The Cinematic Experience of Forizzer

Day Four! One of the best days… on paper.

One of two Cannes winners on the day, La Pere Des Mes Enfants (or: Father of My Children) was one of my most anticipated of this years festival. It had a very contrived plot that occurs often in mainstream releases – a workoholic parent struggles to weigh both his family and business life evenly in the scale of his life goes through an arduous process to choose which is most important to him – but something about it made it sound more authentic and more rigorously achieved that I couldn’t pass it up. Perhaps it was the French accolade, but who knows. Regardless of pretense, I went into this with open arms, but only received a quick, lukewarm hug from the film and its – albeit particular – intention.

The film opens on a busy man by the name of Grégoire (Louis-Do de Lencquesaing), a well-dressed, intelligent and admirable film producer. One that doesn’t purchase film rights or fund features he isn’t completely indebted to in some emotional way. This, of course, causes financial problems as art features seldom bring in a big box office in take. He is swarmed in multiple obligations to his work – finding a place to shoot for the Korean filmmakers and finding funding for his favourite director who seems reminiscent of Lars von Trier, among other issues – as well as your regular fatherly issues. He has three daughters in Clemence (Alice de Lencquesaing), a beautiful 19 year old who is having some identity/body issues; although anyone with a common sense would describe her a beautiful in every imaginable way, Valentine (Alice Gautier), a precocious little girl who is as cute as a button and twice as well-rounded, and Billie (Manelle Driss) a 9 year old who is intelligent, quick-witted and encapsulates the ideal female child. With this marvelous family, and a somewhat urgent, somewhat pestilent romance with his wife Sylvia (Chiara Caselli), Gregorie manages to balance both workload and life. Sure, he pays more immediate attention to his burdening occupation, but in such a risky business who wouldn’t? He often has time for his children – taking them to ancient cathedrals and handing down your generic fatherly life lessons in apt fashion – so no harm no foul. Of course, the wife rides his back impatiently to keep his home life from fading into the background manifested by Gregorie’s money.

For the first half of the feature, Father of My Children takes on an unprecedented task in revealing the common working man as an imperfect, but seldom selfish caricature as so many features seem proud to do with condemnation. Gregorie’s life becomes so unbearable to witness that you feel the asphyxiation of his job and worriment as the lead character does. This opening hour or so is barely short of brilliant and encompasses a tout, rhythmic stringed score to keep the pacing from nodding off as per usual in this class of film.

…however, its the second half those watching should be worried about. Midway into the feature the story takes a perspective hop and focuses on the family life behind Gregorie and how the bills strain his family – leading this, of course, is Sylvia. The second half is what is entirely wrong with the film; the score goes from melodic to melodramatic, the performances go from refreshing and honest to typical and contrived, and the story goes from compelling story of making difficult decisions to an exhausting traipse. It isn’t terrible, but its enough to diminish the good fortune that was fabricated in the first half.

In the end, you’ll be stuck balancing near-masterpiece with near-trash and find yourself juggling thoughts on a definitive rating. On the one hand, you’ve got a delightful introspective into the lives of others – on the other, you’ve got a standoffish family drama that holds a candle next to your daily shown soap opera. It’s something to watch once – and the cast is exceptional, especially the obscure-even-for-an-international-actor Louis-Do de Lencquesaing in a heartbreaking, yet heartwarming role. It’s unforgettable, yet forgettable; a film you’ll be stuck on for awhile. [6/10]

Onto another feature that won big at Cannes – another Un Certain Regard – in Kynodontas (aka Dogtooth). It being another foreign feature I was anticipating immensely and it having just played after the poor second half of La Pere de mes Enfants, I was essentially open to anything. I’d heard it was sort of abstract, sort of surreal and not defined by its Greek origins, unlike previous praised features from Greece (see: Eduart) which helped me to accept it into my lineup less hesitantly.

In a sentence, the film blew my mind. It’s specializes in controversial situations, abstract humor, frantic characterization and above all, the logical deprivation of humanity. The story follows the least conventional household in existence – following a father (Christos Stergioglou) and mother’s (Michelle Valley) segregation of their children from the outside world; using them solely to sustain their entertainment and to prove to one and other that anything imaginable can be done with children depending on your mindset. Here the three presumably adopted children in Son (Hristos Passalis), Younger Daughter (Mary Tsoni) and Older Daughter (Aggeliki Papoulia) have been taught to be entirely obedient to their parents and are sufficiently in the dark about the outside world; literally afraid of anything outside the gate (known to them as one of their siblings) that keeps them sheltered from an average existence.

When Father brings home a casual acquaintance in Christina (Anna Kalaitzidou), she is paid to give his children some semblance of friendship. The *intrusion* of an outside person tilts their unbalanced world in the direction of fundamental society. It’s odd though, because Christina is paid to be a whore to an extent; giving sexual pleasure to the son and later on to the elder daughter in exchange for items – using her as her parents do. It’s this sick fascination with the story that puts Dogtooth above the majority of films you’ll see all year. It never holds back on expressing itself as direly as possible and it uses repelling sexual conduct to tell a more severe layer of affliction to the viewer.

You’d wonder where the humor is in this stark tale of degradation. Honestly, you’ll only find it if you have a warped grasp of the world or can place yourself in the shoes of someone who does for 90 minutes. All the humor is up to the viewer – some may be in fits of laughter where other may shed a tear imagining this taking place in contemporary society. There are scenes where the children are taught to bark like dogs when the family has to take their dog to get trained – so instead of being without a dog for a few weeks, the father puts his children in a dog-like state of mind. They bark, they obey… and their prize is that they get points/get to choose the family’s form of entertainment for an evening. It’s entirely incongruous, but it works on several levels – thus achieving the reaction director-writer Giorgos Lanthimos appeared to be aiming for.

In my honest opinion, everyone with a keen inkling for international cinema needs to give this film a once over. It’d be a dubious statement to say it’ll please everyone, but for the people that can take Dogtooth for what it is, they’re bound to justly take in one of the only contemporary surreal masterpieces. The cast is phenomenal, the shock value is a constant presence and the story is unmatched in malicious creativity: I can’t say enough about this film. [9/10]

Onto another film that would’ve been great if not for an upsetting final act: Mika Kaurismaki’s The House of Branching Love. If you’re accustomed to the Kaurismaki’s  (both Aki and Mika) style, you know that you’ll receive at least two constructive aspects from any of their films: stable performances and a beautiful visual design. Of course I wouldn’t use those two to define their separate works if Mika’s latest didn’t follow that trend.

The film opens on a disgruntled married couple in Juhani (Hannu-Pekka Björkman) and Tuula (Elina Knihtilä) – your average work-a-day slums. Juhani has the least glamorous job of the two; he works as a social councilor for mundane issues, but typically romantic affairs. On the other hand, Tuula works as… well we never really find that out, but she’s semi-successful – drives a nice car, affords most of their well endowed home, etc… – with an aggressive demeanor. In this scenario, both people in the relationship have apparent flaws, and since we are thrown into the conclusion of their routine we have to apply their traits to those we are familiar with and pick a side when it comes to the fraught encounters.

The two decide on a new way of life from here on out: they’ll share the abode with a list of rules (that they obviously cannot stick to for very long) to keep them at bay with one and other, and to an extent, content. When bitter Juhani feels true repugnance from his wife, he decides to break one of the carnal rules that he devised and brings home a woman to sleep with. Of course this won’t fly in Tuula’s home, so her brief appearance in Juhani’s quaint basement room brings an abrupt end to any tomfoolery. Then Tuula feels betrayed by her ex-husband, so she asks a good looking gentleman from across the way to fly his boat-plane over to her place to get better acquainted. Essentially the story is immature and asinine but works entirely on a comedic level, so you forgive the obvious play on relationships and allow the nonsense into your mind, and at times, your heart.

Their poor relationship takes on further complications when Juhani decides to do some real emotional damage to his ex. He calls up his estranged brother, Wolffi (Annti Reini) and asks to borrow one of his many floozies for a week. Wolffi says he’ll have to pay 200 dollars a day for the woman – a price he chops down to 1000 for the week out of his definition of a “good heart”. He lends out a playful and rather lovely young woman named Nina (Anna Easteden) who is a bind herself. The police think she pushed a coworker from a third story building and took a satchel of money, while she claims she didn’t kill her or take the money; of course her being a prostitute, the police think otherwise. Here is the primary source of the film’s issues: the crime/thriller aspect. It feels so tacked on – the police perspective and humor is poor to an outrageous extent. If the story stayed segregated from any other genre apart from the comedy/romance one it applies so well to the screen, it would’ve easily been deemed great by this viewer.

Anyhow since it is an integral part of the feature, I suppose it has to remain in my review. Here a minimal romance brews between the sensational Nina and the obese Juhani in a cute but flimsy way. It’s skated over in a literal sense – right after they go rollerskating they are immediately intimate it seems – and doesn’t add anything bulky to either characterization. In fact, the only thing that gives Nina any sort of true character is when she confronts her criminal issues head-on… and those are rarely prevalent.

All of this is fine until the final 15 minutes – which is devised with infinitely more coincidence than conviction, trying to place humor inward to lighten the heavily poor blow. It’s offensive to any viewer’s intelligence to witness this take place – the final image is laughable at best. It’s a mixed bag, but almost entirely entertaining. Solid performances from the cast with a delightful visual spark that is far from as creative as Mika can do, but its still notches above the norm. See it for a few hefty laughs but nothing more. [6/10]

Speaking of spectacular visual designs – the next feature I saw blew me away with its masterful sense of a grim color palette and a worldly grip on a post-apocalyptic setting. The film – yet another highly anticipated feature by me – is The Road and its one of the many films as of late that prove that you can be quite successful without any conviction. Whether you’re working with a hollow script or manufactured performances, all you need to convey a message is a worldly sense of the story’s setting.

Set in an undetermined year in the future, The Road analyzes what we could succumb to. There’s no individual reason behind the barren landscapes, but we know that there are certain survivors and almost all of them have grown to live off of human flesh, as animals are a species of the past. The story follows an earnest father (Viggo Mortensen) and son (Kodi Smit-McPhee) as they trek across vacant land, hoping to make it to the seaside and escape the hell that their previously stable country has collapsed into. They battle intense illness, prolonged starvation and rampant, immoral humans; suffer strife in nearly every area on their journey. Isolated, their blood bond keeps them from devolving into what is now perceived as the norm; cannibalism. The cannibalistic creation is a well-thought idea, but when written to the screen it realizes its transparent nature. Why is this father and son couple able to sustain existence without becoming animals? Surely there are other father and sons living as cannibals, so why are they so different? Here the writing is so black and white that its comparable only to Oreo’s eaten in 1930’s features. It’s amusing, but not intellectually stimulating by any means.

The dialogue that the two spit out reveals itself as false and the humanity aspect of the feature exudes a fabricated sensation. Their conversations ramble on and on and neither performance radiates the honest feeling they should. In particular, its the youth in Smit-McPhee that feels the most false. His whining portrayal as the son and interaction with Mortensen is standoffish and is an entirely annoying endeavor. No matter how well he masks his native Australian accent, it hardly makes up for the complete misfire of a performance he induces into the film.

The “best” example of the script’s issues is a peak moment in viewer-story connection that adamantly showcases the forgery discharged. There’s a scene where the son scrounges up a Coca Cola from a vending machine, leading the father and son to dwell on the dissipated past whilst discussing the “bubbly goodness” of the beverage. This sounds sympathetic enough to create a semblance of viewer-character identification in concept, but finds itself far and away from the mark in execution. The exchange between the two primary characters reveals itself more as obligatory product placement than a sincere gesture towards the viewer; the line delivery from the two weak performers finds itself in a most precarious position. If without dialogue, this scene would’ve been emotionally powerful, honest, refreshing; an entire success. This applies to the majority of the feature – if without dialogue and only driven by gestures between characters, the possibilities for the final product would have been endless.

Although the script is lacking in the warmth it tries to assemble with human interaction – holding the viewer in a spectator’s position -, John Hillcoat’s bleak and sinister vision for the feature is more than suitable and is one of the finest single achievements in cinema this year. He represents the material in the most apt fashion; utilizing the desolate plains to their most complimentary. The score by Nick Cave and Warren Ellis imbue the father and son’s passage with more effect solidarity and truly enhance the viewer’s experience of the feature. The prodigious atmosphere created is intelligently nurtured – constructing itself into a truly harrowing possibility and hardly a cinematic parallel.

Even though the world created is poignant, the story at hand keeps it from being the potential masterpiece many imagined. Seldom do you encounter a true conversation between the father and son, the majority of positives is found when they encounter a nearly ancient blind man (Robert Duvall in the only impressive performance) slowly making his way up a street. There is finally some tension between the father and son which is built up in a smart, yet delicate fashion. It works as ray of hope in the diminished script – almost symbolic in the film at hand – but loses all integrity when the child lambastes his father in the most immature monologue imaginable – promptly bringing the script back down from its highest point.

Even with all these flaws, I’m willing to take this feature as a stylish piece – forgetting the substance it elementarily tries to evoke – and call it great in that respect because I’ll do anything to extract as much as possible from any given feature. The collaborated minds of Hillcoat, cinematographer Javier Aguirresarobe and composers Nick Cave and Warren Ellis amount to a monumental aura. It’s bound to immerse any viewer in the world created – its only the performances that clash with this refined imagination. A film that’s entirely watchable; a story that’s very compelling; and an intent that’s more admirable than brilliant – The Road is a journey that would’ve been best taken with a vow of silence. [7/10]

The final film of the evening was the highly touted Hong Kong action feature Accident. Formulated like every other HK action film, I wasn’t expecting much. Where I felt The Departed was one of the strongest crime-thrillers of the decade, I felt Infernal Affairs to be very mundane, very slowly paced. To this day, I’ve yet to really give in to a feature way of Hong Kong and Accident certainly wasn’t the feature to break down that wall.

Opening on a terribly fun action sequence, Accident cuts right to the thick of the story. It doesn’t waddle around the main plot with various sideplots or meaningless conversations – everything that takes place within the confinements of this 90 minute feature are entirely about the four lives of these hitmen and woman and their professional endeavors. Their job? To create scenarios in which the people they aim to kill will die – making the death looking completely like an accident. This group battles other competitors – apparently they aren’t the only team of assassins who work in this special category. A story oozes the Hong Kong essence – the bizarre crime subgenre (see: Mad Detective) where they are both imaginative and witty. But along somewhere along the lines the story becomes too stoic and calm for its own good. It’s an energetic plot with a very calm execution.

The focal point of the story is Brain (Louis Koo), the intellectual leader. He plans out everything in his quiet apartment – from the correct co-ordinations for the scenario to play out without a hitch to the roles that each of the five participants need to be in. Their each given a craft role to transform the seemingly ordinary scenarios into a malicious and bloody twist of fate. However, Brain encounters problems his once reliable group of killers buckle to the exhaustion that the job entails. The elder of the group, Uncle (Shui-Fan Fung) is far past his prime and is slipping into a state of Alzheimer’s.

In the process of executing their next plan something goes wrong. A reliable member of the group in the unyielding and generally fun Fatty (Suet Lam) dies in a botched job. But Brain is too smart to see the incident to be so little as to be an accident; he takes immediate action against those who are trying to wipe them out. Paranoid ensues in the mind of Brain and the story slips into an area of complexity that will lose some with the added factor of subtitles.

As I said earlier, the direction of the script plays out very quietly. There is never an indication of a Hollywood factor – though I suppose anyone tired of the constant pushing of a story will breathe this in easily – which works both as a positive and negative. The assembling of the feature isn’t as lively as the plot would indicate which leads to boredom and further audience complications. The script is very witty and plays on several contemporary issues in frothy manner (ie. job loss) by serving peculiar situations. It’s a semi-enjoyable flick that is amassed with intricacy and a devoted lead performance that concludes with one of the best climaxes/endings of the festival. It wasn’t lively enough to keep me enthusiastic for large portions, but viewing it solely as a work of art it’s a solid feature. Accident seldom makes mistakes and is as wise as its lead character is clever. [7/10]

A disappointing day. Not in that all the features weren’t great, but in that I expected to see Up in the Air’s premiere but didn’t get to because of the hype around it causing a quick sell-out and me being ineligible to get a ticket. So I saw the “free surprise screening” which was very disappointing in comparison to my anticipation for Reitman’s latest.

First up was one the most appealing features that was debuting at TIFF. It’s called The Day God Walked Away and it follows one woman’s struggle through a sin-stricken Rwanda during the genocide.

The film opens on a fairly young woman named Jacqueline (the inexperienced Ruth Nirere) saying her goodbyes to the family she was a maid to. She frantically speaks of where her two boys are to the caring, but not overly concerned Belgian couple she tends to. In a sentence, they want to high-tail it out of there, but they insist that Jacqueline not go look for her children in the blood-soaked streets because they’ll do their best to come back for her. After a few agonizing minutes of hearing the animal-like chants of the Hutus, she disbands her original plans and runs into the endless forest that Kigali provides. This is essentially the entirety of the plot; a woman running around a forest trying to escape the violence surrounding her, all the while contemplating her personal issues (ie. the loss of her children).

Midway through the story, Jacqueline happens upon an injured man. As never seen in a feature before, she sterilizes his wound with her urine. Immediately, they have a personal connection, but Jacqueline is far too strained to take on any romantic entanglement at this time. As the story progresses, you see the man’s attempts at sexual relations and the woman’s resistance. It isn’t a superb feature in this aspect, but it does highlight the will to survive by each of them – but especially the protagonist in Jacqueline.

This story is very exhausting in general. It doesn’t showcase the horrors of Rwanda and is rather against portraying violence. However, first time director/long time cinematographer Philippe Van Leeuw really does well with the material. This film and the locations it is set on are a cinematographer’s dream. He slowly reveals tense scenarios in a calming light; he enhances the horror that the jungles of that time provided; he easily creates one worrisome atmosphere for the viewer.

But no amount of fervor provided can keep this feature from meddling around in itself for far too long. The 100 minutes feel more like 180 and the story builds up to very little climax. In the end you get a semi-acceptable lead performance that would have received accolades if a well versed actress took on the role, a few outstanding shots and an ending that doesn’t satisfy in anyway. It’s somewhat enthralling, somewhat emotionally engaging and somewhat earnest. [5/10]

After strongly taking to Lav Diaz’s Melancholia earlier this year at Cinematheque Ontario, an urge for more Filipino cinema. When I heard of Raya Martin’s Independencia and saw the beautiful stills from the feature, I was immediately hooked.

However, like a fish biting down on a seemingly harmless worm, I was caught and taken on a terrible ride. Not to say that Independencia is one of the worst films of the year, but it was a grating experience that had lots to say, but little to offer – constantly trying to speak to its audience about the power of industry and fable, but seldom connection with anything valid.

Although you haven’t seen a film like this in your life the story remains completely familiar. There’s a whimsical wonder about this that keeps its viewers invested, but only visually. The story trails an unnamed man referred to as Son (Sid Lucero) in the credits. It tells his story of being a tribal warrior in parallel to other families living amongst common society – telling a general tale of how the strong survive and how the weak fall to peril, primarily.

When the villagers believe that God is angry at them – artillery shells fall in their humble home – they run into the forests believe they’ll be safe there. Here is where Son reigns supreme. He tells story after story about his strong family values to strangers, but mainly one consisting of how fearless his father was and how he killed hundreds of venomous snakes. This stably shows how much of an impact the strength of pride means to these less civilized people.

Cut into these slow segments are absurdest newscasts about the military success in the unfamiliar lands. They provide a humorously ironic introspective into the American mindset of war and sustaining control of a place they’re not concerned with.

All in all, this film is a gigantic bore. I’m sure it captures the atmosphere needed to appreciate an old fashioned Filipino folklore – what with all the silent film photography attributing to a very classical aura – but as I, and many other viewers, are not of this nationality, it comes off rather trite and excessive. Even though it clocks in at just over an hour, the pacing is terrible to a gnawing point. It’s semi-intelligent and showcases some solid performances, but there’s little character development and even less to be spoken about the country. A disappointment from top to bottom. [4/10]

Next up is one of the most engaging films about film you’ll see this decade. It’s a documentary about the unfinished project by Henri-Georges Clouzot called L’enfer – a feature that was eventually made conventionally by Claude Chabrol in 1994.

The film recounts Clouzot’s snowballing obsessiveness with this feature. When he first prompted the idea to heads at Warner Brothers, they were so impressed that they gave him an unlimited bank roll. Imagine that: a never ending amount of money to make this dream project with no producers attached. Either you’re going to get a brilliant outcome or a collision consisting of endless possibilities. Of course, the latter happened and the story that unfolds in front of the audience is as tragic as it is visually enrapturing.

The whole film documents the ascent and descent of the project as told by several participants; mainly young crew members, but it all sounds legitimate. Sliced into the menial interviews is footage from the feature including the hallucinatory styling that Clouzot was so adamant to capture on this film. What’s shown appears to be the marks of a true existentialist befitting himself into an absurd atmosphere – the collapse of logical thought. Director Serge Bromberg actively showcases this feeling by imbuing a state of alarm from his interviewees that come off a tad manipulative and give off the antagonistic impression of one of France’s most popular (see: greatest) directors of all-time.

The footage of the initial feature is all selected from the hundreds of reels shot by Clouzot. There is no soundtrack to accompany to visual, but Bromberg does exceedingly well to create what sounds you’d assume would be behind these fascinating marvels of film.

There is just something off about the editing. Bromberg tends to cut away from some of the more interesting aspects that Clouzot’s mind had to offer – for example, the storyboards in which he spent countless hours on perfecting – whereas he exploits the arduous task of getting up early to comply with Clouzot’s demands from the cast to a maximum. The film has suffers from MES (multiple ending syndrome) which makes the feature seem almost endless and exhausting in the final stages.

Other than these few nit-picky flaws, it’s a very insightful and captivating little documentary. It pleases me to hear its picked up distribution so quickly (especially from an international country like the UK) and I hope for the best for this little film. A true film for film fanatics that rarely eases on the accelerator. [8/10]

Due to the fact that Up in the Air had the most exclusive premiere of the festival (Gala included) and that only 6 non-donors were able to muster tickets, it was obvious that I wasn’t going to get to attend. So after L’enfer I rushed over to AMC and snagged myself a ticket for the free surprise screening. Unfortunately the biggest surprise of the screening was that the film wasn’t good.

The film is Making Plans for Lena, Christophe Honore’s latest film. After loving Love Songs last year and becoming more familiar with his work over the past 18 months, I was pretty interested when Cameron Bailey announced the title. However, the story plays out as a traditionalist French family drama from beginning to end. It would be entirely predictable if not for the side-step at the end to avoid being a gigantic cliche – really the only area in the script that keeps the film from being an utter waste of time.

The story is simple: Lena (Chiara Mastroianni) is has an endless supply of family issues. She’s recently just gone through a sticky divorce, one in which her two young children were obviously emotionally affected, and wants a getaway at her parents house. There’s Annie (Marie-Christine Barrault) the nagging, hypocritical mother that rides Lena’s back at every opportunity imaginable and Michel (Fred Ulysse), a kind-hearted, hard-working traditionalist. When Lena goes up to her parents, she’s accompanied by her brother and sister – it’s a very lovely gathering. The atmosphere changes heavily when Annie invites Lena’s ex-husband Nigel (Jean-Marc Barr) up for no reason other than to torture her daughter some more.

So the audience digests more mother-daughter dysfunction, the story muddles around in itself for an hour, nothing is really resolved and you get to Lena and Nigel trying to reconcile. This works to an extent – as does the rest of the film – but like previous incidents, Honore tries to exploit the good moments which only diminish the previous success with the pursuit of glory.

In the end, you receive a very solid cast that rise above the caricature-esque characters they’re given. If not for Chiara Mastroianni almost completely misplaying the role of Lena, this could have been at least an average affair; it’s the supporting cast that backs her up very well. They’re quite genuine – Chiara is as well, but there’s something completely off-putting about her character that makes you cringe. Personally, I’ve become exhausted with the triteness that comes with generic family studies – no matter how quirky or serious – and this falls into that category with ease. A film I hope to never endure again, but one that I wouldn’t tell people to avoid because I see this being taken to by the general public fairly well. [3/10]

After that French mess, I was practically preying for a movie to pick me up. And what better film to do so than one that renounces what we know as God?

The film: Enter the Void. The director: Gaspar Noé. His reputation: Eh… unsettling, to be safe. He’s been called warped, perverted, mentally imbalanced and tactless – among other things. He’s stirred up controversy with both of his previous features in Irreversible and I Stand Alone - each of which features an inexplicably shocking scene that either reels the viewer and has them talking about it for weeks on end or it turns the viewer off and, you know, adds to the dystrophy of Noé’s reputation. With his latest feature, there is never one of these moments to divert or entrance the attention of the viewer; the feature comes off as euphoric as one would imagine, though through the eyes of a dark mind at work.

As tough a film to astutely review, Enter the Void is quite fragmented. There is very little in terms of structure – the majority of the film cuts to and from present and past events that Oscar (Nathaniel Brown) has experienced/is experiencing. Twenty minutes into the feature, Oscar gets shot after a miscommunication between police and the young druggie – and when that happens, his spirit leaves the body and a whole new type of cinematic experience begins.

In Enter the Void, there is hardly any story to be told. After Oscar dies, there are flashbacks that his spirit encounters after seeing people or objects that reanimate past memories almost instantly. He’s brought back into the present by falling into an assortment of lights in a very hallucinatory fashion. As the mind often works, you recall the more impressionistic memories more often – the flashbacks commission the exact same order. An impacting car accident, speaking somberly to his younger sister as children and his first trip to Tokyo frequent his memory streamline more often than the rest; causing distress and at times depression for the viewer watching the colorful and imaginative feature unfold.

The plot is barren, the character development for anyone but Oscar is essentially bare, but what Noé gets at with this film is far more contemplative than any formula or manufactured story could behold. To fill in the time between the flashbacks that give viewers an essence of Oscar’s past is a primary plot of Linda (Paz de la Huerta), his live-in sister’s grieving. She takes to Oscar’s demise with rough tears and torment, all the while considered disposable flesh by the owner of the strip club she’s employed at. In the other more complex story is Alex’s (impressive debut performance by Cyril Roy) struggle for survival in the chill backstreets of Tokyo. He witnessed Oscar’s death and, it seems, the officials that tended to Oscar’s murder are after him to cover up and signs of unintelligent play by the police, as Alex was murdered under terrible pretenses. Neither of these stories are incredibly engaging, but the directorial work is. The mixing up of birdseye view and various other torqued visual perspectives make for the utmost engaging theatrical experience.

Enter the Void is a lucidly bold examination on the possibilities of the soul wandering postmortem. It dissects one of the most contemplated speculations that man has cogitated for centuries through multiple exotic movements that will enamor any fan of the metaphysical. Without hesitation, I can fervently say that Noé’s latest is a directorial masterwork – a film that is so powerful in its intent that the scriptural flaws pale deathly in comparison; becoming void of consideration. [10/10]

My first full day of the festival! This was the only day in which I had to put in a literal filler into my lineup (Huacho) because of a less-than-amazing schedule. Solid day though – no film was terrible and quite a few were great.

My first morning screening was The Happiest Girl in the World. If you know me, you know that I have an obsession with Romanian New Wave, so this was quite high on my anticipation. It isn’t a fantastic feature, nor an incredibly creative one, but it does happen to be a delightful little film that aptly chronicles the teenage tragedy.

With a cute lead performance – as well as a crass supporting cast – The Happiest Girl in the World sports honesty above all else. The character interactions are meaningful and overtly sincere to both its teenage and adult viewers; hardly ever being a one-sided affair.

The script takes pride in making the making the parent/child dynamic as uncomfortable as possible: creating unparalleled tension with the wants and needs of the family’s lives through an assortment of awkward pauses that occur regularly and humorously.

Coating the heart of the story is the (overly) plain plot that is maintained in true Romanian New Wave fashion. Taking place within a single day, the story consists of a teenager on the verge of womanhood, but is already stuck in a tired routine, and therefore an early aged rut. The girl is Delia (Andreea Bosneag) and she has recently won a contest through an orange juice company – her prize: a new car. It wasn’t a difficult win – she sent in three bottle labels and by the luck of the draw won one of the many cars on display.

Throughout the story, our annoyingly immature protagonist whines and pleads with her parents for the car. She doesn’t care for their needs – their financial instability and worriment for the impending future – because her eyes are focused solely on obtaining an impressive little automobile. Her parents’ rational alternative to her inane want is for them to sell the car, get their small business off the ground, pay for Delia’s college tuition in a few months and then in two years, when she actually has her license and they’re well set economically, they’ll buy her a new car. She persists that she never got a fair shake in their home – that they never did anything expensive for her and focused on themselves. Here is where the audience has to take a side – the conflicting sides make for an interesting conversation with self and whose side you take depends entirely on your life experience/judge of character.

Later on her reasoning becomes about as asinine as one could imagine – she just wants the car to flaunt around with her friend and go to the beach. A very youthful notion and a fine one as well, but due to the recent economic fluctuation, its either sell now or sell never; driving it once would decrease the value significantly.

Outside this meandering, but honest take on contemporary issues there lays a preliminary plot – the contest regulations. Delia has to do a 35 second plug for the juice company which is found too difficult a task for the teen. She constantly messes up the simple line she has to speak – “my name is Delia Fratilia and I am the luckiest, happiest girl in the world” – which is easily attributed to the outward family breakdown. Every event becomes a mess which causes for humorous complications and where most of the comedy lays in this feature.

The conclusion/climax does well to justify Delia’s means; making the viewer at least a little bit sympathetic to her situation and a tad comprehensible to her actions.

All in all, The Happiest Girl in the World will have you emotionally invested from start to finish. Its dryly comical and unconventional take on what would be an uplifting and obvious Hollywood feature is refreshing, but hardly to any fan of the recent Romanian wave. It waddles around its importance a bit too much and the lead character is one of the most frustrating of the year. In fact almost all the characters are gnawing, but that’s when you know a cast has done its job effectively – when you feel passionately about their performances; even in a negative context. Its amusing; its refreshing; its Romanian. [7/10]

Next up is Huacho – a Chilean feature that wasn’t high on my radar and is the only film I’d call a filler in my lineup all festival. To be honest, I got exactly what I figured I would get, so it wasn’t too bad time spent, but certainly not ideal.

A decadent little feature, Huacho is composed of four stories spawning from each diverse member of a quaint little family in Huacho, Peru. The film aptly shows the distinctions between generations and sexes in this quiet country village; displaying that we in more fortunate society aren’t too different from the men, women and children across the border.

The film opens on the family of four preparing for their day by cherishing brief time with one and other around the breakfast table, prior to getting on with their daily routine.

The first story that stems from this humble abode is Clemira (Clemira Aguayo), who is the adhesive that holds this unconventional home (at least by North American standards) together; the grandmother. She works with a few other elderly women – making cheese in difficult and dirty conditions and selling the wrapped up dairy product on roadside to passersby. This is found difficult when the economic turmoil surrounding the village eventually collapses onto the earnest folk and is cause for a sad price increase for even the most ordinary products (milk, for example) which makes life difficult. Of course, you can’t make cheese without milk, so grandmother’s simple tasks now descry as more arduous. She never complains, decries or gives up because like stated earlier, she is the fundamental stone that keeps this home intact.

The next story follows the mother in an exhausted storyline. Alejandra (Alejandra Yanez) is Clemira’s daughter; a housemaid for a wealthier, whiter family than hers. The lady she works for is fair about the pay she gives Alejandra, so when she asks for pay in advance for the nth straight week and her employer declines, you don’t feel anything for the ‘protagonist’ in this situation. She comes off rather jejune and vapid – taking away from all the ardent intent that preceded in grandmother’s story.

We move onto Manuel’s (Manuel Hernandez) storyline. He’s your typical preteen; slightly angst-ridden, intelligent but wandering and a bit pathetic. His story is heartbreaking as you see the social distance between him and richer classmates being enforced by the air of superiority. When a classmate brings in a PSP, Manuel is very deterred and only wishes he could be as fortunate. This will be an emotional wallop to anyone who has been in a less fortunate financial situation as this peerless boy looks as if he is crying on the inside. He loves losing himself in a fantastical world – we learn this from his arcade adventures – so being denied a touch of the item does ring sincere and less infantile than one would expect. Not to say the story is a complete success as the child does hop on one’s nerves from time to time with his selfish behavior – distancing the connection.

The final story is very commonplace; very pedestrian. It tells the simple tale of Cornelio (Cornelio Villagran) the grandfather of the home. He’s worked onerously day in and day out for decades and doesn’t plan on stopping any time soon. He builds fences and appears to really enjoy his outdoor labor, even if it is a bit redundant. After work, he enjoys kicking back with old friends and regaling on the glory days. This was my favourite segment as it told so much about one character with very little exertion. Cornelio is one of the most genuine characters I’ve seen in quite some time, which can easily be attributed to many factors, but I like to think that it was the performer’s simplistic and humanistic portrayal that did the most good.

All in all, this film was a rather solid success. If not for the mother’s terribly obvious story and bits of the child’s this would’ve been one of, if not, the best feature I’d have seen at TIFF. Because of these flaws, I’ll map out my grade for this in the most straightforward way imaginable: 2.5/4: two points for the grandparents and half a point for the child. Perfect. [7/10]

TIFF’s opening night gala – and one of the most anticipated features of the year – is Creation. The thought of Paul Bettany in what could be his well-deserved first Oscar nominated role had me giddy with excitement and Darwin’s life sounded like a thoroughly interesting one, so this was quite high up on my list. Unfortunately, Creation isn’t as inspiring or, well, creative as the title indicates.

The film kicks off with Charles Darwin (Paul Bettany) already in the latter stages of life. His marriage with first-cousin Emma (Jennifer Connelly) is slowly disintegrating as his boundless research has taken a stranglehold on Mr. Darwin’s life. So much that it is in fact killing the man. Instantly I have an issue with the formula of Jon Arniel’s view on Darwin’s way of living because he, like many other failed filmmakers, try to take the shock away from incestuous relations by presenting them as casual – as they of course were in previous centuries. This would be all fine and dandy if it wasn’t brought up as critical in later stages making the calmness of the love affair seem cynical and against the norm in then contemporary UK. In any mindset, you don’t go into a Darwin film expecting blatantly trite soap-opera affairs. This one misstep alone infuriated me because it deliberately took time away from telling the real story at hand in order to manifest some unwarranted animosity.

As expected, more of this becomes prevalent throughout the course of the feature (unnecessary drama, I mean) which spins what could have been an interesting scientific feature into your typical Hollywood melodrama vehicle that churns out more cheese than a pizzeria. All of this calculates itself into an unfortunately bland film because I can assure you that a film entirely about Darwin’s intellectual demeanor and studies would’ve fared sufficient enough in providing the viewer with drama, conflict and insight.

The story – no matter how fragmented in structure – remains tired and predictable without a dab of tension or truculent intent. Writer John Collee hardly ever tries to apply the understandings of Darwin much at all – leaving plentiful space void of any sincere characterization; displaying Darwin simply as a fatherly shell. Fortunately, Bettany’s ability to muster up sincerity is enough to save the role from being as disoriented as Collee’s scripture formula. He keeps Darwin from becoming too stiff – giving him an emotional core for all viewers to warm up to. He is indisputably the saving grace of this otherwise mediocre affair.

What will be found as most bothersome to viewers is the completely lacking integration of science into the film. Apart from a marvelous stop-motion segment judiciously boasting Darwin’s perception on the bleak circle of life, any scene concocted plays on the human condition and uses science solely as a backdrop for the main character.

There is a fair bit of interest that comes with the family dynamic that the feature presents. Looking at it as a regulated family drama, it’s decent. There are a fair few sentimental scenes between Charles and his daughter Annie (Martha West) that will keep those watching invested for at least a few minutes, even if Annie does come across as a sociopath. Then of course you have the country’s outlook on mischievous ‘ol Darwin that supplies an exhaustively pronounced perspective, as well as similar conflicts with Emma Darwin that result in the same detriment to the genius. All of this plays out as typically as one would expect – it isn’t terrible, but it is a far shot from being great.

More period-set soap opera than Blossoms in the Dust; more dulling than insightful; more Jane Austen than Charles Darwin, Creation is a rambling family drama that is happy to frolic in convention throughout its entirety. [5/10]

Dagur Kari’s latest film, The Good Heart is an ironic and uncomfortable fish out of water tale. Its about a bitter, lonely man taking a young, soft-spoken homeless man under his begrudged wing in hopes to keep the business thriving long after his ill-ridden body falls to its inevitable demise. The script (also hemmed by Kari) slowly reveals the traits that complete the two leads through slow and seamless craftsmanship. Very little seems false – plenty is wisely coalesced and serves as a great dish to ponder for the typical thinking man.

The two men – the crass, tawdry Jacques (Brian Cox) and giving, prudent Lucas (Paul Dano)  – begin an unlikely friendship when both are placed in the same critical care room at one of New York’s hospitals; one each has attended several times prior. Lucas’ case is that he tried to commit suicide – his life is impetuous and he was always oft on the verge of this fate. It’s not that he’s a supremely depressed man – he just holds no purpose in this cosmos. He is the single most selfless character I’ve seen displayed on film all decade – this thought is only cemented when, just prior to slitting his wrists, he gives his minuscule and dirty cardboard shack to a stray kitten. His kindness is limitless, so of course when he meets Jacques there’s an uneasy, but humorous tension that stems from their interaction.

Jacques on the other hand is antagonistic, foul-mouthed, selfish and above all, a deviant. He owns a local bar that he bought for cheap after the government seized the property a few years prior and drinks as much as you’d expect a lonely barkeep would. He’s on heart attack number five; one number higher than the amount of regular customers he has and a number infinitely larger than the amount of friends and family he has. All Jacques has going for him is a bad heart and a loyal dog that is as gloomy as the city surrounding them both.

Of course, when Jacques essentially forces Lucas to be son-like there’s a lot of humor involved. Dark humor, but humor nonetheless. Lucas’ blank expressions that resemble the words “what am I doing here?” after many of Jacques’ tirades are comical genius and it is a spectacle to watch Cox and Dano play off one and other once more, in a different light.

The only area where the film declines in the final 10 minutes or so. From the first encounter between the two characters, you have a strong inkling about how the film is going to end and you often wonder if Kari will take a different route to get across the message he so dearly wants to spread. Unlike Noi Albinoi, he doesn’t drop a bombshell on the viewers and force them to emotionally invest in the ending. Here it’s rather the opposite as he panders to his American crowd by giving them what they expect.

There are hints of genius, two great performances and a story that is meshed together by a safe balance of tension and humor. The Good Heart’s spreads across a message of peace and understanding and is only held back by its shying away from what our existence truly represents. [8/10]

Andrea Arnold’s latest film about women finding themselves in dangerous situations is Fish Tank. Prior to seeing this feature, I was a bit skeptical. I really liked the synopsis, but Arnold’s last (and only feature to date) Red Road was far from my cup of tea. The pacing had a difficult groove to get into and the story was too emotionally enigmatic for me to enjoy. So while expecting a solid outing from this flick, I was able to keep my expectations from running wild with me.

The film, essentially a coming of age story, is masked by the environment in which Mia (Kate Jarvis) lives. She’s 15 and every bit as aggressive and bitter as the ghetto she lives in. Her only escape from this trapping existence is her dancing; break, mostly. For no apparent reason, she is left friendless when her best friend decides to shun her – and even though she puts forth a hardened shell, she is undeniably devastated and vulnerable. This is where we meet John (Michael Fassbinder), a handsome, kind man that is dating Mia’s mother; a foul, mean.spirited woman who lives her life more recklessly than Mia or her hilariously vulgar 9 year old sister Tyler (Rebecca Griffiths). Slowly, but surely Mia begins to fall for John’s charm. At times it appears as if Mia’s mother can smell the slow-burning romance beneath her nose – at others she just seems vindictive against her offspring because they ruined her youth as it would only be logical to think that she gave birth to Mia as a teenager, as she looks no older than 30 herself.

In an additional segment about a chained up horse, we get to learn more about Mia’s personal code and a large amount of introspect into what characteristics define her as well. She, like the horse, feels trapped and affiliates her situation with the stallion so intensively that she feels in order for herself to be free, she must free the animal. Throw off the chains and saddle – that sort of mindset. Because of this, she finds herself in precarious positions that usually involve her safety being put on the line.

As the film progresses, you get quiet hints as to why Mia cares for John so severely. A few instances would be that he’s the only nice person to her, he has issues with a mother that rides his back constantly, he enjoys losing himself in music and he’s handsome. Of course, all of these positive traits are enhanced because of Mia’s current mindset and aching loneliness. All of this elevates to a point where Mia finds herself counteracting her own code to spend alone time with John. In this scene, she traps and abets the murder of a vastly free fish as opposed to releasing a life that’s captured.

Essentially you must be curious as to what Fish Tank can be interpreted as, so I’ll give you my interpretation. You see, Mia is trapped (effectively put forth by the 4:3 cropped cinematography – putting our heroine in a literal box) like a fish in its tank. She only ever feels free when she dances (swimming) and only ever dances in a vacant room that has a faded blue paint job. When someone apart from ragtag sex hounds in junkyards take interest to her, her tank expands and she’s allow a breath of fresh air. When she feels betrayed or anxious, she resorts to her typical state; closing herself off from others to take in the bass-booming waves within the confinements of her tank, swimming until she’s too tired to care any longer or until her hearts content.

The final act resembles, yet exceeds the realistic chase sequences found in Arnold’s Red Road. One of the most frenzied scenes of the year occurs near the end of the feature and invested in the prior 100 minutes or not, your heart will be beating as fast as the protagonist’s. It almost draws the entire feature afoul by taking it to untouched extremes.

What I took most from this minor masterpiece was Katie Jarvis’ divine leading performance. As a die-hard fan of youth performances, it should come as some honor for me to say that this is by far one of the best you’ll ever see and that she should take home some accolades for her stark and depressing portrayal as Mia. Her performance, like the film, is a true gritty work of art. [9/10]

Sorry about the delay – I couldn’t get to a computer at a stable point during TIFF and have to basically do 47 reviews over the next 10 days to be true to whoever reads this. It was a great festival – a plethora of greatness with a few bits of stupidity chopped into the mix. Not a disappointment at all. OK, so on the first day I watched An Education and Antichrist - good, an easy way to kick it off.

Kicking off the festival was Lone Scherfig’s An Education – it being the first English language flick for the Dane was a major concern to supporters of the director as many filmmakers have issue with maintaining their integrity overseas. With Sundance support and an impressive cast, this film seemed to have nothing but positive reinforcement behind it. And while it was a solid feature, it fell into the grooves that previous coming-of-age tales created too often to be a great one.

The story follows Jenny (Carey Mulligan), a precocious 16-year old who devolves from ideal daughter for her father Jack (Alfred Molina) to a disobedient, angsty youth over the course of a few months in smalltown England. At first, Jenny is a sought after scholar who is perhaps more plain than a wooden plank; she does exactly what’s she told, never talks back to either of her parents and has a genius academy record. One afternoon after a typical classical music recital, a well-to-do gentleman with seemingly harmless intentions jests playfully with her. He introduces himself as David (Peter Sarsgaard) and they begin to build a relationship of perceptible proportions.

Although the synopsis is quite unappealing/tired/obvious/etc… the feature is quite witty in its dialogue. Sure, we as an audience acutely percieve the intentions of the feature a couple of minutes in, but where bland, drawn-out dialogue is usually found, we find creative and very humorous banter in its place. Molina plays Jack, the uppity father to a t and has some of the most hilarious exchanges with Jenny that you’ll see all year. Yet it somehow remained honest and didn’t deter the feature from its thematic intentions.

Later on – we, of course – begin to doubt David’s honesty. He has a suspicious occupation and seems uncomfortable in giving answers to Jenny; this is where David’s buddy-in-crime Danny (Dominic Cooper) and he begin to form tension. Danny is identical to David, but he values Jenny’s worth and intelligence more than David does, as he is clearly only focused on the exterior beauty of the beautiful youth. You see, Danny has one of the most frustratingly single-minded girlfriends imaginable who is uncultured and who is a downright gold digger. Sure, she’s got some beauty covering her thoughtless body, but she is worthless otherwise. You see the transformation from bright, earnest Jenny to pouting, needy Jenny more accurately because of the comparisons between her and Helen (Rosemund Pike), Danny’s girlfriend.

As coming-of-age tales go, this is a pretty balanced affair. Where there is drama, there is comedy to follow; where there is romantic tension, there’s romantic easement; where there is a weak lesson to be taught, there are interesting indications of how poorly Jenny’s future could’ve been.

This is the only true problem I have with the feature. It lacks tension; even the discussions about Jenny’s life with her administrative superiors are more humorous than dramatic. They tend to underline what her parents have been saying over and over, it becomes repetitive and because the formula is similar to many other features, we know how it will all play out in the end and how minuscule these talks will be in comparison. This makes the moral weak and it’s the only aspect keeping the feature from being memorable.

During the Q+A, writer Nick Hornby briefly commented on the time period in which this film took place – the early 1960’s. He hinted that Jenny’s childhood would’ve been enduring because of the food famine that the UK experiences in the mid 40’s and how that would be an early testament to Jenny’s strength. This is a very interesting tidbit of information that, if actually expressed in the film with some fervor, would have made the feature a cut above the subgenre. The film doesn’t mention any sort of upbringing that the protagonist had, so this glimmer of an idea goes unpublished – a bit that would have made the character of Jenny much more developed. A missed opportunity by the expert novelist.

With a great cast from top to bottom – you know a cast is good when Sarsgaard sports a British accent – An Education teaches its viewers that a film doesn’t need to be creative to be good. It’s as typical a feature as you’ll come across all year, but boy does Nick Hornby know how to tickle a viewer’s funny bone. [7/10]

The most talked about movie of the year: Antichrist. Whether you know about the very grotesque, very ‘von Trier’ scenes in the final act or not, you’ve undoubtedly heard a bunch about the latest from the utmost insane director of the last decade.

If you don’t know the synopsis, it’s quite a tricky one. It’s about the descent of happiness within the confinements of a family existence. Simply named He (Willem Dafoe) and She (Charlotte Gainsbourg), the couple experience tragedy when their young son plummets to his death as the two were intertwined in sexual affairs. The beginning scene (the prologue) aptly displays the love between the two in harmonious fashion – the use of black and white, the slowed down frame rate to show the inexplicable bliss the two find themselves in when enraptured in orgasm, and the melodic music that works both as a foreground for their love and as a worrisome back drop for the curious young child as he wanders aimlessly around the home and eventually out of an open window. What follows is far less passionately nurturing.

The mother begins to fall apart. She has an emotional collapse almost hourly – while the father seems a bit detached from the scenario. He bears the grief with a stoic output and is called on his carelessness by a guilt ridden wife. They begin to get at each others throats, but deep down they still have that attachment that brought them together in the first place – neither wants to see the other come to harm.

This is when the man, a psychiatrist, decides to place his entire focus on his new patient: his wife. He takes her off her medically prescribed medication as he feels it won’t do justice to his wife’s cause believing that she will be all the better for it. As he tries to keep their physical relationship apart from their psychological one he finds it almost impossible. She is in a state of crisis and disperses her anguish through physical sensations (ie. sex) so it becomes progressively difficult for He to keep his mind on her visceral needs rather than her physical. He thinks its a good idea to take her to where all of her deep-rooted depression began – it’s revealed to be a forest aptly named Eden.

As the two wander through Eden looking for a specific cure for She, He finds himself in harms way as well. Depression begins to grasp him; religious teachings and coincidence manifest inside of his brain while he tells himself its all imaginative and there is no God, essentially. Plenty of issues are revealed and some weird metaphors are shown to the audience that will really make you wonder what it all means, but deep down this film is a generalized look at repenting for one’s sins and a brief breath of martyrdom.

There’s a line that’s spoken in the middle of the film that rings important throughout the final act. “Those under hypnosis can only do what they’re capable of doing”, meaning if say someone was to murder someone else under hypnosis, it’s only because that thought was in their human nature and that they could have done so even if not under the trance. This plays a very important role in the final act entitled Chaos Reigns and the possible stupor She seems to be under.

It is a thinkers film through and through. If you don’t agree with what’s being portrayed; are bored by the subject matter or find it fanciful to an annoying point, you won’t devote any time to thinking about the message and reasoning behind the feature and will extract very little from this existential horror. It appears to be the only film made that truly examines the strain of losing your child due to reckless thinking and is perhaps the only honest examination of one’s soul becoming devoured in remorse.

In the end, Antichrist is either a realization of a nightmare becoming integrated into one’s actual existence or a gimmicky hoax discussing improbable and ludicrous assumptions. I found von Trier’s latest to be a surreal masterpiece that Tarkovsky (to whom the film is dedicated) would applaud to no end and thus a success in its own right. A phobic journey into a daunting pathos. [10/10]

So over the past few months, I’ve been *coughs* downloading *coughs* films I’ve somewhat been anticipating and watching them – having that they weren’t going to be released near me any time soon, I felt that it was no harm, no foul. Well, four of the films I’ve seen as of late will be playing at TIFF this year, so I feel that its in my TIFFing duty to inform festival goers of these five (surprisingly) high profile features that will be playing at this years festivities. I suppose I’ll go in alphabetical order.

First up is Pedro Almodovar’s latest effort Broken Embraces starring constant collaborator Penelope Cruz and Lluis Homar. I am both gleeful and surprised to say that I really took to this film and can pridefully say that this is the first time I’ve seen the director make a serious movie seriously. Here, there is little to no awkward or spiritual humor that most fans of Almodovar are used to – the one embedded constant that I never took to in films such as Volver and All About My Mother.

A sort of thrilling, sort of marvelous tale, Broken Embraces (Los abrazos rotos) has a few storylines going on but none more significant than Mateo Blanco’s. The film opens on blind screenwriter Mateo Blanco, now called Harry Caine (Lluís Homar) bouncing a new idea off of his manager/long time friend Judit Garcia (Blanca Portillo). In this opening scene, we learn so much about the protagonist that I was left thinking “if the rest of the film is this studiously wise, it’ll be a favourite of mine”. Of course, the scene ends and it doesn’t maintain its humanistic majesty throughout the two hours, but that’s to be expected.

After getting a brief glimpse of Caine’s typical routine – having intercourse with a beautiful young lady after seducing her with his wisdom and conversing with friends – the viewer witnesses Mr. Caine fall apart at the seems. When a mysterious young man proposes an idea for a film that sounds ‘too personal’ for Harry’s tastes, Harry and Judit begin to get harassed by the young man. Harry has a suspicion at who it may be, but because he cannot see anymore, he asks Judit’s son Diego (Tamar Novas) to look through old photographs to see if he can match the stranger’s face with any photograph taken. There is a match and a few days later, Harry begins to tell the story of the love that got away and the forces that ruined his romantic purpose.

In the past, we learn that Harry was named Mateo Blanco and we also learn that he had an affair with a powerful man’s girlfriend. I use the term girlfriend loosely because its made adamantly clear that she’s only with him out of debt to him trying his best to save her father from dying two years prior. The woman’s name is Lena (Penelope Cruz) – she’s beautiful, brash, direct and loves to act. She finds herself in a part in an upcoming Mateo Blanco feature, a comedy entitled Women and Suitcases. Here is where the love affair arises and where all the tension begins. Lena’s boyfriend, Ernesto Martel (José Luis Gómez) becomes increasingly jealous as he doesn’t know what’s going on and often sends his son, Ernesto Martel Jr. (Rubén Ochandiano) to follow Lena to try and capture her being unfaithful on camera.

Lots of events take place and there’s lots of love found and lost in the feature. It generally indulges into its characters and their stories well – all but Ernesto Martel Jr. who is played off as a plotting antagonist but only came off misunderstood to me. He does nothing dirty or wretched and is stomped on as a young man (17 in the ‘94 segment) from everyone around him. Almodovar plays him off as the primary reason for chaos, but it came off as either too weak a characterization or too strong a bad one. Either way, he missed the mark with Ernesto Jr.

The final act also teeters off a tiny bit with several revelations that seemed too gimmicky for even lovers of coincidence. They’re nothing insufferable, but there isn’t enough story behind them to cause for a viewer to be impressed or fulfilled with them. A minor annoyance in an attempt to cram too much in and nothing more.

A very sobered and mature effort from one of Spain’s most acclaimed directors since Luis Bunuel. It still has the occasional Spanish flare; a flare now used to enhance the story at hand as opposed to being it. The performances really shine in contrast as the variety does wonders as opposed to the similar feel all the performers give in other Almodovar efforts – especially Cruz who delivers her most impressive turn to date. With beautiful photography, lighting and a great set-design, I wouldn’t hesitate to call this a revival of old Hollywood – the stories that were slightly tragic, embraced story-telling and seemed more theatrical than realistic. A great cinematic effort – I hope Pedro stays on this track from here on out. Divinely poignant, embracing Almodovar’s latest wasn’t a task in the slightest. [8/10]

Next is getting its North American premiere at TIFF – tomorrow night, actually. The film is City of Life and Death (aka: Nanking! Nanking!), and it is a Chinese production about the Nanjing massacre that took place in China’s capital circa 1937 during WWII. This film takes on the multistory form – telling the perspectives of three main men and various other tertiary characters.

In it, we see the views of the cause of the harm in the Japanese soldiers. This story is headed by Kadokawa (Hideo Nakaizumi), a young soldier who is conflicted between fighting for his country and obliterating another. In this case, the latter is being pressed upon him by his sergeant Ida (Ryu Kohata), a remorseless, violent Japanese man that borders a wartime caricature (see: any propagandist American film in the 30’s and 40’s).

In the second story – they’re told in scattered fashion, not unlike Crash – is a Chinese soldier’s struggle for survival; or as I like to call it, the harmed. Jianxiong (Ye Liu) is a captured Chinese man who does his best to stay stoic and not allow the insane Japanese mentality scare him into a sniveling weak captive. This story isn’t particularly divulged into and can be taken at face value for the entirety. An endearing tale that tries to be much more depressing than it actually is – a sad misfire considering Ye Liu is what drove me to see this so hastily.

In the third story – and the last divulged into of the three – is about John Rabe (John Paisley) and his servants in Mr. and Mrs. Tang (Wei Fan and Lan Qin, respectively); the aid. If you don’t know about John Rabe, he was the leading cause in assisting the Chinese during the Nanjing conflict and providing the ’safe zone’ for Chinese civilians before the power of the Japanese got too out of hand. Although it is the least important of the three stories, it is more captivating than the Chinese plot – not a good thing.

In watching this film, you expect to become learned about Nanjing – a story seldom told and never told with depth. This becomes of the same as it drudges through a ‘here and now’ story as opposed to a brief history of the struggle. The perspectives vary from single-faceted to intricate but the monotone telling of the story keeps the viewer at bay emotionally and never truly works by connecting to the soul of the viewer. There are scattered, hair-brained attempts at manufactured sincerity – overblown score, super zoom-ins, all-for-one/one-for-all mentality – just as the story begins to become passionate and satisfying, so they aren’t quite as foolishly placed as most of these cliched scenes, but aren’t as effective as director Chuan Lu would like to believe.

A mixed bag of a film – Lu’s intentions are clearly in trying to sensationalize the mentality of oppressed Chinese soldiers and sober the viewer about war, while highlighting the infantile thought-process of the malicious Japanese. What will hit home or annoy viewers the most is the sentimentality this concept is held with. As mentioned above, the entire film maintains this feel. There are sordid moments that alleviate the suffocation that such care causes.

The film also misleads the viewer with its grandiose opening that displays the deprivation of war. A 40 minute segment that aptly provides the viewer with perspectives on the Japanese and Chinese – all told through wartime violence. It’s unfortunate that the following hour and a half discards the blunt storytelling to fall back on comfortable convention.

I must say, this review seems very negative, but the movie isn’t half as bad as this reads. There are plenty of legitimately sad moments, desolate landscapes that blend beautifully with the humanist performances. It’s more agitating looking back on the film and thinking about the missteps that accumulate over the 2+ hours. It’s unbiased enough to not seem inebriated with an anti-Japanese sentiment – Kadokawa’s view of the horror his people cause is done expertly well – and is filled with enough perspective to not seem too wasteful, so it is a solid effort despite my issues with the production. (really, I believe I’m bias towards the first ‘real’ film about Nanjing not being as deprived as the events themselves as I care deeply about the story and have for years, so I feel a bit cheated)

In the end, you get a semi-poetic, attentively shot, wonderfully cast feature that hits more marks than it misses – but misses more endearing marks than it intended to hit hard. Like hitting your thumb while nailing something too many times, it gets as agitating as it does painful. If you’re a fan of the Hollywood mentality when it comes to sincerity (ie. exploiting it at times) you’ll fall in love with this feature. If you get annoyed easily by the same antics, avoid this. The most impressive aspect of this movie? Ryu Kohata as the antagonistic Japanese sergeant. Simple amazing – even more so considering its his first performance to date.  [7/10]

Next up is The Damned United – the latest collaboration between screenwriter Peter Morgan and top British actor Michael Sheen. Like their two previous collaborations (Frost/Nixon & The Queen) both are semi-fictionalized stories that document moments in British history. However, unlike the two Best Picture nominees this doesn’t chronicle a big political scandal, but rather a well known tale of Brian Clough (Michael Sheen) and his short lived career as the manager for Leeds United – the top football club at the time.

Because this movie isn’t very deep and a lot like Public Enemies in that its a film you can take entirely at face value and be as rewarded as someone who spends hours on end trying to connect a back story using metaphoric scenes and symbols, I’ll be brief with this review. As a minor-biography about one of the UK’s biggest sport stories in Brian Clough, it does well in giving the viewer something to champion about the man. However, a lot like Public Enemies, it doesn’t tell much about the main character other than the here and now. In this case, the “here and now” takes place over a few years, but more specifically focused in the month and a half of ego that Clough had with a club he resented from the beginning.

The story goes as follows. Brian Clough and his long time friend/scout for Derby in Peter Taylor (Timothy Spall) – his right hand man and one of the reasons for his personal success both on and off the field. Derby was a team in third tier play (so not in the major leagues with ManU and Leeds). What could’ve been a tired underdog story is scrapped for a flashback and forth to Clough’s time on Leeds and story with Derby. With smart editing, you see the flaws the Brian acquires over the few years and more specifically during his time managing the United. It becomes a more interesting character study this way and I commend the film for that choice. It also keeps the film on the go all the time, so if you dislike a certain segment you can be assured the next will be more exciting.

Off the field, Brian’s relationships develop, if only slightly. His chumminess with Peter Taylor becomes more clear, accumulating sincerity where the film tends to lack it. His family life is jokingly shown – the views of Clough being a good, patient father while on Derby cutting to Clough being an irritable, snappy chap while on Leeds is comical in unoriginality and obviousness – but other than that the stories off the field are enjoyable, but basically paltry in importance.

More is developed in Derby where we learn about what sparks Brian’s issue with Leeds manager Don Revie (Colm Meaney) that goes beyond Mr. Revie’s tactless managing of a team oozing with talent. This provides the major portion of conflict and allows for a genuine knock-back of a confrontation at the end.

The story is pretty neat, the cast is a little treat to those that enjoy the likes of Sheen and Spall – Graham, Meaney and Broadbent are given underwritten roles that, while fine, aren’t the stuff of previous success. Spall does well at giving his characters more depth than the script administers and certainly doesn’t disappoint here.

The basis issue that The Damned United has is the writing. The dialogue is fine, the characters are fine… but that’s it; it’s all just “fine”. Peter Morgan always chooses to write facile stories – ones that people can witness and not think much afterward. Ones that will please viewers, but not ones that enjoy pondering what the film has to say. His themes are executed professionally, but none of his themes are refreshing to watch play out. Yet another fine, but nominal job by Morgan. [6/10]

Next is the surprisingly Gala’s Norwegian wartime biopic Max Manus chronicling the life of Max Manus during war. Undoubtedly set to be Norway’s 2009 submission to the Oscars, I’ve been excited for this film for months now.

The story is of course about Mr. Manus (Aksel Hennie) – a young Norwegian man who feels indebted to his country, so he becomes apart of a guerrilla squad set on taking down German forces in WWII. Along with his buddy Gregers (Nicolai Cleve Broch) and a few other comrades, they set out on doing what they couldn’t do on the field of battle – a scenario each of them participated in before joining up here. Each has a story to tell about their time on the wintery plains of Scandinavia, but none more horrific and heroic than our titular character.

The story takes plenty of predictable turns and enough typical war dialogue to please all fans. Because of this, it isn’t nearly as courageous as the main character it touts and borders tedium in scene that could have been completely removed without discourse. Although I did appreciate something the dialogue provided for – emotional strain. Even the most mundane of discussions allow the viewer to pry into the psyche of the character beheld. Max is especially struggling with his emotions behind the single-minded chit-chat – a spectacular road taken to keep this from becoming How to Make a Typical War Film 101.

In a ritual decision, the story originates a romantic subplot between Max and a young Norwegian named Nikoline ‘Tikken’ Lindebrække (Agnes Kittelsen). The story is nice enough to not cause detriment from the story and really allows for a bit of knowledge on Max that would’ve otherwise gone unexplored. Considering its more a character study than war movie, this addition was pretty good, if a bit too prevalent.

In other stories, Max’s seldom seen antagonist is Siegfried Fehmer (Ken Duken), a German lieutenant who encounters Max a few coincidental times. Darkly humorous conversations brew, serious consequences follow, typical Nazi vs. the world jest and peril ensues. You basically know the drill, but it’s still a delightful story. Plus Ken Duken annihilates the role – one of the most underrated performances I’ll see all year, I’m sure.

Considering the budget of the film was a mere 8 million, I’m impressed from a production perspective. With great costumes, an intelligible cast (headed by the expressive Aksel Hennie), wonderful photography and fine effects, Hollywood could — nay, should — take a page out of this European handbook. The story relies a bit too much on coincidence, but the story is allegedly entirely true – which just makes the tale that much more engrossing and inspiring. It isn’t near a flawless film, nor will it be considered the best war film of the year, but its undeniably a solid feature worth at least a once over. [7/10]

The final film I’m reviewing is Toronto’s closing night Gala. Starring the always enjoyable Emily Blunt, the decadent Rupert Friend and the vastly underrated Paul Bettany (among other top rate, under utlized thespians), The Young Victoria is as wasteful with its time consuming as it is with its cast.

The story revolves around Young Victoria (Emily Blunt) and her beginnings before becoming Queen. The film opens on the crown being placed atop her head, so already all the tension that wants to be mustered later on in the story holds no weight, as in stories like these there are seldom scandalous revelations. When we first encounter Victoria, she seems very displeased with her life – an obvious downside of being rich and beautiful. She’s angsty and resents the crown; “she doesn’t want to become more royal” basically.

Soon after she bumps into an offbeat young man in Prince Albert (Rupert Friend), one of the more unconventional characters you’ll see in films like these. This is where the story lies, with Victoria instantly repelling but slowly falling for Albert, all while her family and current society question her less than financial intentions.

The story is typical and every antagonist in Victoria’s way come off gimmicky and underdeveloped. Whereas in last years The Duchess, the writing provided a few nuances for the main antagonist for Ralph Fiennes to sink his teeth into; developing a character from little. Here there’s bland characterization outside Victoria and Albert and the script is handicapped because of this.

It isn’t all bad though. Despite the lackluster material given to the more impressive actors (Broadbent, Bettany), Blunt does exceedingly well in her well developed character arc. The majority of her character is explained – sometimes her actions don’t correlate 100% with what we expect from the character, but Blunt handles these slights maturely. In addition, the production design is divine – the majority of the budget undoubtedly went into making this period piece a decorous marvel.

By the film’s conclusion, you’ll feel somewhat satisfied about what just transpired. It isn’t original, nor is it devoutly typical thanks to the third act. The romantic tension is built just well enough to make you forget about where the film will wind up to make any viewer gasp post-climax. A trifle bit too bland to be a positive installment into the period piece subgenre, but not bland enough to repel me from seeing future additions. [6/10]