Subtitle Literate

Dreaming of Spring I

2012-01-18T15:29:00.000-08:00

April 2010 - Paris, France

Gojira is Coming to the Criterion Collection

2012-01-09T10:29:00.000-08:00

I especially like how the video below emphasizes the other qualities within Ishiro Honda's 1954 classic beyond the titular, now-iconic creature.

On a related note, I recently reviewed Honda's fun 1963 film Matango: Attack of the Mushroom People over at the J-Film Pow-Wow. Click here if you're curious.

My Highlights of 2011

2011-12-31T13:04:00.000-08:00

Gathered below are some key moments and accomplishments that helped make 2011 such a memorable year for me:

-Getting to visit my aunt, uncles and grandmum at the start of the year in Victoria, British Columbia.

-Continuing to do my bit (and love every minute of it) for the J-Film Pow-Wow alongside Chris MaGee, Bob Turnbull, Matthew Hardstaff, Eric Evans, Chikako Hirao Evans and Nicholas Vroman. Let’s keep on rockin’ the Japanese film blogging scene through 2012!

-Continuing to count myself among some pretty cool folks at good ol’ Chapters Oakville. Cultured, clever, funny – you all rock!

-Traveling back to Frankfurt for the 11^th Nippon Connection film festival (the second time I’ve attended the annual celebration of Japanese cinema), where I saw lots of great films and met up with friends old and new. Between the beautiful spring weather, keeping busy with my coverage of the fest and getting a few precious chances to explore the city, it truly was a week to remember.

-Talking some Edward Yang and Hou Hsiao-hsien with Coffin Jon, Josh and Rufus on the VCinema Show. I look forward to returning to wrap up the arc on Taiwanese cinema with our discussion of Tsai Ming-liang.

-Attending and covering the 3^rd Shinsedai Cinema Festival in Toronto in July, where I hung out with some cool folks, made some (more!) great cinematic discoveries and got a chance to interview Japanese actress and producer Kiki Sugino for VCinema.

-Getting the awesome opportunity to preview the Fellini: Spectacular Obsessions exhibit at the TIFF Bell Lightbox for a special piece and review series for Toronto Film Scene. Very special thanks to Trista DeVries and the press relations folks at the Lightbox.

-Keeping up a spirited correspondence with extremely talented artist and like-minded film buff Edmund Yeo, whose latest work, Last Fragments of Winter, I recently glowed about in a piece for VCinema. Here’s hoping the coming year is kind to you and your creative endeavors – and that it brings about a chance for us to actually meet!

-Staying in the loop with the Toronto film critic/blogger/lover scene, specifically through Adam Nayman’s brilliant film seminars at the Miles Nadal Jewish Community Centre and all those monthly film blogger pub nights at the Duke of York.

-Sinking my teeth into many assignments for Intellect Books – namely the pieces I contributed to the books World Film Locations: Tokyo, Directory of World Cinema: Japan 2 and Directory of World Cinema: France (of which the latter two will be released in February and May of 2012, respectively). I’m very proud of the final results, and hope that people find them helpful and at least somewhat enlightening!

-Getting published in the Toronto-based film journal CineAction with an essay on one of my favorite filmmakers of all time – the aforementioned Tsai Ming-liang. Writing the essay was a lot of fun and certainly one of the most personally rewarding experiences of my year. Thank you to editor Susan Morrison!

-Maintaining strong ties with my family, which includes my supportive parents and two younger sisters, Natalie and Christina, through quite a variety of experiences - some pleasant and exciting, some trying. Wherever we all end up next year, we’ll still be connected to one another.

-Getting a healthy start in learning Japanese through the lessons and material provided by the good folks at JapanesePod101.com. I’m so excited to learn more about this beautiful and fascinating language.

-Deciding on a bold and exciting new course in my life that will (hopefully) see me moving to Japan as a certified English teacher early in the new year. I haven’t even left the country yet and already I’ve met many great people (through the TESL/TESOL certification course I took in Toronto throughout this past December). Here’s hoping for more fantastic new encounters and experiences – not to mention a successful transition to the Land of the Rising Sun!

-And last but not least, being able to bookend the year by chilling with the most excellent Brad Weston and Bree-An Lucas.

Many thanks to everyone who helped make this a truly special and memorable year for me. As always, I look forward to what the next year will bring – fresh adventures, new encounters, opportunities to test myself and grow, brand new routes and avenues to tread along. As I chart my own course, I sincerely hope everyone else has a happy and productive 2012!

Sailor's Delight

2011-12-24T15:57:00.000-08:00

January 2011 - Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

Starry Night...

2011-12-22T21:38:00.001-08:00

October, 2008 - Nice, France

O Christmas Tree...

2011-12-19T23:19:00.000-08:00

January 2011 - Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

Wires 'n' Bulbs

2011-12-14T23:12:00.000-08:00

January 2011 - Victoria, British Columbia, Canada

Edmund Yeo's "Last Fragments of Winter" - VCinema Review

2011-12-11T16:53:00.000-08:00

Hello all! A few days ago, I popped up once more at VCinema, that great online/podcasting hotspot for Asian cinema lovers everywhere. I wrote up something very special for them: a review of the latest short film from accomplished Malaysian filmmaker Edmund Yeo. The film, Last Fragments of Winter, is a beautifully crafted piece of work that was shot in Japan and Malaysia and recently had its world premiere at the 8th Dubai International Film Festival. Check out my review for it here, and if you ever have the chance, make sure to catch this fantastic gem!

City of Glass

2011-12-06T09:01:00.000-08:00

December 2010 - Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

Vegetation

2011-11-29T22:10:00.000-08:00

August, 2011 - Oakville, Ontario, Canada

Meeting

2011-11-26T14:42:00.000-08:00

August 2011 - Oakville, Ontario, Canada

Emily Carr's "Scorned as Timber, Beloved of the Sky"

2011-11-25T17:21:00.000-08:00

Hello all. Today, I finished reading Lewis DeSoto's entry in Penguin's Extraordinary Canadians series, which focuses on the life and work of Western Canadian artist Emily Carr. Take a gander at what it's about here; I'd recommend it to anyone interested in this remarkable woman, Canadian art history or that elusive thing known as the creative process in general, as it provides an incredibly refreshing look at her passion for nature, animals and artistic expression (which she mainly tapped through painting and writing).

To celebrate Emily and DeSoto's book about her, I give you her 1935 painting Scorned as Timber, Beloved of the Sky, which DeSoto exalts with the following words:

"The emotional and symbolic content affects us in an almost physical manner. The power of the painting is undeniable. It is beyond design and decoration; no longer a depiction of something that is meant to represent rapture, it is rapture, the very embodiment and expression of ecstatic liberation."

Emily II

2011-11-24T11:32:00.000-08:00

December, 2010 - Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

Emily I

2011-11-23T10:32:00.000-08:00

January, 2011 - Victoria, British Columbia, Canada

Green III

2011-11-21T15:30:00.000-08:00

This picture and the other nature shots I've been posting over the past few days were all taken this past January in Victoria, British Columbia around Durrance Lake. Stay tuned here for more shots that I've gathered over time.

Green II

2011-11-18T17:07:00.000-08:00

A Three Colors Celebration!

2011-11-15T15:49:00.000-08:00

Today marks the arrival of a pretty big home video release for many film fans: the Criterion Collection Blu-ray and DVD sets of Krzysztof Kieślowski's fabulous Three Colors trilogy. The good folks over at thesubstream.com asked me to help them talk about the set for their DVD/Blu-ray Shed feature - check out my brief blurb here (presented along with links to my Row Three reviews for each of the three films - thanks guys!).

And to help get you further in the mood to re-visit these great films, I've included below the cool Three Reasons videos put out by Criterion to help promote this release:

Green

2011-11-15T15:17:00.001-08:00

Mirror

2011-11-14T10:48:00.000-08:00

Tangled Morning IV

2011-11-12T21:28:00.001-08:00

Tangled Morning III

2011-11-11T22:05:00.001-08:00

Tangled Morning II

2011-11-11T07:34:00.000-08:00

Tangled Morning I

2011-11-10T11:11:00.000-08:00

Help Support the 4th Shinsedai Cinema Festival!

2011-11-06T10:44:00.000-08:00

Hello, all. This past July, the Shinsedai Cinema Festival was held for the third time in Toronto at the Japanese Canadian Cultural Centre, showcasing an impressive array of independent short and feature films from Japan's independent film community. Next year will mark a new chapter in the fest's still-young history, as it will be moving to a brand new venue in the city: the Revue Cinema. With this change, however, comes some new financial responsibilities for the festival's organizers, leading them to branch out to the greater online community for help.

Thus, they have begun a fundraising campaign at IndieGoGo to help cover the costs of transporting and accommodating the Japanese filmmakers who will be arriving from overseas to promote their film and enjoy the festival. The goal is to raise $7000 in a little under 60 days - something that, with enough people, can be easily accomplished. Even a small donation would be greatly appreciated, and on the right side of the campaign page, you will find a listing of rewards for specific donation amounts.

So, if you feel like helping out, just check out the campaign at the above link to see your options and more info on the impact your donation will make. Also, if you wish, you can check out the main page for the Shinsedai Cinema Festival. Many thanks in advance!

Elegeia (Mark Beneria, 2009)

2011-10-24T17:32:00.000-07:00

Hello, all. This post comes in the midst of yet another period in which I've been pondering the life and work of the great Russian filmmaker Andrei Tarkovsky. A while ago, I found a short film devoted to him on Youtube that I really should have shared earlier. In any case, here it is now. Shot on and one day after December 29th, 2008 (the 22-year anniversary of Tarkovsky's death) in the Russian Orthodox Cemetery in Sainte-Geneiève-des-Bois, France (near Paris) where he is buried, Mark Beneria's Elegeia offers up a fittingly poetic tribute to the artist using patient camera movements and a solemn flute score (by Okuda Asuya) that evoke his legendary, powerful films. In a mournful tone, Beneria reflects on the greatness of Tarkovsky's work and the sad circumstances surrounding his troubled life in exile. If devoted admirers of Tarkovsky's work weren't compelled to actually visit his grave in France, they will be after seeing this film. I know I want to.

CineAction Issue #85, Featuring My Essay on Tsai Ming-Liang

2011-10-08T15:16:00.000-07:00

Hello all. Today, I come to you with a piece of news that's at least a few weeks old, but has not been mentioned here yet. It concerns the most recent issue of the Toronto-based film journal CineAction, which is published three times a year and features different essays on particular subjects and themes that are chosen for each issue. This latest one, Issue #85, had "Slow Film" as one of its topics, which prompted me to plan out and submit an essay on one of my favorite filmmakers, Tsai Ming-Liang. The finished result, entitled Slow Fuse: The Cinematic Strategies of Tsai Ming-Liang, can now be read in this latest issue and specifically focuses on the story structures of The Hole (1998), What Time Is It There (2001) and I Don't Want To Sleep Alone (2006).

The journal should be out on newsstands for the remainder of 2011 - here is its table of contents. If you're interested or a fan of the filmmaker, please check it out if you can!

Also remember that I will be appearing on the VCinema Podcast to talk about Tsai's 2003 film Goodbye, Dragon Inn sometime in the coming months.

P.S. Happy (Canadian) Thanksgiving!

Music News: Ultimately Always by Kemek

2011-10-04T11:20:00.000-07:00

Hello all. Today marks the release of a new record from a music artist who I've been really digging recently - Kemek, also known as Adam Douglas. Besides teaching in South Korea and occasionally writing for the VCinema Blog, he makes music that ranges from ambient to electronic to dubstep and beyond. I've been listening to his thoroughly relaxing album Itsuka quite a bit these days, and was glad to learn of this latest release from him. If you're at all into soothing and/or experimental music, check him out!

Click on the links below to:

* Sample and purchase Ultimately Always (pay what you want) at the Architects + Heroes website.

* Visit Kemek's blog to check out more info on his other music releases.

New Trailer for Edmund Yeo's Exhalation

2011-09-24T12:00:00.000-07:00

Hello all. I just wanted to share the release of a brand new trailer for the 2010 short film Exhalation, which was directed by Malaysian filmmaker Edmund Yeo. I've followed Edmund's remarkable progress for some time now and written about a number of his admirably crafted films, including Exhalation, The White Flower and Kingyo.

If you're in or around Tokyo in late October, you can catch it at the 24th Tokyo International Film Festival on the 23rd along with Lim Kah Wai's Magic and Loss. Check here for more information on the screening.

Plus, you can check out a short interview I did with Edmund about Exhalation over at the J-Film Pow-Wow.

Three Reasons for Satyajit Ray's The Music Room

2011-08-28T06:07:00.000-07:00

A few nights ago, I finally got around to watching this incredible film from the great Bengali master Satyajit Ray. This vid (part of Criterion's brilliant Three Reasons ad line) does a pretty good job of illustrating some of its highlights. Actually, it's one of the more dynamic videos in the series - due in no small part to both cinematographer Subrata Mitra's dynamic, Scorsese-esque (to me, at least) camera movements and the incredible, exhilarating music edited to the images. Check it out for yourself:

Book Stuff!

2011-08-27T11:59:00.000-07:00

Hello all. Marc here with a quick post regarding two film book-related tidbits for you. Firstly, John Berra, editor of such books as Directory of World Cinema: Japan and Directory of World Cinema: American Independent and current lecturer of film studies at China's Nanjing University, has recently released the cover image (see below) for the upcoming Directory of World Cinema: Japan 2, which he also edited. The new book will, like the first, feature reviews and essays covering various subjects in the world of Japanese cinema. Contributors include myself as well as fellow J-Film Pow-Wow writers Chris MaGee, Matthew Hardstaff and Bob Turnbull. Using an image from Tetsuya Nakashima's film Kamikaze Girls, it looks like the folks at Intellect behind the design decided to really run with the pink motif! The book will be released sometime in 2012.

Speaking of film books, there's a site that I've been meaning to plug here for some time now that covers in remarkable detail the goings on in the world of film writing. It is Toronto Film Review, run by fellow Toronto cinephile and film literature devotee David Davidson. Over at his blog, you'll find monthly editorials, book reviews, news and write-ups on film-related goings-on in Toronto and more. The easily detectable passion and incredible depth of David's pieces alone make his site worth visiting - check it out!

Late Summer Update - Shinsedai! Kiki Sugino! Federico Fellini! Satyajit Ray! Tokyo!

2011-08-21T13:05:00.000-07:00

Hello all! After having recently spent a relaxing stint in northern Ontario cottage country and, before then, kept fairly busy with various writing projects here and there, I have quite a bit to report regarding my goings-on in the film community! Let's dive right in, shall we?

* At the end of July, the 3rd Shinsedai Cinema Festival came and went through Toronto, bringing with it a slew of great independent Japanese films, including Fumie Nishikawa's The Azemichi Road, which won the festival's Kobayashi Audience Choice Award; Koji Fukada's Hospitalité; Keita Kurosaka's Midori-ko; Ryugo Nakamura's The Catcher on the Shore and Neil Cantwell and Tim Grabham's KanZeOn. You can read a brief overview of the festival I wrote for the J-Film Pow-Wow; in addition to that, I'll have a more in-depth report posted at Midnight Eye sometime in the future.

* During the festival, I had the opportunity to interview a special guest - Kiki Sugino, who has served as an actor and producer on Hospitalité, which was the festival's opening night film; Edmund Yeo's short film Exhalation and Kah-Wai Lim's Magic and Loss. In the time I was allotted, we covered a good portion of topics regarding her career, collaborations with various directors and cultural background. Read the full interview over at the VCinema Blog!

* Meanwhile, over at Toronto Film Scene, I'm continuing my little series of pieces on the TIFF Bell Lightbox's Fellini/Felliniesque: "Dream" Double Bills film program that has been going on over the summer, tying in with its Fellini: Spectacular Obsessions exhibition. Earlier, I had written on Miranda July's pairing of Fellini's La Strada with Jane Campion's An Angel at my Table, while most recently I've submitted a piece on Deepa Mehta's selection of Nights of Cabiria with Satyajit Ray's Devi. Expect at least one more to land on the site before this fascinating program is up - and while you're at it, go check out some of these films or the ones in the Lightbox's thematically linked Days of Glory: Masterworks of Italian Neorealism program.

* Finally for now, a few days ago marked the release of a new book from Intellect that I contributed to: World Film Locations: Tokyo, which looks at some notable sites and sights throughout the city that have popped up on movie screens in productions both Japanese and otherwise. It was edited by my buddy at the J-Film Pow-Wow, Chris MaGee, and features pieces from a whole slew of writers and film folk who I'm very lucky to count among my friends and acquaintances. They consist of *deep breath* the Pow-Wow's own Matthew Hardstaff and Eric Evans, Nishikata Film Review's Catherine Munroe Hotes, VCinema's Jon Jung, Midnight Eye's Tom Mes, Directory of World Cinema: Japan editor John Berra and Japanese Canadian Cultural Centre Executive Director James Heron, among many more talented contributors. If you're interested in picking up the book, you can follow this link to Amazon.ca or check any convenient online retailer or hip bookstore near you!

UPDATE (28/08/2011): It seems that the book's release has been slightly delayed by one month - thus, it will be out on Sept. 15th.

The 3rd Shinsedai Cinema Festival Comes to Toronto!

2011-07-20T10:07:00.000-07:00

Now entering its third year, the Shinsedai Cinema Festival will once more be bringing a slew of independent Japanese films to Toronto this summer. Began in 2009 by author and Midnight Eye co-founder Jasper Sharp and J-Film Pow-Wow founder and editor-in-chief Chris MaGee, the festival is designed to highlight some of the newest filmmakers to emerge from Japan, giving North American viewers a rare chance to take a look at noteworthy films that have received attention elsewhere in the world. This year’s guests will include Kiki Sugino, the lead actress and producer of the opening night film, Koji Fukuda’s Hospitalité; comedian and director Devi Kobayashi, whose films Mariko Rose the Spook and Hikari will be shown back-to-back; and Ryugo Nakamura, a fifteen year-old filmmaker who already has an impressive number of short films (thirty, to be precise) to his name and will be presenting his latest feature, The Catcher on the Shore.

This year’s lineup looks like quite the diverse grab bag of cinematic treats, offering a wide selections of genres to choose from. Along with the above-mentioned films, I am quite intrigued by a few films I recognize from this year’s lineup from Frankfurt’s Nippon Connection film festival, which I had the pleasure of attending. Besides highlights like Koji Shiraishi’s Shirome, a mockumentary that features girl group Momoiro Clover thrust into a horror film scenario, and Yoichi Higashi’s Wandering Home, a family drama starring Tadanobu Asano as the alcoholic photojournalist Yutaka Kamoshida, I am perhaps most excited about Keita Kurosaka’s Midori-ko, a positively brilliant, beautifully strange work of hand-drawn animation that took its maker over ten years to complete.

The 3rd Shinsedai Cinema Festival will run from July 21st-24th, 2011, at the Japanese Canadian Cultural Centre in Toronto. Full details on the films, schedule, tickets and passes and location can all be found at the festival’s main website. I will be doing some coverage of the festival for a few film sites, so stay tuned for links to those pieces once they are completed!

Check out the trailers for Hospitalité and Midori-ko below!

Images of a Tarkovskian Nature

2011-07-10T18:39:00.000-07:00

Hello, all. So, lately I've been going through something of an Andrei Tarkovsky phase, which I've fuelled by reading a fair bit about him, revisiting certain films of his and discovering others for the first time (including his final masterpiece, The Sacrifice). I've also been greatly appreciating a Tumblr blog run by the Criterion Cast's Ryan Gallagher that provides continuous postings of Polaroid pictures Tarkovsky took throughout his life - it should come as no surprise that each one offers up an image of beauty.

So, to make my own image-based tribute to this beloved master of cinema, I thought it'd be fitting to share a few pictures I've taken during my recent travels that strongly evoke his films and their unique, powerful connection to nature.

So, without further ado, here are some Tarkovskian images for you to enjoy that will hopefully put you in the mood to revisit one of his beautiful films.

The following pictures (which you can click to enlarge) were taken in different corners of Canada, in Victoria, British Columbia...

...Minden, Ontario...

...and Oakville, Ontario.

Fellini Fever Hits Toronto: the TIFF Bell Lightbox's Fellini: Spectacular Obsessions Exhibition

2011-07-01T14:57:00.000-07:00

Hello, all. Today I bring you yet another piece I recently penned, this time for Toronto Film Scene, an excellent website that tackles all thing cinema-related happening in Toronto. This report previews a great event happening this summer at the TIFF Bell Lightbox that will be of particular note to fans of Federico Fellini and Italian cinema: an exhibition entitled Fellini: Spectacular Obsessions focusing on the man, his films and how his work dovetails with the worlds of the media, celebrity culture and photography. Over 400 pieces are on display, including photos, drawings, posters, magazines, newspapers, cartoon work, film clips and the Book of Dreams, a massive tome that the director filled with detailed illustrations and descriptions of his dreams.

Having been through the exhibit, I can safely say that it is extremely worthwhile, both for the creative way in which all the pieces are presented within the space as well as all of the fascinating topics within Italy's artistic culture that are explored. Along with the exhibit, the Lightbox will be running two great film programs throughout the summer: Days of Glory: Masterworks of Italian Neorealism, featuring key films by De Sica, Rossellini, Pasolini and others; and Fellini/Felliniesque: "Dream" Double Bills, which consists of interesting pairings of Fellini films with some by other directors.

Click on the following links to check out my Toronto Film Scene piece on the exhibition and all the cool stuff it has to offer and further details on the exhibit and film programs on the TIFF website.

Oh yes, and happy Canada Day.

My Festival Report for Nippon Connection 2011 Now Available at Senses of Cinema

2011-06-27T03:48:00.000-07:00

Hello, all. A little earlier, I mentioned my recent return to Frankfurt, Germany, for the 11th Nippon Connection film festival, which focuses exclusively on Japanese cinema. Along with writing about specific films for the Toronto J-Film Pow-Wow, I also produced a festival report that has now been published by Senses of Cinema in their 59th issue. You can go check it out here!

Exploring Kieslowski's Three Colors Trilogy: Red (1994)

2011-06-25T13:56:00.000-07:00

Director: Krzysztof Kieslowski

Country: France/Poland/Switzerland

As I mentioned in my previous review of Krzysztof Kieslowski’s Blue, the films that make up his Three Colors trilogy can be considered as responses to specific genres. While Blue is said to be an anti-tragedy and White an anti-comedy, Red is the anti-romance – and, I believe, the film that best fulfills its designation. It certainly addresses love, but does so in a curious, indirect way, circling questions and elements of romance without ever delivering the full emotional payoff one might expect. One of the film’s relationships, between a young man named Auguste (Jean-Pierre Lorit) who is studying to become a judge and his blonde girlfriend Karin (Frédérique Feder), is only presented in short, fleeting scenes mainly focused on him. Another is stretched thin across Europe, tying together Geneva-based model Valentine (the enchanting Irène Jacob) and Michel, a university student living in London, through increasingly fraught phone conversations. It feels like Kieslowski uses these two storylines to examine contemporary relationships – or, rather, how certain relationships were never meant to work.

But then, nestled between these ones, there is another that oddly does. This relationship is between Valentine and a retired judge marvelously portrayed by Jean-Louis Trintignant. One night, she hits a German Shepherd with her car and, after carrying the hurt animal to her backseat, brings her to the address written on her collar. At the house, Valentine has her first encounter with the judge, who reacts to her confession of the incident with indifference and lets her keep the dog. She leaves, but they will continue to meet throughout the film, usually at his home. She learns that he spends much of his time eavesdropping on his neighbors’ phone calls using a special machine, observing their lives but never interfering. Valentine disapproves, yet she doesn’t betray his secret nor sever her contact with him. Instead, through their conversations they gradually learn more about one another and the circumstances that have shaped their lives.

This odd friendship makes up the core of Red and is never anything less than fascinating thanks to Jacob and Trintignant’s nuanced performances. Even though their characters have their share of differences (not least of all in age), they nonetheless discover and build a connection between themselves based upon curiosity, recognition and respect. This is where the much-noted theme of fraternity comes into the film: both Valentine and the judge are noticeably estranged from the people in their respective lives, thus identifying with one another as fellow outsiders and kindred spirits. There is a sense of closeness and trust in their shared words and gestures that come across as more sincere and believable than a great many full-blown love affairs one is likely to see onscreen.

Throughout Red, Kieslowski conducts a subtle study of actions and reactions, exploring how chance occurrences can have significant, far-reaching consequences. There are many such causal agents put forth, ranging from a book that falls open at just the right page to a malfunctioning car radio to the convergence of a number of strangers at a court hearing. Here more than anywhere else, the line between chance and fate is blurred by intriguing details put forth by Kieslowski – most significant of which being the uncanny resemblance between events from the judge’s past and ones playing out in the present in Auguste’s life, as if the latter character were a younger mirror version of the former. Another echo is presented in the form of the old lady who struggles to put an empty bottle in a recycling bin – an image included in all of the Three Colors films. The threads of interconnectivity are more deeply woven simply by the several occasions in which Valentine and Auguste cross paths without ever actually meeting, among other similar cases of different characters’ lives overlapping and touching one another. These dovetailing, beautifully orchestrated cases of coincidence, repetition and linkage make Red seem like a more patient, mature take on Magnolia; a film that is quite comfortable with the understated manner in which it presents its deep, potentially mind-blowing ideas. The true payoff arrives in the final scene, which will really get you pondering the crazy pinball patterns your own life can take based on seemingly small events and decisions – an effect made all the more rewarding if you watch the trilogy in order.

These last few words should be devoted to the stylistic features that make Red such a pleasure to take in. With his score, Zbigniew Preisner seems to return to the majesty of Blue, but with a more subdued, ethereal approach. Regarding the cinematography, production design and set decoration, Kieslowski and his creative team have really outdone themselves in making the most of their central color. Thankfully, the use of red here isn’t overwhelming – it doesn’t flood the screen, but is instead represented by several perfectly selected objects, pieces of clothing and features of the environments. Among the most surprising aspects of the film is the pure energy of the visual style, which often reaches thrilling heights. Fast, swooping crane shots; a speeding red bowling ball’s course down a lane; the opening, kaleidoscopic depiction of a long-distance phone call that pulls you head-first into the film – such moments and more all substantially add to the experience Red provides and demonstrate the generous, inventive spirit of its key engineer, Kieslowski, in spades.

In and of itself, the film is a wonderful achievement. As the third part of the Three Colors trilogy, it is the perfect finishing chapter to a film series that will only continue to enthrall viewers with its considerable scope, intricacy and empathy.

Also posted at Row Three.

My Guest Spot on the VCinema Podcast Discussion of Hou Hsiao-Hsien's Café Lumière

2011-06-20T17:50:00.000-07:00

Hello all. Not too long ago, I made an appearance on the VCinema Podcast, which specializes in Asian cinema, to discuss Edward Yang's masterpiece, Yi Yi (2000). That episode, available here, was the first of three planned ones in which I'll be talking with hosts Coffin Jon, Josh and Rufus about Taiwanese cinema and some of its most esteemed directors - namely Yang, Hou Hsiao-Hsien and Tsai Ming-Liang. And now...the second episode is now available! This time around, we tackle the Japan-based Ozu tribute-of-sorts Café Lumière (2003). All in all, I think we wound up having a pretty good discussion that touches upon a number of interesting topics. To listen for yourself, click on the icon below to access the show, be it through iTunes or manual download. Thank you for listening and enjoy!

Exploring Kieslowski's Three Colors Trilogy: White (1994)

2011-06-17T12:41:00.000-07:00

Director: Krzysztof Kieslowski

Country: France/Poland/Switzerland

Sandwiched between the opulent Blue and the more elusive Red, White suffers to a degree from the “middle film syndrome” found so often in film trilogies. There are numerous possible reasons behind this specific case: it is a comedy (of sorts) amid two more deeply serious films, its titular hue doesn’t promise as much visual splendor as blue or red does, and it possesses a more surprising and quirky quality than what one might initially expect before viewing it. That final point partially stems from certain promotional images for the film focusing mainly on actress Julie Delpy. It makes sense in the context of Krzysztof Kieslowski’s Three Colors trilogy and the marketing for it as a whole: three colors, three films, three lovely leading ladies (with Delpy joined by Juliette Binoche and Irène Jacob).

But as ideal as Julie may be as the face of White, it isn’t her film. Her character, Dominique, is important to the story, but she only appears for a small fraction of its screen time. Instead, the film’s real hero (or anti-hero) is Karol Karol, portrayed by the superb Zbigniew Zamachowski. We first see the Polish immigrant making his way to a Paris courthouse to the divorce hearing where Dominique, his soon-to-be-ex-wife, plainly states her intent to leave him due to his inability to consummate their marriage. From there, Karol’s luck very rapidly slips away from him: shut out of his home, he seeks shelter for the night at the beauty salon he formerly co-owned with Dominique. In the morning, she confronts him and, after one last chance for reconciliation passes by, cruelly kicks him out and threatens to bring the police down upon him. Poor Karol retreats to the Paris Métro where he plays a comical, kazoo-like instrument fashioned out of a comb for change. It is there where he meets a fellow Pole named Mikolaj (Janusz Gajos) with whom he quickly forms a bond of friendship and hatches a plan to transport himself back to Warsaw in a trunk. Despite an unplanned, uncomfortable detour, Karol triumphantly arrives back in his home country, reunites himself with his brother and finds work and a home in his hair salon. From there, Karol devotes himself almost single-mindedly to gaining money and power for himself, working with Mikolaj to form a campaign of revenge against Dominique.

As the above synopsis indicates, White is very much a narrative-driven film – certainly more so than Blue and Red. This can mainly be allotted to the twisty, constantly evolving nature of Karol’s trajectory. In this respect, the film could be compared to Stanley Kubrick’s Barry Lyndon or any other story in which the hero hoists him or herself out of dire straits using luck, pluck and ambition – these kinds of tales by design usually turn out to be incredibly engrossing, if only because of pure curiosity about where the character will end up next. Plus, it certainly helps when the central character is as fascinating to watch as Karol is. Somewhat resembling Tim Robbins, Zamachowski does a great job of portraying a highly sympathetic character who does not always do sympathetic things. Karol seems to scrape by with a built-in survival instinct, and carries himself with an odd mixture of meekness, shamelessness and charm even when placed in some particularly troubling predicaments. Just as interesting is his relationship with Dominique, the woman he continues to love even after she purposely torments him, even as he goes about preparing his plan against her.

Thus, Kieslowski presents us with a tragicomedy in the purest sense, masterfully balancing humorous moments with serious ones. Composer Zbigniew Preisner departs from the symphonic heights of Blue’s score to provide music that is noticeably lighter and springier, propelling us through Karol’s journey with an upbeat energy. Along the way, there are numerous scenes that openly invite serious considerations of love, life and happiness. If nothing else, White serves as possibly the most outright entertaining entry in the Three Colors trilogy; a fun yet thoughtful yarn that ably continues Kieslowski’s exploration of morality and human connection.

Also posted at Row Three.

Exploring Kieslowski's Three Colors Trilogy: Blue (1993)

2011-06-09T08:37:00.000-07:00

Director: Krzysztof Kieslowski

Country: France/Poland/Switzerland

Until recently, Krzysztof Kieslowski remained one of my biggest blind spots in the gallery of world cinema’s quintessential auteurs. One of those figures who continually lingered in my peripheral vision, the Polish filmmaker bears a reputation that ranks him among the likes of Bergman and Tarkovsky, Almodóvar and Haneke. But besides his prominence in the European arthouse scene, I was intrigued by the nature of his films – deep, mesmerizingly shot considerations of chance, fate and humanity. It wasn’t until after I read Roger Ebert's Great Movies essay on Kieslowski's Three Colors trilogy that I learned of the warmth and empathy he was capable of. Basically, he seemed like someone whose perspective I could readily appreciate and even grow fond of, and thus my appetite was properly whetted.

So I took it upon myself to pick up the trilogy and watch it over the course of a few nights. Consisting of Blue (1993), White (1994) and Red (1994), they mark the end of Kieslowski’s directorial career. Shortly after completing Red, he announced his retirement from cinema. Sadly, approximately two years later, he passed away when he had a heart attack during an open-heart surgery operation in March of 1996. Yet he left behind an impressive body of work that concludes with a final run of films that any filmmaker would be proud to go out with.

Here, in order, I will provide my initial impressions of the Three Colors. While the films freely invite different interpretations, they are inspired by the colors that make up the flag of France and their corresponding themes: liberty (blue), equality (white) and fraternity (red). The films have also been referred to as, respectively, an anti-tragedy (Blue), an anti-comedy (White) and an anti-romance (Red). But as the films and various writings on them reveal, these themes aren’t rigidly applied or represented in any way, but rather subtly explored and touched upon through the characters’ experiences and Kieslowski’s playful, mysterious approach to them. The result is a fascinating, refreshingly open cinematic arena for interpretations and ideas that I imagine will vary for each viewer. For what they’re worth, here are some of mine.

* * *

Long before I finally made my way to the Three Colors trilogy, I was aware of Blue’s status as an easy favorite among viewers. Out of the three films, it has earned possibly the most attention and can regularly be found at the top of most people’s personal rankings. This can easily be attributed to the many stand-out draw factors contained in the film: Juliette Binoche’s excellent lead performance, Slawomir Idziak’s sumptuous cinematography, Zbigniew Preisner’s grand score. Putting aside Binoche for a moment, Blue is indeed a film very much defined by its bold strokes of outright style. The opening sequence indicates as much in its visually and sonically intense depiction of a car ride, confronting the viewer with an up-close tire speeding over pavement, a distorted mosaic of lights as seen through a window, the roar of traffic engulfing the vehicle. The rest of the film comes laden with other beautifully executed flourishes, including the hazy, first-person perspective of Binoche’s recovery process following the car accident that kills her composer husband and their child; the odd flashes of blue light that appear at certain moments and the bursts of music that emanate, almost magically, from score pages.

Then, in the centre of it all, there is Binoche, giving what must be one of her most accomplished performances in her illustrious career. As Julie Vignon, sole survivor of the aforementioned crash, she steers her way through the difficult terrain of grief and depression. She first returns to her rural house, then moves into a Paris apartment, all the while carrying herself with a strong-willed and even reckless independence. Whether ridding herself of her family’s former possessions (including the home where they lived together), quietly contemplating the other characters around her or ending conversations with jarring abruptness, she constantly possesses an air of self-imposed distance from the world around her. She is dead-set on handling her own emotions and dealing with the lingering ties to her previous life on her own, and we as viewers are never quite sure which action she will take next. The result is not only a fantastic performance, but also a wonderfully complex and unpredictable character arc brimming with possibilities.

Much of that sense of narrative freedom comes from a large selection of supporting characters who interact with Julie through an almost episodic structure. Her husband’s friend and musical colleague, the young man who found her shortly after the crash, her spirited neighbor who works as a stripper, her husband’s mistress – they and more all occupy different areas of Julie’s life whilst facing their own dilemmas and experiences. That is one of Kieslowski and co-writer Krzysztof Piesiewicz’s great gifts here and in the other two films: a completeness to the characters and their lives that extends far beyond the provided screen time. Throughout the trilogy, this quality is made clear in some particularly marvelous ways, but it comes through in Blue most notably in a stirring sequence near the end that will make you seriously wonder if Richard Kelly didn’t do a bit of shoplifting for an uncannily similar moment in Donnie Darko.

Blue is so cinematically rich that it can be a bit staggering to remember that Kieslowski followed it up with two more works. The film by itself is a clear masterpiece, possessing such artistry and depth that one could be perfectly content to revisit, savor and contemplate it for some time before even thinking of moving on to White. Along with the great acting and style, the world of intertwining stories and emotional trials Blue delves into gives viewers lots to think about in relation to their own lives, along the way presenting Kieslowski as an intriguing, one-of-a-kind philosopher whose lessons he preferred to illustrate through cinema.

Also posted at Row Three.

Frankfurt: Spring 2011

2011-05-16T18:55:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, I returned from my second trip to Frankfurt for this year's Nippon Connection film festival, which ran from April 27th to May 5th. With great weather, wonderful people and interesting films, I certainly had an awesome time. To read the coverage that my buddy Chris MaGee and I wrote up on the fest and specific films, head over to the Toronto J-Film Pow-Wow.

You can also scroll below to check out some of the pictures I snapped throughout that week:

My Recent VCinema Guest Spots - Review of Park Chan-Wook's "Thirst"; Podcast Discussion of Edward Yang's "Yi Yi"

2011-04-16T11:47:00.000-07:00

Hello all! I know I'm a little on the late side with a few of these items, but better late than never, as they say!

Anywho, not too long ago I made a few contributions to the VCinema Podcast and Blog, the earliest of which being a review written for the Korean Cinema Blogathon 2011. The online event, organized by newkoreancinema.com and cineAWESOME!, was quite the success, as it resulted in 150 pieces from 50 web sites, each one focusing in some way on Korean cinema. You can check out the complete archive of pieces right here, and read my VCinema review of Park Chan-Wook's vampire flick Thirst (2009) here. Next year, when the Blogathon swings around once more, I hope to a) have seen a lot more Korean films and b) submit more pieces.

Shortly after that, I returned to VCinema, this time as a guest on their podcast for a discussion of New Taiwan Cinema; the late, great filmmaker Edward Yang and his masterpiece Yi Yi (2000). This will be one of three episodes in which I and the VCinema boys talk about certain films from the "big three" of contemporary Taiwanese cinema, consisting of Yang, Tsai Ming-Liang and Hou Hsiao-Hsien. You can access the Yang episode by clicking on the image below or looking it up on iTunes under "The VCinema Podcast."

And hey, what do you know! I took so long posting this episode up on here that the VCinema guys have already come out with their new one! In it, they embark on a discussion of the insane, wonderful, Indonesian actioner that is 1986's Rambu AKA The Intruder. Check out the episode by clicking on the image below.

Toronto Film Events: Japan Relief Screening of "Fine, Totally Fine" + The One Minute Film & Video Festival

2011-03-26T12:12:00.000-07:00

Hello all. I'm chiming in here to bring your attention to two noteworthy events that, if you're into film and live in or near Toronto, will hopefully be of interest to you.

The first is an upcoming screening of Yosuke Fujita's 2008 film Fine, Totally Fine, which will be taking place on Tuesday, April 5th at 7pm at the Revue Cinema in Toronto. Organized by my friend Chris MaGee of the Toronto J-Film Pow-Wow in collaboration with Pictures Dept. and Third Window Films, this event is designed to raise money for the relief effort going on in the wake of the recent earthquake/tsunami disaster that has rocked Japan. Tickets are only $8, and 100% of the proceeds will be going to the SUPPORT JAPAN - GAMBARE/ JustGiving relief fund created by Yuko Shiomaki, president of Pictures Dept. and distributor of Fine, Totally Fine. To seal the deal, the film itself is supposed to be absolutely delightful and totally worth seeing - especially for a mere $8 that will be going to charity!

Here's the trailer:

The second event I'd like to bring your attention to is the One Minute Film & Video Festival, which is being directed by Matt Brown of the MAMO Podcast, which he co-hosts with Matt Price. The festival, which will be showing films exactly 60 seconds in length, will be held this year on March 31st at the Toronto Underground Cinema at 7pm, with ticket prices set at $10 at the door. Set around the specific theme of social/media, it sounds like the festival will have quite a bit to offer. From the press release:

"In addition to new works from filmmakers in Toronto and around Canada, the 2011 One Minute Film & Video Festival features new films from Japan, Italy, Australia, Germany, Poland, Romania, South Africa, and the United States, offering a complete, international film festival experience in a single screening.

Festival Director Matt Brown has also put together a programme of thirty personal favourites from the first five seasons of the One Minute Film & Video Festival. This retrospective will screen jointly with the new works presented in the social/media programme on March 31. A total of sixty one-minute films (thirty new, thirty old) will screen starting at 7 p.m. at the Toronto Underground Cinema."

The website for the event can be accessed here.

Call for Aid to Japan in Wake of Earthquake and Tsunami Crisis

2011-03-12T16:05:00.000-08:00

Hello all. As everyone who reads this is aware, on this past Friday, March 11th of 2011, Japan was stricken by one of the biggest earthquakes ever recorded not only in that country, but in the world. The 8.9 quake struck the North-East area of Japan near the Miyagi Prefecture and brought with it a devastating tsunami that swept over farms and towns and claimed hundreds of lives. As of this writing, the number of people still missing is around 9,500, while nearly 1,000 people are expected to be dead and over 1,400 injured. along with the simple factors of survival and recovery in the affected areas, the biggest issue remains the Fukushima nuclear plant's instability due to malfunctions in the reactor's coolant controls and backup generator. Efforts are still underway to restore radiation concentration to normal levels.

Myself and others involved in the Asian cultural community are deeply alarmed and saddened by this terrible disaster, and have been checking up on friends and family in Japan via e-mail and social media - efforts that have thus far mainly consisted of reports of safety and good health. However, there are still countless others who will require assistance in the days and weeks ahead. For those who wish to lend their support to this important cause, one of the best ways to do so is to donate to the Japan Society Relief Fund, which will be working in conjunction with other Japanese and American non-profit organizations providing aid to Japan. Rest assured that the Japan Society, based in New York, is highly respected for its support of Japanese cultural events (including the Japan Cuts film festival) in the past, and that 100% of what you donate will go towards the relief effort.

To make a donation, please click on the link below:

More information on the Japan Society can be found here, while a more detailed write-up on Japan's current condition in the wake of this disaster can be found at the Toronto J-Film Pow-Wow.

Any amount you can spare to this cause, towards any reliable organization, will be greatly appreciated by those who need it the most.

Xala (1975)

2011-02-14T16:12:00.000-08:00

Director: Ousmane Sembène
Country: Senegal

Plot: Xala opens with a significant political event that foreshadows the rest of the film: in a moment of triumph and pride, Senegal's white, French rulers are booted out of office by native officials - only to be kept on as advisors*. This contradictory move gives way to the preparations being undertaken for businessman El Hadji's (Thierno Leye) wedding to his third wife. During his lavish reception, he seems content, but trouble arises when he fails to do just that on his wedding night - he is impotent, made so apparently from a xala - a curse. As El Hadji desperately searches for a cure, his reputation and business collapse around him, forcing him to come face-to-face with his own faults.

Thoughts: I truly appreciate a good piece of social satire. When done well, it can reveal fascinating insight into a country or culture's defining characteristics, deliver important critiques and calls for change and be extremely entertaining in the process. Xala fits all of those criteria marvelously. Ousmane Sembène, one of Africa's most beloved and respected filmmakers, adapted his own novel into this darkly funny film that takes dead aim on the African ruling class and their blatant fixation with European culture and lifestyle. All throughout the film, El Hadji and his upper-crust colleagues surround themselves with lingering symbols of whiteness - suits, imported goods ranging from foods to cars, the French language, which they proudly speak instead of Wolof, which is used by other characters (with pride, in some cases). Some African customs are adhered to - but only the ones that suit the men, like the taking-on of multiple wives. While El Hadji subscribes to that practice all too enthusiastically, he is less accommodating to one involving sitting on a mortar and holding a pestle between his legs that will aid his virility - perhaps having something to do with his later misfortunes? In any case, El Hadji is soon humbled by the xala as his wives and colleagues turn their backs on him, and gradually realizes that the solution to his problems won't come from any foreign good or ideal, but rather the customs and beliefs of his native culture.

Xala is populated by a considerable selection of supporting characters beyond El Hadji, each of their stories seeming to carry additional comments on the social conditions around them. In one great scene during El Hadji's wedding, his first two wives sit and talk openly about their feelings of disgust and jealousy surrounding their new, younger rival. Throughout the film, Sembène drops in on a group of impoverished beggars and cripples who wander from one place to another before executing a most delicious revenge on the upper class. One tragi-comic plotline involves a farmer whose money from his meager crops is stolen by a pickpocket. Too ashamed to return to his family and workers empty-handed, he takes refuge in the city while the thief reaps the benefits of his handiwork.

What is truly admirable about Sembène's craft is how he expresses his ideas with bite, cleverness and clarity. The central theme of culture clash is broadcasted perhaps most powerfully in a scene between El Hadji and his daughter in his office. The desk in the middle of the room is just one of the things that separates them: while he wears his suit and tie, she is clad in a bright African outfit of green, yellow, blue and purple - which happens to match a map of Africa on the wall behind her (which I'm sure was no accident). The wall behind El Hadji, on the other hand, is blank. She refuses his offer of water by saying she doesn't drink imported water, to which he proudly replies that he drinks at least two litres of it every day. It is made utterly clear that father and daughter are occupying completely different planes of thought, opinion and culture. She knows without any doubt who she is and where she comes from, whereas he is on shakier ground which crumbles away bit by bit as the film goes on.

Final Words: Xala is one of Sembène's better-known films, and I don't think it'd be going too far to call it a classic of not only his work, but African cinema in general. Those curious to see more films from this side of the world would do well to seek out this intelligent, entertaining statement on cultural allegiance and morality.

*Senegal became officially independent from France in 1960. Whether Xala is a period piece set during that time or not is unclear, though I'd personally guess that Sembène set the film in the (then-)present day and devised his own fictitious, alternate history of Senegal in which to stage his satire.

The World (2004)

2011-02-02T14:55:00.000-08:00

*Hello all. Just a few quick words before the film review, which will be the first one on this site to use a new format that will hopefully allow for briefer, more frequent posts. From now on, I'll be using three short sub-sections per review: Plot, Thoughts and Final Words. Their contents should be pretty self-explanatory, and this format will both make it easier for me to churn out my thoughts on the films I watch and give you more content that'll be easier to decipher than the older, lengthier reviews. Thanks for reading, and enjoy!

Director: Jia Zhangke
Country: China

Plot: Tao (Zhao Tao) is a young woman who lives in and works at the World Park in Beijing, which features such attractions as models of famous landmarks from around the globe and live shows put on by performers dressed in costumes from different cultures. Tao is in a relationship with Taisheng (Taisheng Chen), who followed her to Beijing and works in the park as a guard. They undergo a period of strain and doubt mainly caused by Taisheng's dissatisfaction with her. Other characters are focused upon throughout the film, including a new Russian employee named Anna (Alla Shcherbakova) and other workers, including "Little Sister," a childhood friend of Taisheng's.

Thoughts: The fourth feature film from Jia Zhangke and the first to be approved by the Chinese government, The World does quite well in delivering his easily apparent ideas about the ever-dominant trends of globalization. The park itself (a dream location for a director like Jia, and one that makes me wonder if he draws inspiration from Antonioni much like some of the New Taiwan Cinema's directors did) broadcasts quite clearly the sad, absurd commodification of history and culture with its models of the Pyramids, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, the Pyramids and the Leaning Tower of Pisa (which, comically, people still pose with as if it were the real thing). By such a place as the World Park existing, actual countries and cultures are subjected to broad, stereotypical generalizations by being represented only by their best-known landmarks and fashion styles while travel itself is devalued (one of the slogans chirped by the park's recordings is "See the world without ever leaving Beijing!").

Besides themes and ideas, Jia also makes sure to flesh out the lives of his characters, many of whom work in different areas of the park by day and tend to chores in their dingy, dorm-like accommodations by night. The issue of money pops up numerous times throughout the film, perhaps most devastatingly in Anna's struggle to make a living in Beijing, the prospect of hostessing that is dangled before Tao at one point and the sad fate of "Little Sister" after an accident on one of his night shifts. Certain scenes stand out for their tragic quality and make The World an insightful and heartfelt cautionary tale of the pitfalls of industrial progress.

The World's story is peppered with several amusing animated segments that add small splashes of color and style to the film. Significantly, each segment springs from text messages, giving an almost mythic quality to the social media format that has only become more widespread since 2004. Lim Giong, who provided the music for Hou Hsiao-hsien's Millennium Mambo and a number of Jia Zhangke's other films (inlcuding Still Life, 24 City and I Wish I Knew), creates a score that fittingly alternates between upbeat and contemplative. One other notable stylistic feature is Jia's use of chapter headings at certain points, emphasizing specific passages and lending some structure to the film's events. Significantly, one chapter is entitled "Tokyo Story." That is no accident, as Jia also uses an excerpt from the famous Ozu film's soundtrack as the camera lingers on a crestfallen mother and father sitting together.

Final Words: The Ozu references may at first seem out-of-place for a film like The World, especially considering how little Jia focuses on the subject of family (as Ozu did throughout his career). Yet one can draw similarities between the two directors in how they each approach their respective themes with great degrees of patience, insight and compassion. Thus far throughout his career, Jia has kept his gaze firmly fixes on issues stemming from his country's race towards change and progress - and, judging from his international reputation, has reached a fair amount of success doing so. The World gives a pretty clear idea of what he is capable of as both a social critic and an artist, and presents his relevant ideas in a highly effective manner.

The Face of Another (1966)

2011-01-26T16:24:00.000-08:00

Director: Hiroshi Teshigahara

Country: Japan

I'm going to jump back into reviews for this site with a look at a particularly unique science fiction film from Japan: Hiroshi Teshigahara's The Face of Another. It is one of many innovated films that emerged from the Japanese New Wave movement, which lasted from the late 1950s to the early 1970s and consisted of such well-known directors as Nagisa Oshima, Seijun Suzuki, Shohei Imamura and Teshigahara. Anyone who's familiar with even a few of the works produced by these filmmakers will know that they represented a fresh, young, rebellious spirit that arose in the Japanese film industry. Stylistic innovation and the examination of topics like controversial social issues and the lower class were very much at the top of their priorities, and a look at Teshigahara's film (the first of his I've seen) reveals those same characteristics.

The Face of Another marks one of four instances in which Teshigahara collaborated with author Kobo Abe, who wrote screen adaptations of his own works - the other three films being Pitfall (1962), Woman in the Dunes (1964) and The Ruined Map (1968). Frequently compared to Franz Kafka, he specialized in writing strange, existentialist stories about alienated individuals. The Face of Another thus seems like an archetypal Abe narrative: a man (the incredible Tatsuya Nakadai, who continues to impress me with every fresh performance I see) is disfigured beyond recognition in an industrial accident at his workplace. His face clad in bandages, he essentially gives up his former, "whole" self as dead and cynically resigns himself to living the rest of his life as a different person - a monster. His doctor (Mikijiro Hira) offers him an unconventional solution: a realistic mask that will give him a brand new face. But soon after acquiring and wearing the mask, the man starts to become psychologically affected by the prospect of a completely new identity and tests the possibilities that come with it.

The Face of Another is an extremely fascinating film for many reasons. The dynamic between its characters is compelling to watch as each of the supporting players react to the man's shifting attitude towards his disfigurement in different ways. The film proceeds not as a conventional protagonist-vs.-antagonist storyline, but more as a series of philosophical conversations in which matters like identity, the importance of appearance and how society operates based on such superficial concepts. Nakadai gets the majority of the most interesting dialogue, often spoken in the many wonderful scenes shared with Hira's doctor, who has his own motives for helping his patient. He often discusses the appeal of hiding one's identity from the outside world, and essentially uses Nakadai as a guinea pig to test his own ideas. This creates a most unusual relationship that absolutely hooks the viewer and makes up a crucial component of the film.

If The Face of Another only focused on the man and his doctor, it would be great. But themes are also explored through two women: Nakadai's wife (Machiko Kyo), whose relationship with her husband changes significantly following the accident, and an unnamed girl (Miki Irie) whose own face is partially scarred from the infamous Nagasaki bombing. The latter, who never meets Nakadai, offers up an interesting counterpoint to the ideas of outward appearances and how people manage theirs in different ways.

Shot in gorgeous black-and-white, The Face of Another uses a slew of creative cinematic techniques including freeze-framing, back projection, dramatic lighting, unusual framing and more. The film's set design is also to be applauded - particularly the doctor's eerie workshop, in which his furniture and work area is placed on a blank white soundstage decorated with molds and models of different body parts. I especially liked the strange art piece shown in one scene that mainly consists of carved ears:

Weird but cool stuff - and not unlike the work of H.R. Giger. Also weird but cool is the unsettling score provided by Toru Takemitsu, one of the great Japanese score composers and another frequent Teshigahara collaborator. Between the echoing, metallic noises that underline the film's concentration on existential horror and the very different, sweeping waltz that is played over the opening credits and allotted several variations, Takemitsu offers the perfect sonic counterpart to the film's powerful imagery and storyline.

A very clever and sophisticated piece of work, The Face of Another now has me dying to check out more of Teshigahara's films. Along with his other Abe adaptations, I'd most like to see his 1984 non-fiction film Antonio Gaudí, which is most appealing for the convergence of three major artistic forces: Teshigahara, Takemitsu and, of course, the enigmatic Catalan architect Gaudí.

I leave you with Takemitsu's splendid waltz from the film:

VCinema Goodness!

2011-01-13T09:44:00.000-08:00

Hello all. Happy New Year! I am once more back in the GTA, refreshed and ready to get a start on 2011. This year will hopefully bring about a few more posts and reviews here as well as other projects and pursuits elsewhere.

Speaking of, there are a few interesting things going on over at the website for the VCinema Podcast and Blog, which specializes in news, reviews and podcast episodes on Asian cinema. Recently, they posted a series of three articles in which a variety of writers, scholars and all-around Asian cinema fans spoke up about their favorite Asian film experiences in 2010, revealing a broad variety of tastes and experiences. I was one of those contributors, as was my editor and compadre John Berra, who was a guest on Episode 13 of the podcast and regularly writes reviews for VCinema. You can check out our entries here; the other two articles in the series can be found here and here.

The VCinema podcast will soon be celebrating its first anniversary on January 31st, 2011. In order to celebrate the special event, they are currently holding a special contest that I'm sure will be worth taking part in - if your knowledge of Asian cinema is up to snuff. Here is editor and producer Coffin Jon's blurb on the contest:

Episode 22 of our podcast, scheduled for release on January 31st, 2011, will mark the VCinema podcast’s first anniversary. Can you believe it?! We can’t either. Anyway, in this episode, we will have our first discussion of an entire film trilogy (we normally only discuss one film per episode) and this is where the contest comes in. Email us at vcinema@variedcelluloid.net with the name of the director whose trilogy we will discuss and you will earn a chance to win a prize, the winner of which we will determined by random draw during episode 22.

Now, that’s leaving you all sort of high and dry because there must be a million Asian directors who have directed a million film trilogies, so how would you know which we chose unless you could read our minds (and you can’t, CAN YOU?!) Well, here’s a hint:

This director, who shares the last name with another famous Japanese director, got his start in Japanese pinku and direct-to-video yakuza films before later becoming popular during the “J-Horror” film boom in the late ’90s to mid 2000′s.

OK, got it?! Only one entry per person and all entries must be in by Sunday, January 16th at midnight PST to be considered for the prize, so get your entry in as soon as possible.

Also, be sure to listen to episode 21, out on January 17, 2011, for a second chance at an entry into this contest!

*VCinema will not use your email address for marketing or spam. We will only contact you if you are the winner or you have a question about the contest.

There ya have it. Be sure to bookmark the VCinema website and check it regularly for your fill of everything Asian cinema.

Finally, it's worth mentioning that Jon was recently interviewed by the San Francisco-based website SF360 regarding the history of the VCinema podcast and what he and his co-hosts (Josh Samford of Varied Celluloid and Rufus de Rham of CineAWESOME!) hope to accomplish with their discussions of Asian films and filmmakers. Check it out here!

The End of a Good 2010

2010-12-28T15:40:00.000-08:00

Hello all. As promised, here I am with my final post of 2010 - which, overall, I found to be a pretty good year. Certainly two big highlights were the Nippon Connection film festival, which I attended in Frankfurt, Germany with my good friend and whip-crackin' editor Chris MaGee of the Toronto J-Film Pow-Wow, and the Shinsedai Cinema Festival, which was co-programmed by Chris and Midnight Eye's Jasper Sharp. I was quite busy during Shinsedai this year, namely with two assignments. Throughout the fest, I reported on the films I saw with the VCinema Podcast's producer and host Coffin Jon Jung, which was a ton of fun (click here for links to the festival coverage episodes). I was also asked by Midnight Eye to do an interview with Gen Takahashi, who was in Toronto to present his excellent film Confessions of a Dog. The result was an informative conversation with a true maverick of Japanese independent cinema - and a very, very nice guy. Check out that interview here.

Confessions of a Dog writer/director Gen Takahashi at the 2010 Shinsedai Cinema Festival

Before finally signing off for the remainder of the year, I'll share my list of the 20 favorite films I saw in 2010. There are some noticeable films missing from the list - simply because I haven't had the chance to see them yet. Thus, you won't find The Social Network, True Grit, 127 Hours, The American nor Enter the Void. Plus, it should be mentioned that this list was arranged according to my own personal tastes - not what I believe to be the "best" films of the year. In other words, these are the 20 flicks that simply tickled my fancy the most.

1) Scott Pilgrim VS the World (U.S./Canada, dir. Edgar Wright)
2) Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives (Thailand, Loong Boonmee raleuk chat, dir. Apichatpong Weerasethakul)
3) Shutter Island (U.S., dir. Martin Scorsese)
4) Confessions of a Dog (Japan, Pochi no kokuhaku, dir. Gen Takahashi)
5) Wild Grass (France, Les Herbes Folles, dir. Alain Resnais)
6) Inception (U.S., dir. Christopher Nolan)
7) Live Tape (Japan, Raibu têpu, dir. Tetsuaki Matsue)
8) Film Socialism (France, Film socialisme, dir. Jean-Luc Godard)
9) Oh, My Buddha AKA The Shikisoku Generation (Japan, Shikisoku zenereishon, dir. Tomorowo Taguchi)
10) I Saw The Devil (South Korea, Akmareul boattda, dir. Kim Ji-woon)
11) Autumn Adagio (Japan, Fuwaku no adagio, dir. Tsuki Inoue)
12) Our Brief Eternity (Japan, dir. Takuya Fukushima)
13) Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part I (U.K., dir. David Yates)
14) Crime or Punishment?!? (Japan, Tsumi toka batsu toka, dir. Keralino Sandorovich)
15) The Red Spot (Japan/Germany, Der rote punkt, dir. Marie Miyayama)
16) Kakera: A Piece of Our Life (Japan, Kakera, dir. Momoko Ando)
17) Locked Out (Japan, Rokkuauto, dir. Yasunobu Takahashi)
18) A Normal Life, Please! (Japan, Futsu no Shigoto ga Shitai, dir: Tokachi Tsuchiya)
19) The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (Sweden, Män som hatar kvinnor, dir. Niels Arden Oplev)
20) Kick-Ass (U.S., dir. Matthew Vaughn)

If you're curious, check Row Three within the next few days to see how my picks match up with those of the other writers for that site.

Well, with all that said, I hope everyone has a very happy New Years celebration, wherever you may be spending it! After my soon-approaching trip to British Columbia (which will take me away from the comforts of the GTA and into the rainy wilderness of the West coast for two weeks), I'll start off the new year with a gathered list of fond memories that truly made 2010 special. See you in 2011!

Youtube Finds

2010-12-26T09:38:00.000-08:00

Hello all! It has been a long break between drinks, but I'm back to put up a few more posts before the end of 2010. Soon, I'll post my favourite films of the year, but for now I just wanted to share a pair of great fan-made movie montages that I've recently discovered and been digging a fair bit.

The first is dedicated to a Japanese filmmaker whose work I really need to see more of: Hirokazu Kore-eda. So far, I've only seen Nobody Knows and Maborosi - both stunningly moving films that clearly indicate his status as a true master. I'd most like to see next his highly acclaimed After Life and the more recent Still Walking, which will be released by the Criterion Collection on DVD this upcoming February. Youtube user Kornspel put together a great tribute to his filmography using carefully selected scenes and the music of World's End Girlfriend and Mew. Check it out:

This next video is a great tribute to the use of color in film over the years which covers many different genres and nationalities of cinema and puts to good use a couple of songs from Plants and Animals' album La La Land. It was made by none other than my good buddy and fellow Toronto J-Film Pow-Wow AND Row Three writer Bob Turnbull. After taking in Bob's impressive cutting handiwork, check out his blog, Eternal Sunshine of the Logical Mind.

Again, stay tuned for my inevitable end-of-year list of films. For now, though, I hope you enjoy the above vids and, furthermore, have a happy and safe holiday season and New Year celebration!

Stalker (1979)

2010-11-08T15:04:00.000-08:00

Director: Andrei Tarkovsky
Country: Soviet Union

Stalker is the fifth of only seven feature films master filmmaker Andrei Tarkovsky made during his life. It represents one of many instances in which he used science fiction elements - other notable examples include 1972's Solaris, which is mostly set on a space station near a strange planet, and 1986's The Sacrifice, which is driven by the concepts of World War III and the end of all life on Earth. If one compares Solaris and Stalker, his two most sci-fi-oriented works, the latter seems more ambitious and transcendent, moving beyond the older film's confining sets and head-on (though still often cryptic) examinations of memory and identity. Instead, Stalker is a film structured around a spiritual quest, and consequently allows more room for open interpretations, metaphors and meditations on various subjects, with the characters' journey, as with most narrative journeys, having just as much to do with self-discovery as actual distances covered.

Stalker opens in a drab, depressing, sepia-toned world - unmistakably a post-apocalyptic dystopia. In this world, we learn that something - maybe a meteor, maybe an alien presence, though what it actually is remains ambiguous - reached Earth and affected an area of land. Now fenced off and guarded by the authorities and referred to as the Zone, it is thought to contain at its center a mystical place simply called the Room that grants wishes - specifically, the one thing that a visitor wants more than anything else. Yet passage through the Zone is no easy matter, as it seems to possess a sentient awareness and protects itself from unwelcome visitors with terrible traps. Only certain specially-attuned people known as stalkers can bring people to the Room. The film follows one particular stalker (Aleksandr Kaidanovsky) as he leaves his protesting wife (Alisa Frejndlikh) and their daughter (Natasha Abramova) behind to bring a scientist (Nikolai Grinko) and a writer (Anatoli Solonitsyn) into the Zone so they may enter the Room and have their innermost desires.

Throughout Stalker, the titular character and his two companions choose to refer to themselves only by their titles. As a result, they often act as archetypes for their respective fields. Of the three of them, this is especially true of the writer, who frequently speaks of the nature of being a writer, the importance (or lack thereof) of writing and the often overwhelming role the audience plays in the life of a writer. As a still-budding writer myself, I found these monologues to be extremely insightful and wise, and the great Solonitsyn's passionate delivery made them all the more resonant. Anybody who has taken seriously the idea of creating a meaningful output through writing or making a living off of the craft and the whims of the public will see part of themselves in the writer.

The three men's journey into the Zone is completely enthralling for several reasons. As they head further into the strange, ominous landscape, the stalker tosses nuts with strips of cloth tied around them to ensure safety from traps and instructs the others to walk in certain directions. Along the way, tension and distrust forms between them as a result of ego, pride, greed and frayed patience. Only the stalker has a solid understanding of the true nature of the Zone, which often seems more like another character than a place - one who quietly schemes and plans to tear the men's unit apart with their own dark, savage impulses. Also of clear interest are the exact motives driving the scientist and the writer to the Room, creating fascinating new dilemmas once they are fully revealed.

The Zone itself significantly appears in color within the film - being one of many elements that have inspired astute comparisons between Stalker and The Wizard of Oz. Yet there are no neat yellow brick roads or quaint Munchkin dwellings in the Zone - it is an eerily quiet, desolate place filled with green overgrowth, wind, rain and flowing rivers. Here, Tarkovsky, who made use of scenes of nature like no other filmmaker, captures some of his strongest imagery based on the natural elements - particularly water, a regular motif of his. Through things like a sudden gust of wind or the arrival of a rain storm (not to mention the incredible music by Eduard Artemiev), the Zone seems to express itself in subtle, mysterious ways. Throughout it, there lie abandoned trucks and tanks, crooked power lines and discarded guns, syringes and bottles - the remnants of human civilization rendered in profoundly lyrical passages of pure cinema. Thus, the Zone is not just a strange, fantastical realm, but a looking glass through which Tarkovsky and his audience beholds and considers such subjects as war, religion, art, sin and the folly of man.

Such intimidating subjects are presented in a manner that is extremely hypnotic and stunning in its sheer beauty. Stalker is at once a philosophical adventure, a revealing examination of human desire and an exquisite work of film poetry. Sadly, the film is also highly significant for the tragedy it brought about to some of its makers: it is believed that Tarkovsky, Solonitsyn and Tarkovsky's wife Larisa all died from cancer that was initially acquired during the Stalker shoot from chemically contaminated locations in Estonia. When you watch the film knowing that it literally cost the lives of some of its key artists, there is undeniably a strange potency added to it and its concepts - especially the Zone, which one could almost imagine extending its wavering, toxic borders beyond the realm of fiction to affect the filmmakers themselves. Also greatly warranted is an appropriate sense of appreciation for Tarkovsky's sacrifice for his art - which, with a film as brilliant and haunting as Stalker, is not such a hard thing to summon.

Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives (2010)

2010-10-02T10:35:00.000-07:00

Director: Apichatpong Weerasethakul
Country: Thailand

After the tidy and at-times sterile spaces of 2006's Syndromes and a Century, which has been recognized by many as the best film of the previous decade, Apichatpong Weerasethakul returned to the dark, mysterious depths of the jungles of Thailand for Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives. It is the latest in a series of works that are part of his Primitive project, which is centered around the town of Nabua in northeast Thailand where government soldiers tortured and killed farmers suspected of being communists between 1965 and the early 1980s. Through an installation piece, the short films Phantoms of Nabua and A Letter to Uncle Boonmee and the feature Uncle Boonmee, Weerasethakul has adressed the topics of memory, community and, in keeping with his ongoing interest in Buddhism, reincarnation.

Uncle Boonmee is inspired by the 1983 book A Man Who Can Recall His Past Lives by Buddhist abbot Phra Sripariyattiweti, who in turn based the book on the remembered experiences and reincarnations of a man named Boonmee. Along with elements from the book, Weerasethakul incorporated into the film memories of his own family (chiefly his father, who like the titular character, suffered from kidney failure) and bits of inspiration from old television shows and Thai comic books. The end result is yet another fantastically strange treat from one of the most original voices in contemporary Asian cinema.

The film follows kindly farmer Boonmee (Thanapat Saisaymar) as he lives out his final days in a country house surrounded by dense wilderness. He is kept company by Jen (Jenjira Pongpas), his sister-in-law, and Tong (Sakda Kaewbuadee), his nephew, and has his medical needs taken care of by Jaai (Samud Kugasang), a migrant worker from Laos. As the days pass, the group encounters a range of unusual beings. Most memorably, there is an evening dinner table sequence early in the film in which the family is joined by the ghost of Huay (Natthakarn Aphaiwonk), Boonmee's long-deceased wife, and Boonsong (Geerasak Kulhong), his long-lost son who transformed into a red-eyed ape creature after mating with another member of the same species. Boonmee converses with his wife about what awaits him after death and summons memories of his previous reincarnations. Eventually, Huay leads Boonmee and the others to an ancient cave where the sick man was originally born in his first form. There, he prepares himself for what is inevitably to come.

Uncle Boonmee is possibly Weerasethakul's most linear narrative to date, as it noticeably deviates from the very clearly-defined two-part structures of Blissfully Yours, Tropical Malady and Syndromes and a Century. While there is a portion towards the ending that relocates the narrative to urban spaces, the film is mainly set within the jungle and, a few isolated episodes aside, devotes most of its running time to Boonmee and those around him. Weerasethakul very much seems to be revisiting territory he covered in Tropical Malady - primarily that film's prolonged stay in the wilderness, which immerses main character Keng (Banlop Lomnoi) and audience alike in a rich, sensory experience filled with thick vegetation, natural phenomena and the sounds of countless unseen insects and other creatures. Uncle Boonmee provides a similarly overwhelming ambience taken from the flora and fauna of the Thai country, and, like Tropical Malady, freely includes some more overtly fantastical creatures and elements - though this time, it could be said that Weerasethakul has truly outdone himself. At certain points during Uncle Boonmee, I was reminded of a quote Jonathan Rosenbaum uttered regarding the African film Yeelen (Brightness): "...should make George Lucas green with envy..." Well, Uncle Boonmee takes that idea a few steps further, as some of its inclusions seem directly influenced by Star Wars (namely the ape creatures, which seem like a mix of Wookies and Jawas). Yet the traces of influence aren't direct or glaring enough to be called rip-offs. Instead, they give the impression that the film is a dream being experienced by someone who has seen Star Wars a few too many times - the raw ingredients are there, but they have been re-invented and mixed in with the filmmaker's other preoccupations, ideas, memories and creative wishes. In fact, Weerasethakul himself is quite the big fan of science fiction, having read a number of the classic authors (Asimov, Clarke, Bradbury) in his youth. Many times (including the career-spanning talk he gave at the Bell Lightbox during TIFF, which I attended), he has mentioned his ambitious dream project: Utopia, which would ideally feature actors from old science fiction films and television series (Jane Fonda and the cast of the original Star Trek show among them), the remains of the starship Enterprise and an eerie, snow-covered setting (Weerasethakul quite understandably associates the color white with science fiction sets and environments). Even if that film is never realized (the director worries that it would be too expensive), there are many fascinating sci-fi touches in his existing works that certainly indicate an interest in the genre.

Uncle Boonmee is a film to savor and celebrate for the way in which it continues its maker's ongoing fascination with and reinterpretation of storytelling practices. His methods can be challenging to those not used to his particular way of relaying narrative, but if you approach his works with an open mind, you will find a grand wealth of strange yet wonderful riches. Like Weerasethakul's previous works, Uncle Boonmee is piled with several scenes and moments that ask you to enjoy certain pleasures: a honey tasting in a sunny tamarind orchard; the eerie yet relaxed dinner table meeting between human, spirit and ape-man; a stunning passage set by a night-shrouded waterfall involving a princess, one of her servants and a talking catfish; an unexpected photo montage; the cave, glistening with constellations of minerals; a karaoke stage aglow with colorful lights. All of these things and more are presented in a welcoming tone of curiosity, sincerity and happiness, and the weaving, unexpected structure in which they are presented simply adds to the fun, fascinating quality of the film.

There is so much more I could write about (including the interconnected quality of all of Weerasethakul's works, including Uncle Boonmee - for example, the actress Kanokporn Tongaram from Blissfully Yours seems to reprise her character in the newer film's final scenes), but I think I've said enough. Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives is indeed different and mysterious, and it certainly helps if viewers go into it with some familiarity with Weerasethakul's work and methods. But the experience it provides is surely one to be contemplated and cherished in equal measure, and I can't wait to partake in it once again.

I'll leave you with a slew of Weerasethakul-related goodies:

-the blog Ruthless Culture has some very good pieces on Blissfully Yours and Tropical Malady, but most worthwhile is a review on Syndromes and a Century that describes the unique approach to storytelling that the film and its director utilize, the literary tradition of said approach, and how the film goes about charting new ways in which cinema can be used to tell stories (and how critics should approach them).

-John Berra, editor of the Directory of World Cinema: Japan and American Independent volumes and contributor to Electric Sheep, conducted a great interview with Weerasethakul for the latter in December 2009 that explores the Primitive project, the director's clashes with censors over Syndromes and that enticing Utopia film, among many other things. Check that out here!

-Finally, included below is a video featuring excerpts from the previously mentioned appearance Weerasethakul made at the Lightbox:

Film Socialism (2010)

2010-09-23T21:28:00.000-07:00

Director: Jean-Luc Godard

Country: France

Quite fittingly, Jean-Luc Godard’s already-notorious Film Socialism was the last film I saw at this year’s Toronto International Film Festival. Having read reports of its difficult qualities (on top of being fully aware of his work’s striking transformations over the course of his career), I knew I was in for a rough ride when I walked into the theatre, and even had in mind the famous credits that accompany his 1967 film Weekend: “End of Film,” “End of Cinema.” Those words quite definitively marked the end of a remarkable run of films that at once reflected and defined the decade in which they were made. But anyone willing to follow Godard beyond then would have to turn away from Jean Seberg, Jean-Paul Belmondo, Anna Karina and all other traces of romanticism from that phase of his work as he delved deeper into political theory, philosophy, video technology and an increasingly experimental style that tossed conventional narrative techniques out the window.

Depending on what you read, Film Socialism is reported as being either Godard’s final film or one of several final films. Constructed as “a symphony in three movements,” it begins on a cruise ship traveling on the Mediterranean Sea, which the filmmaker poetically portrayed in Contempt and Pierrot le fou. Here, it is captured in high definition video as a cruel place of crashing waves; a raging, terrifying void stretching as far as the eye can see. Using a variety of cameras that range from crisp and clear to crude and blurry, Godard and his film crew show the ship’s passengers as they engage in numerous activities: eating in decadent restaurant settings, playing in an on-board casino, visiting a crowded swimming pool. Godard’s disgust for the relaxed, unsuspecting people who pass before his lenses is detectable, as is his barbed critique of the realm of wealth and ignorance that they inhabit. Twice, he cuts away to a dance club comically rendered via pixel-strewn video as a chaotic, hellish realm of flashing lights and deafening noise – clearly a poke at what the young people of today’s age do for entertainment. At certain points, people clearly enlisted as actors (though it can’t be said that they are portraying actual characters) appear: a man who frequently snaps pictures, a woman who mournfully talks about Europe and points to something in the distance, a girl who contemplates an amusing Youtube video of talking cats. There are vague allusions to the Nazis, Spanish gold and the invention of Hollywood by the Jews.

At this point, I should mention one of the more daunting (and talked about) features of Film Socialism. At Godard’s request, the English subtitles of the film have been considerably modified to the point that each sentence only ever consists of a handful of words (mostly nouns). Apparently a form of Navajo English, this fragmented language is bound to be the final straw for many an already frustrated viewer – and it already has been at several previous screenings in film festivals around the world. Yet it also undeniably adds a game-like quality to the film as it asks – nay, forces you to decipher the images and selected words that appear before you while also inviting a deeper consideration of language and articulation – subjects Godard has been tackling throughout his entire career. Regardless of how you choose to react to them, the partial subtitles become much more problematic by the second movement, which shifts from the ship to a lonely country gas station run by a family currently being shaken by a number of politically charged occurrences. The mother is a candidate in the upcoming elections while her young son and teenage daughter demand a serious consideration of Liberty, Equality and Fraternity and stop using the verb “to be.” The girl keeps company with the family llama (they also own a mule) by the gas pumps and determinedly reads Balzac instead of helping customers. Meanwhile, the blond-haired boy is centered amidst moments of humor and contemplation as he conducts an imaginary orchestra, paints a Renoir from memory and thoughtfully listens to a piece of classical music, a jazz piece and a political monologue whilst blowing bubbles in his milk. A white journalist and black camera operator (both women) document the family’s activities, questioning and recording them. This passage is the closest Film Socialism ever comes to being an actual narrative, and while some viewers have complained of it being monotonous, I found that an engaging quality emerged from watching these people (I again hesitate to say “characters,” and Godard himself has said that “the scenes stop before the people become characters”) as they interacted with each other – even if I couldn’t entirely understand everything that was said.

The final movement is a collage of images that has been drawing many comparisons to Godard’s lengthy film essay series Histoire(s) du cinéma. The main subjects are “six sites of true or false myths,” including Egypt, Palestine, Odessa (along with, yes, the stone steps where Eisenstein shot the famous massacre sequence for Battleship Potemkin), Hellas (Greece), Naples and Barcelona, all of which explored through scraps of both original and found footage. Two words not unlike those at the end of Weekend bring Film Socialism to a close: “No Comment.”

Understandably, I’m still finding it hard to sort my exact feelings about Film Socialism. At the very least, I can say that I somewhat disagree with all the critics out there who are flat-out rejecting it or simplistically summarizing it as merely a middle finger defiantly pointed at the audience. Yes, there is an undeniable quality of unfriendliness about the film, but that’s something Godard has developed and incorporated in his works for ages. Part of what defines Godard’s work is its intentional difficulty; its unwillingness to be easily defined or understood according to rules of conventional film spectatorship. You don’t have to like or agree with this mentality by any means, but if you’re walking into a late Godard film, you have to understand that this is what you’ll be subjected to for its duration. Additionally, while he is making these daunting choices about how Film Socialism will be viewed (especially for English-speaking audiences), the film is by no means entirely incomprehensible or without form or coherence – case in point being the three-part structure that takes you from floating pleasure palace to domestic setting to wind-swept shores of history. While difficult if not impossible to peg down the maker’s precise intentions, there is nonetheless a lot to think about and even appreciate. In the second category, one can easily include the film’s undeniably beautiful images of the blue and yellow ship, the vast expanses of sea and sky stretching beyond it and the different rooms and spaces of the family’s household. There is even something resembling a nice character moment when Godard lingers in extreme slow motion on the smiling face of the teenage girl.

In conclusion, if you’re considering giving Film Socialism a watch, it’s worth keeping in mind that there are challenging films, there are challenging films, and then there’s Godard. There are some films out there like Alain Resnais’ Last Year at Marienbad, David Lynch’s Mulholland Drive and Christopher Nolan’s Inception that require their audiences to think a little differently, but nonetheless can be extremely rewarding to those who approach them with an open, eager mind. Such films are closer to puzzles than stories, and in turn are more ideal for being played with than simply watched. Film Socialism should be approached with the same mentality, but with the crucial caveats that a) Godard’s considerations for his audience are pricklier than most other cinematic tricksters’, b) his particular rulebook for the film has intentionally had some of its pages ripped out, and c) his intended messages are perhaps inevitably going to be murky, unfocused and scattershot. Whether people have the patience or tolerance for such characteristics is entirely up to them. Personally, I am willing to accept (though not entirely embrace) the challenges of Film Socialism and approach it as an intriguing puzzle, but there are indeed far more pleasant ways to be engaged by a film. Take, for example, Apichatpong Weerasethakul, the Thai filmmaker who has thus far taken the film world by storm with an assortment of odd, unconventional “mysterious objects” that are also filled with a warmth that is extremely alluring and pleasing. Watching one of his films is like sipping a pleasantly intoxicating liqueur. Film Socialism, for all of its infinitely more hard-won rewards, is more like gargling vinegar. Take from that what you will, I guess. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Toronto J-Film Pow-Wow and VCinema Podcast Unite!

2010-08-31T08:16:00.000-07:00

Hello all. I wanted to squeeze in one last post before August comes to an end. A little over a month ago, I attended and saw many excellent Japanese independent films at the second Shinsedai Cinema Festival, which was put together by co-programmers Chris MaGee of the Toronto J-Film Pow-Wow and Midnight Eye's Jasper Sharp. Also in attendance was Jon Jung, who co-hosts the VCinema Podcast, which delves into Asian cinema on a regular basis. It was great to actually meet and hang out with Jon over the course of the festival - as well as record a few podcast episodes with him that cover the various films shown at this year's Shinsedai Festival. While these episodes went into the wee hours of the morning, sometimes run a bit on the lengthy side and were more than a little, erm, enhanced by a fair share of beverages, they were a great deal of fun to make and (I hope) give a fairly comprehensive summary of what the fest had to offer.

Click the links below to download the special VCinema Podcast episodes. Two of them also feature interviews Jon conducted with two of the filmmakers who were in attendance: Momoko Ando (Kakera: A Piece of Our Life) and Yasunobu Takahashi (Locked Out).

Shinsedai Special Podcast Report #1: Director's Spotlight: Momoko Ando

Shinsedai Special Podcast Report #2: The First Half

Shinsedai Special Podcast Report #3: Director's Spotlight: Yasunobu Takahashi

Shinsedai Special Podcast Report #4: The Second Half

Also, click here and here to check out my summaries of the Shinsedai Cinema Festival over at the Pow-Wow.

Enjoy!

Amarcord (1973)

2010-08-19T12:24:00.000-07:00

Director: Federico Fellini
Country: Italy

Amarcord is widely known as the last "great" film from Italian auteur Federico Fellini - that is to say, his last true masterpiece. This belief is perhaps voiced most clearly by Roger Ebert in his "Great Movies" essay on the film. I personally agree with him, as I think Amarcord marks the furthest that Fellini could go in the particular direction he followed in his career and aesthetic choices and still receive fairly wide acclaim, or without entirely alienating his audience, which, according to most accounts that I have read, is what happened with his later efforts (though I quite enjoyed And the Ship Sails On, reviewed here).

The specific reason why Fellini's later efforts pale in comparison to his earlier ones I believe has to do with how he created and used characters. It is certainly worth noting how he gradually did away with strong central protagonists that his audience could relate to and latch onto within the bewildering sights and sounds in his films. Part of what makes his earlier efforts so memorable are these strong characters: Zampano (Anthony Quinn) and Gelsomina (Giulietta Masina) in La Strada, the down-on-her-luck prostitute Cabiria (Masina) in Nights of Cabiria, the journalist Marcello (Marcello Mastroianni) in La Dolce Vita and troubled director Guido (Mastroianni) in 8 1/2. Juliet (Masina) of Juliet of the Spirits could fit alongside these characters, though she was far too passive amidst Fellini's increasingly surreal images and events to exert the same sense of control and presence. Essentially, by the time Juliet came around, the dip away from such characters was becoming much more visible. Working in conjunction with this problem was Fellini's steady trajectory away from reality-based elements in his films and more towards outright fantasy and artifice. Try comparing the various "real" locations throughout Italy within the road movie La Strada with the completely artificial ship and sea where most of And the Ship Sails On takes place.

Thus with Amarcord, which follows the various inhabitants of a small coastal town during the rise of Italian fascism in the 1930s, there are few central characters to solidly grasp onto and, instead of a main narrative, a strictly episodic structure through which Fellini delves into one fanciful spectacle after another. One of the film's strongest points is the sense of community and comraderie amongst the town's people that is evoked. As a viewer, you feel like you are with these characters as they share anecdotes, memories and jokes with each other while gathered at whatever occasions Fellini chooses, be they small meetings at work or school or larger-scale events like the passing of the Rex, a massive ocean liner, or the giant bonfire at the start of the film that heralds the arrival of spring.

However, the drawbacks to such a structure are both the surplus of quirk and consequent lack of depth in the characters. Only two of them could be considered as proper central characters within Amarcord: the kindly lawyer (Luigi Rossi) who addresses the camera, but only ever to share certain historical facts about the town (often accompanied by unseen pranksters interrupting him with raspberries and snowballs), and Titta (Bruno Zanin), a blond-haired youth at the center of most of the episodic scenarios. As far as protagonists go, though, Titta isn't all that impressive: he is a mischievous, immature kid (as are his chums) who spends too much time tormenting his stressed-out father and being an all-around pest to properly win over viewers' sympathies. Much of the film's humor in fact is of the toilet variety, as Fellini indulges in a wide range of guilty pleasures and gags involving piss, shit, farting, masturbation, nymphomania and, perhaps most lovingly, obsession of certain parts of the female anatomy.

Overall, Amarcord's characters remain bizarre, clueless characters who are never really given the chance to fully transcend their presented surface traits. Going back to the nature of the film's dialogue, you rarely get anything more from them beyond the anecdotes that they trade, with the exception of a precious few moments that pass as contemplative, but nonetheless always feel very heavy-handed. Some examples include a flashback sequence that explores the past of the much-desired Gradisca (Magali Noël), the gradual ailing and, later, death of Titta's mother and one hauntingly beautiful moment in which a peacock displays its tail feathers in the midst of thick snowfall.

There is plenty of emotion shown onscreen throughout Amarcord: joviality, hushed anticipation, crazed frustration, grateful wonder, somber sadness. Yet whether you share such emotions with the characters is a different matter altogether, depending on how sympathetic you are to them. The film's vagueness could very well be an aesthetic choice of Fellini's, as he intended to make a film about his memories of his home town Rimini. The film's title in fact means "I Remember," thus inviting the possibility that the events, characters and emotions are meant solely to be striking, memory-like impressions rather than more nuanced depictions. Certainly one element that helps the film in this respect is Nino Rota's lovely musical score, which seems fashioned purely out of nostalgic longing and warm charm.

Personally, I find that Amarcord is a film that grows on you over time. As you become more accustomed to the film and its particular way of presenting stories and characters, you can better appreciate its other qualities - among them its fabulous visual design, hilariously satirical portrayal of fascist Italy and treatment of time as it unspools throughout the various seasons of the year. But those searching for a more approachable work from Fellini would do well to start with La Strada, Nights of Cabiria or, my personal favorite of his, the masterful 8 1/2.

BONUS: Amarcord Beer?!

So, as I was doing a bit of research through the inter-webs for this post, I stumbled upon images of something I thought was far too good to be true: beer labels bearing character designs from Fellini's film. Upon further investigation, I discovered that there is in fact a brewery called Amarcord Birra Artigianale named after and inspired by Amarcord! The brewery has at least four different kinds of beers named after specific characters from the film (portrayed on their respective labels): Gradisca (Noël); the ravenous town slut Volpina (Josiane Tanzilli); the stacked, heavy-set Tobacconist (Maria Antonietta Beluzzi) and one I can't place called Midona.

What an awesome discovery! For a film geek who deeply loves both foreign cinema and beer, this is nothing short of a slice of heaven. Now if I can only find a way to get my hands on some bottles...

Many thanks to the blog Drink With The Wench for shedding light on this find.

Kakera: A Piece of Our Life (2009)

2010-08-06T09:18:00.000-07:00

Director: Momoko Ando
Country: Japan

Haru (Hikari Mitsushima), the character at the centre of Kakera: A Piece of Our Life, is a charming creature who swiftly engraves herself in viewers’ memories with her big eyes, frequently dazed expression and a fat grey scarf that envelops her head. She is unfortunately trapped in a relationship with a boorish boyfriend who only ever meets with her just to have sex. But one day in a café, she meets Riko (Eriko Nakamura), who introduces herself by dabbing away a layer of cocoa from Haru’s lip. She openly states that she is intrigued by Haru and leaves her phone number along with a charming little sketched drawing, thus beginning an affectionate yet sometimes challenging relationship.

Adapted from the manga Love Vibes by Erika Sakurazawa, Kakera marks the debut of writer-director Momoko Ando, who admirably brings honesty and humor to her portrayal of the two young women and their love for one another. Riko carefully explains to Haru that she is not usually interested in women – just certain people. However, she later goes on to describe how much she prefers the softness of women over whatever men have to offer. In fact, touch is very much one of Kakera’s main reoccurring subjects. It is partly explored through Riko’s unusual profession as a maker of prosthetic limbs, in which she affectionately crafts soft and light replacement body parts. The limbs allow people to finally experience reparation and completion, the emotional equivalent of which Haru and Riko try to achieve. But obstacles occasionally prevent them from doing so – namely, Haru’s boyfriend and Riko’s angry reactions to his lingering presence in her life.

Throughout Kakera, Ando sprinkles just the right amount of whimsy into the film’s weightier moments of human drama. An especially memorable scene captures an intimate moment shared by Haru and Riko on a rooftop as they watch a smoky fireworks display. At one point, a bottled drink the two of them playfully toss around suddenly and inexplicably transforms into a two-headed dove that flies away. Another stunning image shows a star-covered night reflected in a mirror-like swimming pool that is distorted by spreading ripples. Then there is the mysterious Tohko (Rino Katase), for whom Riko is constructing a new breast to replace one lost to cancer. The craftswoman and her client share an intense, unusual relationship throughout the film while Haru encounters a challenge of her own in the form of Tetsu (Ryu Morioka), a shy young student with feelings for her.

If there is anything the film suffers from, it is its characters’ jarring mood shifts and overly simplistic traits. The former can particularly be attributed to Riko, whose angry outbursts towards Haru are not unfounded, but still too drastic and over-the-top to be entirely convincing. Haru’s passive nature is, after a certain point, a little overstated, as are her boyfriend’s negative qualities. However, when the characters balance out and express the right emotions in just the right proportions, the results are quite satisfying. Upon leaving the screening room at the Shinsedai Cinema Festival where I saw the film, the word I heard most often from other viewers was “tender,” which is probably the idea term to describe the love story between Riko and Haru and Ando’s skillful, heartfelt depiction of it. Following Masahide Ichii’s Naked of Defenses, which kicked off Shinsedai last year, Kakera: A Piece of Our Life ably continues a trend of high quality for the festival’s opening screenings.

Travel Pics: Paris - Miscellaneous

2010-07-28T07:47:00.000-07:00

This will be my final batch of pics from my trip to Paris, France last April. It consists of sights from areas both famous and obscure around the great city. Enjoy!

Here is Saint Christopher's Paris, the (excellent) hostel where I stayed. Both the building and the rising bridge are prominently featured in one scene in Micmacs, Jean-Pierre Jeunet's latest film.

Behold the strange architectural wonder that is the Georges Pompidou Centre:

Here is the Arc de Triomph (with, it appears, portions of it being renovated behind decorative panels) and the legendary Champs-Élysées.

Montmartre and the Basilique du Sacre-Coeur:

During my visit, I had to visit the world-famous bookstore Shakespeare and Co.

I also visited a building where Victor Hugo lived for a period of his life, today a museum dedicated to the man, his life and his legacy.

I later visited the Seine and, fittingly, the central locale of one of Hugo's most well-known works.

Two of the most peaceful settings I visited: the Montmartre Cemetery...

...and the Montparnasse Cemetery.

Finally, here is a variety of shots I took of the Eiffel Tower, that most Parisian of landmarks, and the Palais de Chaillot which stands across from it (on the opposite side of the Seine):

The Ascent (1977)

2010-07-17T10:36:00.000-07:00

Director: Larisa Shepitko
Country: Soviet Union

With just four feature films between her graduation from the All-Russian State Institute of Cinematography and her tragic death in a car accident in 1979, Larisa Shepitko established herself as one of the Soviet Union’s finest filmmakers. Her 1966 work Wings is a remarkable display of her then-emerging talent, channeling the creative spirit of the European arthouse cinema of the time in its portrait of a school principal who yearns for her previous life as a World War II ace pilot. The Ascent, however, is something else entirely: a masterpiece in every sense of the word. Though it is ingrained with the sort of sublime transcendence that can be found in the works of Bergman, Dreyer and Tarkovsky, the experience it offers is so singular, pure and powerful that it belongs entirely in a class of its own.

The Ascent, set during World War II, begins with a troop of Byelorussian soldiers who, following a chaotic attack, send two men into the wintery wilderness to a nearby farm to find food. They find the building’s burnt remains, then continue onwards before eventually crossing paths with a German patrol. One of the men, Sotnikov, is shot in the leg. Rybak, his companion, pulls him to safety, and the two soldiers find refuge in a nearby house inhabited by a peasant woman and her three children. But soon enough, another group of Germans arrives and discovers them hiding in the attic, taking them and the woman prisoner. The captives are held in a Nazi camp where they slowly realize just how dire their situation is.

Much of The Ascent possesses an intense quality that vividly depicts the sheer brutality of the soldiers’ experiences. The camera is with them for nearly every step of their journey from the moment they leave their troop, capturing their exhausted breaths and strenuous efforts to stay alive. You can feel all too clearly Sotnikov’s terror and desperation as he clumsily aims and reloads his rifle, then hopelessness when he tells Rybak to leave him to die against the base of a tree. Surely never before has snow been portrayed as such an immobilizing, claustrophobically enveloping substance, particularly when Rybak drags both himself and the wounded Sotnikov away from the Germans, their clothes and faces caked with the freezing substance.

Viewers are propelled forward alongside the men in a linear, constantly shifting stream of events, with moments of fragile shelter and peace all too quickly giving way to exposure in the blinding wasteland, frantic confrontations and harrowing captivity. One of The Ascent’s most incredible features is its striking use of Christian symbolism, which becomes more apparent as the film progresses. When questioned and tortured for information, the Christ-like Sotnikov fiercely refuses to tarnish his honor, selflessly accepting his fate with a clean conscience and, as a result, achieving a sort of enlightenment. In contrast, Rybak pitifully stoops to the lowest depths of morality to ensure his own survival. Perhaps the film’s only weak point is when an old woman calls him Judas (twice!), as it brings into the open what was already so poignantly implied by Vladimir Gostyukhin’s portrayal of the sniveling coward, the no-win dilemma set before the two men and their different, heartbreaking responses to it.

The engineer of their painful situation and the evil beating heart at the center of Shepitko’s film is Portnov, the Russian police investigator in league with the Germans who interrogates Sotnikov and Rybak. He is played by Anatoli Solonitsyn, the distinctive actor who appeared in many of Tarkovsky’s films, including Andrei Rublev as the title character, Solaris and Stalker. In The Ascent, he gives a performance that is nothing short of hypnotic, seizing the viewer’s attention from the moment he appears standing before Sotnikov’s crumpled form. The following conversation held in his small, sparsely furnished office gradually becomes a battle of wills between the two men. “You’ll have to trouble your conscience,” says Portnov, describing Sotnikov’s only hope for saving himself shortly before resorting to a red-hot iron. With his slightly stooped posture; piercing eyes; round, balding head and small, fierce-looking teeth, he is suitably demonic in both appearance and nature, calm and cool in one moment, menacingly furious the next. A shocking revelation about his previous life before the war and a scene in which he is subtly shut out of a circle of conversation between some German officers rank as some of the more interesting ways in which the film addresses the issue of collaboration. His mesmerizing presence and diabolical control over his subjects bringing to mind Christoph Waltz’s Colonel Hans Landa from Inglourious Basterds, Portnov is one of cinema’s greatest unsung villains.

The Ascent is packed with striking, expertly-composed images – a full clothesline swaying amid the barren remains of the farm; a line of crooked telephone poles standing in the alien landscape; the haunting, tired faces of the young and old in both the troop and, later, the group of prisoners shut away in a dark cellar. Further demonstrating her firm control over the medium, Shepitko underlines certain passages with abstract crescendos of sound and music that are often halted by abrupt cuts, bringing the viewer back to reality in an instant. The final passage and tragic epilogue are particularly unforgettable, leaving one stunned by the film’s emotional impact and beauty. It is a fitting sensation to be left with at the very end of not only Shepitko’s greatest accomplishment, but her entire career as well. While it is a great pity that she wasn’t able to continue expanding her body of work, The Ascent serves an unusually proper role as a Final Film, preserving forever the impression of an artist at the height of her creativity.

Fish Tank (2009)

2010-06-27T14:15:00.000-07:00

Director: Andrea Arnold
Country: United Kingdom

Fish Tank was one of the most celebrated films of last year, making a particularly deep impression at the Cannes Film Festival, where it tied with Park Chan-wook's Thirst for the Jury Prize. Remarkably, director Andrea Arnold has now won that very award twice, the first time being on the strength of her first feature film Red Road. Having also won an Oscar for her 2003 short film Wasp, she is clearly a fresh talent in contemporary cinema worth keeping an eye on.

Fish Tank revolves around fifteen year-old Mia (Katie Jarvis, an inexperienced newcomer), a tough misfit who lives with her little sister Tyler (Rebecca Griffiths) and single mother Joanne (Kierston Wareing) in a shabby apartment building in the Essex area of London. Her independent nature is asserted early on when she bickers with a group of scantily-clad girls practicing dance moves, breaking one's nose. One of her few safe havens is the empty room with blue walls where she practices her own dancing alone, often resting to look upon the world out the window. Music and dancing serve as means of escape for Mia, eventually offering some hope for the future in the form of a notice for an audition for female dancers. Noticeably, there is no music on the film's soundtrack, though songs frequently play from CD players and televisions (mostly hip-hop), surrounding the characters. Another distraction soon arrives in Mia's life: Connor (Michael Fassbender), Joanne's new boyfriend. A tentative friendship slowly forms between him and Mia as he encourages her to send a video for the dance audition and lends her his camcorder. As she visits him at work and becomes more comfortable in his presence, an underlying sexual tension becomes more apparent between them, testing Mia in ways both foreshadowed and unexpected.

Arnold's portrayal of Mia's life is rendered in an observational, fly-on-the-wall manner using hand-held camerawork and sharp attention to detail. Mia's apartment is a space that looks and feels lived in, a sensation reinforced by such elements as the tiger poster that adorns Mia's door, cluttered living room where Mia and her sister watch television, various knick-knacks, framed pictures and stickers and sketches that cover walls and furniture. Soft light and colors often fill the frame, casting dreamy hues of yellow, pink and blue on the actors' faces. This look offers a contrast to the rougher sequences shot outside of the apartment when Mia wanders on her own. An eerie junkyard, busy roads, empty fields, menacing storm clouds and the roaring sea all provide the impression of a hazardous, unfriendly world through which the young heroine must navigate. She visits a gray horse chained in a barren lot and makes repeated, increasingly risky efforts to free it. Her actions are often rash and impulsive (particularly in an agonizingly suspenseful passage towards the end), consistently reflecting the raging storm of feelings that swirl inside her.

Carrying on the legacy of films like The 400 Blows, Fish Tank is an uncompromisingly gritty portrayal of youth. Arnold refuses to dip too far into clichéd territory as she tells Mia's story, but when she uses familiar elements, they nonetheless feel fresh and honest. Her vision is a unique and invigorating one perfectly suited to the story material, nicely accommodating strong performances (particularly the remarkable Jarvis) amid a vivid assertion of setting and mood. With an adaptation of Wuthering Heights billed as her next project, Arnold is certainly on a roll that hopefully won't let up anytime soon.

Saraband (2003)

2010-06-19T12:19:00.000-07:00

Director: Ingmar Bergman
Country: Sweden

Back in 1982, Ingmar Bergman's magnificent Fanny and Alexander was released (my review here). That film was widely presented as Bergman's "official" final film - a summation of his cinematic career and loving good-bye note to the medium. Afterwards, he kept himself busy by writing screenplays for television and film projects and directing plays. However, he couldn't quite keep himself out of the director's chair. He worked on some television projects as a director in his post-Fanny and Alexander career, yet the one that is most popularly known as his return to film is 2003's Saraband, which truly was his final directorial work before his death in 2007. While not as grand, rich or definitively conclusive as Fanny and Alexander, it still serves as a fitting final word from one of the greatest filmmakers who ever lived.

Saraband returns to two characters last seen in Bergman's 1973 work Scenes from a Marriage: Marianne and Johan, portrayed once more by Liv Ullmann and Erland Josephson. Although some describe this film as a follow-up or sequel to Scenes, it in fact stands quite solidly on its own. I myself have yet to see Scenes, but I had no problem getting into and enjoying the story being told in Saraband. It sufficiently establishes the impression of the deep, troubled history between Marianne and Johan, establishing the nature of their relationship in such a clear and complete fashion that the viewer is given all that is needed in this film alone. In any case, a major factor of the film is the thirty year gap since the two last saw each other, their reunion after so much time just one of the many ways in which the film touches upon the spectre of the past.

The central story of the film doesn't focus on Marianne and Johan, but rather Johan's nineteen year-old granddaughter Karin (Julia Dufvenius) and her father Henrik (Börje Ahlstedt). Both of them are cellists, though Henrik's professional career is steadily winding down. He lost his wife, Anna (represented by a frequently shown photograph and based on Bergman's wife Ingrid Von Rosen, to whom the film is dedicated), two years previous, leaving him with little more than a ferocious, obsessive devotion to Karin. He spends most of his time preparing her for her musical career, often subjecting her to long, stressful practice sessions that take their toll on the young woman. Eventually, circumstances arise that pose a difficult decision before Karin: should she act for the sake of her father, or herself?

Saraband is very much a film about parents and their children, explored not only through Henrik and Karin, but also Henrik's relationship with Johan, who fathered him from a marriage before Marianne. This father-son bond is rotted to the core, with the two men on the bitterest of terms. Johan cares a great deal about Karin, but is ultimately dismayed at the failure his son has made of himself. Both Johan and Henrik reveal unpleasant qualities, but it is ultimately the older man who is the more formidable one, subjecting his son to scathing contempt. As he has done before in films like Cries and Whispers, Bergman masterfully explores the darker side of family relations.

Marianne submerges herself in this poisoned atmosphere, essentially an outside observer to the drama surrounding this family, sometimes acting as a confidant. The film is set in the secluded rural area where Johan lives, with Henrik and Karin occupying a nearby cabin. The title refers to a Bach cello suite for couples, which perfectly fits the structure of the film. Its scenes focus on the four characters conversing with each other in pairs: Marianne and Johan, Marianne and Karin, Johan and Henrik, and so forth, made constantly engaging by the power and subtlety of the actors' performances. Bergman's gift for raw dialogue remains fully intact as each of the main characters reveal layers of themselves with magnificently delivered exchanges and monologues weighted down with emotion and honesty.

With its secluded setting and focus on character, Saraband very much resembles a play, yet is still cinematically engaging and visually sumptuous. Working with five cinematographers, Bergman delved into the digital realm with this film and managed to produce images so smooth that they could easily pass for ones shot on film. As one would expect, Bergman makes the most of the human face, holding long close-ups on his actors, further uncovering their characters' layers of feelings and conflicts. The framing and lighting remains as top-notch as one would expect from a Bergman film (particularly a late Bergman), allowing the viewers to seamlessly slip into the story that is unraveling before them.

For one last time, the master successfully proved his worth. Any fans of him or simply great cinema will likely be pleased by what Saraband has to offer them.

Tropical Malady (2004)

2010-06-12T10:03:00.000-07:00

Director: Apichatpong Weerasethakul
Country: Thailand

I recently took it upon myself to seek out Apichatpong Weerasethakul's highly celebrated Tropical Malady, motivated by his Palme d'Or win in Cannes for his latest film Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives and the fond memories I had of seeing his Syndromes and a Century at the TIFF Cinematheque this past January. Like that film, Tropical Malady made it onto a lot of critics' lists of best films of the decade - and I can certainly see why.

Like Syndromes, Tropical Malady is divided into two very different parts, but while the former "reboots" its narrative, the latter could be seen as one continuous narrative journey for Keng (Banlop Lomnoi), its central protagonist. Keng is a soldier who meets a young man named Tong (Sakda Kaewbuadee) and soon forges a close bond with him. The film's first portion is set within the safe haven of civilization, dwelling in the Thai countryside and a busier city setting. When not amidst the peaceful outdoor settings of the village, the film ventures into distinctly urban locations flooded with florescent light, including a sterile veterinary clinic, an internet cafe and an eye-poppingly colorful karaoke bar. The slow-burning love story between the two men is portrayed in such a way that its homoerotic situation is not overly stressed. Instead, in a universal fashion, it simply portrays two people expressing affection for one another.

The second part, entitled A Spirit's Path, offers a significant departure from the first and almost feels like its own separate film. Onscreen text tells the folk tale of a shaman with the power to turn himself into a tiger. Having changed from his casual short-sleeved shirts to his camouflaged uniform, Keng pursues a tiger that is killing villagers' animals, putting up with the heat and blood-sucking leeches while making puzzling discoveries, including tracks that change from those of a man to those of the beast. One possibility is that Tong is the very shape-shifting tiger that Keng seeks. Barely any dialogue is spoken or music played, allowing Apichatpong to heighten the purely sensory experience of the jungle through the sounds of birds, insects and other wildlife and a spellbinding array of images.

In the programme guide for the Cinematheque's Best of the Decade series, Apichatpong's work is accurately described as a cinema of generosity, invested with a joyous desire to share moments pleasing and wonderful to behold. This idea is solidly reinforced in Tropical Malady, which is chock full of memorable sights and sounds. The first part alone features workers at an ice-making plant, gorgeous sun-drenched landscapes, warm communal gatherings in the nocturnal hours, an excursion to a cave, an outdoor mass aerobics class and the delightful karaoke scene. The second half contains elements that are just as stimulating, but of a completely different order. So mystifying and strange are they that it would be a crime to reveal them here in mere, crude words.

Like few other films, Tropical Malady forges a unique connection between it and the viewer, taking him/her on a mysterious, unpredictable journey of discovery ripe with pleasures. Seductive and beautiful, it is all but guaranteed to provide a different experience for each person who watches it, and a world apart from any other film you will watch this summer. If you're looking for something fresh, challenging and rewarding, something to truly lose yourself in, then seek out Tropical Malady first chance you get.

Below, I've included the trailers for Tropical Malady, Syndromes and a Century and Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives.

Travel Pics: Paris - Cinema Sights

2010-05-18T10:29:00.000-07:00

Hello all. Here is the second post featuring pictures from my recent trip to Paris. This time, I'm showing pictures of the many cinemas, posters, filming locations and other things I saw that can be found in one of the most cinema-centric cities in the world.

The poster below is for the recent Argentinian Academy Award winner The Secret in Their Eyes.

I visited a whole slew of places from Jean-Pierre Jeunet's uber-popular Amélie, including Canal Saint Martin, where the titular character likes to skip stones...

...the Café des Deux Moulins on Rue Lepic in Montmartre...

...the fruit stand where Jamel Debbouze's Lucien is harassed by Urbain Cancelier's Collignon, his asshole boss...

Here is La Chambre Claire/Contacts, which was apparently one of Truffaut's favorite bookstores and specializes in books on photography (main floor) and cinema (basement). A very nifty place.

This is Le Champo, a nice little theatre where I watched Powell and Pressburger's ravishing film The Red Shoes - a fine night at the movies.

I also caught Kick-Ass while I was in Paris, but at a theatre on the Champs-Élysées rather than the one shown below.

This is the bridge over Montmartre cemetery, which was featured in The 400 Blows (in the scene when Antoine and his friend René are lugging around the stolen typewriter and cursing).

After crossing the bridge, I of course visited the Montmartre cemetery, where I visited a number of renowned figures' graves. Right at the entrance, you can find a gravestone for the Guitry family, including actor and filmmaker Sacha.

By accident, I discovered the grave of the French master of suspense Henri-Georges Clouzot.

Then, of course, I paid my respects to Monsieur François Truffaut.

I sought out quite a few locations for Truffaut's delightful 1968 film Stolen Kisses. Here is the hotel at 39 avenue Junot where Antoine Doinel works for a very brief stint as a night clerk...

...the entrance to the former Cinémathèque Française at the Palais de Chaillot, over which the film's opening titles play...

...and the park along Avenue de Breteuil where many scenes are set, including the highly amusing final one.

Now for a bit of Godard: this is rue Campagne-Première, where the legendary final scene of Breathless was shot:

Just a short walk from there is the Montparnasse cemetery, where I visited Jean Seberg...

...legendary Cinémathèque Française director Henri Langlois...

...and actress Delphine Seyrig, best known for her roles in Alain Resnais' Last Year at Marienbad, François Truffaut's Stolen Kisses and Chantal Akerman's Jeanne Dielman.

Finally, I leave you with the Bir-Hakeim bridge, a Paris landmark that has been used in many films, including Louis Malle's Elevator to the Gallows, Jules Dassin's Rififi, Bernardo Bertolucci's The Conformist and Last Tango in Paris and Christopher Nolan's upcoming Inception (you can clearly see the bridge's distinctive pillars in the trailer):