ACROSS THE UNIVERSE

Written by Dick Clement and Ian La Frenais
Directed by Julie Taymor


“Because the sky is blue, it makes me cry. Because the sky is blue.”

Staring at a blue sky for two hours is almost required viewing to settle your mind from the visually lost schizophrenia that is Julie Taymor’s ACROSS THE UNIVERSE. How else can you undo the damage from being subjected to an exhaustingly lengthy collage of overblown imagery at the hands of an over inflated ego? I can only imagine the horror that must have swept over the executives’ faces after screening this film for the first time. It has been widely publicized that Taymor entered a creative war over the final cut of this film with her producers who wanted to release their own cut of the film. They said the film needed more focus, less experimenting as she hid behind the shield of artistic integrity. Ordinarily, I would never side with any form of censorship but perhaps she should have left her bias in the car and taken a few of the tips that were perhaps being given to her in the best interest of her film. Maybe then, ACROSS THE UNIVERSE could have told a functional story that would have captured some attention, given it some ultimate meaning and made this all-Beatles musical the magical journey it so desperately wanted to be and could have been. Or maybe it would have been worse but I can’t see how.


ACROSS THE UNIVERSE tells the story, and I say that lightly, of a young lad named Jude (Jim Sturgess), who travels across the ocean to find his father. Find him he does in absolutely no time and then he just bounces around from here to there in pursuit of nothing at all. He meets a girl (Evan Rachel Wood) and falls in love; he gets a room in New York City and paints when everybody else is either going to war in Vietnam or protesting it. A bevy of other characters are randomly introduced, bring nothing to the whole (which is paper thin as it is) and then disappear after accomplishing just as much nothing. It is all so aimless; I’m surprised my neck doesn’t hurt more from all the shaking my head did in bewilderment. The style, which can only be described as a refusal to commit to any one style, only makes it more difficult to get taken in. As a viewer, the suspended disbelief necessary to enjoy a musical as one should still requires a firm foundation. Taymor tries to establish a gritty reality with Jude working the docks in Liverpool but the leap to where the music happens, and the magic is supposed to, is always different and seldom seems appropriate. I never thought I would be begging for plausibility in a musical but this was just ridiculous


While I commend Taymor for incorporating 90% on-location singing into this musical in an attempt to pump a more real quality into the practice, I want to sit her down to talk about some other basic concepts like character, meaning and purpose (concepts she so easily incorporated into her far superior FRIDA). Surely she has seen Baz Luhrmann’s MOULIN ROUGE. Luhrmann’s film employed the same musical technique to appropriate existing lyrical content (including some by the Beatles) and contextualized it within his story of forbidden lovers. The reason his film worked is because there was a solid story driving it forward and characters that were developed through that story and their songs. ACROSS THE UNIVERSE seems more interested in its high concept usage of the Beatles repertoire that characters seem to be included so that certain songs can be included. It is certainly lovely to see a young high school cheerleader sing a slowed down version of “I Wanna Hold your Hand” to herself about a fellow cheerleader, just as it is heartbreaking to watch a young boy caught in the streets of the Detroit riots singing “Let It Be” amidst the violence but both of these potentially powerful moments and strong performances are hollowed out by their complete lack of context. How can you be expected to care when you have no idea why this story is suddenly being told? And then to find out, there was really no significant point to begin with? Without purpose, all you have are a bunch of people singing old songs on screen.


At one point, more specifically when multiple Selma Hayek’s in nurse uniforms seductively administered drugs to war patients spinning around a medical ward to “Happiness Is a Warm Gun,” I found myself wondering just how many Beatles songs were still left to be sung. When a film has no distinct purpose, it also has no clear ending in sight. I was beginning to fear that Taymor might actually turn me off the Beatles with this disaster but fortunately, the Beatles are timeless and genius and something so laughable as ACROSS THE UNIVERSE is not going to diminish their beauty. It’s like bearing witness to a bad karaoke performance of your favorite song; you cringe while it’s happening but once you hear it again for yourself, the mastery that was temporarily taken from it comes back in waves of vibrant colour and splashes of insight that touch your soul. The painful experience is easily forgotten and you ask yourself, across what universe?

BLACK SHEEP @ THE 32ND ANNUAL TORONTO INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL III

3:10 TO YUMA and INTO THE WILD


My third and final day at the Toronto International Film Festival was considerably less rushed than the previous two. In fact, I only had one film scheduled. During my manic search for tickets, I contacted a colleague at the National Post. Craig couldn’t help me with tickets but wanted to know if I would participate in the upcoming Popcorn Panel film discussion on 3:10 TO YUMA. As I love these opportunities, I said I would and found myself buying a ticket to a movie for a reasonable price and without any serious stress over whether it would be possible to get in or not for the first time all weekend. It was liberating. And so my final day in Toronto became all about casual shopping on Queen Street, a first-run movie with the regular film-going folk and a world premiere of Sean Penn’s INTO THE WILD.

Before I take a look at the films I saw that day, I want to talk a bit about what I found to be most inspiring about the entire festival. It is one thing to be surrounded by celebrities and premieres; this alone is extremely surreal. What was even more baffling to me was the number of volunteers in and around every venue at the festival and how these volunteers seemed appreciative of their place in the system. They were always courteous and smiling. They were apologetic if the wait was too long as if they cared that you might not be having the best time ever. It was near moving to see so many motivated, energized people who only got to keep their T-shirts and sneak into movies if there was any space left as payment for their time. Before each screening, several sponsors screened tags announcing their support. NBC/Universal was the official sponsor of the volunteer program and each time their tag played and announced their pride in supporting the volunteers, the crowd would erupt in genuine warmth and applause. Maybe that appreciation, plus the T-shirt, made it all worthwhile. Thank you volunteers; you were all helpful and lovely.


3:10 TO YUMA was one of those films that truly surprised me. You know the kind of movie I’m talking about; it’s that movie that you don’t really want to see but you somehow end up seeing it and go in with zero expectations of quality or what will unfold. Seeing a movie under those circumstances can either go one of two ways. Either your suspicions that it was not a movie for you are confirmed and you leave knowing you should trust your judgment next time or you leave impressed and thinking you should probably be a little more open-minded in the future. My experience was clearly the latter. 3:10 TO YUMA has an energy driving it forward that stems from its originality. This might seem a stretch to say given it is a remake of a 1957 film so I’ll elaborate. It is original much like AMERICAN BEAUTY breathed new life into the existing suburban exposition drama or the way THE DEPARTED showed us Scorcese awake for the first time in years. There is something new being brought to the table. Here, director James Mangold (WALK THE LINE) combines a quiet, introspective script (like modern Western, BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN) with a classic, straightforward story (like the Western classic, STAGECOACH) to create something visually lush that has both exhilarating action and gunfight as well as depth of character. Russell Crowe and Christian Bale are both excellent as men at different ends of the moral code. They learn from each other but have strong enough characters to begin with to not falter from their true nature without just cause. With 3:10 TO YUMA, Mangold is forcefully establishing himself as one of the best in the West.


Then there is this other Western director, whom I’m sure believes himself to be one of the best. When Sean Penn was brought on stage before the world premiere of his film interpretation of the life of Christopher McCandless, a university graduate who abandons his possessions, family and attachments in pursuit of life’s greater truths, the crowd was happy to receive him. People clapped, many cheered. However, the next audience response, for a surprise appearance by Eddie Vedder, who contributes four songs to the film, was so much more spontaneous and sincere that it made Penn’s seem almost automatic. Most of the cast, from William Hurt to Catherine Keener to Jena Malone to star, Emile Hirsch, proceeded to fill the stage. This was clearly an event. The moment quickly faded though as it became apparent within the film’s first scenes that INTO THE WILD was going to live up to its name. As McCandless rejects society and conformity, so does Penn with his style. While this does make for many beautiful shots, some entirely scenic, some involving dangerous wildlife in peaceful surroundings, the manner in which it is all strung together is ultimately pretentious. There is so much beauty but so little purpose. The numerous supporting roles come in and out throughout the film, much like the people would have on the adventures McCandless would have experienced. Only this isn’t that experience, this is a film. Consequently, many performances come across as overly dramatic and the adverse affect on the film itself is a disdain for the lead character carrying you everywhere. As McCandless, Hirsch is strong and mature but his character, as noble as he is for pursuing greater meanings in life, is not likable for the emotional pain he caused, especially when it is apparent that he is only running away from his own truths. It’s hard to respect someone who is running away while pretending to be a pioneer. Many people left before the screening had ended and when it finally did, the applause slowly but surely transitioned into a standing ovation. When I saw this, I bolted. My stomach turned seeing all these people paying lip service when a respectful applause would have been sufficient.


This was a bit of a sour note to end my festival experience on. This is the gamble though. You’re not going to like all the movies and we shouldn"t base the entire experience on its final moments. I hope to have the opportunity again next year to go, maybe for longer. For all its industry-centric catering, the Toronto International Film Festival still gave me the chance to see so many movies I was excited to see. I’ll just make sure to have a Visa gold card by this time next year so I can cut to the front of the line.

BLACK SHEEP @ THE 32ND ANNUAL TORONTO INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL II

PERSEPOLIS and MICHAEL CLAYTON


Saturday was supposed to be my big movie day at the festival. The weather report was calling for rain and there were plenty of films playing all day that I was dying to see. There was just one small snag to get past. Going into the weekend, I only had one ticket purchased for the entire day and everything else I wanted to see was sold out. This brings me to my one complaint about the Toronto Film Festival. This is not a festival for the people. The regular filmgoer is first weeded out by the cost of a ticket. Regular screenings sell for $17.95 plus applicable taxes and service fees if purchased online. This may seem exorbitant but it is nowhere near as pricey as the cost of a gala or Visa screening. These elite projections go for $37.95. I suppose the rationale is that they are often high profile films having their world or North American premieres and will most likely be attended by the directors and stars. My Friday night alone, which consisted of just two films, cost me almost $85. That was hard to swallow at first but I became appreciative of these tickets as it was beginning to seem like they might end up being my only tickets. When the general onsale finally happened, there had been so many pre-sale opportunities for Visa gold or platinum customers that the only ticket I was able to get was to watch a restored print of Jean Renoir’s LA GRANDE ILLUSION. I spent the entire day trying to get through to the festival box office and when I finally did, the operator who had clearly had one of the longest days of his life, simply told me that if the website said the show was sold out, then it was. I was not amused as the website specifically referred me to the box office in the event the film had no tickets available online.


Tickets for gala screenings were going for as high as $400 dollars online. It was mind boggling to me that anyone would pay that much to see any movie, no matter who was going to be in attendance at the screening. I thought about this while I waited in the regular ticket holders line and watched all the Visa gold or platinum ticket holders walk past me into the theatre when many of them had not been there as long as I had. This was a festival for the privileged. I was certainly privileged to be there but not every cinephile can afford, or is silly enough to justify being able to afford, the prices at TIFF. Going to TIFF was, for many, not about the movies but rather about being seen at the movies. The privilege is not appreciating the film itself but rather telling your friends and colleagues that you caught the world premiere of this movie or that movie and you were sitting three seats away from Cate Blanchett when you did. Luckily for my day, I managed to find people online who were looking to unload their tickets to PERSEPOLIS and MICHAEL CLAYTON at prices that resembled what they paid for them (an easy $55 for the set). And fortunately for my piece of mind, I was sitting in front of two devout cinephiles at GRAND ILLUSION, who went on before the screening about the many films they had already seen so early into the festival and how great the festival was after so many years. The passion is still afire for those who can afford it. It was Tony Gilroy, MICHAEL CLAYTON writer/director, who said it best before his film screened that Saturday afternoon. It went a little something like, ”You are all so lucky to live somewhere where something like this takes place.” So true, Tony, considering I’ve heard it ain’t cheap to live there either.


PERSEPOLIS was by far the best film I saw at the festival. Based on Marjane Satrapi’s highly lauded graphic novel of the same name, PERSEPOLIS is her biographical account of what it was like growing up in Iran during both a revolution and a war. It is mostly black and white, entirely hand drawn and always captivating. Her story is heartbreaking and enlightening. As a precocious your girl, she was easily influenced by her surrounding family and their progressive, humanistic ideals. Her family had convictions and integrity and these were not so much passed on to Marjane so much as awakened within her at an early age. Despite an abundance of love surrounding her amidst such political turmoil, Marjane still develops into a very lonesome figure who goes inside of herself in search of understanding and does not return for many a year. Her journey is sometimes painful and sometimes hilarious but it is the intimate, personal frankness that makes you feel privileged for being privy to it. The richness of the story is only further enhanced by the stark beauty of the style. PERSEPOLIS is a unique experience that will find a special place in your soul while it exposes you to worlds unknown.


The festival has screenings all over town. They have a convenient online schedule that shows how long each film is and whether or not your choices will overlap but they often do not start on time and not being familiar with the terrain made it difficult to assess travel times between venues. I needed again to grab a cab to my next screening, MICHAEL CLAYTON, at Ryerson University, in order to make it on time. Luckily, I did, lucky for a couple of reason. First, I was able to find a reasonable seat and secondly, lucky because the movie was pretty solid. It is slick, stylish and stellar from the start but still somewhat unfocused. This is a movie about a man, precisely a man named Michael Clayton (George Clooney). Writer/Director, Gilroy, is not interested in pandering to his audience but it makes the beginning of his film a bit clunky. Scene after scene establishes characteristics of Mr. Clayton’s personality but this is before any of us has been given the chance to care to know anything about him. The action does start shortly after all this establishment and while I may not have cared to begin with, I certainly finished by wanting to know more. Clayton is a lawyer who no longer litigates in a courtroom but whose major purpose is to clean up messes made by employees of the firm that employs him. Gilroy is one of the smartest writers in Hollywood these days, having written the entire Bourne series. With MICHAEL CLAYTON, he tries his hand at directing and crafts an intelligent thriller that brings more attention to the hero than most films do. By doing so, he makes it apparent that heroes are humans too and there is always more going on that you don’t know a thing about.


While I may not have had the privileged experience those with more money and clout have at this festival, I must say that I certainly feel privileged for the opportunity to see such wonderful films. All in all, it was a beautiful day.
Next ...
Part Three:
3:10 TO YUMA
INTO THE WILD

BLACK SHEEP @ THE 32ND ANNUAL TORONTO INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL I

RENDITON and LUST, CAUTION


Who knew that for ten days in September, a little city called Toronto is transformed into something that resembles another little city that you might know as Hollywood? While I’m sure plenty of Torontonians already knew that, this is my first time at the Toronto International Film Festival and I was not prepared for what I became witness to. You can’t walk down the street without seeing someone wearing the orange volunteer T-shirt or with a TIFF tag hanging from their necks. Of course, none of these people are celebrities despite the long list of famous names that are flying in and out throughout the week. Brad and Angelina are here; or is it Angelina and Brad? Jake, Reese, Cate, George, Matt and Woody are all here. Even Ang Lee flew in from Venice to screen his latest, LUST, CAUTION, before it went on to win the Gold Lion for Best Film, much to many critic’s surprise. That said, I don’t know where they’re hiding. Thus far, I’ve only been able to spot them by hanging out on the sidewalks across from the numerous screening venues throughout the city to catch a glimpse of the beautiful people as they make their entrances on the red carpet. I’m convinced they spend the rest of their time shuttling between parties and their hotel rooms. No matter though; I did not come to Toronto to see celebrities … except for Jake Gyllenhaal. I did want to see him and see him I did, if only from very far when at the world premiere of his latest film, RENDITION. No, I came to Toronto to see some movies and that’s precisely what I did.


My first day here was a tad bit chaotic. I was on a bus from Montreal at 9:30 AM. I somehow lucked out and scored a seat all to myself. This gave me the chance to spread out my legs and relax before my stressful arrival. It might not be stressful to you or someone else who is not me but I was arriving at roughly 4:30 and my first film was at 6:30. This gave me two hours to get a cab to my hotel, drop my stuff and make my way to the first venue. When I got to my hotel, I had two e-mails from people looking to sell me tickets to films the next day. I had to now meet someone at their house in Chinatown and then make my way to the first venue. There went my shower. I managed to find my way to both locations with a good deal of ease and before I knew it, I was waiting at the door of Roy Thompson Hall for RENDITION. People were screaming, “Jake! Jake!” as I was let in. I tried to look back but dozens of photographers and reporters waiting for their short window to get that shot, that sound bite, were blocking my view. I opted to go into the venue and get myself a good seat. I should have stayed outside. Considering how much I paid for this gala screening, my seats could not have been much worse. When it came time for director, Gavin Hood and actors, Gyllenhaal, Reese Witherspoon and Peter Saarsgard to make their way on stage, they were barely distinguishable to my eyes. I could still see Jake swaying his hips back and forth with his hands in his pockets though. That was good enough for me.


RENDITION is Hood’s follow-up to his Academy Award winning film, TSOTSI, and his first as an official Hollywood director. He maintains both bravery and integrity by telling the story of Anwar El-Ibrahim (Omar Metwally), an Egyptian chemical engineer who has been living and working in the USA for 20 years. After a suicide bomb kills an American operative in the Middle East, El-Ibrahim is detained as he reenters the US without any explanation. Witherspoon is the pregnant wife who searches frantically for her missing husband. Saarsgard is her college friend working in government whom she hopes can help her find him. Gyllenhaal is the American operative in charge of getting answers from El-Ibrahim. RENDITION is most interesting as a portrait of what it means to be American today. Each major player represents a different faction of Americana. Witherspoon is the non-political soccer mom (literally, we are introduced to her playing soccer with her son) who does not concern herself with world events but chooses to focus on her family, her life. Saarsgard is the American who knows that his government is committing injustices but accepts this and does not fight back in fear of what will happen to him. Meryl Streep plays the woman who gave the order to take El-Ibrahim into custody. She is Witherspoon’s antithesis; she does not concern herself with people or families but rather allows her ignorance to guide her decisions regarding the bigger political fallout. And then there’s Gyllenhaal. He begins as the good American who does what he is told and does not ask questions but eventually turns into the American who just can’t take the silence anymore. Unfortunately for RENDITION, the intrigue portion of this political thriller doesn’t go much further than this. The performances are solid but no actor is ever given the chance to take their characters as far as they could, leaving an unfulfilled feeling in its wake. RENDTION forces us to watch and learn about an atrocious reality being currently committed and then sends us on our way with very little changed. It’s as though we are abducted along with El-Ibrahim, only without the torture.


When the credits rolled at RENDITION, I sprang out of my seat and bolted out of the theatre as fast I could. It’s not that I didn’t care for the movie; it was enjoyable enough. It’s just I had another one starting in ten minutes and I couldn’t afford to get caught in the crowds. A cab dropped me off at the beautiful Elgin theatre of Yonge street and I somehow still managed to find a seat somewhere near the back just in time for Ang Lee to introduce his follow-up to BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN. I had already heard mixed things about LUST, CAUTION. At just a little under three hours, I heard the film went too long. With an NC-17 rating and rumours that some of the film’s explicit scenes were real, I had heard the film might be a bit much at times. I simply found it be unfocused. It was as though Lee could not decide the style in which to tell his story. The film is part espionage, part historical, part suspense and part love story. It is at times epic while classical or noir at others. Still, like most of Lee’s work, there’s an underlying meaning to devour. LUST, CAUTION tells the story of Wang Jiazhi (Wei Tang), a young student who gets involved with a political acting troupe that decide to up their game by infiltrating the operations of a known traitor in order to kill him in the name of their invaded China. Wang is embraced by the wife of the traitor, Mr. Yee (Tony Leung) when she poses as a society lady. Before long, she catches Mr. Yee’s attention and they begin an intensely sexual and violent affair. The genius of the story is the exposition of the love’s epicenter. Lee throws his characters into it and forces them to struggle between their duties and their desires. Unfortunately, the unsteadiness of the film is distracting and almost makes it impossible for the point to be made.


While the screenings were somewhat disappointing, the magic of just being there was certainly not. I left the Elgin with all the other patrons pouring into the street. They were unimpressed and dismayed but all I could think about was what was to come next.
Next …
Part Two
PERSEPOLIS
and MICHAEL CLAYTON

BLACK SHEEP @ THE 31ST MONTREAL WORLD FILM FESTIVAL


What a difference a year makes. Last year, I casually fit five films from the Montreal World Film Festival into my schedule. I met up with friends, had lunches before and drinks afterward. For ten days, there was something special happening in my routine. This year, the special dropped off and pressure took its place. I was asked by Ioncinema, a website I’ve been writing DVD reviews for these last couple of years, to cover the festival for the site. This meant I would be fully accredited and that in turn means I get a fancy badge with my picture on it that allows me into all the screenings and gives me access to the pressroom. A schedule was made. I would attend twelve screenings. Meanwhile, I still had to go to work every day, work on the Black Sheep site upgrades and find time for an editing project I have pending. Somehow managing to make everything work was the least of my worries (cutting the gym out of my schedule freed up time for meals). My biggest concern was booking interviews with directors who were in town with their films. I finished with three interviews, two less than I had hoped for but I am very happy with the results of all three. As many of the screenings I scheduled were done so in hopes an interview would follow, I cancelled many of them to alleviate some of the aforementioned pressure. Twelve screenings turned into five … well, five and a half really because I walked out of Nicolas Roeg’s PUFFBALL (blech). Subsequently, the pressure that was initially created entirely by myself gave way to other states, like appreciation and enjoyment.


The first film I saw is actually in competition in the First Films category. Germany’s DER ANDERE JUNGE (THE OTHER BOY), directed by Volker Einrauch, tells the tale of two teenage boys in Hamburg who are forced to interact with each other because their parents are good friends when they otherwise never would. Paul (Tim Oliver Schultz) is a boy with no boundaries. He does what he wants and his parents do nothing to discipline him. Why should they really? He is a man after all and a man needs to find his own path if he is ever going to be successful. Robert (Willi Gerk) on the other hand is quiet and pensive. He is a sensitive boy who is mostly left alone by his parents, as they don’t really know what to do with him. Robert allows Paul to step all over him whenever the two cross paths, losing a little more esteem each time. By the time Paul naively sticks a gun in Robert’s face, he cannot take it anymore. Having finally been pushed too far, Robert pushes back. One of the boys ends up dead and the true beauty of the film follows. Perhaps if the parents weren’t so preoccupied playing cards with each other, they could have seen what was going on between their boys in the next room this whole time. The death and subsequent cover-up forces all involved to wake up and see the limitations of their own lives. Einrauch’s film asks many questions about nature and nurture, like whether the boys are accountable for their own actions or just acting out the influences of their parents, but never presumes to answer any of the questions directly. Instead, he allows the film’s starkly guarded performances and delicate script to leave the debate in the laps of the viewer to bring home to bed with them. Sleep is that much further out of reach after seeing this one.


For me, sleep was even further away on that particular night. New this year at the festival is the Midnight Slam series. Gore and ghouls from around the globe found themselves a home in the daily midnight screenings dedicated to violence and horror. Making its North American premiere at the festival was SHOOT ‘EM UP, one of the larger festival entries this year as the film is being released ultra-wide this week. Midnight screenings are like one long stretch of full moon fever. People seem to feel that the time of day gives them free reign to holler and give props every time someone jabs a half-eaten carrot through the back of someone’s skull. I don’t mean to take away from the fun, especially from a film like SHOOT ‘EM UP, which can be loads of fun. I guess I just felt bad for my roommate who had to sit next to “Oh, no. Oh, no. He’s not going to … OH YEAH! HE DID GO THERE!! I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS MOVIE!!!” all the way through the movie. As irritating as this was to my roommate, it is probably exactly what writer/director, Michael Davis wants. This is Davis’s first Hollywood production and he surprisingly scored some top talent (Clive Owen, Paul Giamatti, Monica Bellucci) for what amounts to nothing more than B-movie with better production value and smarter dialogue. Drawing inspiration from John Woo’s HARDBOILED, Davis gives us a man (Owen) who delivers and then saves a baby amidst constant gunfire zipping past his head. With the baby tucked under his arm like a football, he outruns the bad guy (Giamatti), finds solace in the arms of a lactating prostitute (Bellucci) and eventually finds himself jumping out of an airplane and into a shoot-out in mid-air. Davis’s action sequences are outrageous but are also sharply choreographed and shot with style. His witty screenplay even manages to weave family values into the fold. SHOOT ‘EM UP is the kind of movie you shut your brain off to enjoy, only to realize you didn’t have to.


An opposite experience can also be had. SPINNING INTO BUTTER is the kind of movie you keep your brain alert for only to realize you could have left it in the car. I am honestly baffled at how this film finds itself in competition for the festival’s top prize. I have been known to write films off prematurely but I knew within the first minutes of this film that it would be hollow and cheap. SPINNING INTO BUTTER was originally a play and having the playwright (Rebecca Gilman) also write the screenplay (with Doug Atchison) was the first mistake to be made. The story of an over glorified guidance councilor (Sarah Jessica Parker) who moves from an inner city Chicago school to a quieter Burlington university (read as leaves black for white) is preachy without a strong position. It knows what it wants to say but it doesn’t know how to say it. It wants to expose the deep seeded hatred and racism within everyone that we don’t talk about. This is both admirable and brave. It’s a shame it tells us this through one-liners angrily spat out of numerous throwaway characters of various ethnic backgrounds. You’ve got an angry black woman, a noble Nuyorican guy and a nerdy Asian student for starters. The colorful background makes way for the nice white lady dean of students (Parker) to meet and engage in challenging debate with the well-intentioned black reporter (Mykelti Williamson). While the film finds its most solid moments in scenes shared between these two actors, its ultimate lack of character encouraged by first-time film director, Mark Brokaw, only turns this movie against itself. Instead of exposing our buried racial prejudices, it serves to show the tokenism and ignorance of the filmmaker himself as it relies on stereotypes to make its points.


My journey then went from no character to full character. After making the rounds through the United States festival circuit, Montreal filmmaker, Francois Dompierre, comes home with his first feature, ALL THE DAYS BEFORE TOMORROW. This was it for me. It is a strikingly beautiful, rich character study that is haunting and inspiring. You know after the first few minutes that you are about to see something meaningful and significant. Then, by the time the film comes to a close, you know that Dompierre has the potential for great things in his future. Wes (Joey Kern) gets a phone call late one night from Alison (Alexandra Holden). He wishes he were still dreaming but he can’t avoid the voice on the other line. A part of him doesn’t want to either. From the few things said over the phone, so much is learnt about these two people and the effects they have had on each other’s lives. Meanwhile, the depth of Dompierre’s screenplay has only just begun. Each scene that follows gives that much more insight into the nature of their relationship and themselves without revealing too much. The intrigue nears Lynchian proportions as the film is told out of chronological order but in a manner that feels like the only way it could have been told. I found myself anxious as the film was drawing to a close as I felt I didn’t know enough yet about these two people, about their fascinating story. Dompierre did not disappoint though. He reveals just enough and at just the right times to keep you wanting to learn more about Wes and Alison and subsequently doing so until the end of the film. The film is not without its faults but they smooth themselves out through the earnestness of the director’s presence felt throughout the film. My only regret about ALL THE DAYS BEFORE TOMORROW is that I didn’t see it at a public screening so I could have shared in the warmth this film gives so freely.


Like last year, my closing film for the festival is also the closing film of the festival itself. Unlike last year, the film is well deserving of its place. French director, Claude Miller, returns to the Montreal World Film Festival this year with UN SECRET (A SECRET), starring Patrick Bruel, Cecile de France and Julie Depardieu. The sheer scope of the story is staggering. The summer of 1955 is vibrant and colorful. Everyone around the swimming pool is alive and soaking in the gorgeous day. Everyone, that is, except for young Francois. He is in awe of his mother’s beautiful stature, weary of his father’s disappointment and afraid to get in the water. Thirty years later, Francois (Mathieu Almarich) is a therapist who helps others face their fears. It isn’t clear whether his fears have been entirely vanquished but it is certain his healing process began in 1962, when he finally learned about his family’s secret. The secret itself had been buried since the early 1940’s. The script begins by alluding to things unsaid within Francois’s family and how avoiding saying these things only creates more damaging problems than speaking the truth would. However, the title itself suggests that there is one secret that will eclipse all. As that secret unfolds, the viewer is treated to so much suffering that serves as concrete insight into how this family became what they did. Miller’s film is a morality tale about the consequences of keeping things to yourself. Not saying what you should only leads to internalized torture that stops you from being who you are. Furthermore, it is foolish to think that secrets don’t get out. Silence echoes louder than any truth ever could. That said, as much as I would like to, I can’t tell you anymore about this film … it’s a secret and I wouldn’t want to ruin it for you.

On this, the last day of the 31st Montreal World Film Festival, I am relieved that it is closing and to have survived. Beyond that though, I am thrilled for having had the experience behind the scenes. Hanging out at the Hyatt lobby, meeting directors, getting into sold out screenings – all these things are new to me and it was a pleasure to have had these opportunities. I’d like to thank Trevor, Phil and Candice for joining me for screenings. I’d like to thank Celine France and Maryanne Shelley at the Festival pressroom for being so accommodating and helpful. I’d like to thank directors Michael Davis, Volker Einrauch and Francois Dompierre for meeting with me and sharing their experiences. And lastly, I’d like to thank Eric Lavallee at Ioncinema for sponsoring me to begin with and making this whole thing possible.

Next week, I will make my way to Toronto for my first time at the Toronto International Film Festival. See you there.

THE INVASION

Written by Dave Kajganich
Directed by Oliver Hirschbiegel


Yorish: A veneer of civility hides our own self-interest. That is the nature of our world, yes?

When you live in a world where violence is the answer to so many conflicts and misunderstandings, manifesting itself as war or hate crimes or road rage, it is easy to see aggression as an instinctual human behaviour. We don’t like to acknowledge it as such but we certainly can’t pretend it isn’t there. In response, we humans do what we can to keep these impulses under control. Some of us meditate; some of us medicate. We strive to be better people and better people don’t give in to their anger. In Oliver Hirschbiegel’s THE INVASION (a remake of the 1956 classic, INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS), a unique opportunity is given to humanity. You are first infected with an alien genetic code. Then, when you fall into REM sleep, your genetic code is reprogrammed. You wake up feeling refreshed and like yourself, with all your memories and knowledge in tact. There is just one tiny difference. There is no more hate. Only humanity rejects this opportunity despite all their previous efforts to accomplish exactly this. While this conundrum might make THE INVASION insightful, it certainly doesn’t make it necessary. After all, the original already made that point over fifty years ago.


I suppose the rational was to bring attention to all that we have in place today to help numb our senses. THE INVASION is determined to assert itself as a timely film while distancing itself from its B-movie roots. In the original, the alien epidemic makes its way to neighboring towns with farmers making their deliveries. Flash forward to 2007 and the disease is traveling the globe through contaminated e-bay purchases. Granted, times are more complicated than they used to be. Nicole Kidman’s Carol Bennell text messages her son, Oliver (Jackson Bond), to remind him to take his anti-anxiety medication before bed while he stays with his father for the first time after his parents’ divorce. Between all that, the portable video games and seemingly endless hours of television watching, there are plenty of ways to numb the senses. Perhaps Hirschbiegel wanted to modernize BODY SNATCHERS into a contemporary thriller to shake people up, to show that we all need a good smack in the face to wake ourselves from our trances. After all, if Carol Bennell is fighting her hardest to hold on to the spirit inside of her, why have we allowed our modern world, read aliens, to dull our potential? To make that point though, THE INVASION would have to actually be thrilling.


Aside from a few unexpected scares, THE INVASION is pretty low on chills. In fact, it often feels as though the film is having its own crisis of identity, bouncing back between a polished, intellectual suspense piece and an explosive, effects-heavy action flick. This might have something to do with the number of hands involved in the production. Hirshbiegel’s original cut was said to be tepid and drawn out. The producers, who had already sunk a lot of money into the film, called in bigger boys to tweak it here and there into something with a bit more pulse. The Wachowski Brothers (THE MATRIX) were brought in for rewrites and James McTeigue (V FOR VENDETTA) was hired to shoot new footage. Without seeing Hirschbiegel’s original product, it’s impossible to say for certain whether they helped or hurt the final version but THE INVASION’s visual aesthetic is probably the strongest thing it has going. Slick picture and sharp edits that play with time and space add a much-needed edge to a story that has been dulled by an air of self-importance. The final cut is well paced and smooth but the film’s salvation was clearly more important than creating meaning in humanity saving itself.


It’s funny when you think about. THE INVASION warns us of what might lie ahead if we continue to allow our modern conveniences to run and control our lives. If we would just think less about everything, than it wouldn’t bother us so much but the sacrifice is human development and progress. Yet, in order to actually enjoy THE INVASION, one has to do exactly that – stop fighting, shut off and allow the reprogramming to happen.

SUPERBAD

Written by Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg
Directed by Greg Mottola


Evan: I’m just sick of all the amateur stuff. If I’m paying top dollar, I want a little production value. Y’know, some editing, transitions, some music.

Seth: Well, I’m sorry, Evan, that the Coen brothers don’t direct the porn that I watch. They’re hard to get a hold of.

Ah, to be young and free. It was a simpler time when the pursuit of booze and babes was enough to drive a young man right through to adulthood. Alright, so this wasn’t my personal youth experience but it is the premise of director Greg Mottola’s SUPERBAD, a new breed of teenage sex comedy. Here, partying and getting naked with girls are exposed as a thinly veiled act of desperation to prove how grown up one is. The kids are speeding down a hill, screaming their excitement to the sky, but can see that they are also getting closer and closer to everything they’re afraid of, waiting for them at the bottom. Before they know it, high school will be over and Seth and Evan (Jonah Hill and Michael Cera), best friends since they were five, will find themselves going in separate directions to different colleges. While one raucous night finds them trying to score alcohol to impress the girls they each want to get with, it is what they learn about each other, their futures and themselves that will end up defining the night they thought would simply be the night they got some.


Whether Seth and Evan are trying on pants and debating what exactly is “too tight” or discussing the injustices of men having to hide their erections in shame from the rest of the world while buying drinks at the corner store, they are always hilarious. You could put these two in practically any scenario and the laughs would flow. They are drastically different but compliment each perfectly. Seth is loud and foul. Nearly every thought that comes out of his mouth is about sex and he is completely oblivious to the world around him. Meanwhile, Evan is mild mannered and meekly composed. He is constantly muttering sarcastic quips that most don’t hear and is acutely aware of his surroundings. The two are inseparable but one gets the impression their friendship is based more on its history than what they have in common. One thing they do have in common though is awkwardness. While one covers up his insecurity with obnoxious remarks and the other barely hides it at all, they both have each other to be themselves with. The beauty of their performances lies in the conveyance of the recently rising knowledge that the friendship that makes them feel safe is also now the friendship that is stopping them from going any further.


Written by KNOCKED UP star, Seth Rogen and long time friend, Evan Goldberg, SUPERBAD is at times genius in its subtlety. This is no easy feat considering how outrageous it is most of the time. Loosely basing Seth and Evan on themselves (sorry fellas but the names give it away), they manage to pinpoint the moment these boys become aware of their co-dependence. The two characters are so well drawn that you never want them to leave the screen. Only they do to make room for a third friend, Fogell (Christopher Mintz-Plasse). Fogell is somehow even more socially retarded than Seth and Evan and is himself a funny enough secondary character despite his entire existence being based on one-off joke that is given away in the preview (McLovin!). It is the direction his character takes the film in that is an unnecessary distraction. Fogell/McLovin spends his night riding around in the back of a police cruiser with two of the worst police officers ever to walk the beat (played by Rogen and Bill Hader, whom I would sooner never see on film again). The cops are such screw-ups that all they do is make every scenario they’re in worse than it was before they got there. With most of their humour falling flat and not coming close to measuring up to Seth and Evan, they have a similar effect on the film itself. Filler is rarely fun and here it exposes the writers’ insecurity regarding their own abilities.


So this is the story of how Seth Rogen is both his best friend and worst enemy at the same time. Alongside Goldberg, the two have stated publicly how they never want to grow up. While that gives them a particular insight into the pivotal crossroads Seth and Evan, the characters, find themselves at, it also makes SUPERBAD, a movie about maturity which is meant to be immature at times, less mature than it actually should be. For the most part, SUPERBAD is surprisingly mature, while still maintaining its youthful glow. Seems to me that Seth and Evan, the writers, could stand to learn a thing a two about evolution from the characters they created in their own image. Growing up isn’t all that bad and it can still be freackin’ hilarious.

TALK TO ME

Written by Michael Genet and Rick Famuyiwa
Directed by Kasi Lemmons


Petey Greene: Wake up Goddammit!

Times are hard. It’s the spring of 1967 and the tension culminated alongside the civil rights movement has not only reached its boiling point but is about to boil right over. When the movement’s most prominent leader, Martin Luther King Jr. is assassinated, his messages of brotherly love and non-violent approaches to change are forgotten. Riots erupted nationwide in over 60 cities as an immense collection of anger was expressed through unrest and displaced ferocity. In Washington D.C., the city was calmed in part by the voice of one man, a radio DJ by the name of Petey Greene. His morning call-in show was the kind of success that unified its listeners and polarized both their spirits and convictions. Petey prided himself on staying true to himself and speaking that truth no matter what the consequence. The people responded to his frank honesty with devotion and respect. So when he went back on the air to talk the people of Washington down off their ledges on the night of Dr. King’s death, it was the trust that had already been established that soothed the fire in the souls; they healed together. After that night, Petey’s career was never the same. TALK TO ME, the new film by Kasi Lemmons, tells Petey’s inspiring story. Only it doesn’t so much tell it as manipulate it into a conventional narrative about shared friendship and separate dreams designed for maximum emotional impact.


Petey Greene (Don Cheadle) is first discovered by Dewey Hughes (Chiwetel Ejiofor) as he broadcasts in prison. The two men are instantly placed in juxtaposition to each other in the context of the film. Petey may be in a literal prison but Dewey is in a prison of his own design. The two will need each other to break out and reach the heights of their potential but they must first get past their instinctual dislike for each other. From where Dewey stands, Petey is the kind of black man what gives everyone else a bad name by playing to type and giving into violent, illegal impulses. Meanwhile, from where Petey stands, Dewey has sold his soul to the white man, walking and talking like his white colleagues in an effort to hide his black skin as best he can. The irony is that they both feel that the other is doing a great disservice to the community and that they themselves are role models for the new black identity. Both actors give strong, commanding performances. Cheadle pushes his versatility further as the raucous button-pusher with a turn that is both volatile and reckless. On the other side of the glass, Ejiofor exhibits restraint and an internalized fire that gives his intentions away no matter how hard he tries to mask them. Both could be contenders come awards season if the words coming out of their mouths weren’t so formulaic and plain.


While Lemmons may not have made TALK TO ME into the socially telling film it could have been, she does manage moments of insight, tension and brotherhood. Most of these moments are found in the broadcast booths and offices of real life R&B music station, WOL. Prior to getting a job at the station, Petey had grown comfortable speaking his mind to whoever would listen. Whoever would, would always be limited in number. When finally faced with his first time at the mic, expectations are high. After all, Petey has the pressure of being a natural and he’s never had to perform for anyone but himself before. He’s also never had to watch his tongue before, but he, along with the station owners, soon learns that in order for Petey to be Petey, he’s got to just let the words flow. That said, he also learns that a powerful voice comes with responsibility so in order to continue having that voice in such a public and corporate forum, he can only push the line so far. After all, no matter real the station tries to keep it, the white suits who run the show and sign Petey’ checks have sponsors to answer to.


It’s a shame that a movie with such a funky soundtrack would be lacking in so much soul but TALK TO ME still manages to keep a solid enough groove to keep it alive. I just wish Lemmons had spent more time heeding Petey Greene’s message, to keep it real because the truth is what people respond to above all else. Instead, the watered down reality of Petey’s path to fame and examination of the relationships that got him there has been mangled and crammed into a pretty picture that the masses can enjoy. The story of a man who told it like it was is told here as politely as Hollywood will allow.

THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM

Written by Tony Gilroy, Scott Z. Burns and George Nolfi
Directed by Paul Greengrass


Agent: Uh, sir, he drove off the roof.
Noah Vosen: What?
Agent: He drove off the roof.

Central Intelligence agent, Pamela Landy (Joan Allen), has found herself once again in a tiny room, surrounded by a team of people, all scrambling to track the notoriously elusive, Jason Bourne (Matt Damon). At this stage, bringing Bourne in is not just her job but an obsession, one that has gone far past the point of hunt and capture and developed into a need to understand the man himself. In Paul Greengrass’s THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM, we are right there with her every step of the way. Only it’s a much more enjoyable experience for us than for poor Pam. We have the added advantage of being able to see both sides of this chase from where we sit. From this vantage point, we see the C.I.A. constantly miscalculating Bourne’s next move and, in what is perhaps their biggest misconception, mistaking Bourne for some sort of super human, incapable of infallibility. Jason Bourne is just a man. Yes, he’s an incredible specimen with quick reflexes, heightened intuition and kick-ass moves but he too is just trying to figure out the mystery of where he came from and who he is. How can the C.I.A. pretend to know Bourne when Bourne does not even know himself? The Bourne paradox is what makes Jason Bourne one of film’s most intriguing action heroes and THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM is a perfect answer to years of unanswered questions.


To recap, we first caught a glimpse of Jason Bourne in THE BOURNE IDENTITY (directed by Doug Liman). He had no idea who he was and it was exhilarating to watch him awaken to his special brand of fighting style, while still infuriating to watch his struggle to understand how he came to be so skilled. THE BOURNE SUPREMACY followed with a new director (Greengrass) and a depressing change in tone after the death of his girlfriend, Marie (Franka Potente), at the film’s onset. The film could not help but be a more sobering experience after that. THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM changes Bourne’s direction from less running away to more running towards. Tying all three films together is the constantly improving performance by Damon as Bourne. Damon brings a sleek brand of class to his characters in most of his films and he treats Bourne with a stealth speed and fiercely internalized stoicism. You might say he was born to play Bourne. His tormented mind has gone from wonder and awe in the unraveling of his rediscovered personality to a dark brooding. He has understood that getting close to others gets them killed and has cut himself off as much as possible to both avoid future tragedy and maintain his focus on the goal.

Another man who found a stronger focus this time around is director, Greengrass. His direction for SUPREMACY was at times difficult to follow. Not only was the story not told as succinctly as in Liman’s IDENTITY but Greengrass’s now signature extreme-shaky aesthetic and jump-cut obsession made it visually jarring as well. After snagging an Oscar nomination for his direction of UNITED 93 last year, he has learned a stronger command of his unsteady film approach. The result is a visually more engaging experience that ushers in a different kind of American cinema. The British director follows the action through numerous international locations, from running across rooftops and hopping through windows in Tangiers to zipping in and out of the crowds in a busy London bus station. The world flavour only further serves to highlight the film’s direct criticism of American home security practices post September 11th. Greengrass’s portrayal of the C.I.A. is one hyped up on power and the authority to kill anyone whenever necessary and that power reeks of paranoia. Making the C.I.A. the enemy makes our hero’s actions, choosing to spare life whenever possible, all that much more commendable. American cinema that makes Americans look bad is always refreshing. They’re not all bad but it’s obnoxious to pretend they aren’t somewhat bad.


The Bourne series should be commended for successfully accomplishing what so many others have recently failed at. It is a consistently enjoyable trilogy that never takes itself too seriously and has purpose in each installment that justifies the necessity of three films to tell a complete story, rather than just being an excuse to rake in more cash. They are all three intelligent and compelling works, with THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM serving as a smooth, sophisticated closer that is only disappointing because it draws the entire ordeal to a close. I would love to see the series live on but it will lack the one driving force that has made it so compelling for so long now. Now that Jason Bourne knows where it all began, he will no longer be in constant, compulsive pursuit of the ultimate puzzle, understanding himself. Is there any more gripping a pursuit to be had?

RESCUE DAWN

Written and Directed by Werner Herzog


Dieter Dengler: When something is empty, fill it. When something is full, empty it. When you have an itch, scratch it.

For what feels like the first time in the last five years, someone has crafted a war movie that is not concerned with drawing loose comparisons between itself and America’s War on Terror, in an effort to criticize the already heavily debated validity of the war. German director, Werner Herzog, is more interested in telling a story ripe enough with its own depth and desperation to capture the viewer’s attention without having to rely on political disparagement and moralistic preaching to give the film its ultimate significance. RESCUE DAWN tells the true story of Dieter Dengler, a German-born aircraft pilot for the American Navy (played here by the almost always stellar, Christian Bale), who has been sent to Vietnam in 1965, at a time when America’s intentions for Vietnam were not yet clear to the general population. He expected to get some flying time in but had no concept of what was actually in store for himself (much like the American government). Shot down on his first time out over Laos, Dieter is captured by locals and imprisoned in a camp along with a handful of other men. What he and his fellow prisoners endure in their enforced seclusion nearly destroys their minds and spirits but also makes for a gripping film about the strength of the human will.


Of course, one can infer criticism of the American government and its military practices in Herzog’s text. Considering the common comparison between America’s invasion of Iraq and their previous invasion of Vietnam as similarly fruitless and devastating war efforts that were potentially unnecessary to begin with, it would be hard not to make links between the two. Herzog elevates RESCUE DAWN though by not making all of this so obvious and allowing viewers to form their own thoughts on the subject. Still, it is hard not to condemn the American government for not disclosing the truth behind their involvement in Vietnam, when soldiers are being tortured in combat situations that don’t technically exist on paper. Dengler fights for America but has no idea what America is fighting for. Despite the injustice, if you see no comparison, then you are still left with the compelling character of Dieter Dengler. The naïve, boy-like charm of the pilot who always wanted to fly can always be seen as a distant sparkle in Bale’s eyes. And albeit terribly faint at times, his hope is still enough to inspire the same in the other prisoners when they felt they might never feel anything like that again.


Although the RESCUE DAWN shoot was probably more like a day of spa treatments when compared with the real life experiences of Dengler and the other detainees, it is clear just from watching that it couldn’t have been easy. Alongside Bale, American actors, Jeremy Davies and Steve Zahn (in his most mature performance, resulting in a complete transformation), fight their way out of suffering. While it has been reported that Zahn lost over 40 pounds for the role (and that there were no trailers on location in Thailand), Davies is seen without his shirt often in the film. His protruding rib cage and twig-like arms are sickening to the point where I had to look away. Meanwhile, Bale and Zahn must battle the elements throughout their ordeal. They are seen going over rapids, being dragged along the dirt, ingesting maggots and being carried away by mudslides. For their perseverance and fortitude alone, Bale and Zahn deserve recognition for their performances. However, it is their embodiment of men long gone and lost to the dark depths of their minds that push themselves to continue when they are running on nothing that will be most memorable in years to come.


Dieter Dengler is humbled by his experience just as I was humbled by RESCUE DAWN. Dengler is a man of principle with a sense of entitlement that undergoes great growth. He is arrogant when he bombs Vietnam and then expects his captors to extend him the courtesy of using a bathroom. He is smartening up when he will not sign documentation that will supposedly expedite his release and get him home sooner. And he exhibits a newfound sense of responsibility when he takes all the prisoners under his guidance and inspires new faith in their souls while ensuring that they are equipped with the tools necessary to make their awakened dreams a reality. RESCUE DAWN brings its characters and its viewers deep into the jungle and shows how there can be a way out for those brave enough to push on towards it.