Cinema is no stranger to stories about heart wrangling ‘journeys to the end of the night’ a classic example is Fellini’s Satyricon. And in this instance to a lesser extent cinema also has classics related to photograph and the hyper-reality of the simulacrum, such as Blow-Up. If we add into this thematic mix perversion, eroticism, religion, adolescence, cults and the search for a true love then we end up with Shion Sono’s Love Exposure.
Love Exposure’s narrative centres around Yu Honda and a few other associated characters and the tangled web and course that their lives take. Adolescence and that drawn out period of discontent can be a testing time in anyone’s life and for Yu Honda especially so. He is a devout Catholic boy committed to his late mothers parting words and add to this his father is newly ordained priest. Thing start off alright in their new life in the church but the appearance one day of a lost soul of a woman in need of a good Shepard turns things upside down and inside out. Yu’s father embarks on an illicit liaison with the woman, who, soon enough elopes with a younger man leaving Yu’s father broken and emotionally distant from the narrating Yu. And he earnestly yearns for love and an erection.
It is from this point that this 4 hour film starts to kick up a dust storm of desperate emotions. Yu is forced by his father to confess his sins each day. But Yu being the devout boy he is has no sins which to confess. Which poses an existential problem for Yu: how to act when the devout and good life only serves to hinder love? So when push comes to hug Yu forces himself to sin so as to illicit some emotion from his withdrawn father and so begins Yu’s spiralling odyssey through perversion with the manifold aims of attracting his father’s attention and finding his Maria (read true love).
Sion directs with a light touch and a compassion for all his character and their respective back stories and just may have made the longest opening sequence of any film one is likely to see, clocking in at around an hour long. Nothing comes easy for the characters and Yu must learn the hard way and just when it would appear he has reached his destination along comes another obstacle that must be confronted and overcome. But fortunately for us the laughs come easy as this film makes its way with some superbly executed comic scenes. Early on as Yu learns the art of surreptitious panty photography and what it philosophically aspires to there is shot after shot that references other films – this montage becomes something of a Kata of cartoon comedy. It is a mark of a strong story, good direction and dedicated acting that a film of this length can be entertaining for its duration.
Love Exposure goes through many twists and turns and new obstacles are presented before each of the central characters, these all are thrown into the mix of the central narrative that revolves around the search for love and the journey that a good heart must undertake that traverses less than good places. And at four hours this film is very much a journey in itself, but one that reaps a reward of good entertainment.
Tuesday, 17 November 2009
Thursday, 12 November 2009
'More than a feeling'
It may well be the case that now that the main front of the ‘war on terror’ has shifted back to Afghanistan and the spill over AfPak theatre of operation and also a change of White House administration has occurred, a somewhat objective varied look back at the Iraq situation can be taken. Of late we have been offered the intense and exceptional ‘The Hurt Locker’ and now we have the farcical ‘The Men Who Stare at Goats’. This latest review of the Iraq situation is a goofy slapstick comical farce with enough suggestive gestures to drive a heard of goats with: nearly always the humour is deployed at the absurdness of the situation.
The film is based on the journalistic work of the same name written by Jon Ronson and it follows the journey of the journalist Bob Wilton (Ewan McGregor) as he tries to find a story in Iraq. After a chance meeting with Lyn Cassady (George Clooney) a story starts to materialise out of the cosmos of chance that is tinged with flowers, peace and jealousy.
Through a series of well timed and charming flashbacks the story of the New Earth Army is told and its quest for mental war that doesn’t resemble any form of war that we have previously known. The guru at the centre of these flashbacks is Bill Django (Jeff Bridges) whose lovey-dovey eyes and words are the platform that inspires a small wave of young officers to embrace counter-culture ways of life that were sweeping the U.S post Vietnam. These flashbacks capture the clichéd zeitgeist of that time with its good will and optimism but bring in a new twist of a military training and industrial complex setting: which makes for a good mash-up. These flashback scenes are the films most captivating and swirl with tweaked nostalgia.
But back to the present, where we are lead through a war ravaged Iraq, with side long glances cast at the politics of hostage taking, mercenaries, methods of information retrieval and the dark turn that The New Earth army has taken. An obscure momentum drives these scenes that give the impression that we are on a road to ruin. In the films final throws an insurrection of old ideals is grasped but is ultimately lack lustre and this film in the end seems to putter out like a car that’s air filter has consume too much sand. And the film seems stranded in the desert, much like the allied efforts in Iraq, with no real exit strategy.
What the film leaves us with apart from a disappointing ending is the message that resilience in the midst of any system that has evil elements is a must if one is to realise their ideals and hopes. It’s just a shame that the coup-de-grace of this message didn’t have the incision of its opening forays.
The film is based on the journalistic work of the same name written by Jon Ronson and it follows the journey of the journalist Bob Wilton (Ewan McGregor) as he tries to find a story in Iraq. After a chance meeting with Lyn Cassady (George Clooney) a story starts to materialise out of the cosmos of chance that is tinged with flowers, peace and jealousy.
Through a series of well timed and charming flashbacks the story of the New Earth Army is told and its quest for mental war that doesn’t resemble any form of war that we have previously known. The guru at the centre of these flashbacks is Bill Django (Jeff Bridges) whose lovey-dovey eyes and words are the platform that inspires a small wave of young officers to embrace counter-culture ways of life that were sweeping the U.S post Vietnam. These flashbacks capture the clichéd zeitgeist of that time with its good will and optimism but bring in a new twist of a military training and industrial complex setting: which makes for a good mash-up. These flashback scenes are the films most captivating and swirl with tweaked nostalgia.
But back to the present, where we are lead through a war ravaged Iraq, with side long glances cast at the politics of hostage taking, mercenaries, methods of information retrieval and the dark turn that The New Earth army has taken. An obscure momentum drives these scenes that give the impression that we are on a road to ruin. In the films final throws an insurrection of old ideals is grasped but is ultimately lack lustre and this film in the end seems to putter out like a car that’s air filter has consume too much sand. And the film seems stranded in the desert, much like the allied efforts in Iraq, with no real exit strategy.
What the film leaves us with apart from a disappointing ending is the message that resilience in the midst of any system that has evil elements is a must if one is to realise their ideals and hopes. It’s just a shame that the coup-de-grace of this message didn’t have the incision of its opening forays.
Saturday, 7 November 2009
Dr. Parnasuss and the slippery slope
This is a confusing and senile film that is littered with ideas but none of which seem to get investigate and explored to a satisfying conclusion. Ideas are just thrown out as if discarded, left for the viewer to wonder what could have been – if only – and then the film continues to clumps along aimlessly. In short this is a film that is not fully realised, it hints at many things, it seems to have a wide scope – good versus evil, creativity, death and volition – but unfortunately the story doesn’t come together to form any cohesive unity and story. It would appear that Gilliam’s flight of imagination has with this film, failed to touch back down to earth. A strong editing hand is what seems to be missing. And this makes for disappointing experience
Was it a good choice for this film to be concluded and released after the untimely death of rising star Heath Ledger, was there a story there that was worthy as something of an epitaph – as this film will invariably be used – to his legacy and potential, should this film have move time spent on post-production? These sorts of questions were always going to be levelled at this film and it is noble of Gilliam to push on through with the film’s production despite the major loss of Ledger. But an epitaph does not make a film and the parts of this film don’t add up to a worthy memorial.
Yes, themes of mortality, imagination, a bleak inevitability and pure love inhabit this film as they do in many Gilliam films but here they are strands that are not tied together and are confusingly deployed thorough out the film to no end. Are we supposed to take sympathy on Dr. Parnassus and his idiotic determination to carve out a life as a poet-storyteller? Or should we take sympathy on ourselves that we fail to appreciate the gifts that Dr. Parnassus has to offer and the general decline in our civilisations ability to appreciate storytelling and the art of imagining? And just where is Gilliam laying the blame for his despondency: a particular demographic, a political-economic cabal, the choices that consenting individuals make or somebody-or-other? It’s a nigh on impenetrable veil that Gilliam casts.
The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus starts off promisingly with a strong opening gambit of the general decline of modern western civilisation that is wallowing in drunken stupor and clipped wings of creativity. And as we see Dr. Parnassus sit lonely on his mountain outcrop we can feel his despair at what he sees, but then as the film begins to unfolds we see that Dr. Parnassus, despite his lofty prelapsarian ideals, is himself a fallen man who has recklessly gambled the lives of those dear to him and has dug his own hole.
And a hole is what Gilliam digs for himself he is never able to get a cohesive story together and get out beyond a promising beginning. As a result this film lack focus; too many ideas and not enough segues. The production design is filled with fascination and trinkets of wonder. Alone they are well crafted elements but they can’t distract from the general lack of focus and continuity this film exhibits. One must wonder about what muse was leading Gilliam’s choices in the realisation of this film.
And so finally, what of the choices that one has to make in their life? This idea is signposted at the conclusion of the film but it’s a little late for any investigation; and it’s an idea that lingers with a morbid tint. Perhaps what Gilliam is alluding to is that through the act of making a choice, sticking to it and acting upon it, one can attain a moral high ground of productivity and worthiness. Throughout the film Dr. Parnassus has given over to many a temptation presented to him – be it by a dapper and cigarette chomping devil or the reading of a fortune card – he has seemed to lack any volition of his own, so to see him make a choice at the conclusion of the film and then improve his life in the process of resolutely sticking to the choice concludes the film on a positive note.
And this review so far has said nothing of the role that the late Ledger plays, which seem to be something of a Mephisto type role. But it’s unclear just what this film, characters and director desire to tell, too much seems to fall by the wayside in this bloated meta-narrative. As it is, this film along with life and death remain clear like the water of the Thames. But a lingering thought remains, does this film need repeated viewing for its fruits to ripen
Was it a good choice for this film to be concluded and released after the untimely death of rising star Heath Ledger, was there a story there that was worthy as something of an epitaph – as this film will invariably be used – to his legacy and potential, should this film have move time spent on post-production? These sorts of questions were always going to be levelled at this film and it is noble of Gilliam to push on through with the film’s production despite the major loss of Ledger. But an epitaph does not make a film and the parts of this film don’t add up to a worthy memorial.
Yes, themes of mortality, imagination, a bleak inevitability and pure love inhabit this film as they do in many Gilliam films but here they are strands that are not tied together and are confusingly deployed thorough out the film to no end. Are we supposed to take sympathy on Dr. Parnassus and his idiotic determination to carve out a life as a poet-storyteller? Or should we take sympathy on ourselves that we fail to appreciate the gifts that Dr. Parnassus has to offer and the general decline in our civilisations ability to appreciate storytelling and the art of imagining? And just where is Gilliam laying the blame for his despondency: a particular demographic, a political-economic cabal, the choices that consenting individuals make or somebody-or-other? It’s a nigh on impenetrable veil that Gilliam casts.
The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus starts off promisingly with a strong opening gambit of the general decline of modern western civilisation that is wallowing in drunken stupor and clipped wings of creativity. And as we see Dr. Parnassus sit lonely on his mountain outcrop we can feel his despair at what he sees, but then as the film begins to unfolds we see that Dr. Parnassus, despite his lofty prelapsarian ideals, is himself a fallen man who has recklessly gambled the lives of those dear to him and has dug his own hole.
And a hole is what Gilliam digs for himself he is never able to get a cohesive story together and get out beyond a promising beginning. As a result this film lack focus; too many ideas and not enough segues. The production design is filled with fascination and trinkets of wonder. Alone they are well crafted elements but they can’t distract from the general lack of focus and continuity this film exhibits. One must wonder about what muse was leading Gilliam’s choices in the realisation of this film.
And so finally, what of the choices that one has to make in their life? This idea is signposted at the conclusion of the film but it’s a little late for any investigation; and it’s an idea that lingers with a morbid tint. Perhaps what Gilliam is alluding to is that through the act of making a choice, sticking to it and acting upon it, one can attain a moral high ground of productivity and worthiness. Throughout the film Dr. Parnassus has given over to many a temptation presented to him – be it by a dapper and cigarette chomping devil or the reading of a fortune card – he has seemed to lack any volition of his own, so to see him make a choice at the conclusion of the film and then improve his life in the process of resolutely sticking to the choice concludes the film on a positive note.
And this review so far has said nothing of the role that the late Ledger plays, which seem to be something of a Mephisto type role. But it’s unclear just what this film, characters and director desire to tell, too much seems to fall by the wayside in this bloated meta-narrative. As it is, this film along with life and death remain clear like the water of the Thames. But a lingering thought remains, does this film need repeated viewing for its fruits to ripen
Sunday, 18 October 2009
Space is the place: Space Station 3D
If the representation of life aboard the International Space Station presented in Space Station - directed by Toni Myers, presented in the IMAX format and produced by the Lockheed Martin Corporation along with NASA - is to be believed then it's a place where all of mankind’s divisions and conflicts are left far behind and a floating clowning around is the international code of conduct. Now it is presumable that any adult will realise that this is a preposterous proposition to put forward but perhaps the kids might just believe this. So beware, have your wits about you when taking off on this voyage.
The title credits of this short 47 minute documentary promise much; from the dark nebulas of the theatre, free-form parts materialise, merge and construct each credit right there, appearing tantalisingly within grasp of the viewer, then the next credit. This is an immersive spectacle and the motif of parts coming together to construct something with meaning is an excellent and exciting departure point. From here on we are guided by the overstated and cock-sure narration of Tom Cruise around some of the launch sites on Earth, the International Space Station itself and are presented a glimpse of life aboard the space station. Everything is presented with a child like glee and wonder, where there seems to be an echo of ‘all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds’ in most scenes.
We are shown some of the complexities of the construction process and space walking, that all go off without a hitch and are given the impression that this is the life of childhood dreams realised, where the world is a calm spec of awe floating in the vastness of space. All this seems to belie the politics of the situation of what life in space and in small confined environments is like – next to nothing is made of the contrast between the cramped space station and the perceivable openness of space and the psychological impact this may have on the inhabitants of the space station or of the loneliness of being away from earth. As well, none of the criticisms levelled at the International Space Station programme are addressed: primarily any controlled experiment done in space can be done cheaper on Earth. This documentary come out of the top draw of propaganda and seems to services the interests of those who have economic interests in the continuation of the International Space Station programme; namely NASA and its sub contractors.
Although 15 countries participate in the International Space Station programme this is an American show with Russia playing a supporting role in this post Cold War reach for the stars. It’s the Star Spangled Banner that has centre stage. In one scene where the first of the compartments that will eventually comprise the space station are joined, Mr. Cruise makes much ado about how the American astronauts ware Star Spangled Banner socks for the occasion of the virgin journey between joined compartments. This whiff of the nationalisation of space is conveyed with such cute matter-of-factness that it becomes disturbing to watch; an assumed ownership that reeks of toe-jam.
If the spectacles of suspended disbelief are worn for the duration of this documentary, what is presented, politics aside, are some of the steadiest and crispest actual shoots of space, Earth and the habitation of space to date. But no matter how awe inspiring these images may be, this is an unsettling document about assumed ownership, bias, corporate interest and manipulation of childhood wonder.
The title credits of this short 47 minute documentary promise much; from the dark nebulas of the theatre, free-form parts materialise, merge and construct each credit right there, appearing tantalisingly within grasp of the viewer, then the next credit. This is an immersive spectacle and the motif of parts coming together to construct something with meaning is an excellent and exciting departure point. From here on we are guided by the overstated and cock-sure narration of Tom Cruise around some of the launch sites on Earth, the International Space Station itself and are presented a glimpse of life aboard the space station. Everything is presented with a child like glee and wonder, where there seems to be an echo of ‘all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds’ in most scenes.
We are shown some of the complexities of the construction process and space walking, that all go off without a hitch and are given the impression that this is the life of childhood dreams realised, where the world is a calm spec of awe floating in the vastness of space. All this seems to belie the politics of the situation of what life in space and in small confined environments is like – next to nothing is made of the contrast between the cramped space station and the perceivable openness of space and the psychological impact this may have on the inhabitants of the space station or of the loneliness of being away from earth. As well, none of the criticisms levelled at the International Space Station programme are addressed: primarily any controlled experiment done in space can be done cheaper on Earth. This documentary come out of the top draw of propaganda and seems to services the interests of those who have economic interests in the continuation of the International Space Station programme; namely NASA and its sub contractors.
Although 15 countries participate in the International Space Station programme this is an American show with Russia playing a supporting role in this post Cold War reach for the stars. It’s the Star Spangled Banner that has centre stage. In one scene where the first of the compartments that will eventually comprise the space station are joined, Mr. Cruise makes much ado about how the American astronauts ware Star Spangled Banner socks for the occasion of the virgin journey between joined compartments. This whiff of the nationalisation of space is conveyed with such cute matter-of-factness that it becomes disturbing to watch; an assumed ownership that reeks of toe-jam.
If the spectacles of suspended disbelief are worn for the duration of this documentary, what is presented, politics aside, are some of the steadiest and crispest actual shoots of space, Earth and the habitation of space to date. But no matter how awe inspiring these images may be, this is an unsettling document about assumed ownership, bias, corporate interest and manipulation of childhood wonder.
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
Ip Man: a heroic account of the man
This film – directed by Wilson Yip and with Donnie Yen in the title role – seems to take as a platform for departure, the old saying ‘why let the truth get in the way of a good story’. Of course this can be a good thing from an entertainment perspective, but take the story with a grain of salt. Ip Man opens in a shroud of mist – presumably cast to encourage suspended disbelief – with credits emerging from then disappearing again. An overture sets an epic template for things to come, the credits are brought to an end by the grand entrance of the films title accompanied by the silhouette of one Muk Yan Jong (the wooden practice dummy used by Wing Chung practitioners).
This is a mythologised account of Ip Man’s time during the second Sino-Japanese War during the 1930’s and 1940’s. At the time Japan’s sun was on the rise and was attempting to gain control of regional territories and resources. The people of China were in turn subjected to harsh treatment from an invading foe that has formally claimed to have had the intention of “racial liberation from white rule” which in turn cost the lives of some 20 million Chinese. The wounds of this are still a delicate issue in regional politics; Japan has still not denounced its motives and actions of that time. Around the personal story of Ip Man this film creates a mythology of one man making a stand which inspires many.
And Ip Man has attributes that are easy to build a myth around. He was the peerless master of his art at the time and he went on to mentor among others a young Bruce Lee. Man’s story is an attractive platform to mobilise a national struggle from. This film fits snugly into the Martial Arts genre where one man by his force of will and skill alone can take on adversity reluctantly and eloquently triumph.
In the film Man leads a somewhat hermetic life of wealth; he gracefully refuses to take on pupils, prefers to spend his days practicing his art then idling away the small hours with family and hobbies. This all changes with the Japanese invasion, Man’s fall from privileged grace to a black pit of self doubt brings on something of an ‘age of reason’ where questions of what is to be done and civic responsibility haunt the demoralised Man. After the atrocities that he witnesses Man is forced to reformat his life. And if anything of the Martial Arts genre is known, then one will know where things go from here.
Most of the characters are cut out and their developments are in the service of the collective mobilising narrative played out in the film. But this doesn’t stop Ip Man being an enjoyable film that allows the space for some genuine reflection, ruminations upon Confucian philosophic enlightenment and its place in Chinese society which is polemically positioned against a portrayal of Japanese unrefinemen and lack of honour. All this is tucked in amidst some very well choreographed and executed fight scenes that lead to an ecstatic yet solitary reflection that practice can make perfect.
Ip Man as a film can be taken two ways, as a straight out Martial Arts bio-pic or as a subtle piece of mainstream propaganda that continues the recent resurgence and reintroduction of Confucian ideas into Chinese culture that have since the dawn of the Peoples Republic been exiled. So go along for a ride but don’t get taken for a ride.
This is a mythologised account of Ip Man’s time during the second Sino-Japanese War during the 1930’s and 1940’s. At the time Japan’s sun was on the rise and was attempting to gain control of regional territories and resources. The people of China were in turn subjected to harsh treatment from an invading foe that has formally claimed to have had the intention of “racial liberation from white rule” which in turn cost the lives of some 20 million Chinese. The wounds of this are still a delicate issue in regional politics; Japan has still not denounced its motives and actions of that time. Around the personal story of Ip Man this film creates a mythology of one man making a stand which inspires many.
And Ip Man has attributes that are easy to build a myth around. He was the peerless master of his art at the time and he went on to mentor among others a young Bruce Lee. Man’s story is an attractive platform to mobilise a national struggle from. This film fits snugly into the Martial Arts genre where one man by his force of will and skill alone can take on adversity reluctantly and eloquently triumph.
In the film Man leads a somewhat hermetic life of wealth; he gracefully refuses to take on pupils, prefers to spend his days practicing his art then idling away the small hours with family and hobbies. This all changes with the Japanese invasion, Man’s fall from privileged grace to a black pit of self doubt brings on something of an ‘age of reason’ where questions of what is to be done and civic responsibility haunt the demoralised Man. After the atrocities that he witnesses Man is forced to reformat his life. And if anything of the Martial Arts genre is known, then one will know where things go from here.
Most of the characters are cut out and their developments are in the service of the collective mobilising narrative played out in the film. But this doesn’t stop Ip Man being an enjoyable film that allows the space for some genuine reflection, ruminations upon Confucian philosophic enlightenment and its place in Chinese society which is polemically positioned against a portrayal of Japanese unrefinemen and lack of honour. All this is tucked in amidst some very well choreographed and executed fight scenes that lead to an ecstatic yet solitary reflection that practice can make perfect.
Ip Man as a film can be taken two ways, as a straight out Martial Arts bio-pic or as a subtle piece of mainstream propaganda that continues the recent resurgence and reintroduction of Confucian ideas into Chinese culture that have since the dawn of the Peoples Republic been exiled. So go along for a ride but don’t get taken for a ride.
Tuesday, 6 October 2009
Going solo
The trailer for The Soloist – directed by Joe Wright – has being playing in theatres for the best part of a year now. Initially the idea of some moralising film about the normality and acceptability of individuals that are classified as abnormal struck a cord that was slightly trite and could possibly play out like a bunch of platitudes pushing acceptability and inclusiveness. But any good marketing scheme will get you to bite the bait and a years worth of trailer viewing seemed to justify actually viewing this film.
The Soloist touches upon quite a few issues; life in big urban environments, mental illnesses, dashed hopes of youth, the diminishing prominence of broadsheet journalism, tales from skid row and friendship. But a central theme is about people and their journey to a friendship and friendships restorative qualities. These qualities are not the sort that makes everything better, this film doesn’t take that rose tinted view of friendship but more the view that friendship can help ease the burden of our lives and help bring us out of ourselves and back into the world. The Soloist centres on the relationship that develops between Nathaniel Ayers (Jamie Foxx) and Steve Lopez (Robert Downey Jr.), the former a down on his luck musician and the later a journalist trying to pull his life together.
Foxx’s turn as the paranoid schizophrenic Nathaniel is understated and doesn’t try and shove abnormality in our face. When we first meet Nathaniel, and this is also when Lopez first meets him, his violin playing is swept in by a soft blowing wind. His playing is eloquent but constrained like a bird with clipped wings and when he speaks his conversation leads from one subject matter to another on a quick turn of a signifier that is pregnant and overloaded with meanings. This is the conversation of not a crazy man – although the film does make it clear that Nathaniel is tormented by distracting voices – but one who struggles to keep to a charted narrative flow. One can imagine Deleuze and Guattari nodding with approval to this schizo-analytical depiction of a schizophrenic individual. But Nathaniel’s talent as a musician is never in doubt; it is indeed the catalyst of inspiration for Lopez.
Lopez form this chance meeting is inspired to probe the back story of Nathaniel and find out how such a talented man can end up marooned in the tangled and thorny nest of Los Angeles skid row. Lopez is a populist writer and knows when he has struck gold and after Nathaniel’s hard luck story strikes a favourable cord with his readership Lopez decides to keep up reporting on the developments in Nathaniel’s life. This may seem cynical and opportunist, but Lopez does need stories to write, deadlines to meet and newspapers to sell: something of a reality of the economy. Through his exploration he is exposed to and does a small cartography of Los Angeles skid row, where sadly 90,000 homeless people live in squalid and over crowded conditions. It is here on skid row that Nathaniel and Lopez really touch each others lives and a bond starts to develop that is restorative.
There is deft direction from Wright, who it seems is shaping up to becoming a fine director. The film takes in many ideas whilst remaining focused on the two leads and the development of their relationship. Wright repeatedly shows Nathaniel’s fingers on the fingerboard of his instruments, dexterously moving around, drawing out a note, teetering on a precarious edge and searching for the next note. This dance of Nathaniel fingers is like the way we move through life, looking for our next move to continue the song of our lives. It’s on this note that Wright presents us with overhead shots of the L.A freeway system and the tangled confusion that it presents. As for Nathaniel, he is stuck in this confusing transportation confluence where his playing is his only solace. While our other lost soul Lopez, played with a warming delicacy by Downey, has a house in the hills but lives alone, has yet to unpack his boxes and settled into his new abode; his loneliness punctuated by the ‘no new messages’ update from his answering machine as he crashes into a makeshift bed after spending his day in hospital.
There is a telling scene that kicks off the second movement of the film. Nathaniel and Lopez are alone in the Disney Concert Hall with only the orchestra in front of them and they’re there to listen to the orchestra practice. As the conductor standing in front of the camera conjures up the music the camera moves past his shoulder and zooms in on the two men seated back in the hall. It is from this moment that the relationship that Lopez and Nathaniel have started to forge is tested. The film is littered with small touches, such as Lopez playing with his key, slapping on a beat up hat and Nathaniel’s feminisation of his cell or the personalisation of his cloths that open the characters and develop them into ordinary people from the city of Los Angeles.
And this is a story from Los Angeles and the trials that that particular city throws at its inhabitants. The film ends on a touching note where the camera pulls back to reveal the distance that Nathaniel and Lopez have travelled. The Soloist is most certainly a film with flaws, but they are only part of the films sum and this film does have a level headed and mature character that is captivating.
The Soloist touches upon quite a few issues; life in big urban environments, mental illnesses, dashed hopes of youth, the diminishing prominence of broadsheet journalism, tales from skid row and friendship. But a central theme is about people and their journey to a friendship and friendships restorative qualities. These qualities are not the sort that makes everything better, this film doesn’t take that rose tinted view of friendship but more the view that friendship can help ease the burden of our lives and help bring us out of ourselves and back into the world. The Soloist centres on the relationship that develops between Nathaniel Ayers (Jamie Foxx) and Steve Lopez (Robert Downey Jr.), the former a down on his luck musician and the later a journalist trying to pull his life together.
Foxx’s turn as the paranoid schizophrenic Nathaniel is understated and doesn’t try and shove abnormality in our face. When we first meet Nathaniel, and this is also when Lopez first meets him, his violin playing is swept in by a soft blowing wind. His playing is eloquent but constrained like a bird with clipped wings and when he speaks his conversation leads from one subject matter to another on a quick turn of a signifier that is pregnant and overloaded with meanings. This is the conversation of not a crazy man – although the film does make it clear that Nathaniel is tormented by distracting voices – but one who struggles to keep to a charted narrative flow. One can imagine Deleuze and Guattari nodding with approval to this schizo-analytical depiction of a schizophrenic individual. But Nathaniel’s talent as a musician is never in doubt; it is indeed the catalyst of inspiration for Lopez.
Lopez form this chance meeting is inspired to probe the back story of Nathaniel and find out how such a talented man can end up marooned in the tangled and thorny nest of Los Angeles skid row. Lopez is a populist writer and knows when he has struck gold and after Nathaniel’s hard luck story strikes a favourable cord with his readership Lopez decides to keep up reporting on the developments in Nathaniel’s life. This may seem cynical and opportunist, but Lopez does need stories to write, deadlines to meet and newspapers to sell: something of a reality of the economy. Through his exploration he is exposed to and does a small cartography of Los Angeles skid row, where sadly 90,000 homeless people live in squalid and over crowded conditions. It is here on skid row that Nathaniel and Lopez really touch each others lives and a bond starts to develop that is restorative.
There is deft direction from Wright, who it seems is shaping up to becoming a fine director. The film takes in many ideas whilst remaining focused on the two leads and the development of their relationship. Wright repeatedly shows Nathaniel’s fingers on the fingerboard of his instruments, dexterously moving around, drawing out a note, teetering on a precarious edge and searching for the next note. This dance of Nathaniel fingers is like the way we move through life, looking for our next move to continue the song of our lives. It’s on this note that Wright presents us with overhead shots of the L.A freeway system and the tangled confusion that it presents. As for Nathaniel, he is stuck in this confusing transportation confluence where his playing is his only solace. While our other lost soul Lopez, played with a warming delicacy by Downey, has a house in the hills but lives alone, has yet to unpack his boxes and settled into his new abode; his loneliness punctuated by the ‘no new messages’ update from his answering machine as he crashes into a makeshift bed after spending his day in hospital.
There is a telling scene that kicks off the second movement of the film. Nathaniel and Lopez are alone in the Disney Concert Hall with only the orchestra in front of them and they’re there to listen to the orchestra practice. As the conductor standing in front of the camera conjures up the music the camera moves past his shoulder and zooms in on the two men seated back in the hall. It is from this moment that the relationship that Lopez and Nathaniel have started to forge is tested. The film is littered with small touches, such as Lopez playing with his key, slapping on a beat up hat and Nathaniel’s feminisation of his cell or the personalisation of his cloths that open the characters and develop them into ordinary people from the city of Los Angeles.
And this is a story from Los Angeles and the trials that that particular city throws at its inhabitants. The film ends on a touching note where the camera pulls back to reveal the distance that Nathaniel and Lopez have travelled. The Soloist is most certainly a film with flaws, but they are only part of the films sum and this film does have a level headed and mature character that is captivating.
Tuesday, 29 September 2009
Give me a break or "I could do with a fag"
Another image of woman smoking is as a strong feminine character, this image is steeped in seductive posing that smoulders with sexual promise, the impenetrability of that promise and the image of a woman who will not stand for a domineering patriarchal society any longer. This image heralds from the mid twentieth century when women became a genuine consumer market for the tobacco companies and also when this image of women popped from the cigarette case of Marlene Dietrich.
In Blade Runner directed by Ridley Scott – and I am here talking of the 1991 directors cut – there is a scene early on when the Blade Runner Deckard interviews (Void-comp test) Rachael, ostensibly this is to see how the test reacts to humans, as opposed to the usual subject matter that are Replicants. As anyone who has seen the film knows, it is made explicit at the conclusion of the interview that Rachel is a Replicant, although she believes she is Human but suspects that she may be otherwise. So it is clear that Rachael is a woman caught in a precarious position of not knowing what she, Replicant or Human, endangered or simply normal.
At the out-set and during the interviews duration we are lead to believe that Rachel in human. She appears at first glance to be a strong and determined woman albeit with innocent inchoate eyes that are slightly cold, her dress is a clean fusion of 1930’s, where the cut of her clothing is fitted to her body’s curves, and the hypothesised synthetic styles of a Si-Fi 2019. But after a marathon interview Deckard concludes that Rachel is a Replicant to which the head of Tyrell Corporation replies that she suspects that she is.
During the course of the interview Rachel had been smoking and smoking played a large aesthetic part in the scene, not only did it help cultivate film noir styling at one point an edit was cut with an eddy of smoke as the segue. A question as to the motivation for Rachel’s smoking is lighten up if we consider why women smoke, at first glance Rachel smoking is indicative of a strong, emancipated and seductive woman in control of her situation but we also know that Rachel suspects that she is a Replicant and that the interview she is taking aims at determining her true nature. She has something to hide no doubt, so is her smoking more of a crutch for her emotions to help mask her inner most secret or a weapon of seduction?
This is an interesting little scene as it is a polemic mash-up, stylistically with the mingling of film noir and Si-Fi, the boundaries of the human and non-human and of particular interest here Rachel’s smoking, is she in command, as we are lead to believe, or is she for the duration of the interview trying to mask something. The implementation of the cigarette devise is wonderfully subversive. We the viewers are seduced and led, with the scripting of signifiers, up the garden path with the line of thought that Rachael is a strong and seductive woman and her smoking being the obvious tool of expressing this, but this garden path does a u-turn at the conclusion of the scene where we learn that Rachel was in fact trying to mask an inner secret in what in short amounts to an interrogation. It is in this light that the smoking signifier has now morphed into one of emotion support: an ever diminishing crutch, which by the scenes end can no longer support what Rachel desires to conceal.
In Blade Runner directed by Ridley Scott – and I am here talking of the 1991 directors cut – there is a scene early on when the Blade Runner Deckard interviews (Void-comp test) Rachael, ostensibly this is to see how the test reacts to humans, as opposed to the usual subject matter that are Replicants. As anyone who has seen the film knows, it is made explicit at the conclusion of the interview that Rachel is a Replicant, although she believes she is Human but suspects that she may be otherwise. So it is clear that Rachael is a woman caught in a precarious position of not knowing what she, Replicant or Human, endangered or simply normal.
At the out-set and during the interviews duration we are lead to believe that Rachel in human. She appears at first glance to be a strong and determined woman albeit with innocent inchoate eyes that are slightly cold, her dress is a clean fusion of 1930’s, where the cut of her clothing is fitted to her body’s curves, and the hypothesised synthetic styles of a Si-Fi 2019. But after a marathon interview Deckard concludes that Rachel is a Replicant to which the head of Tyrell Corporation replies that she suspects that she is.
During the course of the interview Rachel had been smoking and smoking played a large aesthetic part in the scene, not only did it help cultivate film noir styling at one point an edit was cut with an eddy of smoke as the segue. A question as to the motivation for Rachel’s smoking is lighten up if we consider why women smoke, at first glance Rachel smoking is indicative of a strong, emancipated and seductive woman in control of her situation but we also know that Rachel suspects that she is a Replicant and that the interview she is taking aims at determining her true nature. She has something to hide no doubt, so is her smoking more of a crutch for her emotions to help mask her inner most secret or a weapon of seduction?
This is an interesting little scene as it is a polemic mash-up, stylistically with the mingling of film noir and Si-Fi, the boundaries of the human and non-human and of particular interest here Rachel’s smoking, is she in command, as we are lead to believe, or is she for the duration of the interview trying to mask something. The implementation of the cigarette devise is wonderfully subversive. We the viewers are seduced and led, with the scripting of signifiers, up the garden path with the line of thought that Rachael is a strong and seductive woman and her smoking being the obvious tool of expressing this, but this garden path does a u-turn at the conclusion of the scene where we learn that Rachel was in fact trying to mask an inner secret in what in short amounts to an interrogation. It is in this light that the smoking signifier has now morphed into one of emotion support: an ever diminishing crutch, which by the scenes end can no longer support what Rachel desires to conceal.
Thursday, 3 September 2009
A berry from North America
My blueberry nights:
My Blueberry Nights is Wong Kar Wai’s first English language film and is also his most accessible, it is a straight forward film about living without loved ones and attempting to move forward. It uses the road movie genre as a vehicle for telling the story of a young, heartbroken and innocent woman Elizabeth (Norah Jones, in her first acting role), but this gener is more of a backdrop to the old Wong Kar Wai themes of searching for love, issues of alienation and probing memories. It is perhaps a lack of understanding on Kar Wai’s part that the road movie theme of travelling the frontiers of experience and identity is not played out more; he is also a stranger in a strange land.
Elizabeth starts to hang out late at night in a New York diner run by Jeremy (Jude Law) who has his own backstory of loss. His way of dealing with it is to stay put and things will come to him, whilst Elizabeth decides that she must take to the road and learn of life, love and loss. So she sets off, along the way she spends time in Memphis where she meets a separated couple who tried to drink themselves back into love, but alas for the sultry and seductively wasted Sue Lynne (Rachel Weisz) even this did not inspire and compel her to stay with Arnie (David Strathairn), who subsequently carries on drinking each night and is a sad story of a heart broken man. It is during this story sequence that the song ‘Try a Little Tenderness’ by Ottis Redding is heard repeatedly and we can infer what we will from this, but it further stresses the importance of music in the storytelling technique deployed by Kar Wai in his films.
Earlier in the film the track ‘Yumeji’s Theme’ with its themes of nocturnal longing and memories dancing a mournful tango, first heard in Mood For Love and again in 2046, rears its head; with the characters on screen swaying to similar moods as in earlier films. Could the use of this piece again be a thread that constitutes the three films representing a trilogy of sorts? But whatever the case, what is apparent with this first English language film by Kar Wai is that he still likes to cast musicians in a role. Along with Jones, Cat Power/Chan Marshall pops in for a cameo along with her aching recollection of a song ‘The Greatest’.
From New Orleans Elizabeth is on the road again working in a casino and meeting up with Leslie (Natalie Portman) who teaches her some lessons and takes her along for a rids to Las Vegas. All this plays out in a quite un-Kar Wai straight, linear time narrative and as such there is not any jigsaw pieces of time to fit together, the narrative is all laid out in front for the viewer to see. The film only once cuts back to the past: it’s only for a fleeting, towards the end of the film and serves more as garnish. The remembering of a moment from the past that has been built into a memorial by the memory is lacking in this film, in previous films a memory was probed repeatedly and its nuances revealed a sensual bounty. The one cut back serves only to tell fleetingly that Elizabeth didn’t want to be the person she was anymore, but it is safe to assume that this point was a given and didn’t need to be explicitly stressed.
Where My Blueberry Nights lets down is in the style department: stylistically it’s quite weak compared with what we have come to expect from a Wong Kar Wai film. It may look better than most films, especially with the neon lighting of night-time highlighting the ache of the heart, but, gone is his long-term Kar Wai cinematographer Christopher Doyle’s tight angles and dreamy hand held camera work and the film looks pedestrian without it. Also it would appear that the story for the film was quite advanced during production and it wasn’t cut together in the editing room as is often the case with a Wong Kar Wai film. Cut from the film are many of the tricky narrative structures of repeating a moment to explore its differences; like watching undulating ripples cast from the coins we cast into the wishing-well of time.
Given that Kar Wai’s films are generally quite literary – the calligraphy in Ashes of Time and the writing in the Mood for Love and 2046 – My Blueberry Nights is a bit light and it’s hard for postcards to pass as literature. But then again, perhaps this film was something of a cinematic postcard sent to us by Wong Kar Wai.
My Blueberry Nights is Wong Kar Wai’s first English language film and is also his most accessible, it is a straight forward film about living without loved ones and attempting to move forward. It uses the road movie genre as a vehicle for telling the story of a young, heartbroken and innocent woman Elizabeth (Norah Jones, in her first acting role), but this gener is more of a backdrop to the old Wong Kar Wai themes of searching for love, issues of alienation and probing memories. It is perhaps a lack of understanding on Kar Wai’s part that the road movie theme of travelling the frontiers of experience and identity is not played out more; he is also a stranger in a strange land.
Elizabeth starts to hang out late at night in a New York diner run by Jeremy (Jude Law) who has his own backstory of loss. His way of dealing with it is to stay put and things will come to him, whilst Elizabeth decides that she must take to the road and learn of life, love and loss. So she sets off, along the way she spends time in Memphis where she meets a separated couple who tried to drink themselves back into love, but alas for the sultry and seductively wasted Sue Lynne (Rachel Weisz) even this did not inspire and compel her to stay with Arnie (David Strathairn), who subsequently carries on drinking each night and is a sad story of a heart broken man. It is during this story sequence that the song ‘Try a Little Tenderness’ by Ottis Redding is heard repeatedly and we can infer what we will from this, but it further stresses the importance of music in the storytelling technique deployed by Kar Wai in his films.
Earlier in the film the track ‘Yumeji’s Theme’ with its themes of nocturnal longing and memories dancing a mournful tango, first heard in Mood For Love and again in 2046, rears its head; with the characters on screen swaying to similar moods as in earlier films. Could the use of this piece again be a thread that constitutes the three films representing a trilogy of sorts? But whatever the case, what is apparent with this first English language film by Kar Wai is that he still likes to cast musicians in a role. Along with Jones, Cat Power/Chan Marshall pops in for a cameo along with her aching recollection of a song ‘The Greatest’.
From New Orleans Elizabeth is on the road again working in a casino and meeting up with Leslie (Natalie Portman) who teaches her some lessons and takes her along for a rids to Las Vegas. All this plays out in a quite un-Kar Wai straight, linear time narrative and as such there is not any jigsaw pieces of time to fit together, the narrative is all laid out in front for the viewer to see. The film only once cuts back to the past: it’s only for a fleeting, towards the end of the film and serves more as garnish. The remembering of a moment from the past that has been built into a memorial by the memory is lacking in this film, in previous films a memory was probed repeatedly and its nuances revealed a sensual bounty. The one cut back serves only to tell fleetingly that Elizabeth didn’t want to be the person she was anymore, but it is safe to assume that this point was a given and didn’t need to be explicitly stressed.
Where My Blueberry Nights lets down is in the style department: stylistically it’s quite weak compared with what we have come to expect from a Wong Kar Wai film. It may look better than most films, especially with the neon lighting of night-time highlighting the ache of the heart, but, gone is his long-term Kar Wai cinematographer Christopher Doyle’s tight angles and dreamy hand held camera work and the film looks pedestrian without it. Also it would appear that the story for the film was quite advanced during production and it wasn’t cut together in the editing room as is often the case with a Wong Kar Wai film. Cut from the film are many of the tricky narrative structures of repeating a moment to explore its differences; like watching undulating ripples cast from the coins we cast into the wishing-well of time.
Given that Kar Wai’s films are generally quite literary – the calligraphy in Ashes of Time and the writing in the Mood for Love and 2046 – My Blueberry Nights is a bit light and it’s hard for postcards to pass as literature. But then again, perhaps this film was something of a cinematic postcard sent to us by Wong Kar Wai.
Saturday, 22 August 2009
puff puff
Women smoking on screen: Women smoke for emotional reasons, men smoke for other reasons.
In the film Stalker (1979) directed by Andri Tarkovsky the Stalkers wife lights up a cigarette just after she has nursed and put her husband to bed after his latest return from the Zone. She is in an obvious state of distress, the Stalker has had his faith in humanity punched by the desire for easy happiness and after he has been placed in bed she leaves his side and crouches on the floor in a corner, lights up a cigarette and explains why she decided to live and marry the Stalker despite him being a Stalker and one of God’s fools and the warnings from her mother. She is distraught as she reflects on the hardship that she must endure whilst also gaining so much happiness from her love, a love that is bitter-sweet and un-regrettable. Her hands tremble and it is the cigarette and the act of smoking that offers her a touch of calming solace
While a scene earlier when the Writer, Professor and Stalker had just returned to the café, where they were eventually meet by the Stalker’s wife who asked the Stalker to return home with her and the child: here she exhibits a quiet strength. As the family leaves the Writer look back after them with a smoke between index and middle fingers and his chin rested on the anatomical snuffbox of his hand that holds the cigarette. He is in deep contemplation regarding the Stalker and the experience he has just had. The shot is largely static with little movement and the visceral quality of contemplation is framed. The Writer is show to be quietly contemplative and is in control of his emotional state
What we have in quick succession, by a director who is regarded as one of the great maters of cinema is both male and female on screen and being quite expressive with a cigarette in hand. The Writer is composed and thinking whilst the Wife is having an out pouring of emotions and it seems that she needs a smoke just to be able to breath. We are presented with two polemic depictions of smoking, one being for a activity whilst contemplating the other as a claiming activity whilst distraught. But also are we being presented with and solidification of an old myth: that women smoke for emotional whilst men for other reasons?
In the film Stalker (1979) directed by Andri Tarkovsky the Stalkers wife lights up a cigarette just after she has nursed and put her husband to bed after his latest return from the Zone. She is in an obvious state of distress, the Stalker has had his faith in humanity punched by the desire for easy happiness and after he has been placed in bed she leaves his side and crouches on the floor in a corner, lights up a cigarette and explains why she decided to live and marry the Stalker despite him being a Stalker and one of God’s fools and the warnings from her mother. She is distraught as she reflects on the hardship that she must endure whilst also gaining so much happiness from her love, a love that is bitter-sweet and un-regrettable. Her hands tremble and it is the cigarette and the act of smoking that offers her a touch of calming solace
While a scene earlier when the Writer, Professor and Stalker had just returned to the café, where they were eventually meet by the Stalker’s wife who asked the Stalker to return home with her and the child: here she exhibits a quiet strength. As the family leaves the Writer look back after them with a smoke between index and middle fingers and his chin rested on the anatomical snuffbox of his hand that holds the cigarette. He is in deep contemplation regarding the Stalker and the experience he has just had. The shot is largely static with little movement and the visceral quality of contemplation is framed. The Writer is show to be quietly contemplative and is in control of his emotional state
What we have in quick succession, by a director who is regarded as one of the great maters of cinema is both male and female on screen and being quite expressive with a cigarette in hand. The Writer is composed and thinking whilst the Wife is having an out pouring of emotions and it seems that she needs a smoke just to be able to breath. We are presented with two polemic depictions of smoking, one being for a activity whilst contemplating the other as a claiming activity whilst distraught. But also are we being presented with and solidification of an old myth: that women smoke for emotional whilst men for other reasons?
Sunday, 26 July 2009
Public Enemies review
Public Enemies: free but in chains.
A new Michael Mann film is always something for me to get excited about. Mann is a serious film maker with an unmistakable aesthetic; a pristine veneer covering a dark and tangled depth.
Much will be made of how we the viewer doesn’t get to know the characters much in the film. This is an old critique of Mann and his handling of the unfolding of a characters motives and history. And this critique is somewhat right but it is also not entirely the case, Mann shows much about his characters without telling much and it is this understated storytelling that can be missed whilst viewing images that are so meticulously constructed and stylised. What do we learn of Dillenger played by a dapper and steely Johnny Depp: his mother died when he was young, his father beat him, he grew up on a farm, he likes cars, baseball, whiskey, beautiful women, the company of others, expensive clothes, he likes to look handsome, he enjoys the movies and he is his own man. Quite a list then of things to learn about a character, but what quite that Dillenger broods over and is running from we don’t quite learn, perhaps it is the open desolate youth that he endured or is it that he knows the opportunities that the depression provided are beginning to wain and he must find a way out, a way to slip off the edge of the map, or is it perhaps that Dillenger simply doesn’t want to become one of the many victims of the depression that litter the streets in many of the films scenes?
Dillenger’s world is closing in on him, the law and the organised crime syndicates, both of which have no desire to have a free radical running around who has the courage to live out the dreams played out on the silver screen, are slowly but surely blocking off the roads that Dillinger once hurtled down. These, of course, are themes visited in various shades and from different angles in most of the Michael Mann films going as far back as The Thief; what does one do when the world around them impinges upon their freedom? It could be said that Mann is an auteur who interrogates the impact of the social contract
Wednesday, 15 July 2009
In the city a profuse of discussion, rumors and talk has oozed from the site of 76 Dean St in Soho, London: the site of of Fridays 12th of July's fire. The verbal coagulation of water and ash has spread forth on the lips of those who saw, heard and read about the fire (least us forget that thankfully no one was injured in the blaze and the worst that happened was that a fine Georgian building has been gutted) and the a babel of communication has been built on the site where only a facade precariously stood a few days ago.
Perhaps the grandest utterance from a pair of lips to be overheard is that this event was "The Great Fire of Soho". And perhaps it was, never before has a fire in Soho been so quickly reported with coverage and updates of the event sent out into the electronic community and back into the real world. "Great" being that this is one of the first fires that news of has been dispersed so quickly in real time and by citizen journalists
A spectacle was born that roamed the playpens of Twitter, Flickr and the blogosphere.
Perhaps the grandest utterance from a pair of lips to be overheard is that this event was "The Great Fire of Soho". And perhaps it was, never before has a fire in Soho been so quickly reported with coverage and updates of the event sent out into the electronic community and back into the real world. "Great" being that this is one of the first fires that news of has been dispersed so quickly in real time and by citizen journalists
A spectacle was born that roamed the playpens of Twitter, Flickr and the blogosphere.
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