he’d like it to. In his dreams, he is the host of “Stéphane TV”; he calls the shots and dictates to his apparent audience what to think, where to look and how to see things. His television studio comes from the imagination of Gondry, an infamous dreamer. The walls are made of egg cartons; the cameras are made out of boxes; and Stéphane is showing his audience a recipe for dreams. Mix random thoughts with reminiscences from the day just passed, like songs you heard or things you saw. Blend that with past memories of friends and lovers and you have hours of dreaming ahead of you. Take one part linear romantic boy-chasing-girl storyline and several parts absurdist visual experimentations, mix well and you have THE SCIENCE OF SLEEP.

Stéphane, a Mexican-born painter, has just moved to Paris at the insistence of his mother. His father has just died and she tells him that she can get him work as an artist. He has taken up in her apartment to find that not much has changed. He soon realizes that the work his mother secured for him is much less artistic than he had been led to believe it was. Amidst his frustrating disappointment, he meets Stéphanie, his next-door neighbor. Though it is not love at first sight, he falls for her and they dance the dance that no one seems to know how to dance without stepping on each other’s toes. Gondry weaves Stéphane’s pursuit of Stéphanie in and out of dream and reality. The seamlessness between each existence confuses the viewer to the point where one is not clear whether or not he is really getting any closer to her. When it isn’t going well in the real world, Stéphane almost forces himself into his dreams where he feels he has a better grasp on the situation. Though, the surreal atmosphere can be interpreted numerous ways, the real path can be traced and appreciated. There is pain but there is escape from that pain.


Gondry does not limit his analysis of sleep to when people are actually sleeping. In fact, while sleeping, Stéphane does an awful lot more living and learning than when he’s awake. Stéphane’s passion is for painting the greatest disasters the world has ever known. He would like nothing more than to combine these images with astrological forecasts, creating a new kind of calendar – disasterology. Instead of making this calendar, he is wasting away as a typesetter. Gondry now folds a different kind of dream into the batter, the conscious dreams we have that serve as hope for a better future. Stéphane might as well be asleep given that the drab nature of his work is pushing his dreams further away. Then there is the work colleague that sleeps with any girl he can. As every experience is purely visceral and devoid of meaning, he is passing his time more than anything else. Even the world’s greatest time waster is given a grandiose send off as Stéphane and his same colleague (Alain Chabat), hurl a television into a river after feeling inundated with useless imagery. Gondry is fascinated with the mysterious yet inevitable lost hours that pass while we sleep and the exorbitant amount of time that we knowingly throw away while we’re awake.

Though not as satisfying as Gondry’s attempt to answer the question whether it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all (ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND), THE SCIENCE OF SLEEP is an amusing puzzler that plants seeds of thought in the gardens of your mind without you noticing. Stéphane’s life is a perfect example of how little life makes sense. His dreams take the elements of his life he cannot comprehend and try to make sense of them in his head by mixing them up and placing them in a new order. The sad thing is that while he’s trying to pick it all apart with his scientific approach to sleep, he doesn’t see that he’s met someone who speaks his language and shares similar dreams.

HALF NELSON

Written by Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck
Directed by Ryan Fleck

A teacher tries to open the minds of a class of inner-city high school students. Plainly put, the premise of HALF NELSON sounds like a movie we’ve all seen too many times before but this is not that movie. HALF NELSON doesn’t soften the hard or smooth over the rough. It opens with Ryan Gosling as Dan Dunne, waking up to his day. He looks exhausted, dirty. As he stumbles around for his pants, he even looks deathly. Mr. Dunne is an 8th grade history teacher and a basketball coach. He is also a drug addict who has cut himself off from as much human intimacy as possible. After coaching a losing game and having an awkward conversation with an ex-girlfriend, his two worlds crash into each other in the girls’ locker room. When he thinks everyone has left, he lights up his crack pipe in a bathroom stall and falls into the high until he hears footsteps. The stall door opens and he stares blankly, curled up on the toilet, at the face of Drey (Shareeka Epps), one of his history students. He insists he’s fine but he isn’t fooling either one of them. She helps him off the floor and into his car. By the time he drops her off, an unlikely friendship has begun, a star performance is being built by Gosling and a brilliantly engaging film is well under way.

Despite his dependence, Mr. Dunne manages to make it to class fairly often. His students, he claims on more than one occasion, are possibly the only thing in his life that keeps him sane. In the classroom, he has purpose. That purpose, he has decided despite the school principal’s protests, is to prepare his students for mental and emotional challenges life will present when they leave high school. Though he is supposed to be teaching the details surrounding the civil rights movement, he prefers to lecture on the philosophy behind how such a change comes about. His approach, albeit unorthodox, is effective. His students are attentive and encouraged to think progressively. Mr. Dunne believes change is brought about when two opposing forces reach a turning point where one force will ultimately overpower the other force. He illustrates this point with a friendly game of arm wrestling. The paradox of a man so intent on inspiring others when he has so little interest in inspiring himself is both fascinatingly twisted and painfully heartbreaking to watch. My heart goes out to Mr. Dunne but all the while, I want to shake him out of his funk.


Keeping with the theme of opposing forces, Mr. Dunne’s relationship with Drey serves as a mirror to the state his life has reached. Drey is a 13-year-old girl who is growing up mostly on her own as her father has left, her mother is always working and her older brother is in jail. She is in need of a solid adult influence in her life and her choices are between Mr. Dunne, a man who has long ago given up on his future and a neighborhood drug dealer who would like to recruit her as part of his crew. Evidently, she has her own opposing forces to deal with. While she is necessarily more mature than the majority of her peers, she is still a teenager and struggles to know her place, especially in relation to Mr. Dunne. There is clearly an admiration as she hangs off every word of his lectures, possibly even a crush. Still, her most mature awareness, and this can be directly attributed to Epps’ stunningly understated performance, is that Mr. Dunne needs her more than she needs him. As he has no friends, he needs an impartial person in his life to remind him about the simple and touching aspects of human interaction. Her beauty grows out of her instinctual impulse to help.

A “half nelson” is a wrestling move that, when applied correctly, prohibits the person in the hold from being able to free him or herself from the hold until they submit to defeat to stop the pain. In the case of Dan Dunne, the drug addiction in his life is the perpetrator of that move and he admitted defeat a long time ago, acknowledging at this point in his life that he only takes the drugs to get by these days compared to his earlier days when he took them to forget. I honestly don’t know which is worse. HALF NELSON is a transfixing character study, thanks in great part to Gosling’s impressive versatility. In many ways, he himself encompasses two opposing forces at the same time but with the hold his drug usage has on his life, it isn’t likely he’ll reach his turning point any time soon, if at all.

THE LAST KISS

Written by Paul Haggis
Directed by Tony Goldwyn

If you spend any time at all at Zach Braff’s myspace page, you would read how excited and proud he is of his latest starring role in THE LAST KISS. In it, he plays Michael, a 29-year-old architect who has everything he’s ever wanted. He has a great position at a large firm in a field he loves; he has a strong group of friends who are always there for each other; and he has a beautiful, intelligent girlfriend who loves him deeply. He knows he’s a lucky man and his friends and family see how he’s about to get luckier with his girlfriend pregnant with their first child. He has them all fooled though because he sees this baby more as permanency than possibility. In many ways, this is the perfect follow-up to GARDEN STATE, in which, in addition to writing and directing, he also plays a man in his mid-twenties who does not know where his life is headed. It is only natural to find a similar character a few years later facing the issues that confront you when you finally get your ducks in line. And whereas Michael’s fear of never being surprised by life again is a real anxiety, the hollow characters that make up this ensemble lend little humanity to this reality. THE LAST KISS plays out, with rare exception, as a once-fresh tale that has been spoiled by one-dimensional characters, unmotivated actions, uninspired dialogue and an expectation that its deeper than it really is.

From the way Braff goes on in his blog postings, one would almost think he wrote and directed this film too. Despite not having any way to test this theory, I wonder if the film would have been better if he had. Braff’s creative influence on GARDEN STATE elevated it to a higher caliber of film making because of its innovative visuals, believably broken characters and timely musings. THE LAST KISS was written by two-time Academy Award winning writer, Paul Haggis (CRASH, MILLION DOLLAR BABY). Haggis juggled an even larger ensemble in CRASH and managed to give nearly every character enough backstory to make them tangible. Here, characters are more like symbolic signifiers for Braff’s Michael to go through his own transformation. One of the more notable examples is his friend, Chris (played by Casey Affleck who brings more heart to his character than any of the other younger cast members). Chris is married and has a newborn, whom his wife has grown so attached to that she no longer has interest or patience for her husband. The insinuation that this hell is what awaits anyone who gets married and has a baby is groan-inducing. Yet another obvious purpose is served in the writing of Michael’s future in-laws (played by the always subtle Tom Wilkinson and always fragile Blythe Danner). They remind Michael, and us of course, that a long term marriage is difficult at best but yet somehow still worthwhile if you work real hard and learn to forgive.


Despite all these poorly hidden character devices, I believe that Haggis’ script is only made worse by Tony Goldwyn’s direction. The problems even begin in the opening shot. Feet stroll by in close-up from each end of the frame while the credits appear amidst the limbs. A car approaches very slowly behind them and the camera tilts up to reveal Michael and his girlfriend, Jenna (Jacinda Barrett), sitting silently. The movement is awkward but the effort is noble. She asks what he is thinking about and he replies that he was wondering how he got so lucky to have her in his life. As he says this, a bus pulls up along side with a lingerie ad on its side. Michael leers and it becomes immediately obvious that THE LAST KISS will be about a man who learns to stop thinking with his penis and start feeling with his heart. Only Braff exudes too much sensitivity for him to come off as a typically uncaring guy. By the time Michael meets Kim (Rachel Bilson) at a friend’s wedding (an event that naturally depresses the typical male because it feels so final), he has cemented his stance as the man who has no idea what he wants. This is perfect because Kim is the younger temptress who knows what she wants but has no idea why. They sit in a tree house and exchange thoughts on how the world moves so fast that it is only natural that people break down far earlier than in past generations. It may be a contemporary theory but it feels as borrowed from GARDEN STATE as the film’s soundtrack does.

Zach Braff, post-GARDEN STATE, has become something of an easily identifiable every man. He filled the shoes for a generation unsure of its path and desperately in need of meaning. And though he merely plays a role in THE LAST KISS, he has become the face of the film thanks to all his praise and enthusiasm for it. I can understand his pride in his performance but his character is flat and unimpressive. The man he once personified may have been lost but was open minded and bravely forging out a fresh, new course for himself. The man he has now become walks down a run down street in worn out shoes and blends in with the crowd.

IDLEWILD

Written and Directed by Bryan Barber

Hip-Hop duo, Outkast, has always been at the forefront of music video innovation. The man behind many of these innovations is director, Bryan Barber. With their Southern prohibition-era musical, IDLEWILD, the trio expands their quirky visual gimmickry to feature length size stimulation. The film opens at a funeral where we are introduced to Percival and Rooster (Outkast’s Andre 3000 and Big Boi) as they introduce themselves to each other. Flipping back and forth between black and white and vibrant colour, the images are manipulated like a vinyl LP being spun by a DJ. Eyes in frozen frames shift from left to right on beat with the jazzed-up Hip-Hop musical bed while the moving images jitter to the scratches of the record. And as musical notes come to life on the sheet music atop Percival’s upright piano, so does the film. It has an energy that invigorates your mind while it exhilarates your dancing feet. You feel that much cooler just for being there. Then, almost as quickly as your heart rate shot up, it slows down to its normal murmur as the lifeless story tries its hardest to suck all the force out of Barber’s hip fresh style. Pulling double duty as director and writer, Barber both saves and ruins his own film at the same time.

In recent years, media reports have reveled in telling the story of one of hip-hop’s most successful acts. Big Boi enjoys a lifestyle of excess that money can buy him – lots of booze, cigars and parties. Andre 3000 on the other hand seeks to purify his soul. Their last musical recording found them laying down tracks individually, encouraging rumours that the two could barely stand each other. There is plenty of opportunity for drama here that could translate easily to the screen. At first, this appears to be the story that Barber intends to tell. Percival and Rooster meet as young boys. Rooster is always getting into trouble while Percival must please his strict mortician father. As adults, Percival is still leading a straight, god-fearing existence while Rooster boozes it up at a club called Church as the major musical attraction. The way in which the story is set up leads you to think that you are about to watch a story in which two friends with two different motivations learn that they have an unbreakable bond despite all their differences – the kind of bond that will help them get through all of their struggles. Instead, in what I can only assume is a decided effort to get away from the story we are all familiar with, Barber takes his two characters in different directions. He takes them each so far from each other that, like their solo musical efforts, they barely end up on screen together. Their separate story paths range from banal to cliché to ridiculous and all the while there is a looming confusion as to why the friendship was established as the unshakeable center to begin with.


Another reason Barber should leave the writing duties to someone else is his complete lack of understanding of the female character. Paula Patton and Melinda Williams play the only two female characters of significance. Patton plays Angel Davenport, a sultry diva chanteuse who takes a liking to Percival, presumably because he respects her while everyone else, including the camera, ogles her. From the moment she makes her appearance on screen, with the first of a few fetishized close-ups of her feet, she turns the head of all the men and enrages all the chorus girls at Church. With her temptress persona cemented as her purpose straight away, it seems entirely bizarre when there is some background given to her in the later part of the film. Williams plays Zora, Rooster’s wife and mother to his numerous children. She scolds him for staying out all night and accuses him of fooling around on her while he’s boozing, to the point that she tries to run over a couple of girls she assumes her husband has been with. Of course, despite her constant complaints, she waits for him at home like the good wife she is, believing she’s won an argument because she has forced Rooster to take her and the kids shopping. With few exceptions, the remaining female cast members fill in as dancers who appear in little clothing that reveals plenty as they dance and shake around the men that love them. Their hollow, unmotivated dialogue becomes laughable as the film progresses.

Barber has a unique imagination. From a wall of cuckoo clocks cuckoo-ing melodically to a Matrix-ification of a swing dance sequence, IDLEWILD pushes its visual motif to the limits and dazzles the viewer. However, this is a musical, not a music video. Not only are solid story developments vital to get the viewer past the suspense of disbelief when people start to sing out of nowhere but the pacing, placement and relevance of musical numbers needs to be consistent. As Outkast rap on about the moment or their surroundings, they are not bringing the film forward but rather stopping it still. IDLEWILD could be recut into a series of four or five videos, leaving all the pointless filler on the floor and allowing Barber to shine on the right screen.

BLACK SHEEP @ THE 30th MONTREAL WORLD FILM FESTIVAL



Eight or nine years ago, I broke up with my first boyfriend. I thought I was doing alright. Turned out, not so much. I decided to take a much needed and deserved vacation. I had not taken one in a long time and did not really know what to do with myself as I had the time but not the cash to do anything or go anywhere significant. That was the summer I discovered the Montreal World Film Festival. I would escape my pain and my thoughts in the dark of the Parisian theatre, watching film after film until they all became one big movie and dizzying of my mind slowed.

Over the course of a week and a half, hundreds of movies play from morning until night. An occasional Hollywood offering makes an appearance but, for the most part, the films that make up the program come from all over the world. You either catch them at the festival or you never hear from them again. I no longer see so many movies all day that I can’t tell them apart. Depending on the year, I often end up seeing a dozen or so films. This year, I had no time off to speak of, so I was able to catch five films. This is an account of my journey around the world … the world film festival, that is.










Having whittled down the list to five films that met my interests and schedule, I was very excited to see my first selection, Germany’s SO LANGE DU HIER BIST (AS LONG AS YOU’RE HERE). My anticipation for the festival came to sudden halt, the kind that could leave you with whiplash, moments into this tediously drab film. Once my eyes had adjusted to the dark grain of the DV transfer that left many sequences indistinguishable, I saw that what I had left to focus on was awkward and uncomfortable, not to mention boring. The opening sequence of retired Georg gluing a broken teacup back together shows promise of a thoughtful film that will explore the reparations of a shattered life. Then the lights go out and the drastically younger, Sebastien, Georg’s regular prostitute, knocks on Georg’s door. Both live hermit-like lives, Georg in his apartment and Sebastien, on the street. They spend the remainder of the film trying to connect with each other and give meaning to a relationship that is almost as meaningless as their lives have become. The apartment setting is cold and cramped. The constant tight framing only further lends to the growing claustrophobia this film incites. While Sebastien sits under the kitchen table like a child, Georg records all their interactions onto a tape recorder. Trust me, you wouldn’t want to spend more than five minutes trapped in this dark apartment with these two. Luckily, the film only clocked in at an hour and twenty minutes. I was very happy to leave.


The next morning, I was subjected to write a DVD review for another horrible film, called SORRY, HATERS, which I had to watch twice because I am contracted to review the disc features. With the rain falling in sheets from the sky, I was not enthused to be trekking out to the festival again for another potential disaster. Though it was not shining outside, the sun was beating against my face with fortune inside the Quartier Latin cinema as I watched my second film, LA BICYCLETTA, from Spain. LA BICYCLETTA was a joyous celebration of love and life, a true bohemian crowd-pleaser. Three stories are told about three similar people at three very different stages of their lives. Their love and connection to their bicycles ties them together. There are occasional structural problems, as two of three main characters interact but the third never crosses anyone else’s path, but these are easily overshadowed by the messages director Sigfrid Monleon infuses into his film. The bicycle is a mode of transportation that is not merely controlled by the driver but also powered by the driver. It is an innocent vehicle that brings out a children’s ideology in all who ride it. It is inexpensive and environmentally sound, making all who ride them respectful equals. Aside from their love for bicycle riding, the three main characters are all pioneers and not followers, further enforcing the symbolism behind riding a bike and controlling your own destiny. 12-year-old boy, Ramon, doesn’t feel the need to fit in with the cool crowd; Young woman, Julia, is determined to make it in the big city; and retired mother, Aurora, doesn’t want to move from her home just so the city can redevelop the area. This breezy ride will make you feel like you too are on a bike, gliding down a hill with the wind blowing through your hair while the sun warms your skin. When I left the theatre, it had stopped raining.


My hump film and the last one I saw in a language I don’t speak was KEILLERS PARK, from Sweden. It did not take very long for this film to become a variation on a film subgenre I’ve seen far too often. Successful businessman and happy husband, Peter, makes eye contact with an attractive man on a city bus and his world is torn apart. He happens across the young man again a short time later and it is not long before he is naked in his arms. This is the first of the film’s plot holes as his new lover, Nassim, just finished saying how he wants nothing to do with helping a married man find himself. His wife finds out and leaves him; his sister finds out and calls him a dirty pervert; his father finds out and disowns him. All are tired story elements that one expects to happen. It predictably becomes Peter and Nassim against the world, powered by their deep love. The ignorant reactions of the people in Peter’s life feel like the painful film reactions towards gay people from a dozen years ago. In a 2006 film, they feel like leftover issues that taint the film in its own homophobic colour. Perhaps these issues are expected in a Swedish city but as a North American audience member, I’ve dealt with them all before and left them behind already. The rest of the film is marred by odd motivations. Peter doesn’t seem the least bit phased by the drastically new direction his life has taken. Even stranger is when Nassim suddenly turns on Peter out of nowhere and with no explanation. It is no wonder filmmaker, Susana Edwards, wrapped this flat story in a murder mystery blanket. Without that and some colourful imagery, KEILLORS PARK is nothing more than a revisiting of 90’s homophobia.


F is for Friday, Film and Fuck. I say this because on Friday, I saw a film documentary on the F-word. F is also for Flawed and Funny. These two words sum it all up. American documentary, FUCK, explores how one little four-letter word can satisfy so many expressions of emotion and anger so many conservatives. At times, the documentary seems too reliant upon other media to stand on its own, interspersing many clips from films and stand-up routines as examples of heavy F-word usage. Aside from the clips, the film bounces back and forth between streeters, talking heads and animated bits. The talking heads are a little off-colour and the streeters are a bit of a stretch at times. The film itself even strays off course when it gets more into attitudes towards sex instead of the word for having sex. All that aside, there are many laughs to be had and some good points to discuss. FUCK is most insightful when it deals with how those who use the F-word are generally considered to be of a lower class; how protecting the children of America has become a blanket excuse for increasing censorship; and how different intonations change the functionality of the word. When used the right way, the word itself ordinarily incites people to laugh when they hear it so you can imagine how many laughs there were in a film that has “fuck” said nearly 700 times.


For my closing film, I chose to see the closing film of the festival, Canada’s own LA VIE SECRETE DES GENS HEUREUX (THE SECRET LIFE OF HAPPY PEOPLE). Quebecois director, Stephane Lapointe, tells the story of Thomas, a perpetual loser who is about to finish university at a fine school his father paid for in a program his father chose. The man cannot make his own decisions and has no idea what would make him happy. All he knows is that his successful businessman father, trivia genius mother and gifted sister have a much better handle on life than he does. Enter Audrey, a girl he meets on campus. For the first time, someone sees past his timid exterior to the warm person inside. The smiles beam from his face because now he doesn’t need to worry about his future anymore as he’s got a girl to distract him. From the moment the blueprint-style credits begin and flow into a cursive camera movement opening sequence at a family party, LA VIE SECRETE announces its arrival as a contemporary commentary on the pursuit of happiness. It is amusing, well acted and thoughtful. Disappointingly, the steam wears off before it reaches the halfway point. Odd, inexplicable scenes take you out of the flow and slow the film down until the bizarre explanation is given for these scenes. Not surprisingly, predictability settles in as the people who supposedly have life all figured out begin to unravel. Even Audrey, Thomas’ muse, transitions from character to caricature as her actions become less believable and more just the actions one would expect from a male writer who hasn’t quite figured out how to see a female character as anything more than a device to satisfy the male character needs. Despite not sharing any new insights on the secrets behind being happy, the film is light and enjoyable.

Light and enjoyable isn’t quite going out with a bang but from the sampling of films I ended up seeing at the World Film Festival, it seems a seriously impressive closer was not amidst the bunch. All the same, each year is always a gamble and as some of the films paid off, I still feel like a winner. Just having the opportunity to sift through so many possibilities and seeing the films with people that matter to me is enough to keep me coming back year after year. And though my initial reasons for finding the festival were to escape life, I no longer find myself running away but rather running towards.

(Thank you to Raymond, Holly, Josh, Samantha, Alexi and Trevor for joining me.)

LE TEMPS QUE RESTE

Written and Directed by Francois Ozon

To a great extent, the premise of French director, Francois Ozon’s latest film, LE TEMPS QUI RESTE, reads like a daytime drama storyline. An attractive 31-year-old photographer is told he has an extreme cancer that has spread through his body. It cannot be removed and, though treatment is an option, he does not have a strong chance of survival. He has but a few months left to live. What elevates this film above the potential for clichéd melodrama is the way the photographer, Romain (played by Melvil Poupaud), reacts to this news. He has little time to resolve his life and relationships. He has little time to fully embrace who he is. Yet he does not make peace with everyone in his life, one by one. Instead, he avoids the whole damn thing. Only, as he avoids, he manages to find the foundation of these relationships and begins to understand their significance, how they have helped shape the man he is. He puts his life into perspective his way and finds out that all this time, despite his selfish existence, he has also been a part of something much bigger.

LE TEMPS QUI RESTE is thankfully brief as no one wants to spend too much time watching someone die. It does however make the most of the time it has. When Romain first learns the news, he avoids sharing it with anyone in his life, from his family to his boyfriend to his employer. As he sits at a family dinner and people ask what is new in his life, it is painful to watch him say nothing, especially as he continues to withdraw. Poupaud’s performance humbles Romain as he goes from cocky and assured to constantly being overwhelmed by his own grief. He looks afraid to say that he is dying, to make it real, to place that pain on anyone else. Instead, he buries it and suffers silently. You want so much for him to reach out to the people who clearly love him that when he doesn’t, you just want to wrap your own arms around him. When he finally does share the news, his choice of confidante is calculated. He chooses to tell someone who can understand because, as Romain so plainly puts it, she too will be dying soon.


Along with Romain, the viewer has some resolution, some peace brought back to a time of chaos. Romain spends so much time convincing himself that the people around him do not need nor deserve to know about his condition because their relationships are so complicated. Only his solitude brings him the clarity necessary to remember how these relationships began. More importantly, these memories are the ones he associates most cleanly with naïve, unchecked happiness. With death imminently waiting for him, the search for happiness that he gave up on is rejuvenated when he sees how close he was to it all the while. Romain’s memories come to him at random moments and their nature demonstrates the talent of Ozon as writer and director. They are simple memories that may have seemed all too simple at the time they took place but these memories went on to bring Romain closer to others and himself. And as the memories come more frequently, he learns to integrate them into his current reality. Thus when he goes, he goes having lived a short but full life.

Death is a construct, an inevitability, a mystery, a fear to face. In LE TEMPS QUI RESTE, it is also a process that is nothing more than the last clue to understanding your life. In Romain’s final moments, death becomes necessary to complete the journey, a journey that would mean nothing at all if it weren’t ending to begin with.