Mystery, time travel and the wounds of terrorism

It appears my truncated schedule, due to unforeseen events, at this year’s Windsor International Film Festival (WIFF), which ends tonight, has been very heavily weighted towards the festival’s own major focus, in part, on French films. So, here are three more reviews focusing on the festival’s rich French offering, including those featuring some of France’s most famous stars. 

The Mystery of Henri Pick: Director Remi Bezancon’s takes on novelist David Foenkinos’s book is a delightful mystery. Unlike other mysteries, which can be heavy, this one leans to the light side. It also has an intellectual flourish and will surely appeal to anyone who loves books. A publisher (Daphne Despero) discovers an unpublished manuscript by a small-town restaurateur Henri Pick, someone whom his wife describes as never having read a book in his life. The book, a romantic story that plays on a theme from Pushkin, is published and becomes a sensation. However, a famous Parisian critic, played in all his snobbish glory by Fabrice Luchini, has his doubts about the author’s authenticity. Despite meeting opposition everywhere, he perseveres to determine if Pick really wrote the novel.

La Belle Epoque (Nicolas Bedos) is a witty somewhat bizarre film that plays with several themes: nostalgia, time travel and romance (it is French, after all). Victor (Daniel Auteuil) is a washed-up newspaper cartoonist (his newspaper went digital) and a Baby Boomer fossil, who eschews the modern online world and doesn’t own a cell phone. His wife Marianne (Fanny Ardant) is the opposite – an aggressive adapter who belittles her husband for his dormant and slovenly ways. Their marriage reaches a breaking point. As it happens, there is a production company that caters to people who want to revisit the past. A despondent Victor decides to return to 1974 and a café where he first met Marianne. It’s the hirsute 70s alright, complete with strumming folk singers, vest sweaters and smoke-filled bars. The story is a trip down memory lane and a rather innovative one at that. The directing, with constant screen switches and a sort of film within a film as the production crew tries to stage personal historical events accurately, is amazing. Yes, it's a farce. But the scenes become repetitive and you wonder why anyone would want go to all this trouble to rekindle something in the past.

Amanda, directed by Mikhaël Hers, is a gentle, absorbing and very humane look at Parisian life in the aftermath of major terrorist events that have traumatized the French capital over the past few years. Interestingly, there seem few films that explore this aspect of human life given the kind of terrorism the world has experienced in recent times. David (rising star Vincent Lacoste) is a happy go lucky 24-year-old, and uncle to seven-year-old Amanda (Isaure Multrier). One day a tragedy strikes Amanda’s mother, Sandrine (Ophélia Kolb) and David is thrown into the role of Amanda’s guardian. It’s something David, who is barely getting his own life together, must quickly come to terms with. The subtle interplay between David and Amanda is realistic as each tries to adapt, sometimes uncomfortably, to this unforeseen relationship. The ending will leave a few tears running down your cheek.

Three French films in one day

Following are reviews of some films at the Windsor International Film Festival (WIFF), which continues until Nov. 10:

Guillaume Canet’s Little White Lies 2 is a follow-up to his 2010 Little White Lies, which I understand was a major hit. Not having seen it I can’t compare. But the reason I signed up for this film was because I was expecting it to follow in the great tradition of French farces. All the elements are there – an ensemble cast, a sad sack lead (François Cluzet) about to turn – ugh! – 60, and ragtag friends who unknowingly descend on his vacation property. But Cluzet hardly cracks a smile, having suffered a major investment loss and wanting to get rid of his interlopers and sell his house as quickly as possible. The friends themselves have insufferable quirks, enough for virtually all of them to wind up on the couch. Marie’s (Marion Cotillard) short fuse is ignited constantly, numerous misunderstandings take place among the group of Big Chill-like characters, and two searing near tragedies occur. There are a few comic touches but not nearly enough to keep the film on its intended lighthearted footing.

Ira Sach’s Frankie is a character study and that’s all it is. The central character is Françoise Crémont – Frankie - a French star now on holiday in a breathtakingly beautiful Portuguese town. In this sense Frankie is a self-portrait of Huppert herself, perhaps France’s present day most famous actress, at rest after making a grueling film. For those who are used to seeing Huppert portrayed as a diabolical sociopath (Neil Jordan’s Greta, 2018) or in excruciating threatening circumstances (Paul Verhoeven’s Elle, 2016) this is not another of those films – hardly. Instead it’s a quiet but always interesting – if only because we’re always anticipating something significant to happen - mixing of vignettes, swirling around several characters over the course of their stay in this glorious tourist mecca. Irene (Marisa Tomei) and Gary (Greg Kinnear) ironically break up after a peak romantic moment. Frankie’s son Paul (Jérémie Renier) dearly wants to marry but can’t hold a girl friend. Sylvia and Ian (Vinette Robinson and Ariyon Bakare) can barely contain their rage for one another. Yet the serene Frankie walks, figuratively and literally, through it all.

Céline Sciamma’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire is an historical drama about two women. A painter, Marianne (Noémie Merlant) is commissioned to paint the portrait of Héloïse (Adèle Haenel), a young wealthy woman from Brittany who is about to be married off to an Italian grandee. Héloïse is depressed at the prospect and refuses to pose for the painting. It’s up to Marianne to grab fleeting looks at her subject, posing as a hired companion. She memorizes facial features and body mannerisms, surreptitiously creating her portrait in a private room in the large country estate. A stand-offish Héloïse at first is cool to Marianne but Marianne’s presence of character attracts an equally self-assured Héloïse. Strong acting by the two actors in a very nuanced film, with scenes looking like they’re literally out of an 18th century painting, no doubt were part of the reason the picture won the Queer Palm prize at Cannes.

Almodovar's latest - touching yet incomplete

Screened at the 15th edition of the Windsor International Film Festival

Pedro Almodovar’s latest, Pain and Glory, is a thinly veiled autobiographical look at the film director

as he begins to enter old age. Almodovar is now 70 and of course Spain’s best known and wildly flamboyant director of the past 30 years. But anyone expecting the bombast and subtlety and the clashing complexity of characters and storylines in films ranging from Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown (1988), Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! (1990) and Volver (2006), won’t get it in this film. For this is a quiet - very quiet - movie. Here, the director, after a long career, is at rest. He cannot make films anymore. That’s because he ails tremendously, suffering from numerous symptoms from tinnitus to extreme headaches and most of all back pain. “Without filming, my life is meaningless,” the director, Salvador Mallo (Antonio Banderas – and if you haven’t seen him in awhile, has he aged!), laments. So, Mallo spends his days in his fashionable and art-strewn house, a prisoner of illness. One day his assistant Mercedes (Nora Navas) informs that the Madrid cinematheque is hosting a tribute to one of his films, Sabor. He’s asked to be there for a Q & A. He visits the film’s star, Alberto Crespo (Asier Etxeandia) with whom he had a falling out over his dissatisfaction with Crespo’s performance in this very film. They try to reconcile and Mallo presents Crespo with a script for a play, Addiction. Crespo presents it on stage and a long-ago lover, Federico (Leonardo Sbaraglia), by coincidence, sees it and shows up on Mallo’s doorstep. It’s a heartwarming scene redolent of one-time glorious affection. Generally, in the film, the director, looking back on his life, conjures memories of his past, many of which concern his childhood and mother (a reprise of sorts to his films All About My Mother (1999) and Bad Education (2004)). There’s one about his early homosexual awakening, spying a family handyman (César Vicente) bathing. In the film’s story these snippets of time all add up to powerful memories. What was hard to reconcile, however, were the plot’s detours into the director’s late flirtation with heroin, courtesy of Crespo, and zany moments such as his refusal to attend Sabor’s Q & A - dialing it in, literally, and then the audience amusingly overhearing a fight between Mallo and Crespo. So, yes, Pain and Glory is a well-acted, warmly made with comic touches, look back at one individual’s life. But the film feels incomplete. Is this the character’s entire summing up? Is one film the only highpoint of the director’s esteemed career? (My god, Almodovar has had almost 20!) Is this really the total of a great man’s “glory?”

Congrats to Windsor festival's 15th year!

It’s the little festival that kept on growing. And this year (Nov. 1 – 10) marks the 15th anniversary of the Windsor International Film Festival (WIFF), a monumental achievement when you think about it, since the Windsor area isn’t particularly known for having an arts film-oriented audience. Moreover, WIFF isn’t the only film festival in the greater Windsor-Detroit area. Detroit and Ann Arbor feature other festivals throughout the year. But, in my books, WIFF beats them all, mainly because its formula of “mainstream” art house flicks (as opposed to more rarified documentaries or esoteric and experimental  films) are the ones that will most likely gain theatric distribution throughout the coming year. As well, many of these movies come from the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) circuit and TIFF, after all, is, after Cannes, the most prestigious festival in the world and the one arguably that puts more films into regular distribution orbit. While WIFF isn’t on the scale of TIFF I often say to people, “Why go to Toronto – and fight the crowds and difficulty obtaining tickets – when you can see some of the cream of the crop two months later in little old Windsor?”....To celebrate its 15th anniversary WIFF has extended its programming to 10 days, slotting more than 165 films and 277 screenings…..I like the couple of major innovations this year. The first is WIFF Alley. WIFF officials have taken notice of the fact audiences cut through the alley between the Capitol Theatre on University Ave. and the Chrysler Theatre on Riverside Dr. So they’ve decided to utilize it to show off, among other things, “incredible public art installations.” Likewise, the new WIFF Village will take over University Ave. immediately in front of the Capitol Theatre on the festival’s second weekend, featuring “live entertainment and signature events”….. Downtown Windsor really comes alive during WIFF – arguably the downtown’s most festive time of the year (the Santa Claus Parade is one day, this is 10) - and it might make sense in future years to theme the entire downtown with WIFF imagery, something the downtown BIA, a sponsor, could increasingly get involved in……While the festival has expanded to 10 days the price of a festival pass has gone up to $249 from $195 last year. This seems a bit steep; we'll see the uptake. As well, the festival continues to pretty much be a solely Windsor event. I’m in Detroit a lot and virtually no one I speak to there has ever heard of WIFF (though Detroit radio station WDET is a sponsor). That’s not necessarily a criticism of WIFF – the Windsor-Detroit area has long had huge psychological barriers when it comes to interacting with one another. And, maybe it’s best this way. After all, we don’t want to crowd out WIFF screenings to the point tickets are hard to come by…..So, just like the City of Windsor as a whole, I think of WIFF as a best kept secret.

From Iceland, Germany and Britain, three amazing films

Doubtful these films will see the light of day locally but I saw them this month at Montreal’s Festival of New Cinema (Festival du Nouveau Cinema) and thought them so good they’re worth writing about.

The first film was Echo by Icelandic director Runar Runarsson. It’s like nothing I’ve quite seen before. It’s a 79-minute film containing 56 vignettes of life in largely the city of Reykjavik leading up to and through the Christmas and New Year’s season. The film opens with a scene of stationary brushes at a car wash that seem like towering tropical plants; they come to life like swamp creatures as a car moves through them. The film's scenes are totally distinct from one another and each one carries a story in itself - snippets of life. A barn burns as the owner remembers good times that took place there. A janitor gets a phone call from her estranged spouse saying he’s taking the kids away for the holidays, despite it being her turn to have them; she breaks down in tears. A piano student smilingly rehearses a piece only to be upstaged by another child. A man with dementia in a nursing home, all dressed up, cannot understand what’s taking place around him. Butchers carving carcasses break into a joyful dance. Apartment dwellers take to the courtyard to set off a stream of fireworks. The director, present after the screening, said the vignettes were a combination of documentary and staging, and we could guess which were which! The shot of a live birth was very real, however. The score, hardly Christmas kitschy, helps maintain a meditative quality as we’re engrossed in every joyous and not so joyous scene, wishing the parade of them would never end.

The next film was System Crasher, by Nora Fingscheidt, Germany’s entry for best international film for the upcoming Oscars. It’s a portrait of Benni, a nine-year-old girl who was traumatized and has become an enfant terrible. Her mother refuses to take her in and the child welfare system can’t find a suitable home for her behavioral problems. The title comes from the fact the child can’t be placed in any proper facility. Benni is smart, witty but has an unpredictable temper and the smallest thing, from a look to a laugh from another person, can set her off in a violent torrent. A girl in her class mocks her trying to read a poem, Benni swiftly takes the girl’s head and bashes it into the desk. Benni must travel with an adult escort (Albrecht Schurch), a working-class guy who seems to make a breakthrough with her when social workers can’t. Fingscheidt took seven years to make this film and comprehensively studied the child welfare system; Benni is a composite of several problem children she encountered. What’s astonishing is that this film is not a documentary but drama, and Benni is played by child actor Helena Zengel, so good she’s now working in a film with Tom Hanks.

The third film was the British film Bait by Mark Jenkin. Wow, is this terrific! Totally unexpected, the film is shot in 16 mm black and white with a scratchy overlay, as though it was a film made decades ago and just found in an old beat-up trunk. As well, the shots are almost all close up or oblique, where we just catch a partial view, sometimes at an angle, of the subject matter – wine and cheese being deposited in a fridge, a fishing bucket dropped on a pier, bits of rope, the eyes and cheeks of a strained face. The story pits a vanishing breed of Cornish fishermen against upscale urban tourists (complete with Land Rover), who’ve bought up houses and rent them out for charming seaside idylls. Class conflict ensues between the two groups, all captured by bits of speech, grunts, and facial expressions. Jenkin provides no resolution to the clash though the film depicts the seething contempt under the surface of people whose way of life is threatened.

Oscar performace within questionable flick

Caution: spoiler alerts ahead…..Should you see Joker, directed by Todd Phillips, or shouldn’t you see Joker? Having seen it I’d advise not. Yes, Joaquin Phoenix as the DC comic character turns an amazing role but that was to be expected from one of the best American actors of our time. Utterly embodying this psychopathic killer Phoenix’s is a fluid performance of a demented character in his many manifestations, from calm and collected when not tormented, to unlimited guffawing when he is disturbed by an event, to a literally masked killer whose motives are unexpected and spontaneous. It’s more than an Oscar-worthy performance. Having said that it’s questionable what the film itself is all about. Yes, if you like watching psychopaths on screen here is a grand portrayal for the ages. But for what purpose and to what end? Those expecting Batman to appear will be disappointed; there’s no Bruce Wayne in sight, and therefore no triumph of good over evil. Yet the rest of the comic story is in place, with Joker a denizen of Gotham City which of course is New York and in this case New York at its modern low ebb circa early 1980s. Subway cars are strewn with graffiti, crime rampant, and city streets grimy and litter-filled. But if the missing Batman was Bruce Wayne in disguise there is another “Wayne” that makes an appearance: Thomas Wayne, New York’s outspoken businessman. Of course this character is a stand in for Donald Trump and the film might be described as an anti-Trump screed. It also sides with the Occupy Wall Street movement of a decade ago. Joker slaughters three investment bankers on the subway who were harassing a woman (wouldn’t it be more correct that petty criminals of the era had been doing this?) The murders spark widespread outrage against the ruling class or “one percenters” of our time. Thousands of people don clown masks, as per Joker, to demonstrate. But this political theme is ultimately undercut by the character’s innate madness. Are these murders class-based or simply Joker’s acting out against anyone who annoys him enough, including a Johnny Carson stand-in in the name of Murray Franklin (Robert De Niro)? So what does the movie all add up to? Not much, except, yes, a wrenching performance by Phoenix.

Four films hopefully coming to a theatre near you

Here are four capsule reviews of films I saw recently at New York art house cinemas, which may or may not be coming to a cinema in the Detroit-Windsor area, with the caveat that some of these may end up at the Windsor International Film Festival Nov. 1 – 10, getting underway in just a month’s time!

The Load (Ognjen Glavonić) is a 2018 Serbian film that takes place during the Bosnian War in the early 1990s. Valada, played by Leon Lučev, gets hired to drive a truck from Kosovo – site of massive NATO bombing – to Belgrade. He doesn’t know what’s in the van (he doesn’t ask employers) and must navigate through treacherous and bombed out roads to the capital. The film has been compared to The Wages of Fear (Henri-Georges Clouzet, 1953) but other than driving a truck on a perilous journey it isn’t edge of seat stuff.  What it is is a nuanced emotional drama as the workaday stiff Valada prosaically carries out his assignment. The subtlety of the acting is what matters and Lučev puts in an exceptional performance. 

Justin Chon’s Ms. Purple delves into the world of an estranged Asian-American family in Los Angeles. Kasie (Tiffany Chu) must resort to prostitution to pay for her dying father’s care while her layabout brother Carey (Teddy Lee) is ambivalent about pitching-in. The film is entitled “Purple” for an obvious on screen reference but the movie is thematically a noir, pitting good against evil in a maelstrom of corruption in Koreatown’s underworld. Great directing and acting.

Loro is yet another extravagant - and in some ways a choreographed masterpiece – by Paolo Sorrentino, a depiction of the gluttony of over the top materialism among Italy’s extreme upper class. In this case the subject is disgraced former Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi and his crowd of handlers and groupies (Loro is Italian for “them”). Like his 2013 film The Great Beauty, the director is obsessed with the theatre of the decaying elite, rotting before our eyes like overripe fruit, and he shows this through immense displays of bacchanalia. Berlusconi, played by Toni Servillo, comes across as not just corrupt but as an exceedingly charming and persuasive showman, though his speech about being representative of capitalism is nothing but the director’s, who co-wrote the script, own left wing political cant.

Miles Davis: Birth of the Cool is director Stanley Nelson’s tribute to perhaps the greatest modern jazz musician. Nelson covers all the bases in this almost two-hour long film, from the little-known story of Davis growing up in a household of combative parents in East St. Louis, to his joining the Billy Eckstine band and his meeting Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie. The film is best at pointing out the divide between Davis’s irascible and exceedingly cold exterior and the sublime emotional warmth of his songs, notably on cuts on the revolutionary albums Kind of Blue and Sketches of Spain. It also doesn’t spare Davis of his well-known personal flaws, indeed bad treatment of women including assaults, and his waves of drug addiction, remerging in the modern rock era as a jazz fusion artist. Strong interviews with various jazz greats (Herbie Hancock, Archie Shepp, Wayne Shorter, among others) give poignant comment, the one flaw being Davis’s most beloved wife Frances Davis who obviously can’t be accused of false modesty.