Aquarius, opening Friday at the Birmingham 8 and Emagine Novi, and directed by Brazil’s Kleber Mendonça Filho, is billed as one woman’s stand against a big developer who wants to kick her out of her home. It’s that, certainly, but the film plays out more as a meditation on a single (widow) 60-ish Baby Boomer coming to terms with her life. Sonia Braga, the famous Brazilian-American actress, is the star. The setting is the Brazilian seaside city of Recife. Dona Clara (Braga) raised her family in this home, a nice spacious now Art Deco-infused apartment. The film opens with a birthday party there in 1980. And then flash forwards to the present day, where Clara, now 66 and a retired journalist, lives alone in what may be a fulfilling or less than fulfilling life. The movie is broken into three chapters and mainly shows Clara going about her days – walking to the beach, at dances with girlfriends, visiting with her children. It’s almost as if the proverbial elephant in the room – a construction company that wants to redevelop the site and is stymied by her refusal to move when all the other tenants or owners have been bought out – doesn’t exist. But it’s there in the background, as company officials occasionally maker her offers (“over market price”), and with the increasingly rundown look of the premises. But why should Clara leave? It’s her longtime home, after all, and she’s got a great ocean view. And when one of her children asks if she’s “stressed” by all the pressure she replies, no, “I’m pissed off.” The stereotypes build of her being a “crazy old lady” when, of course, she is quite sane. It’s the others who worry unnecessarily or don’t understand the desire to cling to familiarity, nostalgia and comfort. As I said, the film works better more as a depiction of a character, an older woman who loves music – and insists on listening to her 40-year-old LPs rather than digital downloads – hanging out with friends, and who is seemingly ambivalent about the other gender and romance. In one scene, a man picks her up at a dance but as quickly drops her when she tells him she’s had breast surgery. In another, she phones up a young buck to come over expressly for sex. Meanwhile, the conflict between Clara and the construction company comes to a boil near the very end of the film when Clara finally confronts the developer, Diego (Humberto Carrão), who has been increasingly trying, in not so subtle ways, to force her to leave, including using the building for sex orgies and then introducing nests of termites. She denounces him for his “business” background and being part of an elite lacking “manners” and whose character “is money.” Well, I guess no such film is complete without a ritual denunciation of capitalism. From this scene, it’s only a few minutes to the film’s abrupt and dramatic ending, to which the audience might respond by saying, “good for you!,” and/or, in an exasperated way, “okay!”
Monday, October 10, 2016
I'm still on the US East Coast, and caught these films over the past couple of weeks.
White Girl (d. Elizabeth Wood). This is the best new film I’ve seen in months. The story of a promiscuous and drug-taking young Brooklynite (Morgan Saylor) (photo left) wasn’t exactly my cup of tea. But I took a chance, and it’s terrific, an exhilarating if alarming plunge down the rabbit hole of the sordid side of a creative class millennial’s life. All the performances are good but it’s not cliché to say Saylor is phenomenal. At New York’s Angelika Film Center.
The Dressmaker (d. Jocelyn Moorhouse) stars Kate Winslet, based on the novel by Rosalie Ham. It’s a comedy-drama, true, but leaves you wondering what it really wants to be – a comedy or a drama – because each side is so well-honed. Some people will find the story, set in the Australian hinterland, charming, or the Fifties fashions wonderful, but to me the film was claustrophobic (a small group of characters within a desolate community) and derivative (the grown-up sophisticated daughter returns home to stick it to the hayseeds). In wide release.
The Birth of a Nation (d. Nate Parker). This story about early 19th century slave revolt leader Nat Turner, played by Parker, was a disappointment. Three-quarters of the movie, leading up to the rebellion in antebellum Virginia, is a plodding series of mini sketches, not the dynamism borne of accumulated repressions building to the cataclysm one might expect. In wide release.
Ovation (d. Henry Jaglom) is a story about what goes on backstage in the theatre. It focuses on a group of actors at a regional theatre performing a play, The Rainmaker, and their friendships, romances and petty disputes, all the while worrying about whether the production will close or find a savior in a new underwriter. Jaglom’s films are ensemble pieces with numerous character driven subplots. Always absorbing, he doesn’t disappoint here. At Cinema Village, New York.
37 (d. Puk Grasten). This is a drama inspired by the 1964 Kitty Genovese murder in Queen’s, New York, infamous because it became symbolic of modern society’s indifference to others around them. The 37 refers to a (mis)reported news story that 37 people had witnessed the murder but did nothing, creating in popular culture and sociologically the phenomenon known as the “bystander effect.” Here is a peek into the lives of a few of them, leading up to and during the half hour of Genovese’s mugging, stabbing and rape. The film’s close-ups, soundtrack and effects give the feeling of a horror movie. At Cinema Village, New York.
Tuesday, October 4, 2016
Swedish director Hannes Holm’s A Man Called Ove (opening Friday at the Main Art Theatre) and based on a Swedish and international bestseller by Fredrik Backman, is a take on a kind of everyman and a type we’ve all run into. He’s the perfectionist, the pedant, the nitpicker, the policeman – or as often called these days the “Nazi” – enforcing society’s often unobserved rules and admonishing people for their misbehaviour. In his view, there’s a right way to do things and a wrong way. When you park your car you park between the lines. You never show up late for an appointment. You drive at exactly the speed limit. You don’t throw down a cigarette butt. In this story our protagonist is also grouchy and he’s old – 59. And Ove (Rolf Lassgård), confident to a fault, really has no use for other people. “Idiots!” he calls them time and again. His only love is for his deceased wife, Sonja (Ida Engvoll), whom we meet through flashbacks of their lives. Ove’s misanthropy is akin to his death wish. But every time he makes an effort to kill himself it goes – comically - awry. A new neighbor, Parvaneh (Bahar Pars) from Iran moves in across the street. This doesn’t thrill Ove, who’s a kind of Swedish Archie Bunker, and he turns up his nose at the offer of Iranian food. But Parvaneh, tough in own way, breaks through to Ove. And we learn about his life. Despite an austere exterior - partly induced by a similarly unemotional father, no mother, and a tragic childhood incident – we find out layers beyond the surface. (How often can we say this about other people we meet – about everyone in fact?) Suffering what appears a heart attack Ove is taken to hospital and the doctor tells Parvaneh, “You could say his heart is too big,” to which she breaks out in gales of laughter. Lassgård is one of Sweden’s most accomplished actors and puts in a fine performance as a gruff son-of-a-bitch who fights against showing any emotional warmth and indeed much humanity at all. Engvoll, as his wife, is oppositely engaging, depicting well a charming and caring woman who works magic with other people. Other performances, such as that of Parvaneh, are solid. The movie’s problem is in some of the script, also written by Holm. For someone as technically skilled as Ove his attempts at killing himself aren’t particularly competent. And there seemed a disconnect between the taciturn young Ove (Filip Berg, whose eyes are remarkably like the older version of the man) and his attraction to a well-rounded uplifting Sonja. And sometimes I thought the character’s one dimensionality went a little too far. Like the fact he parted ways, for years, with his best friend and neighbor, Rune (Börje Lundberg), over their choice of cars. But the film is ultimately heartwarming and might make you think twice before coming to quick conclusions about other people, especially ones you don't like.
Thursday, September 29, 2016
My working sojourn on the US East Coast continues with, of course, attendance at as many films – and art house theatres – as I can squeeze in. In Providence, Rhode Island this has meant the Cable Car Cinema, where I took in Wim Wenders’s Lo & Behold: Reveries of the Connected World, an exploration of the wonder and dark side of the Internet. In the film we get to visit the private room where the first version of the Internet, or ARPANET, was created in the 1960s, and learn that no science fiction writer ever gets the future right, since even The Jetsons didn’t have the Internet…..Then there was The Seasons in Quincy: Four Portraits of John Berger (2016) at New York’s Film Forum. Scheduling had me skip out during the third short but the best of what I saw was the first, featuring Tilda Swinton and her 30-year friendship with the art historian and philosopher. The almost 90-year-old Berger is as mentally alert and intellectually inquisitive as ever, still brimming with a rage at what he views as the material corruption (aka capitalism) all around him. I’d like to have seen more on his interpretations of art, frankly…..There were French New Wave revivals of Claude Chabrol’s Betty (1992) and Eric Rohmer’s La Collectionneuse (1967) at New York’s Lincoln Plaza Cinemas and Film Society of New York, respectively, comments about which are in the Sept. 19 post above……Back in Providence at the Avon Cinema, in the heart of the Brown University student ghetto, I caught Ira Sachs’s Little Men (2016), a film with potential but ultimately unfulfilling, about family and Brooklyn’s gentrification wars…..Also at the Avon I saw Nanni Moretti’s Mia Madre (2015) (photo above left), a film about a mother-daughter relationship that never quite hits its mark…..Then last Sunday, at New York’s Film Forum, another revival, Louis Malle’s 1958 Elevator to the Gallows. Funny how so many of these classics seem almost amateurish, as Elevator does, from a hardly plausible plot to some pretty dumb dialogue. Yet the film was absorbing all the same.
A politically correct The Magnificent Seven.....Remember the original 1960 version (John Sturges, director) of this movie? The bad guy was a Mexican bandit (Calvera played by Eli Wallach). The villagers at his mercy were Mexican villagers. In the newly released 2016 remake by Antoine Fuqua the bad guy is mine owner Bartholomew Bogue (Peter Sarsgaard) who slaughters and otherwise exploits the locals. Given the politics of the day surrounding immigration and capitalism, the film’s plot makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?
Monday, September 19, 2016
So here I am in New York City, at some of the most sophisticated art house cinemas in the country, and the same boobs are sitting around me as I’d find on cheap night at the multiplex back home. How is this possible? Aren’t New York art houses the discriminating home for true cineastes? This is New York after all, America’s culture capital...... Here’s a little diary of my misadventures with boors, who obviously and sadly exist everywhere and anywhere, Sunday afternoon. I purchase a 3.45 pm ticket at Lincoln Plaza Cinemas for a revival of famed New Wave director Claude Cabrol’s 1992 Betty starring Marie Trintignant. Almost from the start there is a couple in the row behind where the guy proceeds to talk throughout the movie. This isn’t a whisper – bad enough – but a low tone of talk. When he does this the second time I turn around and sharply stare at him. He catches my glance and stops. For awhile I think my tactic worked because I don’t hear anything out of him. But, after about another 15 minutes he starts up, in a lower tone so it isn’t quite as annoying. Then he stops but periodically starts up, not quite loud enough for me to make the effort to tell him to stop or leave the theatre if he wants to yak. Then there’s the couple sitting to my immediate left. Every once in awhile the guy clicks on his smart phone to check ESPN Sunday football scores. The second time he does this, I turn to look at it and his wife waves her hand at him to turn the screen off……So what was the film itself like? It’s the story of a sociopath who always gets her own way despite ruining the lives of people around her. At first we are sympathetic to Betty because of some of her brutal and exploitative life experiences starting form childhood. But we see how this character charms and sucks in people around her, using them for who own ends. Did I say sociopath? An alcoholic, which she is, also fits the bill.....A few hours later and just a few blocks away, I catch another New Wave revival, Eric Rohmer and his 1967 La Collectionneuse (the Film Society of Lincoln Center is featuring all Rohmer’s Six Moral Tales). Here, I don’t have any annoying audience neighbors. Though I did note that the guy at the next ticket window was with The New York Times and seeking a Times employee discount. And, an audience member in the row ahead and several seats to the right was speaking loudly about “why is no one in the theatre talking to one another,” among other things. And the couple in front me of seemed to be playing games. First they sat side by side and then she moved one seat left, seemingly to his chagrin, but still reached out her hand to hold his. Some minutes later, after several grimaces on his part, she moved back…...As for the film? It’s an interesting depiction of desire and power, with a young woman Haydée (Haydée Politoff) the object of attention by two older men who are both repelled and attracted to her in a comedy of their own self-delusions.
Sunday, September 4, 2016
The Montreal World Film festival (Festival des Films du Monde) concludes tomorrow. It marked its 40th anniversary this year but it was hardly a celebration, more a mad scramble to even get the festival up and running after a financial catastrophe that saw theatres pull the rug out from under after the event after the festival could not make payment. Add to this a major staff resignation over lack of confidence in cash flow, and the loss of its long-running partner Hyatt Regency to put actors up (there were rumors actors were bunking wherever and paying out of pocket), and it all amounts to a huge black eye and major red-faced embarrassment for the festival’s founder and still director Serge Losique, now 85. There are rumours, Losique, a kind of Quixote figure who seems oblivious to the swirls of controversy around him, will organize a 41st festival next year. After all, he owns one major theatre, Cinéma Impérial – where most of the films this year ended up being shown – so doesn’t have to worry about paying rent. But is his reputation in tatters among film distributors, directors and actors, around the world, who might balk at any request to show their films next year? I heard there were at least two major directors who arrived in Montreal and were promptly told their films would not be shown. Other directors and actors quickly moved to find alternative spaces, including the Goethe-Institut and the Cinéma du Parc for German and student films. The art house Theatre Outremont, in an entirely different part of the city, also came on board. But the current situation is untenable and indeed intolerable. Losique has long been advised he should surrender his role to someone new, lose his autocratic style, and open up the books, at least for the festival to once again be considered for government funding. The FFM deserves to be saved, not only because of its rich legacy (at one time on par with the Toronto film festival, and I have attended all but about five editions) but for it’s unique presentation of international films, the likes a filmgoer would be hard-pressed to see at any other North American festival. Moreover, the festival is more mainstream than Montreal’s other much-lauded festivals, which are either too avant-garde or narrow in focus. Ironically, Losique is the boulder in the way of perpetuating his own legacy.
Friday, September 2, 2016
The second half of the festival – for me, since I’ve now left Montreal and the Festival des Film du Monde (FFM) continues until Monday – was less impressive compared to the films I wrote about in my last (Aug. 29) post. Here are my capsule reviews.
#Selfie69 (Cristina Iacob, Romania): It’s unfortunate that so much spectacular directorial talent has to be wasted on a frivolous ditty about three young women wagering on who will be the first to get married. Sexist stereotypes notwithstanding the film’s best attribute is in how the director combined vivid graphics – largely from the social media world – with regular cinematography.
Center of My World (Jakob M. Erwa, Germany/Austria): This well-acted, well-nuanced piece takes a look at the many dimensions of friendship – gay and straight. There's no difference, really.
Ariana Forever! (Katharina Rivilis, Germany) (photo above): This well-paced student dramatic short film centers on a summer camp rape where the victim and perpetrators are all tweens and bound to childhood oaths of loyalty.
Black Widow Business (Gosaigyo No Onna, Japan): As per #Selfie69 what wasted time and talent. This overly long comedy-drama focusses on the thriving Japanese illegal enterprises that set up wealthy older men with fake wives to extract money upon death. It’s a topic worthy of exploration but this almost slapstick drama undermines any social intent.
Tiger Theory (Radek Bajgar, Czech Republic): If you were always skeptical when hearing statistics that married men live happier, more fulfilling, lives than single men, this is the film for you. It’s a one note comedy, with an underlying – if misogynist – message, that wives control marriages to husbands’ despair. The director says his next film, for equality sake, will be a dart at men.