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MaXXXine (2024)
Falls Short of Exxxcellent
With 2022's 'X' and 'Pearl,' Ti West created two extremely entertaining, wickedly clever horror comedies, honouring two specific types of films. 'X' is a homage to- and pastiche of- 1970's grindhouse tropes, most obviously 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre,' while 'Pearl' is a like a warped, 1950's Technicolour melodrama, like the cinematic child of Walt Disney and Dario Argento. Both films are prime examples of satire, successfully implementing elements of the object they are satirising without becoming that object themselves.
With 'MaXXXine,' the newest addition to the 'X' franchise, West aims to send-up giallo and exploitation films of the late 70's, as well as the video nasties of the 1980's and Hollywood set slashers in general. Taking place in 1985, six years after the events of the original, the film follows Maxine Minx, who is trying to make a go of it in the pictures. After landing her big break, she is blackmailed by someone threatening to reveal her participation in the 1979 massacre. Meanwhile, the Nightstalker roams the streets, and Maxine's friends are dropping like flies. Will Maxine finally become a star, or be forced to live a life she doesn't deserve?
Enjoyable though narratively uneven, visually, 'MaXXXine' dazzles, recreating the neon-soaked decadence of mid-1980's Los Angeles. However, beneath its glossy surface lies a narrative that lacks the bite, wit and unpredictability of its predecessors. Although entertaining, at times the film threatens to become that which it is satirising- a schlocky Hollywood slasher. West incorporates many familiar elements of 80's movies- bickering cops, an over-the-top villain, a seedy P. I., shootouts- but these seem more like cliches than effective satire, as their inclusion lacks any kind of fresh spin or commentary.
In 'X' and 'Pearl,' every detail was meticulously calculated, purposefully included to heighten the emotion of any given scene. Here, it feels as if West tossed in tropes just for kicks, leaving one wondering about their purpose. Effective satire dances on the edge, teasing its subjects without falling into their traps; 'MaXXXine' wobbles- sometimes clever, other times clumsy. Perhaps West's intention was to blur the line between homage and parody. But in doing so, he risks losing the very essence that made his earlier films shine.
Additionally, supporting characters are underwritten, lacking depth or personality. There are no reasons to care for any of them, as the majority aren't on screen for long enough to leave any kind of impact. Those that are start off as cliches- a no-nonsense director, a lascivious Southerner, two cardboard cut out cops- and then proceed not to change. Considering West's brilliant characterisation in previous films, it's rather disappointing.
As is the exceedingly underwhelming final act, which boils down to a forgettable gunfight. Moreover, the identity of the villain will only come as a surprise to someone who has never seen a film before. Conversely, the character of Maxine Minx is still compelling; her determination, resilience and unwavering pursuit of stardom keeps one engaged. She's an unstoppable force, refusing to fade into the shadows, that one cannot help but root for.
Furthermore, West and cinematographer Eliot Rockett do sterling work, emphasising the seediness of the City of Angles, where devils prowl down grimy alleyways. Moreover, they cleverly weave video aesthetics into the fabric of the film itself. Grain dances across the screen, a nod to VHS tapes and late-night cable channels, while de-focused shots blur the line between reality and fantasy, hinting at Maxine's hidden past. It's a visual language that speaks to those who remember tracking lines and rewinding cassettes, compounding the film's heady atmosphere.
In addition, Jason Kisvarday's detailed production design is successful at immersing the viewer in the ostentatious 1980's, where everything was bigger and brighter than before or after. Mari-An Ceo's costume design, alongside Kelsi Ephraim set decoration, contributes to this immersive effect, while Tyler Bates' evocative, synthesised score wouldn't feel out of place in an 80's Brian DePalma or J. Lee Thompson vehicle, and the soundtrack- making great use of tracks from the likes of ZZ Top and Kim Carnes- is stirring.
Mia Goth's commanding central performance as Maxine is where the film's greatest strength lies. As in her two previous collaborations with West, her intrepid character shows through clearly. Goth is not afraid to go all out and risk being called over-the-top. Surely, after all, with material like this, she's meant to be grandiose? Even in it's weakest moments, Goth keeps 'MaXXXine' from becoming uninteresting; remaining a pivotal figure in modern horror cinema.
Opposite her, Kevin Bacon is excellent as the aforementioned sleazy, Southern P. I., making a one-note character arguably the most entertaining in the picture. Elizabeth Debicki does assured work as the director who gives Maxine her big break, though the role doesn't give her much to work with. Giancarlo Esposito is clearly having a ball in the all-too small part of Maxine's agent, while Michelle Monaghan and Bobby Cannavale are all but wasted as the cops; getting nothing to do but doing it well.
Ti West's 'MaXXXine' is an entertaining comic-horror, but lies in the shadow of its predecessors, which were considerably more cohesive, original and accomplished. Despite striking visuals and a stirring score, its narrative underwhelms, teetering between clever and clunky. Although Mia Goth and her supporting cast- most notably Kevin Bacon- do strong work, unfortunately 'MaXXXine' falls short of exxxcellent.
Kinds of Kindness (2024)
Essentially Lanthimosian
Over the last twenty years, Yorgos Lanthimos has cultivated an approach to filmmaking all his own. Like David Lynch, he has developed a singular, instantly identifiable style, which will, no doubt, one day be- if it is not already- referred to as Lanthimosian. Generally speaking, his films, though varied, usually explore power dynamics, featuring characters who speak in monotone, dialogue that is slightly unreal and darkly-comic narratives containing both bloodshed and nudity.
'Kinds of Kindness' bears all the hallmarks of his style. An anthology film- or triptych, as it is billed- its thematic content is open to numerous interpretations; the most obvious being control, as, in each of the three stories, it is examined in some form. In the first, a man tries to stand up to his domineering boss, with disastrous results. In the second, a policeman who is losing control of his life after the disappearance of his wife, finds things stranger upon her return. In the third and last, a woman working for a cult tries to find an individual who has power over life and death.
With each tale, the case can be made that Lanthimos is examining a different aspect of control with regard to power dynamics and family structures. In the opening segment, Lanthimos explores the theme of subjugation and rebellion, highlighting the delicate balance between asserting oneself and the risks involved in challenging authority. Furthermore, once free of the controlling structure he had grown subconsciously comfortable in, the protagonist seeks to regain his subjugated position- a poignant exploration of agency and longing.
In the second story the interconnecting notions of power, manipulation and the illusion of control are explored, as the policeman desperately tries to control and restructure a situation he does not recognise, nor has power over. The irrational demands he makes of his wife in order for her to demonstrate her love to him reveal the lengths one can go to maintain control and stability in the face of perceived chaos.
The third story raises questions about the limits of human agency, following a woman who has voluntarily given up control of her life to a cult and, like the protagonist in the first story, tries to regain her subjugated position, once free. Perhaps Lanthimos is examining fears associated with autonomy, of agency and desire.
However, while control appears thematically in each of the stories, there could be more at play. One could, perhaps, see the film as a religious allegory, with the three stories mirroring the ideas of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Lanthimos may be inviting viewers to explore fears associated with autonomy and desire through this lens.
On the other hand, considering the sacrifice of autonomy for comfort or survival becomes a recurring motif; might the film be primarily about just that: sacrifice? Or is it merely concerned with how manipulation, dominance and submission intersect? The film's digressive structure allows ideas such as these to unfold without arriving at tidy conclusions, leaving room for as many abstractions and interpretations as there are viewers.
Whatever the case, the stories are entertaining and darkly funny, full of the deliciously weird Lanthimosian dialogue many have come to love. However, as each are so engaging, it is a pity that they are not three individual, full-length films in their own right. Lanthimos and co-writer Efthimis Filippou could have expanded any of them into a stand-alone feature and, by doing so, heightened their power and impact considerably.
Despite this, 'Kinds of Kindness' remains engaging and thought-provoking, boasting assured, grounded visuals that heighten the narrative's strangeness. Lanthimos and director of photography Robbie Ryan film proceedings with realism in mind, avoiding flashy stylisations and unconventional camera angles. This juxtaposition between the natural cinematography and the inherent oddness of the narrative is both atmospheric and effective.
Furthermore, Jerskin Fendrix's score contributes greatly to the film's atmosphere. Full of sinister choral chants, like the singing of a group of mad monks, it adds an element of suspense and drama, complementing the visuals and the narrative. In addition, Anthony Gasparro's production design, as well as Amy Beth Silver's minimalistic set decoration and Jennifer Johnson's muted costume design, are immersive, drawing viewers further in to Lanthimos's odd world, emphasising the uncanny.
The film features some of Lanthimos's frequent collaborators, such as Emma Stone, Willem Dafoe, Yorgos Stefanakos and Margaret Qualley, alongside newcomers to his oeuvre, like Jesse Plemons and Hong Chau. All play multiple characters across the three stories- bar Stefanakos- and excel in each. Plemons showcases his versatility, bringing a decency and humanity to even the cruellest of men. Stone, meanwhile, proves yet again that she is a perfect fit for Lanthimos's material, inhabiting her disparate, bizarre roles with a remarkable ease and naturality.
In addition, Dafoe demonstrates once more why many consider him one of the finest actors working today, bringing authenticity to three markedly different personalities; from the good and the bad to the ugly. Furthermore, Qualley and Chau both bring life to smaller roles, showcasing their considerable abilities, while Stefanakos- totally mute- has a strong screen presence, making his enigmatic character all the more intriguing.
Darkly funny and overwhelmingly odd, 'Kinds of Kindness' is a typically Lanthimosian venture. Featuring three entertaining tales of madness, control and manipulation, it is utterly unique. Boasting striking cinematography, as well as a stirring, sinister score, one won't easily forget it. With strong performances from all in the cast- especially Emma Stone, Jesse Plemons and Willem Dafoe- and comically off-beat dialogue, it is all kinds of weird- and all kinds of wonderful.
Dream Scenario (2023)
Classic Cage
Nicolas Cage is an endlessly watchable actor. From 'Moonstruck' and 'Adaptation' to 'Pig,' he has given many startlingly powerful, nuanced performances, that are hard to forget. At the same time, Cage has given many overblown ones, in efforts like 'Vampire's Kiss' and 'Sympathy For The Devil,' which are even harder to forget. Whether understated or over-the-top, Cage is always entertaining, oftentimes making unremarkable films not just watchable, but memorable.
In Kristoffer Borgli's 'Dream Scenario,' Cage plays Paul Matthews, a professor of evolutionary biology at Osler University. A middle-aged, insipid fellow, Paul yearns for recognition. One day, he runs into an old flame, who tells him he has been appearing in her dreams, which she writes an article about. Suddenly hundreds of strangers report seeing Paul in their dreams, and he becomes a global sensation. However, Paul soon learns that fame is fickle, as his life becomes a waking nightmare.
'Dream Scenario' is a funny, interesting film examining multiple themes, though fails to explore all of them thoroughly. As Paul becomes famous, and later infamous, the film satirises the preposterousness of notoriety, how people nowadays become celebrities while doing practically nothing. Although not exactly an original point, Borgli's screenplay navigates this idea in a clever, comedic way. At the same time, the film shows the downsides of fame, skewering cancel culture; revealing how celebrity can transform from adoration to infamy in an instant.
However, as the film progresses, other ideas are introduced, which aren't covered in depth, and the final act underwhelms. Though Borgli's attempts to lampoon the phenomenon of "influencers" provides some laughs, it also distracts from the established narrative. Additionally, the film's supporting charters are rather underwritten, lacking development. Conversely, Paul is an intriguing character, whose massive ego is hidden beneath layers of self-consciousness and doubt. A timid, yet opinionated man, Paul is, to quote Kris Kristofferson, 'a walking contradiction,' and a compelling one at that.
Borgli and cinematographer Benjamin Loeb capture Paul's rise and fall with keen eyes. Shot on 16mm film stock, the visuals are beguiling, mirroring Paul's journey through the tumultuous cycles of fame, as well as contributing to the film's dreamlike atmosphere. They make excellent use of light and colour, as well as subtle distortions and low angles, immersing viewers in the surreal world of the narrative.
Additionally, Borgli's intuitive editing keeps thing cohesive, while also adding to the film's atmosphere. His use of quick cuts in otherwise calm scenes- creating a sense of unease- is reminiscent of the work of Yorgos Lanthimos. Similarly, the dream sequences- particularly in the latter half- are more than mere plot devices; they're visual poetry, weaving symbolism, surreal imagery and emotional subtext seamlessly into the narrative, thanks to Borgli's astute edits.
Furthermore, Owen Pallett's score enhances the film's atmosphere and emotional impact. Talking Heads' 'City of Dreams' is used to particularly strong effect, leaving few viewers with dry eyes as the credits roll. Kaysie Bergens and Natalie Bronfman's costume design effectively contributes to the characters' personalities, while production designer Zosia Mackenzie's canny work amplifies the surreal nature of Paul's experiences.
Cage, however, is all one can think about when the film is over. He delivers a marvellous performance, funny, sad and profoundly realistic. A heightened, deeply insecure man who just wants the world to read his book about ants- which he has yet to write- Cage's Paul is one of his finest cinematic creations, up there with his turn as Charlie and Donald Kaufman in 'Adaptation' and Ben Sanderson in 'Leaving Las Vegas.' Multifaceted, funny, memorable; it's classic Cage.
While his supporting cast all do fine work- Julianne Nicholson, Michael Cera, Tim Meadows and Dylan Gelula especially- they aren't given substantial material to work with. Nicholson is particularly good in the underwritten role of Paul's wife, demonstrating remarkable emotional depth. Cera is hilarious in the all too small part of Trent, the head of a viral marketing firm, while Meadows and Gelula both do stellar work as the Dean of Osler University and Trent's assistant Molly, respectively.
Kristoffer Borgli's 'Dream Scenario' is an entertaining film, though has its issues. While the conceit is novel, Borgli's examination of themes like cancel culture and fame- though funny- aren't particularly original. However, the cinematography is striking, the score stirring and the whole affair edited astutely. Nicolas Cage is absolutely fantastic, while his co-stars all do fine work in underwritten roles- Julianne Nicholson especially. Although 'Dream Scenario' might not be perfect, it's definitely not a nightmare, and more proof that Cage is an endlessly watchable actor.
Hitler's S.S.: Portrait in Evil (1985)
Portrait in Mediocrity
It is the early 1930's, and the Nazis are gaining power in Germany. The young, unemployed Karl Hoffman is enthusiastic about the party, readily joining the SA. His brother Helmut, a university student, is more wary, but after meeting Reinhard Heydrich, is seduced into joining the SS. As time marches on, Helmut's star rises, while Karl loses faith in the machine of fascism, particularly after the Night of the Long Knives. Amidst the horrors of war and Hitler's murderous reign, can the brothers' relationship- and they themselves- survive?
Directed by Jim Goddard from a Lukas Heller screenplay, 'Hitler's SS: Portrait in Evil' is a well-intentioned, but fairly rote made for TV movie suffering from a dull narrative and stilted dialogue. Heller's linear tale charts the rise and fall- not just of the Hoffman brothers- but of the Third Reich, feeling at times like a drab recital from a history book. The affair lacks emotional depth, as well as natural dialogue and impactful characterisation. One has no reason to care for either of the brothers, nor any of the secondary characters, and Heller's attempts to balance historical accuracy with engaging storytelling proves challenging, resulting in an overly didactic piece.
As a chronicle of history, the film works quite well, despite creative licence taken here and there, leading to inaccuracies. Heller's representation of Nazi-era Germany as a hotbed of varying political ideas, as well as the juxtaposition of the SS verses the SA and the Wehrmacht, is mostly on point, making for some interesting moments. However, as a piece of fictional storytelling, attempting to examine themes such as nationalism and brotherhood, as well as how a nation fell under the spell of fascism, the film falls short. In addition, a love triangle sub-plot adds nothing to the piece but more minutes to the runtime.
Furthermore, Ernest Vincze's cinematography does little to aid proceedings. He opts for a very conventional approach, without stylizations or tension-building techniques, such as irregular angles or creative framing, which would have compounded the film's emotional weight. Although he captures the fascist rallies and smoky interiors of the bierkellers effectively, his work is not memorable, nor powerful.
Moreover, Richard Hartley's overly romantic score seems to have been written for a different film entirely. His cloyingly mournful melodies would be more appropriate in an adaptation of a Jilly Cooper dime-store novel; set against the horrors of the Third Reich they seem utterly out of place. Conversely, Eileen Diss and Mike Porter's production design appears faithful to the period, while Elizabeth Waller's costumes carry the weight of authenticity. Although perhaps everything is a bit too clean, the overall visual effect is one of realism.
Bill Nighy and John Shea star as Helmut and Karl Hoffman, respectively, opposite a large cast of well-known performers. Nighy does fine work as Helmut, creating in him a cynical, morally ambiguous character one could imagine rising through the ranks of the SS. On the other hand, Shea opts for a more straightforward approach, playing Karl as a good man; lacking the intrigue, nuance and complexity Nighy fosters.
The supporting cast are a veritable who's who of Hollywood, some of whom do strong work. David Warner is particularly good as the sinister Reinhard Heidrich, a role he played before in Marvin J. Chomsky's far-more effective 'Holocaust.' Lucy Gutteridge does what is required with the under-written role of Mitzi, a nightclub singer, though doesn't make much of an impression. In addition, José Ferrer and Tony Randall bring a gravitas to their all too small roles as a Jewish professor and a doomed comedian.
A straightforward made for TV movie about a fascinating point in history, Jim Goddard's 'Hitler's SS: Portrait in Evil' is a fairly mundane piece of work. The narrative is underwhelming and the dialogue is stilted, although the production design is fairly authentic. While Bill Nighy and some of the supporting cast do strong work, John Shea underwhelms and the cinematography lacks creativity. Unfortunately, 'Hitler's SS: Portrait in Evil' is ultimately a portrait in mediocrity.
The Quick and the Dead (1987)
Familiar Ground
In the year 1876, Duncan McKaskel, his wife Susanna, and their young son Tom leave Pennsylvania, embarking on a journey through Wyoming- a land ripe with promise and peril. As they traverse the rugged terrain, they encounter Doc Shabbitt and his felonious gang of ruffians, who shadow their every move. It's in this precarious moment that a mysterious stranger, Con Vallian, emerges from the wilderness. Vallian's decision to aid the McKaskels sets the stage for their survival, but at what cost? In a land where justice is often dispensed down the barrel of a gun, Vallian's skills become their lifeline.
A TV movie directed by Robert Day, and based on the novel of the same name by Louis L'Amour, 'The Quick and the Dead' is a predictable but entertaining western of the old style. Much like other L'Amour works, such as 'Hondo,' 'Connagher' and 'Crossfire Trail,' the narrative deals with disparate characters who are emblematic of the cultural divide between the American East and West; characters who must learn to work together if they are to survive.
Although enjoyable, screenwriter James Lee Barrett tends towards the cliched, especially with regard to characterisation. Vallian's stoicism, Susanna's defiance, Duncan's inner turmoil, Shabbitt's eloquent villainy, Tom's awakening- all echo familiar Western archetypes, adhering to traditional character tropes of the genre. Their linear journey provides few surprises and the sparse moments of action within lack excitement or tension. Moreover, when closely examined, some aspects of the plot lack credibility. Vallian's self-sacrifice for a family he barely knows seems contrived, as does the hackneyed, underwhelming ending.
Additionally, Dick Bush opts for a conventional cinematographical approach, meaning the visuals lack flair or originality. While he adeptly captures the stark beauty of the American West, when filming in exquisite locations like Coconino National Forest and Sedona, Arizona, it would be challenging not to showcase their splendour. Furthermore, while Bush's use of close-ups and wide shots adheres to traditional Western filmmaking, tension-building techniques- such as creative framing, dynamic camera movement, or unexpected angles- are somewhat absent.
Moreover, Steve Dorff's score is overblown to the point of parody. His melodies sound like someone trying to mimic, or mock, the sentimental ballads found in your average John Wayne film; a sweeping undercurrent rolling like amber waves of grain in the wind. Conversely, Barbara Weiss's costume design brings a most welcome authenticity to proceedings, while A. Rosalind Crew's minimalistic set decoration and Chester Kaczenski's production design further enhances this visual appeal.
Sam Elliott stars as Vallian, opposite Kate Capshaw as Susanna. Elliott is pitch-perfect as the stoic, rifle-toting stranger, utilising his world-weary charm to full effect. Capshaw does commendable work as Susanna, elevating what could have been a one-note character into a believable, multifaceted personality. Tom Conti subtly underplays it as Duncan, and is very effective in a role that seems somewhat out of his comfort zone. Additionally, Matt Clark- who has appeared in many of Hollywood's best westerns- makes for a fantastic villain as Shabbitt, unhinged yet calculated, and always entertaining.
Although cliched and predictable, Robert Day's 'The Quick and the Dead' still holds entertainment value, especially for fans of old-school westerns. Despite unremarkable cinematography and an overblown score, it's a compelling piece, thanks in large part to the efforts of the cast- especially Sam Elliott and Matt Clark. While this might not be the best Louis L'Amour adaptation, it still rollicks along, like a thoroughbred at full gallop, faltering here and there; but never knocking its rider from the saddle.
Srpski film (2010)
A Tale Told by An Idiot
In the pantheon of disturbing cinema, Srdan Spasojevic's 'A Serbian Film' stands as a grotesque outlier, a film that doesn't just cross the line- it revels in its transgression. While movies like Takashi Miike's darkly comic 'Visitor Q', along with Pier Paolo Pasolini's cerebral 'Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom,' demonstrate that filmmakers can weave unsettling narratives with compelling messages, 'A Serbian Film' lacks such depth.
The term 'torture porn,' coined in the wake of the 'Saw' franchise, aptly describes horror films that are obsessed with the fragility of the human form, dramatizing its destruction with a perverse glee. Often, these films fail to transcend their bloodlust, embodying Thomas Hobbes' description of life as "nasty, brutish and short." Spasojevic's contribution to the genre, however, is anything but brief. It's an interminable descent into depravity, following beleaguered pornstar Milos as he navigates the murky waters of an 'artistic' endeavour that quickly devolves into a nightmare.
Spasojevic, alongside co-writer Aleksandar Radivojevic, crafts a narrative that is as disheartening as it is monotonous- a relentless barrage of sadism without a shred of originality or wit. The film's attempts to parallel the worst of Eli Roth's 'Hostel' fall flat, rendering even Roth's most harrowing scenes as innocuous as a Disney flick by comparison. Despite lofty claims of satirizing political correctness and critiquing colonialism, the film's execution is as shallow as a rain-slicked street; its purported themes lost in a mire of senseless brutality.
From the stilted dialogue to the clichéd character arcs, there's a distinct lack of innovation or merit in the screenplay. 'A Serbian Film' is not a clever parody nor a poignant critique; it is a cinematic aberration leaving viewers questioning not the nature of political correctness or colonialism, but the motives behind its creation. It's a film that, from its grim inception to its merciful conclusion, offers no redemption, no insight- only the bleak reminder of cinema's potential for darkness.
With its unoriginality and repetitive scenes of violence, it is reminiscent of John Erick Dowdle's 'The Poughkeepsie Tapes,' though is a much more polished effort, technically. Nemanja Jovanov's cinematography is audaciously striking, capturing the macabre with an unsettling clarity that almost dares you to look away. Sky Wikluh's electronic score is a relentless undercurrent, amplifying the tension to almost unbearable levels, while editor Darko Simic's rapid cuts ensure the viewer's descent into the film's abyss is swiftly relentless. Moreover, the special effects and make-up achieve a disquieting realism, blurring the line between fiction and the viewer's threshold for horror.
Yet, this technical artistry serves only as a bitter reminder of the film's wasted potential, becoming a mere backdrop to the narrative's relentless brutality. As the credits roll, one is left not with an appreciation for the film's technical achievements, but with an overwhelming sense of exhaustion- a testament to the film's ability to provoke a visceral response, but also to its failure to channel its technical merits into a narrative worthy of them.
Furthermore, the cast, despite their commendable performances, are simply pawns in a game that overshadows their talents. Srdjan 'Zika' Todorovic, in a role that demands everything and offers nothing, delivers a heartbreakingly raw performance as Milos, capturing the essence of a man dragged through the inferno of human depravity. Opposite him, Sergej Trifunovic, as Milos's employer Vukmir, is chillingly effective, infusing the character with a subtle menace that lingers long after the screen cuts to black.
In addition, Jelena Gavrilovic and Slobodan Bestic, as Marija and Marko, Milos's wife and brother, respectfully, give strong performances that resonate with authenticity and emotional depth. Yet, the question looms large: to what end? The film's relentless onslaught of brutality leaves little room to appreciate the efforts of the cast, showing that even the most potent performances can be rendered moot by a narrative devoid of purpose, wit or insight.
A voyeuristic foray into the depths of exploitative cinema, Srdan Spasojevic's 'A Serbian Film' stands as a Grand Guignol spectacle of the most witless kind. It's the cinematic equivalent of an unrelenting tooth extraction without the mercy of anaesthesia- thoroughly gruelling to endure. While it may boast technical proficiency and strong performances, these are but a veneer over a hollow core devoid of meaningful commentary.
It is a film that leaves behind a legacy not of insightful artistry, but of controversy for controversy's sake- a cautionary tale of how a narrative, no matter how polished its exterior, can falter without substance to anchor it. 'A Serbian Film' stands as a stark reminder that the power of cinema to disturb is profound, but without purpose or restraint, it risks becoming an empty spectacle; full of sound and fury, but signifying nothing.
Spasms (1983)
Lacking Bite
By 1983, Oliver Reed had sold Broome Hall, the 56-bedroom, palatial house he had lived in for several years and which crippled him financially. However, the upkeep on Reed's new home, Pinkhurst farm- a 12-acre Tudor manor in Surrey- was still substantial. To that end, Reed- unlike some of his peers, such as Dirk Bogarde or Richard Burton- did not have the luxury of being able to solely choose acting projects that interested him. The cheque was- more often than not- more persuasive than the screenplay; perhaps explaining his appearance in William Fruet's 'Spasms.'
Moreover, the record-breaking success of Steven Spielberg's 'Jaws'- which Reed was offered a role in and declined- might explain the film as a whole. Based on the novel 'Death Bite' by Michael Maryk and Brent Monahan, it follows millionaire Jason Kincaid, who claims to have a telepathic connection with a giant snake. He hires ESP researcher Tom Brasilia to rid him of the psychic link, while a cult- and ex-CIA agent Crowley- have their eyes on the beast and want it for themselves. With Kincaid's niece Suzanne in tow, will Brasilia be able to avoid the poisoned jaws of doom?
Sound like fun? It isn't, at least not intentionally. Clearly trading on the success of 'Jaws', Fruet and co-writer Don Enright's screenplay lacks everything that made Spielberg's film so special. In 'Jaws', the characters were believable and compelling, the dialogue was sharply witty and the situation was as tense as a stretched bowstring. Conversely, in Fruet's film, the characters are ridiculous caricatures with no depth or interesting qualities of any kind. The dull, overly expository dialogue sounds like it was ripped straight from the pages of a bargain-basement slasher novel- which, one supposes, it was.
Furthermore, whatever tension Maryk and Monahan might have been able to generate with the written word was completely lost in translation to the screen. Fruet fails to create suspense, in fact, he doesn't seem to know what suspense is. Alongside editor Ralph Brunjes, he continuously cuts from lengthy scenes of juxtaposition to poorly shot ones of snake-sadism, without any rhyme, reason or style. Tension isn't allowed to build, nor does the audience feel in any way intimidated by the threat of the snake; or invested in the story at all, for that matter.
It's a dull, unexciting venture, with few redeeming qualities. Cinematographer Mark Irwin- whose work on David Cronenberg's 'The Brood' and 'Videodrome' was so affecting- phones it in, shooting the picture like it was a movie of the week scheduled to air on Superbowl Sunday. The flair he demonstrated many times with Cronenberg is lost: his compositions are conventional, the lighting is uninspired; the whole thing looks cheap.
In addition, Eric Robertson's unoriginal score does little to help proceedings, ripping everything and everyone off, from John Carpenter to 'The Wizard of Oz'. In fact, the state of the film makes one wonder if all those involved knew they were working on a dud and decided not to try particularly hard. From the production design to the costumes and set decoration, there is a distinct lack of quality- or of interest from the participants.
Particularly with regard to the special effects. Apparently, Fruet was dissatisfied with the work of Academy Award-winning makeup artists Dick Smith and Stephan Dupuis, meaning one never really sees the snake nor the effects of its' ravaging. Fruet instead relies on tacky, blue-tinged POV shots and quick cuts, which is a real shame, as in the sole scene where one sees Smith and Dupuis's work in a well-lit environment, it is commendable. Fruet didn't know what a good thing he had.
Despite all that, as Kincaid, Reed is terrific, opposite Peter Fonda as Brasilia, Kerrie Keane as Suzanne and Al Waxman as Crowley. Like in 'Venom', another snake-based chiller he was in, Reed gives it his all, delivering a measured, understated performance. He is a joy to watch, while Fonda- despite seeming a bit bored- and Keane also do fine work; their attempts to elevate the material and their characters are commendable, if ultimately in vain. Waxman, for his part, seems to be trying to chew as much scenery as he can, and does so, swallowing the nails and all. However, he brings some life and energy to proceedings; which the film was in dire need of.
That Maryk and Monahan thought their book could be as big a film as Peter Benchley's 'Jaws' was is not unreasonable. However, without the talents of Steven Spielberg, and with William Fruet at the helm, 'Spasms' is not in the same league, in fact; it's not even the same game. Dull dialogue, paired with bad characterisation, a complete lack of tension and cheap-looking visuals dooms this film to the realm of the mediocre. Despite Oliver Reed's efforts, this giant snake-based chiller really lacks bite. One hopes Ollie's paycheque was a large one.
Solyaris (1972)
A Cosmic Symphony
Sometime in the not-too-distant future, psychologist Kris Kelvin is sent to a space station above the oceanic planet Solaris, tasked with determining the viability of its ongoing study. Upon his arrival, he finds the station in a state of disrepair, and learns that one of the scientists there has killed himself. Kelvin discovers a message from the dead man, warning him about strange things happening aboard the station. Alongside the remaining scientists, who seem verging on insanity, Kelvin begins to experience the inexplicable. Will he be able to make it back to Earth and, even if he's able; will he want to go?
Directed by Andrei Tarkovsky and based on the novel of the same name by Stanislaw Lem, 'Solaris' is a fascinating science-fiction drama, both visually striking and thought-provoking. Written alongside Fridrikh Gorenshteyn, Tarkovsky's narrative delves into a multitude of themes, from the labyrinth of regret and grief to the ephemeral nature of memory and perception. Often compared to Stanley Kubrick's '2001 A: Space Odyssey,' it is a film that different viewers will interpret in different ways, inviting one to reflect on one's own experiences and the constructs of reality.
Throughout the film, Tarkovsky poignantly explores the human psyche, confronting his characters with their past actions and unspoken sorrows. The sentient ocean of Solaris acts as a catalyst for this introspection, materializing their innermost regrets into tangible forms. This externalization of grief forces the characters- and, by extension, the audience- to confront the often-painful process of healing on the road to closure.
Moreover, Tarkovsky depicts memory as a malleable and unreliable entity, challenging the very notion of objective reality. The film questions whether one's memories serve as faithful records of one's past or are merely reconstructions subject to our current emotions and desires. Furthermore, Tarkovsky invites viewers to ponder the constructs of reality. Are our experiences genuinely authentic, or are they merely reflections of our deepest fears and wishes? Blurring the lines between the real and the imagined, Tarkovsky creates a film that transcends traditional storytelling: a mirror, reflecting not just the characters' truths but also those of the audience.
Each of Tarkovsky's characters serves as a vessel for exploring these profound themes. Kelvin is our guide through the enigmatic world of the film, a man of science confronted with phenomena that challenge his empirical beliefs. His journey is one of internal conflict, as he grapples with the manifestations of his own psyche, which Solaris brings to life. The character of Hari, meanwhile, is the personification of Kelvin's deepest regrets. Her presence on the station is a constant reminder of a past that he cannot escape, making her a pivotal figure in the narrative's exploration of memory and loss.
The supporting characters of Dr. Snaut and Dr. Sartorius are not just colleagues aboard the station but represent different facets of the human response to the unknown. Snaut reflects the weariness of facing the inexplicable, while Sartorius embodies the struggle between scientific detachment and the undeniable impact of Solaris' influence. Through each of these characters, Tarkovsky crafts a narrative that is as much about the individual's inner space as it is about the outer cosmos, where the boundaries between the mind and the external world are blurred.
The film is not just a feast for the mind; it is also a feast for the eyes. Tarkovsky's mastery of visual storytelling is evident in every frame. He juxtaposes lingering shots of the space station's sterile corridors with the lush, almost dreamlike sequences on Earth, creating a dichotomy that mirrors the inner turmoil of the characters. The starkness of the station, with its endless hallways and cold light, stands in contrast to the vibrancy of Earth, emphasizing the isolation and alienation felt by the crew.
In addition, Tarkovsky's use of symbolism- particularly through shots of water- weaves a thread through the narrative, representing the fluidity of time and memory. Cinematographer Vadim Yusov's camera lingers on scenes of rain, pools and oceans, inviting the audience to contemplate the depths beneath the surface of the characters' minds. Moreover, the use of colour is sparse yet impactful, with the muted palette of the station being punctuated by moments of vivid recollection. The lighting is purposeful, often using shadows and silhouettes to create an atmosphere of mystery and introspection.
Furthermore, Mikhail Romadin's production design, as well as the set design from S. Gavrilov and V. Prokofev, are testaments to the film's meticulous craftsmanship. The space station, with its utilitarian yet broken-down features, creates a palpable sense of claustrophobia and decay, reflecting the psychological state of its inhabitants. The attention to detail in the set decoration, from the technological instruments to the personal artifacts, adds layers of authenticity and depth, making the environment a character in its own right.
Additionally, Nelli Fomina's costume design is equally striking. The functional, uniform-like attire of the characters not only situates the story within the realm of science-fiction but also symbolizes their attempts to maintain order amidst the chaos of the station. The costumes are devoid of excess, aligning with the film's themes of stripping away superficial layers to reveal deeper truths. Combined with the production design and set decoration, a visual narrative is formed, which complements the story and its themes. They are not merely aesthetic choices but are integral to the storytelling, contributing to the film's haunting, timeless and immersive atmosphere.
Moreover, the haunting score and soundtrack are integral to this immersive air. Eduard Artemyev's electronic music composition, interspersed with classical pieces by Bach, creates a soundscape both ethereal and deeply resonant. The music serves as a reflection of the film's exploration of time and memory, while the juxtaposition of futuristic sounds and classical harmony underscores the themes of past and future, science and humanity.
Furthermore, Tarkovsky, Lyudmila Feyginova and Nina Marcushe's editing is another aspect that deserves recognition. Although some critics are quick to call the film slow-moving, each carefully considered cut enhances the narrative's dreamlike quality. The film's purposeful, meditative pace allows the viewer to inhabit the space and time of the story, to become an active participant in the unravelling of its enigmas, whilst ensuring the audience fully absorbs the complex emotional and philosophical layers of the story. The transitions between scenes are seamless, yet carry a weight that prompts contemplation, further drawing the viewer into the depths of the film's enigmatic world.
Donatas Banionis stars as Kelvin, opposite Natalya Bondarchuk as Hari, Jüri Järvet as Dr. Snaut and Anatoliy Solonitsyn as Dr. Sartorius. Banionis, dubbed by Vladimir Zamanskiy, delivers a nuanced portrayal of a man caught between the realms of rationality and the unexplainable, capturing Kelvin's internal struggle subtly- his face often conveying more than words could express. Opposite him, Bondarchuk is nothing short of captivating, bringing a haunting presence to the screen. Embodying the film's themes of love, loss and the desire for connection, her portrayal of Hari is both ethereal and deeply human, a reflection of Kelvin's own conflicted emotions.
Järvet does similarly fine work, providing a weary yet compassionate perspective, offering a glimpse into the toll that Solaris takes on the mind and spirit. His performance is understated but powerful, with moments of vulnerability revealing the character's depth. Solonitsyn, meanwhile, is the embodiment of scientific detachment, his stoic demeanour clashing with the inexplicable events (and more emotionally driven people) aboard the station. His cleverly measured performance is compelling, and he and the rest of the cast work well together.
A thought-provoking, compelling piece of science-fiction, Andrei Tarkovsky's 'Solaris' is much more than a Soviet '2001: A Space Odyssey.' In fact, comparing the films, it is arguably the better of the two. Tarkovsky infuses the narrative with thematic depth, inviting viewers on a journey that is as introspective as it is outwardly explorative. Boasting stunning cinematography and stellar production, set and costume design, as well as a stirring score and powerhouse performances from all in the cast, 'Solaris' is a cosmic symphony resonating far beyond the stars.
Into the Night (1985)
A Night to Remember
Aerospace engineer Ed Okin can't get any sleep. He's in a rut, professionally and personally. After discovering his wife in flagrante delicto with another man, Ed drives out to LAX. He has no real plan in mind; maybe he'll go to Vegas. In the airport car park, he comes across Diana, a jewel thief on the run from a gang of vicious Iranian villains. He saves Diana, becoming entangled in a complicated web of malfeasance. Will Ed and Diana make it through the night alive?
Directed by John Landis from a screenplay by Ron Koslow, 'Into the Night' is an offbeat crime comedy, a little like Martin Scorsese's 'After Hours' or Jonathan Demme's 'Something Wild.' Like those two films- which were released after Landis's- it follows an ordinary man thrust into an extraordinary situation. Okin is tired of the dull routine his life has become. After meeting Diana, he rediscovers excitement- and the will to keep on going- through his spontaneous journey into the Los Angeles underworld.
In this way, the theme of escapism is cleverly interwoven into the narrative. Okin's mundane existence is suddenly replaced by a thrilling escapade unfolding under the cover of darkness. This transition, from the banality of his daily routine to the unpredictability of the night, reflects a deep-seated desire to break free from the shackles of conformity. Similarly, the film delves into the search for meaning in life, as Okin embarks on a quest that is as much about self-discovery as it is about survival. The night becomes a metaphor for the unknown, a space where the characters are free to explore their identities away from the prying eyes of society.
Furthermore, Okin's chance encounter with the uninhibited Diana acts as a catalyst for an existential awakening. The film's portrayal of the night as a metaphorical journey from desolation to discovery is compelling, suggesting that, sometimes, one must be lost in the darkness to find the true light of life. This theme resonates with audiences, as everyone, at some point, yearns for an escape from the monotony of their daily lives. Landis captures this universal longing with a winning blend of humour and suspense, making proceedings all the more engaging.
Moreover, Koslow's dialogue sparkles with clever banter and funny lines, while his characterization- with particular regard to the supporting roles- adds another layer of humour, with each character bringing their own quirks and idiosyncrasies to the table. From the bumbling hitmen to the eccentric Hollywood figures Okin and Diana encounter, the film revels in the absurdity of each situation and character. The juxtaposition of comic and dark elements is a hallmark of Landis's direction, creating a film defying easy categorization; remaining memorable long after the credits roll.
However, it is not without its issues. The narrative feels meandering, with a tendency to wander as aimlessly as its protagonist through the sprawling Los Angeles nightscape. This occasionally results in a loss of momentum, leaving the audience yearning for a tighter storyline. Additionally, a plethora of side characters are introduced who, while colourful, sometimes distract from the central plot and lack depth and development. While this ensemble adds to the film's depiction of Los Angeles life, it also dilutes the impact of Okin and Diana's journey.
Having said that, Robert Paynter's cinematography perfectly captures the dichotomy of Los Angeles' glossy veneer and its shadowy underbelly. He brings a kinetic energy to the night-time escapades, with neon lights and the city's luminescence painting a backdrop that feels both dreamlike and gritty. The use of shadows and light not only adds to the film's noir aesthetic but also symbolizes the characters' journey from ignorance to enlightenment.
Furthermore, the soundtrack- featuring the likes of B. B. King, The Four Tops and Marvin Gaye- complements the film astutely. The bluesy tunes underscore the film's themes of loneliness and the search for connection, while the more upbeat tracks accompany the film's action sequences, adding a layer of excitement to proceedings. Moreover, Ira Newborn's original score acts as an emotional guide for the audience, subtly influencing our perception of the characters' experiences and the stakes of their adventure.
The film stars Jeff Goldblum as Okin, alongside Michelle Pfeiffer as Diana. Portrayed with a weary charm by Goldblum, Okin is the quintessential everyman, lost in the ennui of modern life. His character's evolution from a passive observer to an active participant in his own story is relatable; and Goldblum pulls it off with ease. Pfeiffer's pitch perfect performance as Diana is the ideal foil to Okin's inertia. With her quick wit and captivating allure, she embodies the excitement and danger that he craves. Their dynamic is the driving force of the film, as each character finds in the other something they didn't realize they were missing.
The chemistry between Goldblum and Pfeiffer seems genuine, providing a grounding human element to the film's wilder comedic escapades. As they navigate the night's challenges, their interactions offer moments of connection, underscoring the film's exploration of loneliness and the human need for companionship. Additionally, the numerous supporting characters are each and all realized brilliantly. Paul Mazursky's performance as a sleazy director and Kathryn Harrold's as an actress friend of Diana's are the stand outs, as well as Richard Farnsworth's as a millionaire and David Bowie's as a mysterious hitman who- as in David Lynch's 'Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me'- is given too little screen time.
Despite its meandering narrative and a surplus of side characters, John Landis's 'Into the Night' is compelling, unpredictable and comedic. Its exploration of themes such as escapism and the search for meaning- paired with standout performances by Jeff Goldblum and Michelle Pfeiffer- make it an engaging, entertaining watch. Boasting fine cinematography from Robert Paynter, as well as a stirring score, it works on nearly every level, and surely is a night to remember.
The Act of Killing (2012)
The Long Shadow of Violence
On the first of October, 1965, members of the Indonesian National Armed Forces launched a coup d'état. Although it eventually failed, the coup resulted in the deaths of six Indonesian Army generals and set the stage for President Sukarno's eventual displacement, ushering in General Suharto's autocratic regime. Under Suharto's rule, a staggering number of alleged communists- including Sukarno's supporters, members of labour and farming unions and Chinese Indonesians- were brutally killed. Backed by the U. S., the responsible paramilitary groups- namely Pancasila Youth- remain influential to this day.
Between the years of 2005 and 2011, director Joshua Oppenheimer traversed Indonesia, interviewing members of Pancasila Youth about the mass murders they partook in. He discovered a disturbing lack of remorse among them, with many recounting their deeds with unsettling nonchalance. Anwar Congo, a prominent figure in these events, as well as his right-hand man Herman Koto, collaborated with Oppenheimer to reenact the killings they participated in; a process with unexpected consequences for all involved.
'The Act of Killing' is a fascinating documentary, exploring a particularly dark passage in human history. Oppenheimer captures not just a vivid portrait of Indonesia, exposing how the gangsterism of Pancasila Youth is pervasive from the top down, but also examines themes that resonate outside of the film's context. He delves into the psychological impact of mass killings- of genocide- on both the perpetrators and society at large, highlighting the complex interplay between personal guilt, collective memory and national identity.
The film shows that the psychological effects of the mass murders extends far beyond the immediate aftermath, revealing the deep scars left on the psyche of the killers, manifested in a complex mix of denial, bravado and, at times, haunting remorse. Oppenheimer's lens captures the dissonance between the perpetrators' self-image as heroes and the brutal reality of their actions. As Congo and his comrades reenact their past violence, they begin to exhibit signs of moral injury- a term used to describe the internal suffering that results from doing something against one's moral code.
Furthermore, the documentary also touches on the broader societal impact of such atrocities. It shows how a culture of impunity and the glorification of violence can distort collective memory, leaving a nation to grapple with an unresolved and painful past. The chilling ease with which the killers recount their stories reflects a society still coming to terms with its history. Oppenheimer's work serves as a powerful reminder of the long shadow cast by acts of violence and the importance of confronting the truth for both individual healing and societal reconciliation. The reenactments become a conduit for the killers to face their own humanity and, perhaps, for the audience to reflect on the capacity for cruelty that lies within society at large.
The cinematic journey Oppenheimer takes viewers on is a stark reminder of the international political dynamics of the era, as well as the chilling ease with which such violence can become normalized. Moreover, Oppenheimer's film demonstrates the transformative power of cinema, as the recreation of past atrocities compel the killers to confront the reality of their actions, leading to unexpected moments of introspection and realization.
Cinema is shown to be a bridge between history and present-day, between reality and memory. Oppenheimer uses the medium not just to document but to provoke, to stir the conscience of both his subjects and his viewers. The reenactments serve as a surreal stage where the killers, often seen as larger-than-life figures within their communities, are confronted with the human cost of their actions. This process reveals the medium's ability to challenge perceptions, to bring the abstract horrors of history into sharp, personal focus.
As the killers step into the shoes of their victims, the audience witnesses a rare occurrence: the blurring of lines between perpetrator and victim, the collision of past and present. It's a testament to the power of cinema to not only tell stories but to also initiate a dialogue, to heal and, perhaps, to transform. Oppenheimer's documentary shows how film can be employed to navigate the complex terrain of human morality and to illuminate the paths towards understanding and redemption.
Central to the documentary are the figures of Anwar Congo and Herman Koto, whose chillingly candid accounts of their roles in the killings provide a human face to the historical atrocities. Congo, in particular, emerges as a complex character, at once remorseful and defiant, haunted by his past yet also strangely boastful. His journey reveals him to be a man grappling with the enormity of his actions, offering viewers a disturbing glimpse into the psyche of a perpetrator. Koto, meanwhile, serves as both a comrade and a foil to Congo, providing a contrasting approach to the reenactments. His demeanour oscillates between that of a remorseless gangster and a man seeking redemption, embodying the contradictions that run through the entire narrative.
Oppenheimer's cinematography is as bold and unsettling as its subject matter. The camera work is intimate, often uncomfortably so, bringing the audience face-to-face with the men who committed truly heinous acts. The use of vibrant colours and surreal staging contrasts sharply with the grim reality of the stories being told, creating a disorienting effect that mirrors the moral disarray experienced by the killers themselves.
The film's visual language is not just about aesthetic choices; it's a deliberate strategy to engage the audience on a visceral level. Scenes are framed in ways that force viewers to confront the banality of evil, to see the ordinariness of the men who carried out unthinkable crimes. It's a powerful reminder that history is not just a series of events, but a collection of personal stories, each with its own perspective and, indeed, pain.
Joshua Oppenheimer's 'The Act of Killing' is a seminal work in the landscape of documentary cinema. Reminiscent at times of Kazuo Hara's 'The Emperor's Naked Army Marches On,' or the work of Werner Herzog, it is a powerful piece that leaves a lasting impression. It pushes viewers to face harsh realities about humanity, prompting deep reflections on guilt and justice, while also using cinema to reflect and challenge, ensuring its lasting impact as an agent for understanding and change. It is, in short, a masterpiece.
Kin-dza-dza! (1986)
Strangers in a Strange Land
It is the 1980's, and Vladimir Mashkov is a foreman in Moscow. One day, while walking along Kalinin Prospekt- now New Arbat Avenue- he spots a peculiar barefooted man speaking about space, holding what he claims to be a teleportation device. Gedevan, a young violinist, also notices the man, and- sceptical but intrigued- they engage with the stranger, only to find themselves whisked away through space and time to a planet called Pluke. Will they be able to survive the strange societal norms of this far-away world, and can they ever make it back to earth?
Directed by Georgiy Daneliya, 'Kin-dza-dza!' is a wild science-fiction adventure that is like an interstellar 'Alice In Wonderland'. Written by Daneliya and Revaz Gabriadze, its narrative is both compelling and comedic, though also has thematic depth. As it unfolds, the film evolves from a quirky space adventure into a poignant critique of humanity. Daneliya and Gabriadze's storytelling is a balancing act of satire and sympathy, making the audience laugh while simultaneously provoking thought about deeper issues. They use the society on Pluke to satirise and comment upon the absurdities of our own societal norms and the often arbitrary nature of authority and power.
As Mashkov and Gedevan grapple with the planet's bizarre customs and language, viewers are invited to reflect on the peculiarities of human behaviour and the universal search for belonging and understanding. As they struggle to adapt to a world where the mundane becomes extraordinary and the illogical becomes law, the audience is drawn into a journey that is as much about self-discovery as it is about survival. The film masterfully intertwines the comedic with the critical, using the alien landscape as a mirror to our world. The characters' odyssey becomes a metaphor for the human condition, questioning what it means to be 'civilized' and challenging the viewer's perceptions of normalcy.
Moreover, the stark landscape of Pluke is a canvas upon which Daneliya and Gabriadze paint a scathing critique of discrimination and class difference. The inhabitants of the planet, divided by a rigid class system denoted by the colour of their pants, reflect the often unspoken yet deeply entrenched societal divisions of our own world. Daneliya does not shy away from depicting the absurdity of prejudice based on arbitrary markers, be it the colour of one's trousers or the circumstances of one's birth. Through the lens of science-fiction, the film invites viewers to confront the uncomfortable realities of inequality and the illogical nature of societal hierarchies.
It is also a technical achievement on every level. Aleksandr Samulekin and Teodor Tezhik's production design is a testament to their resourcefulness and creativity. Despite the constraints of a modest budget, they crafted a visual spectacle that rivals the grandeur of more lavishly funded sci-fi epics. The spacecrafts, seemingly cobbled together from spare parts, and the expansive interiors of private compounds, are not just set pieces but characters in their own right.
Furthermore, the environments of Pluke, from its barren landscapes to the intricately detailed interiors, serve as a canvas for the film's exploration of themes, such as resource scarcity and the stark divide between social classes. The clever use of everyday items repurposed into futuristic technology not only adds a layer of authenticity to the world-building but also mirrors the film's commentary on consumerism and waste.
In addition, cinematographer Pavel Lebeshev captures the desolation of Pluke with a palette that is both stark and expressive, complementing the film's tone astutely. His use of lighting and camera angles brings the barren environment to life, fostering a sense of isolation that mirrors the characters' internal struggles. The contrast between the starkness of the planet's surface and the occasional bursts of vibrant colour serves to highlight moments of hope and humanity in an otherwise bleak world.
Moreover, Lebeshev's skilful framing serves to isolate Mashkov and Gedevan within the vastness of the landscape, emphasizing their vulnerability and the daunting task of finding their way home. Yet, it is in these moments of solitude that the characters- and the audience- find a connection to the universal themes of resilience and companionship. In this way, Lebeshev's commendable work complements and aids the narrative perfectly.
Stanislav Lyubshin stars as Mashkov, opposite Levan Gabriadze as Gedevan and Yevgeny Leonov and Yury Yakovlev as two Plukanians who join in their quest. Lyubshin delivers a multifaceted performance that anchors the film's fantastical elements with a sense of everyman realism. His portrayal is a blend of bewilderment and determination, capturing the essence of a man torn from his world, yet striving to understand and overcome the challenges ahead of him.
Gabriadze's Gedevan is the perfect foil to Mashkov's stoicism. Gabriadze infuses his role with a youthful curiosity and an idealistic charm that resonates with the viewer's sense of adventure. His wide-eyed wonder and gradual character growth reflect the film's underlying message about the value of experience and the power of perspective. They share a brilliant chemistry, embodying the confusion and camaraderie that comes with being strangers in a strange land.
Leonov and Yakovlev, meanwhile, excel as the comedic aliens; delivering whimsical and wise performances, bringing both comedy and pathos to the tale. The dynamic between them is nothing short of delightful. Leonov's comedic genius shines through in his character's eccentricities and unexpected depth, while Yakovlev's delivers a masterclass in physical comedy and timing. Together, their characters provide not only levity but also a critical commentary on the nature of communication and misunderstanding.
A fun trip to a strange world, Georgiy Daneliya's 'Kin-dza-dza!' is a brilliant piece of science-fiction, that defies the confines of time and space. It resonates with viewers on multiple levels, featuring thematic depth, as well as bounteous humour. Containing stunning production design and striking cinematography, it is a truly original piece of work. Boasting strong performances from all in the cast that leave an indelible mark on the viewer's memory, 'Kin-dza-dza!' is truly out of this world.
Dreamland (2019)
What Dreams May Come
In 2008, Bruce McDonald released 'Pontypool', a tense, darkly funny adaptation of Tony Burgess's novel 'Pontypool Changes Everything.' A fresh take on a stale genre- the zombie film- starring Stephen McHattie and Lisa Houle, it was a critical and commercial success. For years, McDonald planned on making a spin-off, featuring two characters- again played by McHattie and Houle- who appear after the end credits. A film he would later admit in an interview with Trouble City he "never really believed that we might shoot... because it seemed so crazy."
Shoot it they did, and crazy it is. 'Dreamland' follows laconic hitman Johnny Deadeyes, who is hired by Hercules, a nightclub owning pimp, to find a famous, faded jazz musician and cut off his finger. Meanwhile, an associate of Hercules's known as the Countess is organising a wedding reception for her brother, who happens to be a vampire with a taste for young blood. As Deadeyes embarks on his quest, he begins to examine his life; deciding to break out of the darkness that surrounds him.
It's a very strange affair, feeling at times like five different films spliced into one. The narrative veers this way and that, touching upon some interesting themes, but rarely exploring them beyond the surface level. The theme of redemption is central to Deadeyes' journey, as he grapples with the consequences of his violent past while seeking a path to atonement. However, this idea has been explored ad infinitum, and while McDonald doesn't have many fresh ideas on that point, rarely do those stories feature vampires and seedy covers of Eurythmics songs.
Meanwhile, human trafficking and exploitation are presented as stark realities that contrast with the film's more fantastical aspects, grounding the narrative in a grim social commentary; which, unfortunately, feels a bit ham-fisted and cursory. Despite that, McDonald successfully blurs the lines between reality and fantasy, mirroring Deadeyes' quest for purpose in a world lacking clear moral direction.
However, McDonald- and screenwriters Tony Burgess and Patrick Whistler- imbue the narrative with too many subplots and side characters, diluting Johnny Deadeyes' central quest for moral vindication. The addition of a child trafficking ring, as well as the aforementioned vampiric nuptials, distract rather than engage, and aren't well realised. McDonald doesn't delve into the complexities of these ideas, nor does the black comedy land consistently.
Conversely, the film is a visual delight. It is easy to compare to the works of David Lynch, as the velvet curtained, strangely lit world Deadeyes navigates harkens back to places explored by Jeffery Beaumont in 'Blue Velvet' or Nikki Grace in 'Inland Empire.' Eugénie Collet's production design is indeed Lynchian in nature, while Richard Van Oosterhout's unconventional cinematography compounds the strangeness of the narrative.
Van Oosterhout fosters a neo-noir atmosphere, and his work adds to the dreamlike quality of the film, creating a sense of disorientation aligning with Deadeyes' journey through the bizarre underworld. His employment of stark contrasts and shadows not only contributes to the film's noiresque atmosphere but also underscores the thematic contrasts between light and dark, reality and fantasy.
On the other hand, Jonathan Goldsmith's original score dominates every scene. Often, dialogue is obscured by his discordant melodies, and, while it does compound the film's atmosphere, it also distracts and irritates. Having said that, his interpretation of Eurythmics 'I Saved The World Today'- played over a slow-motion scene of violence- is both clever and powerful; although McDonald and editor Duff Smith are probably more deserving of praise in this regard.
Stephen McHattie stars as Johnny Deadeyes and the jazz musician, opposite Henry Rollins as Hercules and Juliette Lewis as the Countess. The always reliable McHattie's dual performances as Deadeyes and the jazz musician are a testament to his acting prowess. As the hitman, he exudes a weary stoicism, his eyes reflecting a history of violence and regret. In contrast, his portrayal of the jazz musician is imbued with a melancholic nostalgia, his every gesture suggesting a fall from grace.
Rollins, meanwhile, brings a menacing charisma to the role of Hercules, embodying the character with a predatory grace making him a formidable presence on screen. His performance adds a layer of unpredictability to the film's already eclectic atmosphere. Lewis seems hell-bent on chewing as much scenery as she can, though, in a way, captures the complexity of a character who is at once seductive and dangerous, further enriching the film's tapestry of dark and intriguing figures.
Although rather uneven and lumbered with too many subplots and side characters, Bruce McDonald's 'Dreamland' is worth a watch, especially for fans of Stephen McHattie. A strange trip into a dark underworld, the narrative engages as well as disappoints; but is never uninteresting. The production design and cinematography are striking and bizarre, even while the score is rather over-the-top. However, Stephen McHattie is brilliant, ensuring that, despite its issues, 'Dreamland' is not a nightmare.
Mute Witness (1995)
A Macabre Mosaic
Billy Hughes is a mute, American make-up artist working on a low-budget slasher in Moscow, directed by her sister's boyfriend. One night, Billy stays later than usual, looking for a prop. She isn't the only one on set, though, as she discovers to her horror. She stumbles upon members of the crew, who are making a snuff film. A frantic chase ensues. Will Billy be able to escape the killers and- if she does- will anyone believe her story?
Written and directed by Anthony Waller, 'Mute Witness' is a tension filled thrill-ride that will have viewers gripped from the get-go. A low-budget affair, it brims with suspense, and is genuinely frightening, though also contains moments of black humour. Waller's narrative is absorbing, despite a weak third act and a rushed ending, containing many unexpected moments of pure petrifying power. Billy, whose struggles to communicate compounds the dread, is a perfect conduit for the audience, as Waller takes us on a journey into fear.
In some ways, it is like Joel Schumacher's '8mm' and John Carpenter's 'Halloween' had a cinematic child; and is just as gruesome as that sounds. Intense and engrossing, it goes in directions one doesn't expect. Although the secondary characters aren't particularly well-written, and some of the dialogue is very stilted, Billy is compelling. We feel for her: isolated in a foreign country, unable to communicate, stalked by murderous thugs- her struggle to survive is engaging. At least, until the third act, when things descend, becoming rather mundane.
The best horrors are usually the ones that make effective use of sound design- such is the case with 'Mute Witness.' Noises- the scraping of a knife on a hard surface, the splatter of blood, footsteps in the dark- create agitation and alarm, while the use of silence heightens the suspense. Furthermore, Egon Werdin's cinematography is eerily atmospheric. His use of irregular angles, shaky cam movements and tracking shots evokes fear and creates tension.
Werdin also makes brilliant use of the sets and locations in the film, employing the lighting team to ominous effect. The shadow-play and utilisation of contrasts makes for a sinister looking picture, while the production design is of a high quality. Moreover, Peter R. Adam's editing is most effective, making a macabre mosaic of a movie, stitching scenes together with a rhythm that mirrors the viewer's racing heartbeat.
Unfortunately, despite the technical expertise behind the camera, those in front disappoint. Although Marina Zudina does strong work as Billy, effectively displaying her fear and agitation silently, her co-stars let her down. As the director, Evan Richards delivers a shockingly hammy performance, seemingly hell bent on chewing as much scenery as he can. Fay Ripley does better than him in the role of Billy's sister, but still doesn't impress much, coming across as quite wooden.
Oleg Yankovskiy is good in a small role as a policeman, deserving of more screen time, while Igor Volkov and Sergei Karlenkov are terrific when silent and unconvincing when not. Furthermore, Alec Guinness- who thought the production was a student film and did not accept, nor was offered, payment for his services- is terrific, for the few seconds he's on screen. Blink and you'll miss him, in this case, is too generous, as even if you don't blink, you might miss him.
Despite a tepid third act, Anthony Waller's 'Mute Witness' is a tense and sinister horror that rockets along at a brisk pace. Boasting striking cinematography from Egon Werdin and creepily atmospheric sound design, it is a stirring picture. However, while it is well-edited and Marina Zudina does strong work as Billy, the supporting cast don't all impress- with Evan Richards' misjudged, over the top performance hampering the film's impact. Despite that, though, 'Mute Witness' is not a film you'll want to keep quiet about.
Fitzcarraldo (1982)
A Fever Dream
"A vision had seized hold of me, like the demented fury of a hound that has sunk its teeth into the leg of a deer carcass and is shaking and tugging at the downed game so frantically that the hunter gives up trying to calm him. It was the vision of a large steamship scaling a hill under its own steam, working its way up a steep slope in the jungle..."
So begins the prologue to Werner Herzog's 'Conquest of the Useless,' a compilation of diary entries the director made while shooting 'Fitzcarraldo,' considered by many to be his magnum opus. The film follows Brian Sweeney Fitzgerald- known as Fitzcarraldo- a determined entrepreneur living in Iquitos, Peru. Inspired to attempt the impossible, he plans to haul a 365-tonne steamship over a mountain deep in the jungle, in order to harvest rubber; thereby making enough money to build an opera house in Iquitos. Against the raw power of nature, as well as the machinations of a local tribe, will Fitzcarraldo be successful, or will his scheme prove to be unachievable?
A fascinating, endlessly rewarding piece of work, 'Fitzcarraldo' is a compelling tale examining a multitude of themes. It is a portrait of man's resilience, as well as a metaphor for the human condition and the unwavering struggle to realize one's dreams, no matter how impossible- and improbable- they seem. A profound character study- as well as a thrilling, beautifully shot meditation on the clash between man and nature- there are few films like it; and very few people like its director.
It is a fever dream of ambition. Fitzcarraldo's plan defies reason. As the steamship strains against nature's fury, it becomes more than a mechanical marvel; embodying the indomitable human spirit. Inching upward, it symbolizes man's collective audacity- the relentless pursuit of dreams against all odds. The jungle landscape, meanwhile, is not merely a physical obstacle; it symbolizes internal, as well as external, challenges; be they Fitzcarraldo's inner struggles, doubts or the psychological hurdles he faces on his quest. Its lush greenery conceals danger, while its rivers teem with life and death. Herzog expertly captures the landscape's primal energy- the rustling leaves, the cacophony of unseen creatures- mirroring Fitzcarraldo's inner turmoil.
As the film progresses, the steamship becomes a character in its own right, a symbol of human ambition and folly. The arduous journey up the mountain is fraught with setbacks and challenges, each more daunting than the last. Herzog's direction is unflinching; he does not shy away from the harsh realities of the endeavour, nor does he romanticize Fitzcarraldo's mission. The result is a raw and unvarnished look at the lengths to which one man will go to, to realize his dream.
Moreover, behind the camera, Herzog's commitment to authenticity and his determination to finish the film mirror's his titular character's quest; blurring the line between fiction and reality. He dragged a real steamship over a real mountain, echoing Fitzcarraldo's unwavering belief in- and pursuit of- the impossible. Herzog and his team endured myriad of struggles trying to get the film made, from cast changes to near-fatal accidents. Although he often refers to himself as "clinically sane," with regard to this film, Herzog's total obsession is palpable.
Under Herzog's direction, Thomas Mauch's cinematography is evocative and stunning. Mauch captures the dual sides of the jungle astutely, showing its beauty, as well as its darkness. His clever framing of the steamship highlights the impossibility of Fitzcarraldo's plans, while also serving as a visual metaphor, emphasising the overwhelming power of nature. The jungle surrounds all, dwarfing both man and machine; highlighting the struggle of the individual against an untamed world.
Alongside Mauch's visuals, Popol Vuh's score compounds the dreamlike quality of the narrative. Classic pieces by the likes of Puccini and Verdi are implemented brilliantly, heightening the juxtaposition between the barbarity of nature and the supposed order of man. Epic and distinct, Popol Vuh's original melodies intensify the jungle scenes and underscore Fitzcarraldo's emotional journey. Combined with Mauch's imagery, the score evokes a sense of timelessness, creating a mesmerising audio/visual tapestry that enchants the viewer; weaving threads of eternity into the fabric of Fitzcarraldo's journey.
Furthermore, the production design- from Ulrich Bergfelder and Henning von Gierke- is authentic and atmospheric. Their meticulous attention to detail in the steamship's construction and the recreation of Iquitos captures the era's spirit, enhancing the film's immersive quality. The design team's efforts to authentically depict the Peruvian jungle's daunting environment adds a layer of realism to Fitzcarraldo's quixotic adventure.
Meanwhile, Beate Mainka-Jellinghaus's seamless editing allows the narrative to unfold with a rhythm that mirrors the ebb and flow of the Amazon River itself. This serves to accentuate the contrast between the chaotic jungle and the protagonist's inner turmoil, while also maintaining the suspense that drives Fitzcarraldo's obsessive quest forward. Additionally, Gisela Storch's striking costume design adds depth to the film's visual language, contributing to the overall tapestry of Herzog's ambitious vision.
Klaus Kinski stars as Fitzcarraldo, supported by Claudia Cardinale, Paul Hittscher, José Lewgoy and Miguel Ángel Fuentes. Initially, Jason Robards was cast as the titular character, though left the production soon after encountering the intensity of the Peruvian jungle. Although Herzog flirted with playing the part himself, Kinski was eventually brought on board. As the maniacally determined entrepreneur, Kinski delivers a powerhouse performance, bringing to life perfectly a man of great obsession. Madly magnetic, it is arguably the highlight of his career.
As Molly, Fitzcarraldo's business partner and love interest, Cardinale oozes sophistication and decency. Despite the fact that she has relatively little screen time, Cardinale is excellent, leaving an indelible impression on the viewer. Hittscher and Fuentes both do strong work as members of the steamship's crew, while Lewgoy brings a welcome light energy to his role as a businessman who sparks Fitzcarraldo's interest in the rubber trade.
'Fitzcarraldo' is a fascinating film, an adventure into the Peruvian jungle and the mind of an obsessive personality. Written and directed by the incomparable Werner Herzog, it is impossible to forget, containing imagery and examining themes that stir the soul. Boasting an effective score, detailed production design and powerhouse performances from all in the cast- led by a pitch perfect Klaus Kinski- it is a fever dream you'll always remember.
Child's Play (1972)
Suspense in the Schoolroom
Trouble is brewing at St. Charles, a Catholic Boy's School. Random acts of violence break out between the students nearly every week, seemingly escalating in intensity. Joe Dobbs, the popular, easy-going English teacher, and Paul Reis, the new gym teacher, aim to find out what's causing the brutality. Meanwhile, Jerome Malley, the grievous Latin teacher who despises Dobbs, begins receiving strange, obscene messages and packages at his home. Will Dobbs, Reis and Malley be able to discover the reason behind the violence at St. Charles, or will the savagery continue?
Directed by Sidney Lumet, and based on Robert Marasco's play of the same name, 'Child's Play' is an intriguing thriller that starts well and has many commendable elements, though fumbles its landing. Leon Prochnik's screenplay- like the source material- examines some interesting themes, such as the psychology of group dynamics, the nature of evil and the power structures within educational institutions. The film deftly navigates these complex ideas through its tight-knit narrative, though it occasionally loses momentum in its latter half, and the ambiguous ending- where nothing at all is concluded- is underwhelming.
However, the principal characters are believable and multifaceted; watching them wade through the seedy, intriguing plot is engaging. The idealistic Reis- an ex-student of St. Charles- serves as a conduit for the audience, taking us on a trip into the macabre. Dobbs seems to be the ideal teacher, warm and kind- though might have darkness beneath his light exterior. Malley, meanwhile, is fascinating, stern and severe with his students, yet he treasures it when ex-pupils send him letters, and always keeps clippings of them if they make the papers. He is, to quote Kris Kristofferson, "a walking contradiction," and a compelling character.
The dichotomy between Malley and Dobbs is the driving force of the film's tension. Malley's severity and isolation are contrasted sharply with Dobbs' affability and popularity, creating a dynamic that is as much a clash of ideologies as it is of personalities. The film uses these characters to explore the impact of authority figures on young minds, and how their differing approaches to education and discipline influence the students' behaviour.
Reis is a relatable character, whose journey back to St. Charles is a poignant reflection on the loss of innocence and the realization that the institutions one once revered may have dark underbellies. The students themselves, though less prominently featured, are essential to the narrative. They are not merely victims or perpetrators of violence; they are shown as complex individuals, shaped by the environment they are in. Their actions, though extreme, are presented not as anomalies but as symptoms of a deeper malaise within the school's culture.
The film's portrayal of these characters is subtle yet powerful, leaving the audience to ponder the nature of evil: is it inherent, or is it fostered by circumstance? Easy answers are not provided- in fact, no answers are provided at all- instead, the film offers a mirror to society's own struggles with these questions. Perhaps, considering the rumination it inspires and the interest it engenders, a more conclusive ending would have made it even better.
On the other hand, Gerald Hirschfeld's atmospheric cinematography cannot be faulted. His expert use of close-ups brings an intimacy to the characters, allowing the audience to see the subtle nuances of their emotions. His utilisation of shadows, meanwhile, creates a sense of foreboding, visually representing the darkness that lurks within the school and its inhabitants. Moreover, Hirschfeld's interplay between light and darkness not only sets the mood but also serves as a metaphor for the film's central themes. The way shadows creep across the walls of St. Charles reflects the insidious nature of the violence pervading the school.
The film's use of space is also noteworthy. The claustrophobic corridors of St. Charles mirror the oppressive nature of the institution and the entrapment felt by both teachers and students. The visuals are complemented by the sound design and Michael Small's eerie score. The echoes in the hallways, the murmurs of the students and the silence that punctuates the violence all contribute to an unsettling auditory experience, heightening the tension and underscoring the film's themes. Small's work, meanwhile, full of demonic-sounding chants, is evocative, stirring and unsettling.
Beau Bridges stars as Reis, alongside Robert Preston as Dobbs and James Mason as Malley. Bridges does fine work, astutely displaying the emotions felt by one who sees the truth behind the curtain, as it were. Preston is brilliant as Dobbs, making him congenial and likable; though not without a certain seediness. Mason, however, steals the show as the pathetic, mentally disturbed Malley. Delivering a beautifully realized, complex performance; he has rarely been better. Furthermore, David Rounds excels in the smaller role as the disillusioned Father Penny, bringing a touch of levity to an otherwise tense situation.
Engaging and intriguing, though ultimately a little underwhelming, Sidney Lumet's adaptation of Robert Marasco's 'Child's Play' has a lot going for it. The narrative touches on some interesting themes, while Gerald Hirschfeld's cinematography and the excellent sound design are atmospheric and evocative. The cast all give strong performances, especially James Mason, but the ending is anticlimactic. Turns out, unfortunately, it wasn't child's play adapting 'Child's Play' for the cinema.
Rogue Male (1976)
Right On Target
It is 1939, and Europe is on the verge of war. At a manor house deep inside German territory, Hitler is entertaining guests. From the surrounding woodland, Sir Robert Hunter, an Englishman, watches the party through the lens of his sniper rifle. He means to assassinate the Fuhrer, though at the last moment, his plans are scuppered. With his life hanging in the balance, Hunter must summon all his wit and courage to withstand the Nazis' brutal interrogation methods and plot a daring escape.
Directed by Clive Donner, 'Rogue Male' is an exciting, tense made for TV movie based on the novel of the same name by Geoffrey Household, first published in 1939. A gripping thriller, the tale had been previously adapted for screen in 1941, as Fritz Lang's 'Man Hunt,' which starred Walter Pidgeon and Joan Bennett. Closer to the source material than Lang's version- though still not without differences- it is engaging, with sharp dialogue and a compelling narrative one would be hard pressed to forget.
The film weaves a tale of peril and perseverance, set against the backdrop of a Europe teetering on the brink of war. Frederic Raphael's screenplay showcases not only the external conflict of a continent on the precipice of international combat but also the internal struggle of a man fighting for his principles. Sir Robert Hunter's character arc is a testament to the human spirit's resilience in the face of overwhelming adversity.
The tension escalates as Hunter, a man out of his element but not out of his depth, uses his ingenuity to turn the hunters into the hunted. His journey is not just a physical one, but also a moral odyssey, as he grapples with the consequences of his actions and the true meaning of justice. In the broader context of war thrillers, Donner's film distinguishes itself with its focus on psychological warfare and the survivalist aspect of Hunter's journey. It doesn't rely solely on action sequences to build suspense; instead, it crafts a tense atmosphere through character development and the looming threat of discovery.
As Hunter evades his pursuers, the English countryside becomes a character in its own right, with its rolling hills and shadowed woods providing both sanctuary and peril. The cinematography captures the stark contrast between the tranquil beauty of nature and the dark undercurrents of Hunter's flight; which Christopher Gunning's emotive score compounds. Moreover, Tony Abbott's production design- as well as John Bloomfield's costume design- is grittily authentic, lending a weight of realism to proceedings.
Peter O'Toole stars as Hunter, supported by Alaistair Sim, John Standing, Harold Pinter and Michael Byrne. O'Toole's nuanced lead performance is a standout of his career, deftly capturing the essence of a man driven by conviction and haunted by the moral implications of his mission. Sim, in his final film, brings a gravitas to his role as Hunter's uncle, that underscores the film's serious undertones, while John Standing's work as one of the villains of the piece brims with a witty menace. Similarly, Pinter does fine work as Hunter's friend and lawyer, while Byrne is excellent as a sadistic jackbooted Nazi- a role he has played numerous times and always to great effect.
Clive Donner's 'Rogue Male' is more than a chase thriller; it is a reflective piece on the choices we make and the paths we take when civilization itself hangs in the balance. Featuring a compelling narrative, witty dialogue and strong characterisation; it has a lot to offer. Boasting fine performances from all in the cast- especially those of star Peter O'Toole and Alastair Sim- as well as an effective score and striking cinematography- it is, in every respect, right on target.
Kamikaze takushî (1995)
A Wild Ride
It is the 1990's and Tatsuo is a low-level Yakuza. A charismatic Casanova, he is tasked with supplying Domon- a conservative misogynist politician- with prostitutes. After Domon brutalises two of his working girls, Tatsuo decides to rob him. The heist does not go down well, and Tatsuo barely escapes. With his boss Animaru hot on his tail, Tatsuo enlists Kantake- a Peruvian-Japanese taxi driver- as his chauffeur. Along with Tama, one of Tatsuo's working girls, the three take to the road; on the run with nowhere to go.
Written and directed by Masato Harada, 'Kamikaze Taxi' is an original, compelling film, both dramatic, comedic and engaging. Although on the surface a Tarantinoesque tale of revenge, it contains thematic depth, delving into the seedy underbelly of Japan, presenting a society grappling with the intersection of traditional values and the harsh realities of modern life. It also examines the struggles of marginalized individuals, namely Kantake, who faces poverty and prejudice upon returning to his homeland after decades in South America.
Harada poignantly portrays the identity struggles of immigrants like Kantake, who navigate the complexities of being in a society that regards them as outsiders. This theme is intricately woven into the storyline, highlighting the characters' search for meaning against a backdrop of societal indifference. Moreover, the movie critiques the deep-seated corruption within Japan's political and criminal landscapes, examining how power dynamics dictate morality and influence choices.
The road trip becomes a metaphor for the characters' existential journey, as they confront the socioeconomic disparities that shape their existence. Harada's narrative is a stark commentary on the dichotomy between Japan's wealthy elite and the marginalized working class; a compelling study of a society in flux. With the film, Harada has crafted a narrative that is as much about the personal odysseys of its characters as it is a critique of the societal structures they navigate. His characterisation is astute, his dialogue witty and his narrative engrossing.
It is also a visually evocative affair, containing striking visuals from cinematographer Yoshitaka Sakamoto, which complement the film's thematic complexity. He captures the neon-drenched streets and tranquil countryside with aplomb, creating a stark contrast that reflects the inner turmoil of the characters. His use of light and shadow, as well as dynamic camera angles, adds dramatic tension, making the visual narrative as engaging as its storyline.
The cinematography not only enhances the mood but also serves as a silent narrator, guiding the audience through the characters' emotional landscapes and the societal commentary woven throughout the film. In addition, editor Hirohide Abe's masterful work is pivotal, crafting a rhythmic cadence that echoes the film's emotive pulse. His meticulous scene transitions build suspense and deliver potent climaxes, keeping the audience riveted. Abe's adept timing and pacing elevate the film, making it an immersive narrative voyage.
Kazuya Takahashi stars as Tatsuo, alongside Koji Yakusho as Kantake, Reiko Kataoka as Tama and Mickey Curtis as Animaru. Takahashi embodies Tatsuo with a raw yet comedic intensity, capturing the desperate conflict of a man caught between worlds and ideals. Yakusho's Kantake is a study in stoicism, his nuanced portrayal of an immigrant's struggle lending proceedings a poignant gravity. With ease, his thoughtful, measured performance is both compelling and affecting. His presence on screen adds a profound weight to the film, captivating and moving the audience.
Kataoka is similarly understated, portraying Tama's resilience and depth subtly, adding a vital layer to the story. Curtis's performance as the saxophone playing, swordstick wielding Animaru is both menacing and magnetic; rightly winning him the Kinema Junpo Award for best supporting actor in 1996. Additionally, Taketoshi Naitô makes for a fantastically seedy villain as Domon; bringing a perfect blend of sleaze and sophistication to the role, making him a character you love to hate.
An insightful, darkly funny road trip of revenge, Masato Harada's 'Kamikaze Taxi' is gripping from start to finish. Although lengthy, it moves at a fast pace, boasting witty dialogue, an engaging narrative and compelling characters. Skewering 1990's Japanese society, particularly with regard to politics; it's wickedly clever and consistently entertaining. Visually striking and featuring strong performances from all in the cast, 'Kamikaze Taxi' is a wild ride you wouldn't want to miss.
Tomorrow Never Comes (1978)
Something of a Shambles
In 1971, Oliver Reed purchased Broome Hall, a picturesque, 56-bedroom manor house nestling on the southern slopes of the Greensand Ridge in Surrey. For the next eight years, Reed was the self-styled Master of Broome Hall; though the cost of the upkeep associated with the building crippled him financially. As such, from the mid 70's onwards, Reed chose to do many films for the pay-check, regardless of their quality; perhaps the only reasonable explanation for his appearance in Peter Collinson's 'Tomorrow Never Comes.'
An impossibly cliched thriller, the film follows Frank, who has just returned to his hometown following an extended business trip. He looks up his old girlfriend, Janie, whom he has been pining for. Rumours abound that she has hooked up with another man, which Frank doesn't like the sound of. After he locates her, proceedings escalate quickly, until Frank finds himself holding her hostage. It is up to Detective Wilson to talk Frank down before any more violence ensues.
Reportedly a tax shelter co-production between the UK and Canada, the film boasts an impressive cast of talented actors; though little else. How the three credited screenwriters- David Pursall, Jack Seddon and Sydney Banks- injected so many cliches and hackneyed ideas into the narrative is actually astounding. Unoriginal is an understatement; the filmmakers seem to think of new ideas as anathema. Moreover, the dialogue is laughably bad, especially the lines spoken by Detective Wilson; who is duller than dishwater. Additionally, to call the characterisation of everyone involved paper-thin would be an insult to paper.
Filmed in Canada, but set in America, it was submitted to the 11th Moscow International Film Festival; where, unsurprisingly, it failed to win any awards. Narratively, the only interesting aspects involve the locals' reaction to the hostage-taking: treating it like a travelling carnival. This creates a few fun moments, satirising the American obsession with true crime. However, it's not an original point, nor is it the focus of the film. We don't care for the main characters, nor the secondary ones; and their story fails to compel, entertain or engage.
In addition, the visuals are uninspired and flat. Cinematographer François Protat fails to create tension or suspense with his compositions, filming proceedings without flair or- seemingly- much interest in the material. There is but one instance where he shows some originality, a scene where he makes clever use of a revolving piece of cut glass; though in a sea of mediocrity, it does little to elevate the impact of his addition to the film. Furthermore, the score by Roy Budd exhibits a tonal inconsistency, which undermines the intensity of the film's violent scenes and subdues the nuances of the actors' performances.
Stephen McHattie stars as Frank, opposite Susan George as Janie and the aforementioned Oliver Reed as Wilson. McHattie is totally credible as Frank, delivering a measured performance of a man overcome by insane jealousy. However, the screenplay lets him down. George performs well, though does overdo it a bit, while Reed's valiant attempts to make his character multifaceted and interesting largely fall flat in the face of the woeful dialogue and his inconsistent American accent.
Additionally, Donald Pleasence seems to be having fun playing a German Doctor, though doesn't provide any for the audience, while Raymond Burr, John Ireland and Paul Koslo do their best to bring life to their roles as cardboard cut-out secondary policemen. Furthermore, John Osborne proves why he is best remembered as a playwright and not as an actor in a thankfully small role.
It is almost impossible to reconcile the fact that Peter Collinson directed both 'The Italian Job' and 'Tomorrow Never Comes.' Narratively uninteresting and unoriginal, featuring inane and stilted dialogue, it is something of a shambles. Visually unremarkable, and with a misjudged score, the attempts by the cast to save this disappointing, dull picture simply aren't enough. In the end, 'Tomorrow Never Comes' makes one wish that, much like its title suggests, the film itself had never arrived. Maybe Ollie should have sold Broome Hall earlier than he did.
Die Wannseekonferenz (1984)
The Bureaucratization of Genocide
In 1942, the wealthy district of Wannsee played host to a gathering of high-ranking officials of the Nazi party. Led by SS-Obergruppenführer Reinhard Heydrich- considered by many to be Hitler's natural successor- the group are there for one purpose: to discuss the method by which they will make the Third Reich free of Jews. As they debate their options, analysing the situation as they see it, the men consider many fiendishly methodical methods of murder, showing themselves to be completely morally bereft in their quest for a final solution.
Directed by Heinz Schirk, 'The Wannsee Conference' is a gripping account of the titular meeting, offering much insight into the personalities and attitudes within the Third Reich. A made for TV movie, it is based on the minutes of the real conference, and boasts strong dialogue and perceptive characterisation from screenwriter Paul Mommertz. His characters are believable, villainously banal and systematic in their approach; making the film all the more impactful.
Heydrich and the others, regarding Jews as subhumans on the level of vermin, contemplate mass murder with the casual air of businessmen deciding on their lunch orders. Their discussions about who they consider Jewish, or half-Jewish, makes for fascinating viewing, offering viewers insight into their heinous mindset. Schirk's film shows how the bureaucratization of genocide transformed the unthinkable into the executable. The film meticulously depicts the process by which a group of seemingly civilized men could rationalize and organize the systematic slaughter of millions. The stark, cold meeting room becomes a chilling echo chamber of complicity, where the veneer of legality and procedure masks the monstrous reality of their plans.
By stripping away the dramatic excess often associated with the portrayal of Nazis in media, the film presents a more disturbing truth: that the Holocaust was a product of seemingly mundane administrative decisions made by men who believed they were simply solving a problem. This realization is perhaps the film's most haunting contribution to the historical narrative, leaving viewers to ponder the depths of human depravity and the importance of vigilance in the face of ideology run amok.
Visually, it is filmed as if it were a play, with static shots, minimal camera movement and a focus on dialogue and performance, emphasizing the claustrophobic atmosphere of the conference room and reflecting the oppressive nature of the subject matter. The production design is austere and functional, with an attention to historical accuracy that lends authenticity to the setting. The use of real-time filming, mirroring the actual duration of the Wannsee Conference, creates a sense of immediacy and tension, as viewers are made to feel as if they are there witnessing the events unfold.
Dietrich Mattausch leads the cast as Heydrich, making him seedily suave and chillingly charismatic. Calculating and persuasive, his controlled delivery and cold gaze capture the chilling resolve of a man orchestrating genocide. Gerd Böckmann is similarly impressive as the reserved Adolf Eichman, giving an understated and subtle performance; his matter-of-fact tone and clinical precision revealing the horrifying casual composure with which these men approached the extermination of millions. Peter Fitz does strong work as Wilhelm Stuckart, who has a strange and twisted sense of his own morality, conveying both the intellectual arrogance and the moral bankruptcy of his character; adding another layer of depth to the film's exploration of complicity.
Furthermore, Harald Dietl and Martin Lüttge also shine as Afred Meyer and Rudolf Lange, respectively, highlighting the power dynamics at play and the uncomfortable ease with which they discuss mass murder. Additionally, in the small but pivotal role as the secretary taking down the minutes, Anita Mally subtly embodies the overlooked cog in the Nazi bureaucratic machine. Devoid of any visible emotion or moral conflict, her dutiful transcription of the conference's proceedings encapsulates the terrifying ordinariness that can accompany evil deeds.
Informative and captivating, Heinz Schirk's 'The Wannsee Conference' is an important and effective made for TV movie, documenting a turning point in history. Featuring strong dialogue from Paul Mommertz, this retelling of the titular event explores the situation and characters involved with nuance and insight. Boasting fine cinematography from Horst Schier and authentic production design, as well as powerhouse performances from all in the cast, the film stands as a stark reminder of the banality of evil and the ease with which humanity can slip into darkness.
Perfect Days (2023)
Frankly Flawless
In 1985, Wim Wenders released 'Tokya-Ga', a love letter to the films of Yasujirô Ozu and the city of Tokyo. In that documentary, Wenders captured a portrait of the city as one under the thrall of Americanized homogenization, in many respects far removed from the Tokyo Ozu put on film. Now, nearly forty years later, Wenders' beautifully subtle 'Perfect Days' can be seen not just as a homage to the work of Ozu but to a Tokyo that once seemed forever lost to capitalist coalescence.
A quiet, poignant character study, 'Perfect Days' follows Hirayama, a middle-aged public toilet cleaner as he goes about his business in Tokyo. A man of few words and great tranquillity, Hirayama leads a simple life, never straying from his established routines. A series of encounters- with his young assistant and Aya, the girl he is courting, his niece Niko and the proprietress of a bar- leads Hirayama to reevaluate his situation; to look with fresh eyes upon his place within Japan's capital.
The film is a fascinating, contemplative piece of depth and heart. The narrative- written by Wenders and Takuma Takasaki- is deceptively simple, commenting on life and society in general, as well as in Japan. By making the central character a toilet cleaner who is, for the most part, ignored by those around him, Wenders seems to be commenting on the callousness of modern society. Most people do not thank Hirayama, nor do they even acknowledge his presence, taking the fruits of his labour for granted.
Hirayama takes great pride in his work, never leaving a toilet less than spotless. As most ignore him, the few, small moments of recognition he receives contain great power; they become amplified. This, in fact, is where the key to the film's impact lies. Wenders and Takasaki make Hirayama's life so endlessly mundane that the slightest change becomes an immense piece of action. He is so reserved; the smallest smile contains bounteous meaning. His lack of a definitive backstory makes him all the more enigmatic, and his relationships with others all the more compelling. Ozu did similarly effective work, weaving rich tapestries of human experience out of the everyday; as Wenders's film does masterfully.
As Hirayama navigates the bustling streets of Tokyo, his experiences serve as a mirror to his inner world. The young assistant, Takashi, represents the new generation's obliviousness to the traditions and struggles of their predecessors, while Aya embodies the potential for connection and change. His niece and the proprietress of the bar offer contrasting perspectives on the role of women in a society that's in flux, caught between past expectations and future possibilities.
The Tokyo that frames Hirayama's existence is a character in itself, pulsating with life, yet marked by the solitude of its inhabitants. Wenders captures the dichotomy of a metropolis that's both alienating and intimate, where the hum of the city can drown out the individual while also drawing out their deepest reflections. Finding beauty in places and things most would overlook, Wenders invites viewers to pause and consider the unnoticed, the unappreciated and the unspoken externals that shape our lives.
Moreover, the film is a visual delight. Aside from the thematic similarities, Wenders incorporates many stylistic elements often seen in Ozu's work, both compounding the impact of the film and its function as a homage. Wenders and cinematographer Franz Lustig subtly honour Ozu's cinematic style through the use of the 'tatami shot,' offering a low, intimate view that draws the audience into Hirayama's world.
Similarly, the utilisation of 'pillow shots'- brief, poetic cutaways to elements of the environment that serve as transitions between scenes- echo Ozu's tranquil interludes, inviting reflection. These techniques not only pay tribute to Ozu but also enrich the film's narrative, highlighting the profound in the ordinary-a hallmark of both directors' storytelling.
Beyond its visual artistry, the film delves into the cultural fabric of contemporary Japan. Through the portrayal of Hirayama's humble profession, Wenders subtly examines the nuances of Japan's work ethic and the societal value placed on cleanliness and order. Set against Tokyo's evolving landscape, the film navigates the delicate balance between cultural preservation and modernization- a universal urban narrative.
The film emerges at a pivotal moment as Japan confronts its global identity. It strikes a chord with viewers, highlighting the quest for purpose in a uniform world and the significance of society's unsung roles. Wenders crafts a tale that, while rooted in Tokyo's reality, speaks to a collective experience, urging audiences worldwide to appreciate their own cultural dynamics.
The film's score further elevates its contemplative atmosphere, while the eclectic soundtrack mirrors Hirayama's internal journey. From the nostalgic strains of 'The House of the Rising Sun' by The Animals to the introspective 'Pale Blue Eyes' by The Velvet Underground, each song is carefully chosen to reflect Hirayama's mood and the changing rhythms of Tokyo. Wenders' selection of music- including tracks such as Nina Simone's 'Feeling Good' and Lou Reed's 'Perfect Day'- not only underscores the narrative but also serves as a homage to the central character's personal history and the city's diverse soundscape.
Koji Yakusho stars as Hirayama, supported by Tokio Emoto as Takashi, Aoi Yamada as Aya and Arisa Nakano as his niece Niko. Arguably the finest actor of his generation both in and outside of Japan, Yakusho delivers a performance of nuance, great profundity and depth. It is a stunning piece of work, that demands attention and deserves plaudits. He carries the film with a remarkable ease and sensitivity, working brilliantly with his co-stars. Emoto brings a welcome comedic energy as the lackadaisical Takashi, while Yamada delivers a subtle yet impactful performance as Aya, adding layers of complexity to the narrative, challenging the protagonist to step beyond his comfort zone.
Nakano, in her third role, is terrific. Like Yakusho, she has the ability to convey deep emotions with minimal dialogue, impressing greatly. Alongside them, Sayuri Ishikawa and Tomokazu Miura are marvellous, as the bar proprietress and Tomoyama, a man who crosses paths with Hirayama. Both do sterling work in small but pivotal roles, appearing in two of the most memorable and emotionally resonant scenes in the film.
In conclusion, Wim Wender's 'Perfect Days' is a remarkable piece of work. A quiet but impactful character study, as well as a homage to the work of Yasujirô Ozu, the film is full of depth and power. Boasting a strong narrative, stunning visuals and a stirring score, it works on every level. The performances from the cast are all excellent, with Koji Yakusho's central one a masterpiece in understatement. In short, this frankly flawless slow burn is about as close to perfect as a film can get.
Wicked Little Letters (2023)
Vulgarity in the Village
It is the 1920's and in the picturesque seaside village of Littlehampton, trouble is brewing. Spinster Edith Swan begins receiving anonymous, obscene letters, which her father thinks are coming from their young Irish neighbour, Rose Gooding. Gooding denies sending the malicious mail, though few in the village believe her. It is up to female police officer Gladys Moss, alongside a couple of sympathetic ladies, to prove Gooding's innocence and catch the real culprit before she is convicted.
Based on a true story, Thea Sharrock's 'Wicked Little Letters' is a lightweight comic-drama, neither very funny nor dramatic. Screenwriter Jonny Sweet succumbs to the familiar, false thought that coarse language equates to comedic gold. In addition, the narrative is neither particularly mysterious or suspenseful. Moreover, his characterisation is based almost entirely on cliched stereotypes: prim, proper English conservatives, rowdy Irish women and bumbling policemen included. Furthermore, the world of the film is unbelievable, containing not a trace of racism whatsoever, while the sexism exhibited throughout is utilised mainly as a joke.
In many ways, it is an old-fashioned film, trying to say something clever about misogyny, while also playing into misogynistic attitudes. The women- bar officer Moss- are stereotypes dialled up to the max, with little to no depth or nuance, Gooding in particular. Your typical boisterous, hard-drinking, loud Irish lass; the archaic cliches that inform her character are almost insulting. Although there are some funny moments and lines of dialogue, the film is not as entertaining as perhaps it could have been.
Additionally, it is laden with uninspired visuals. Cinematographer Ben Davis shoots proceedings conventionally, without flair or ingenuity. Although the production values are commendable, and Charlotte Walter's costume design appears period accurate, it is a flat looking picture all the same. Furthermore, Isobel Waller-Bridge's generic score lacks suspense or excitement, sounding as dull and as underwhelming as much of Sweet's dialogue.
Casting director Jina Jay has assembled a talented cast of performers, most of whom do commendable work. Jessie Buckley is great as Gooding, overcoming the cliched characterisation of the role. Olivia Colman is typically excellent as the uptight Swan, although neither she nor Buckley are given much of a challenge, acting-wise. Anjana Vasan does the strongest work of all as officer Moss, while Timothy Spall and Joanna Scanlan are similarly excellent as Swan's austere father and a pig farmer, respectively.
Although it is well acted, Thea Sharrock's 'Wicked Little Letters' is not particularly entertaining, clever or original. With an underwhelming narrative, cliched characters, drab visuals and a generic score, it does not impress much. Although Jessie Buckley and Olivia Colman both give strong performances, they aren't in any way challenged, and have been much better in other projects. Despite the fact that Anjana Vasan and Timothy Spall impress greatly, this film is forgettable and not as wickedly enjoyable as it could have been.
Inside the Third Reich (1982)
A Truncated Tale
Films about real-life figures are always going to be divisive. All the more so when they are based on the figure in question's autobiography which, naturally, comes from their point of view and is therefore biased, consciously or otherwise. When said figure was a crucial member of the Third Reich- as well as an intimate of Hitler's- it takes a particularly delicate touch to make that film work without inciting offence or condemnation and to appear- at least somewhat- balanced.
A touch director Marvin J. Chomsky demonstrated at the helm of 'Holocaust,' the gripping, poignant 1978 miniseries that helped establish Meryl Streep and James Woods, among others, and brought the titular term into the mainstream. However, his adaptation of Albert Speer's autobiography 'Inside the Third Reich' lacks the nuance of 'Holocaust,' as well as the power. A truncated retelling of the highlights of Speer's book; one wonders how the same director could be behind both works.
'Inside the Third Reich' follows architect Albert Speer, a charismatic German who attracts the attention of those in the burgeoning Nazi Party. Although apolitical by nature, Speer finds himself seduced by Hitler's manic magnetism, and soon is working for the party. During the second World War, Speer is appointed as the Armaments Minister for the Third Reich, though his growing disapproval for Hitler's disregard for human life creates a chasm between the dictator and his minister that not even death can bridge.
Unlike the source material, the film is mostly a glossy, emotionless affair, which makes little impact on the viewer. In contrast, the original book makes for a fascinating read. Although most certainly Speer withholds information regarding the breadth of his knowledge of the holocaust, he demonstrates a remarkable ability to separate himself from his history, observing scenes from his past with a critical eye. He does not try to excuse himself for taking part in Hitler's murderous regime, rather attempts to understand how he fell under the dictator's spell, and why he ignored the obvious signs of the coming genocide for so long.
It is a book full of nuance, offering a unique, intimate look at a part of history from the perspective of one of its central figures. However, something was lost in translation, as Chomsky's version severely underwhelms. Rather than examining the reasons Speer and others followed Hitler, the narrative- written by E. Jack Neuman- plods along linearly, following Speer on his rise to power in the manner of countless dull biopics. Although by no means boring, when considering the opportunities Speer's rich, contemplative book allows for adaptation- for an intriguing film to be made- it is rather disappointing.
Moreover, the film doesn't question Speer's claims once- which, it is worth noting, he himself does multiple times in his book, acknowledging the inherent bias that arises when writing one's own story and recalling one's own history. The characterisation involved is one-dimensional, with the on-screen version of Speer lacking the depth and complexity of the real man. Although the dialogue- largely taken word-for- word from the source material- is strong, Chomsky and Neuman's straightforward approach lets this adaptation down, hampering its potential impact.
Conversely, the visuals are impressive throughout, with Rolf Zehetbauer's detailed production design being of a particularly high quality. Alongside art directors Kuli Sander and Herbert Strabel, he creates an authentic reproduction of the time before and during the Third Reich. The set decoration and design are especially rich and evocative, as is the striking costume design, compounding the realism of the venture. While Tony Imi's cinematography is fairly conventional, he utilises close-ups and lighting well, heightening the drama. Furthermore, Fred Karlin's score is stirring, using period pieces to great effect, and proceedings are generally well-edited.
The large cast of talented actors are also utilised well, more or less. John Gielgud does sterling work as Speer's father, who questions the direction his son's life has taken. Ian Holm brims with a witty menace as Goebbels, while Trevor Howard is typically understated and effective as Tessenow, Speer's mentor. Blythe Danner also does commendable work as Margareta, Speer's wife, while Randy Quaid is terrific as one of his associates.
The real stand out is Derek Jacobi, delivering a startlingly intense performance as Hitler. At times, he could be the megalomaniacal murderer's double; so cannily does he recreate his gesticulations and movements. Oddly enough, in the lead, the usually convincing Rutger Hauer is the weakest link, coming across as a bit half-hearted and disinterested; perhaps unsure of how to approach the role in the face of Neuman's scant characterisation.
In conclusion, where Chomsky succeeded with 'Holocaust', he fails with 'Inside the Third Reich.' The former boasted compelling characters whom one cared for, wrapped inside an engaging, poignant story. The latter is more like a summary of a book written by a student who didn't particularly care for the course they were on. Lacking the nuance or insight so prevalent in Albert Speer's book of the same name, the film disappoints. Although the visuals, score and supporting performances are commendable, both Rutger Hauer's performance as Albert Speer and the film around him are forgettable. A shame, considering the subject is one that one should never forget.
Bastarden (2023)
Conquest of the Useless
It is 1755, and Danish Captain Ludvig Kahlen has just left the army. He approaches the Royal Danish Court with a proposition: he will attempt to build a settlement on the barren Jutland moors in exchange for a noble title. It is a task considered impossible, and though his deal is accepted, the Court thinks nothing will ever come of it. Out on the moors, Kahlen battles the environment, as well as bandits and the machinations of the sadistic local magistrate Frederik Schinkel, in an attempt to realize his dreams.
Directed by Nikolaj Arcel and based on a novel by Ida Jessen- which was, in turn, very loosely inspired by real life characters- 'The Promised Land' is an engrossing, engaging film both powerful and poignant. Arcel's screenplay- written alongside frequent collaborator Anders Thomas Jensen- tells a fascinating tale that offers insight into Danish history, while also functioning as a character study and a compelling drama to boot.
It is a movie that works on many levels, balancing drama with comedy and violence with silence. The narrative- although lumbered with an unnecessarily protracted ending- is strongly written, subtly exploring themes like the cost of ambition and the importance of family. The film presents Kahlen as a complex man who can't see the forest for the trees, so to speak. Over the course of the picture, he undergoes a change of character, realising that there are other aspects to his life he should dedicate his time to, other than his pursuit of dominance over the inhospitable moorland.
Kahlen is reminiscent of other singularly focused cinematic creations, such as the titular characters in Werner Herzog's 'Fitzcarraldo' and Sam Peckinpah's 'The Ballad of Cable Hogue.' Like those two resolute men, he strives to realize his dream in the face of terrible opposition. His perseverance, his assurance that the impossible can be done, makes him a compelling character, while his stoic nature makes him both enigmatic and intriguing.
Toiling through the seasons, tearing up the tough earth of the moors, Kahlen struggles to make any headway, even with the help of a couple, Ann Barbara and Johannes, as well as Anmai Mus, a Romani girl he reluctantly takes into his care. Meanwhile, the villainous Shinkel, who has his eye on the moorland, turns from an irritant into an obstacle Kahlen cannot get beyond. All these characters are well-drawn and believable, with their own arcs and backstories. Although the exploration of Kahlen's personality and ambition is the core of the story, Arcel and Jensen have created rich secondary characters for him to interact with; making the film utterly gripping.
It is a visually evocative affair, boasting atmospheric cinematography from Rasmus Videbæk. By using an aspect ratio of 1.66:1, Videbæk gives the film a wide, epic look, making the most of the rugged Danish landscape; compounding the harsh isolation of the Jutland moors. His use of close-ups heightens the drama of proceedings, while his utilisation of tracking shots- notably during a nighttime raid on a band of thugs- adds tension and suspense.
Moreover, Jette Lehmann's production design is detailed and evocative, creating a period-accurate setting, while Kicki Ilander's costume design contributes to the narrative and its characters astutely. Her juxtaposition of the rich fabrics Shinkel parades around in, compared to Kahlen's simple outfits, accentuates the cultural, societal gap between the men. Additionally, Dan Romer's muted score is stirring, never dominating scenes; complementing them instead. Although Arcel and editor Olivier Bugge Couttélet let proceedings go on a tad too long- there is a natural end point that is followed by an unnecessary extra 25 minutes, an epilogue of sorts- the film has a steady pace as deliberate as its central character.
Mads Mikkelsen stars as Kahlen, opposite Amanda Collin as Ann Barbara, Melina Hagberg as Anmai Mus and Simon Bennebjerg as Shinkel. Mikkelsen demonstrates his incredible talent for saying volumes through the smallest expression or gesture, without the need for words. A nuanced, charismatic performer, he is terrific; his subtle, multifaceted performance again lends credence to the notion that he is one of, if not the best actors around today.
Collin does similarly sterling work as Ann Barbara, delivering an understated and powerful performance full of depth and wit. She shares a fine chemistry with Mikkelsen, while Hagberg- in her first role- is wonderful. Feisty and funny, she has a strong screen presence, working brilliantly with her co-stars- especially Mikkelsen. They share a few scenes full of emotional power; and she impresses greatly with her natural, unostentatious performance.
Bennebjerg creates in Shinkel a villain for the ages, a sadistic cad full of pomp and vanity. Although the character is fairly cliched, Bennebjerg plays him so well one forgets this. Slimy, slick and sinisterly funny; he cannot be faulted. Additionally, Thomas W. Gabrielsson and Jacob Lohmann are both brilliant as Shinkel's right hand man Bondo and Trappaud, an associate of Kahlen's. Furthermore, Kristine Kujath Thorp is commendable in the role of Edel Helene, a noblewoman betrothed to Shinkel who wants to escape his vile clutches.
In conclusion, Nikolaj Arcel's 'The Promised Land' is an engaging epic, a character study and a moving drama all in one. With a strong screenplay examining interesting themes, witty, minimalist dialogue and well-drawn characters, the narrative consistently engages. The cinematography and production design are striking, while the score is subtly powerful. Boasting strong performances from all in the cast- led by the incomparable Mads Mikkelsen- 'The Promised Land' is a fascinating tale about a conquest of the useless that one wouldn't want to miss.
Kei zik (1989)
A Miracle of Moviemaking
It is the 1930's, and naïve country boy Kuo Cheng-Wah has just arrived in Hong Kong. A violent gang war has broken out over the city, which he finds himself in the middle of. After a gang boss bequeaths him his empire, Cheng-Wah opens a nightclub, featuring the sultry singer Yang Luming as star attraction. Meanwhile, Madame Kao, an impoverished street seller, needs Cheng-Wah's help if she is to convince her daughter she is a lady of means. So begins a madcap tale full of action, comedy and romance sure to leave audiences spellbound.
Directed by Jackie Chan and based on Damon Runyon's short story 'Madame La Gimp,' 'Miracles' is a heartwarming, exciting comedy both fun and fast-paced. Runyon's source material had been adapted for the screen twice before by Frank Capra, in 1933 with 'Lady For A Day' and 1961 with 'Pocketful of Miracles,' but Chan's version is by far the most memorable. Combining clever dialogue with strong characterisation and witty set-pieces, the screenplay brims with comedic inventiveness. The narrative is consistently engaging, full of humorous misunderstandings, idiosyncratic characters and hilarious action that would have made Buster Keaton proud.
As is the case with most Chan fare, the film features stunt work and fight choreography that is awe-inspiring. The martial arts world's answer to Fred Astaire, Chan's incredible physicality is on full display, and the rapid-fire action will leave you breathless- when you're not laughing, that is. A sequence in a rope factory has to be seen to be believed; so incredible are Chan and his Stunt Team. Furthermore, the aspects of the narrative involving Madame Kao are handled brilliantly, bringing additional humour and drama to proceedings, while the musical numbers interspersed throughout harken back to the glory days of Hollywood musicals.
Moreover, Arthur Wong's lush cinematography gives the film a richness and fluidity largely missing from Chan's previous pictures. Making expert use of tracking shots and long, single takes, Wong fosters a sense of realism and immersion. A one take shot at the night club is most impressive, swooping over the heads of the audience from the stage, up into Cheng-Wah's office; plunging the viewer deep into the glamourous world of the film.
Eddie Ma's grand production design drips with textural richness. From the bustling streets of Hong Kong, to the velvet and gold rimmed nightclub, to the dusty rope factory, all the locations are detailed and visually interesting. A stunning feast for the eyes, Ma, art director Sai Kan Lam and set decorator Yiu-Kwong But have faithfully recreated 1930's Hong Kong, with a wry, Runyonesque slant. In addition, Lai-Fang Chan and Sun-Yiu Cheung's costume design is intricate and evocative; adding to the personalities of the characters and their world.
Jackie Chan stars as Kuo Cheng-Wah, opposite Anita Mui as Yang Luming and Ah-Lei Gua as Madame Kao. Charismatic and charming, Chan is brilliant in the role, clearly relishing the chance to play an old timey 'Guys and Dolls' style gangster. His terrific comedic timing- combined with his martial arts prowess- is incredible to behold, while he imbues the character with interesting little quirks- like flipping a hat before putting it on- that make him all the more compelling. As director, stunt coordinator and actor; Chan impresses greatly.
As does Anita Mui, demonstrating her considerable comedic, and vocal, talents. She and Chan share a great chemistry that makes watching them together a joy, while her classy performance of the song 'Rose, Rose I Love You' is close to unforgettable. Ah-Lei Gua brings a touching vulnerability to her role, making her compelling and sympathetic. Additionally, Bill Tung is hilarious as a conman Cheng-Wah brings into the fold, while Chun-Hsiung Ko and Lo Lieh make for excellent villains. Also worth mentioning are Wu Ma, as Cheng-Wah's mentor Uncle Hoi, and Richard Ng, as bumbling Chief Inspector Ho, who both give memorable, humorous performances.
In conclusion, Jackie Chan's 'Miracles' is a funny, heartwarming comedy that does justice to its source material, Damon Runyon's 'Madame La Gimp,' while also paying tribute to the work of Frank Capra and the Golden Age of Hollywood. Showcasing Chan's innumerable talents and vision, it is exciting and entertaining, featuring many pulse-pounding action sequences, striking cinematography and a fine score. Well-acted and fun for all the family, it really is a miracle of moviemaking.
Padre Pio (2022)
A Witless Frankenstein's Monster
The First World War has just ended, but peace is far from the Italian village of San Giovanni Rotondo. As families welcome back their loved ones from the battlefield, a new conflict brews between the socialist peasants and their oppressive landowners. Meanwhile, in the village convent, Capuchin friar Padre Pio is having a crisis of faith. Encountering demons and suffering from vivid, dark hallucinations, will the friar overcome his troubles, and will the villagers find their freedom?
Directed by Abel Ferrara, 'Padre Pio' is a witless Frankenstein's monster: a strange, plodding drama that feels like two vastly different films spliced poorly together; neither of which are very good. Written by Ferrara and Maurizio Braucci- alongside whom Ferrara wrote the far more interesting 'Pasolini'- the film aims to explore themes of spirituality and politics in post-war Italy, but ends up saying nothing at all. The links between the story involving the villagers and the one concerning the titular character are tenuous and poorly explained, while the complete package is so slow and tedious it would be more worthwhile watching paint dry.
Moreover, the dialogue is stilted and cliched, with the villagers' arguments for and against socialism being especially trite and banal. Often, it sounds like bad improvisation- and the fact that the mostly Italian cast struggle to deliver their lines in English doesn't help matters. Additionally, although Ferrara tries to juxtapose the suffering of Pio with that of the villagers, it doesn't work, feeling ham-fisted at best. Furthermore, his portrayal of the friar isn't sympathetic, nor interesting, with no backstory or characterisation. There's no reason to root for him, and his dull journey towards stigmata simply isn't engaging.
Having said that, there are moments throughout that hold interest, even if they're too few and far between. An all-too-short scene involving a character confessing his lust for his daughter brims with an intriguing menace, while the opening sequence- in which soldiers return from the war- is well realized, with minimal dialogue. Unfortunately, scenes like those are rare gems in a sea of mediocrity, and the majority of the narrative is a slog.
On the other hand, Alessandro Abate's muted cinematography adds a dose of realism to proceedings, and is consistently striking. Tommaso Ortino's production design lends additional authenticity to the picture, while the set and costume design is of a particularly high quality. However, Joe Delia's score- incorporating, at one point, Southern chain-gang music- is overblown, lacking subtlety or power.
Shia La Beouf stars as the titular character, delivering a performance of staggering self-indulgence, going so over-the-top he makes Nicolas Cage in 'Vampire's Kiss' look like a masterpiece of understatement. It is a misjudged attempt to outdo Daniel Day-Lewis in the intensity department, making Padre Pio look petulant, insane and dour. His Italian co-stars all do more nuanced work, but the impact of their performances are severely hampered by their having to speak in English. Worth mentioning, however, is Asia Argento, who plays the incestuous father, injecting some much-needed energy into a lifeless film.
In conclusion, Abel Ferrara's 'Padre Pio' is a failure, both as a biopic of the titular character and as a drama concerning Italian socio-political history. Drab, dull and disappointing, the narrative lacks wit, insight and entertainment value, while the dialogue is consistently contrived and unnatural. While the cinematography and production design are commendable, the score is poor and the central performance from Shia LaBeouf is terribly over-the-top. In short, it's a boring waste of time, deserving Three Hail Marys, and nothing more.