The Cinematic Experience of Forizzer

In an earnest attempt at getting to what I’ve promised people reading this, I’m going to try to churn out a day more frequently… this weekend, however, will be devoted to reviews of (hopefully) A Serious Man, Paranormal Activity & Bright Star.

First on the day was Italian political-thriller The Front Line. It stars the internationally acclaimed Giovanna Mezzogiorno, as well as up and comer Riccardo Scamarcio as the stories central focus. They play Susanna and Sergio respectfully – a couple whose anti-establishment directives take on an extreme during the wave of right-wing political events that swept up eastern Europe in the late 60s to early 80s. This, of course, is what sparks the conflict between the extremest organization and the Italian government.

Starting off with a character reflecting on past events is usually a poor decision — it is no different here. Sergio is found sitting in a dark and barren cell speaking to the camera. Instantly we know that he meets his ends with the police and that the way he speaks somberly about his relationship with Suzanna, that they also come to a tragic end. This nullifies any major suspense between the policia and either of the protagonists; especially since Suzanna’s perspective is only somewhat shown and she’s the only one whose end we don’t immediately interpret.

As traditional, the film follows a pro-terrorist agenda – well, if the terrorists are white, anyways. Like last years’ Hunger and The Baader Meinhof Complex, The Front Line negates the government’s side of the argument – impressing upon the viewer that the ones committing all the crimes out of distaste for the ruling establishment are the good guys. It’s blatant bias like this that bothers me most about films like these – seldom do you see the government get a fair shake, let alone a nibble of perspective. Their entire argument is condemned and everything they say converted to simple and asinine, yet the terrorists are filled to the brim with philosophy and idealist views to change the world.

Later on, the romantic dynamic comes into fruition. At first, the cold but identifiable glances shared between Sergio and Suzanna over their groups plans were their dearest form of communication – kind of humorous considering they are sought as the ones in control of this ‘take action’ organization. When the romance brews, it does contain its fair share of intrigue – not making it a habit of stepping into familiar territory. Plus pleasantries in both characters are uncovered that make way for a bit of real development in this exclusively stylish thriller. If you believe I’m exaggerating, look no further than the fancy editing of simple times and dates into frames – its a film wholly destined to excite.

What keeps this run-of-the-mill chronicle from being merely poor is the burgeoning suspense. I’ll admit that while you know how its going to unfold, there are scenes that absorb the viewers attention long enough to forget your preconceptions; inducing a sprinkle of flare. In addition, while the utmost lead performance by Riccardo Scamarcio isn’t by any means stellar, his co-star in Ms. Mezzogiorno encapsulates the exemplary hardened and reckless terrorist. There’s a reason why she’s so highly regarded and you’ll surely understand why after witnessing this dignified portrayal.

Even though the story takes expected turns, the structure and characterization are archetypal and the conversations profuse, The Front Line does well by balancing itself on the thin border that separates the good with the bad. [5/10]

As the days begin to wind down at TIFF, I find that its the second screening that is the toughest to make it through; you don’t have the early morning adrenaline to make it through the rest and your body has had enough time to shake off its fatigue with a meal or caffeine.

Youth in Revolt appears to be a typical indie-comedy with recurring face of the ‘movement’ in Michael Cera – a young man whose ordained his name in pop culture with his awkward shtick. For fans of cinema – or more specifically, people who grew up watching the classics – the film packs a far more identifiable punch that will certainly resonate with this specific type of viewer more so than one would expect given the charred outline. As is, the story is about a sixteen year old boy named Nick (Michael Cera) whose quest for cool is boundless. After coming to the realization that his life is headed in no specific direction, Nick decides to take matters into his own hands. And if you’re wondering, yes he is a virgin and yes this story is primarily about “getting some”.

We get a minor glimpse of Nick’s angst – he’s a loner, his mother and him don’t have any sort of understanding and he loathes her boyfriend, Jerry (the hilarious Zach Galifianakis). Suddenly one night, Jerry picks a fight with a trio of marines. Since they’re more fit and could certainly pummel him, Jerry decides to take his girlfriend and Nick to his dilapidated trailer in the middle of nowhere. Having nothing better to do with his life, Nick finds it a good idea to just go with it.

The first deviated plot point is that Nick’s a lone wolf. There is minimal banter conjured up and when it is its between either his promiscuous and grating mother Estelle (Jean Smart) or a various number of pompous acquaintances – for the first act, anyways. When out and about in the haggard terrain that the trailer trash landscape provides, he bumps into a young beauty – a diamond in the rough, if you will. Immediately one grasps that this will be a tale about finding love in the most unlikely of places – a tired concept that passes above the trend with its unique advances. Of course, she’s his soulmate of sorts – she loves foreign cinema and obscure literature as he does, only she has an avid obsession with French affairs. From Serge Gainsbourg to Jean-Paul Belmondo to the desire of a man named Francois, Sheeny Saunders (Portia Doubleday) is the ideal woman for any enlightened young man. She, too, has problems – a devoutly Republican (see: highly religious) homestead that, albeit wealthy and protruding considering the area, provides little in terms of sufficient understanding. Here, Nick and Sheeny make a pact – Nick will get kicked out of his home and figure a way to live nearby his new found infatuation if she can land Nick’s father George (Steve Buscemi in a small role) a job somewhere in the area.

When Nick’s “family” returns to their abode, they find an automobile in the middle of their living room. This is hilarious in areas, but symbolic in exaggerating finding something fitting where it doesn’t belong – even furthering the point that foundations would have to crumble in order for it to be removed. It’s cheap, but for those invested in the feature, it’s a delightful little marvel.

Back to Nick and his new objective – becoming the bad boy no girl can resist. In wanting to be as suave as imaginable, he conjures up an alter-ego named Francois Dillinger (Michael Cera again for the curious). The thought process of this character is attributed to two primary figures – Belmondo’s Michel in Breathless and John Dillinger. But even Johnny Depp’s recent portrayal of the infamous 30s gangster isn’t as calm or collected. Cera churns out an unexpected amount of gravitas in this role, adding a previously concealed depth to the young actor’s ability. In addition, the conversations neurotic Nick and his nonchalant inner persona are unquestionably the comical peaks in the feature.

In the end, Youth in Revolt is a coming of age tale of rarely matched proportions. It’ll take a very specific viewer to comprehend and enjoy the maladroit and manufactured conversations between Nick and the people around him and an even more distinct one to place themselves in Nick’s shoes. A triumph for the indie-comedy era and one that deserved a far more benevolent release date, if only for Cera to garner his first major award nomination at this years Golden Globe ceremony. [8/10]

One of my most anticipated features of the festival was next in Glorious 39. With a widely acclaimed television film director getting his first crack at a major cinematic film and a cast with some of the best British acting exports in Bill Nighy and *yawns* Julie Christie. After getting word that I was in for a real disaster the evening prior, my expectations for this film set to be released in the UK on my birthday (hint hint) were very low. Alas, I was hopeful that the “Hitchcock” in the film would emerge victorious and all the negative buzzing about the film was just from a few bad eggs. Sadly it wasn’t.

The story starts off innocently enough – a group of young adults frolicking around a wide-open marsh that glows beneath a perennially gorgeous British afternoon sky. Fortunately, not all the film is as palpable as the opening film would indicate… unfortunately, most of the film is either too vague or too direct to take seriously on its fundamental dramatic level; reaching moments of true absurdity.

Initially, Glorious 39 is a story about a pure young woman named Anne Keyes (Romola Garai) who is throttled into a spiral of nasty events brought on by the British and their debating over joining the fight against the Fuhrer. Her father, Alexander (Bill Nighy) is an upper-class citizen who is known to be associated with a plethora of petulant politicians, so it comes as no odd occurrence that the Keyes’ home is one of the several storage places for the governments files. Because of this, the atmosphere of the film takes on a completely separate sensation that gathers together too fast to be dire – placing unfounded exaggeration on the aura; essentially occurring overnight.

Turns out that there is plenty going on behind closed doors that no one but the upper echelon of England know about. Of course, precocious Anne attempts to cast some knowledge to fellow civilians – including her newly acquired love interest Hector (David Tennant) – about the ongoing debacle, but needs to educate herself first and foremost. Otherwise linear stories get entangled with one and other, people suffer and worrisome answers are given to happily prompted questions – its like everything you’ve seen before mysteries in the past. However, in order to stray from being too genial with the outline, writer/director Stephen Poliakoff opts to get more and more depressive with Anne’s story. This sporadically comes to avail, but seldom lands where one would like it too – creating some of the most inopportune laughs of the festival; especially in the final stretch of the loose thriller.

Usually a lead performance reflects upon the quality of the feature. With Glorious 39 the rarity that is “the lead performance is the feature” applies, and as a fan of Garai (in some respect) it pains me to say that both her acting and the feature vilely go hand in hand. Like the feature, Garai has sprouts of brilliance scatter across the parched role that is Anne Keyes. Wrapped up in a paragraph, Ms. Keyes appears to be a delicious role that any young woman would love to take a bite into – its only in practice that the role is erroneously assembled. Not all the blame can rest upon Romola’s shoulders, but here it’s evident that no one knew what they were doing with Ms. Keyes. In fact, most roles are malnourished in this feature – its only Nighy’s performance that really sticks out from the seemingly unconcerned characterization scribed by Stephen Poliakoff.

This grievous revelation has left this viewer crestfallen, because after her sublime portrayal in Atonement, I’m starting to believe that her ability on screen is greatly based on luck as opposed to skill; that her strength in grasping a role is prepubescent at best.

In essence, Mr. Poliakoff attempts to hit a sonorous chord with his audience by implementing real wartime tragedies (ie. the abundance of pet killing). His cut-and-dry approach to what potentially had masterpiece written all over it prompts a very fitting alternative title for the feature: Ordinate Without a Heart. [4/10]

Having to rush from the last feature to this allowed me to flush any disappointment I had from the former quite easily. Coincidentally, this was yet another wartime thriller – a different formula and one that works with the human heart as opposed to against it, but one nonetheless. With Guillaume Canet, Emir Kusturica and Alexandra Maria Lara being directed by a man who has only directed two features – one of which garnered his country an Oscar nomination in 2005 – in Christian Carion… what could go wrong? The answer: very little. A tad underwhelming considering the talent, but a solid outing by anyone’s standards.

Generally when one hears of a film about a man breaching their home country to give political secrets to another, one jumps to the thought that whizzing bullets, ferocious action sequences and outrageous explosions are to ensue. Here, director/writer Christian Carion opens up L’affaire farewell with a whimper – setting a melancholic and quiescent air for the subtle espionage to take place under. This contemplative film emphasizes finding your purpose in life and the importance of a good friendship – all the while balancing its existential thriller core and never losing sight of the intentions of either in the two hours it runs for. Plenty of filmmakers find themselves taking on complications when balancing two core human functions such as compassion and uncertainty. Favorably for viewers, this French filmmaker does both with restraint and a humbled sense of this enigmatic world and those that inhabit it.

Sergei Gregoriev (Emir Kusturica) and Pierre Froment (Guillaume Canet) are two individuals with scary parallels. Each have a loving wife and a son (although Sergei’s is going through puberty while Pierre’s is still a boy), each hold a strong esteem for democracy and each are essentially loners. They first meet when the French government sends Pierre to meet Sergei to learn about the military secrets he says he holds in secrecy against his Russian government. At first, Sergei is against the idea of having a young man running one of the most important French operations in their history, but soon warms up to the young Frenchman as he sees more and more of himself in Pierre.

With Pierre’s frequent moving due to his profession and Sergei’s standoffish persona, neither have truly connected with another human being since the first moment they laid eyes on their loves. However, in Sergei’s case the once prominent scent of love has now faded into obscurity; finding himself desperate for someone to relate with. Although Pierre is hesitant, Sergei peruses this one last opportunity at companionship with perhaps more energy than the French government does soliciting Sergei’s secrets. This takes their dynamic to a variety of levels from warming to unsettling – keeping the time the two spend together constantly interesting and unpredictable.

Generally the story stays metaphorical enough to keep its viewers attention from wandering – its only in the family drama aspects of the film does the plot begin to grow tired. In fact, its primarily only Pierre’s life at home that is tedious and sterilizes any dexterous tension. The whole wife worried about her family’s well being subplot runs on repeat here; leaving hardly any room for an apt sense of distinction between their relationship and the adjacent fleeting one of Sergei’s.

What the film lacks in obtusely manipulated action sequences it makes up for with intelligent performances, solid character development and a great use of contrast. Whether it be showing the difference in ideals between communism and democracy or just flagrantly displaying fundamentally parallel people in different circumstances, L’affaire Farewell effectively demonstrates the various challenges that the human condition entails. Also: leave it up to an acclaimed foreign director to deliver the best performance of the festival in Emir Kusturica – a very sympathetic performance full of humility and generosity towards the role given to him. [8/10]

Onto what is considered the most surprising foreign film of the year in Lebanon. After getting a hint from a friend that I’d love the film (on a hunch of his) before either Venice or TIFF started, I promptly swapped Gigante for this Israeli feature. And can I say, that was by far the best decision I made all festival – well, apart from the last minute audible between Les Dernier jours du monde and The Ape… but more of that later.

The film opens on a landscape shot of an agglomeration of sunflowers. They’re entirely hunched over and appear sad; as if nature – or better yet, the world – is already in a despondent state. With that image in mind, Lebanon begins its descent into the mentality of new soldiers and the corruption of their innocence.

Like last years Waltz With Bashir, the wartime experiences displayed on the celluloid are semi-autobiographical – director/writer Samuel Maoz’s harrowing depiction of war would spell it out clearly enough if he hadn’t said so beforehand. Set on the first day of the 1982 Lebanon war, the film follows the worrisome routine of four soldiers – two of whom are new to military duty. For the next 90 minutes, the viewer seldom sees outside of this brooding and dreary tank. As tension runs high and mistakes are made – Maoz demands viewer consideration, especially when dripping down a brief political agenda when characters aren’t lambasting one and other or bullets are being fired.

For the cast of character, Maoz swiftly prompts the similarities and distinctions between each soldier. We’ve got frail and fresh-faced gunner Shmulik (Yvan Donat), one of the two new recruits to the war; distressed and easily spooked youthful driver Yigal (Michael Moshonov); the experienced leader that has a refined emotional core and thinks studiously rather than with his gut in Assi (Itay Tiran); and the longtime comrade of Assi in foul and tense Hertzel (Oshri Cohen). Each of which is uncomfortable – both with the compact confinements of the tank and the idea of battle. They’ve some calmness instilled into them from the confident and blunt commander Jamil (Zohar Strauss) who places a simple sounding directive in front of them — this, of course, dissipates almost immediately the first moment things appear awry.

Length is the feature’s only problem – its too short. Each character, while developed somewhat, runs amiss with the initial characterization given to them for unfounded reasons. With a lengthier script or more time spent building deeper emotional capacity – a five minute scene where each of the men joke about sexual fantasies (but that’s surprisingly one of the more emotional and unique moments, so there’s even moments of brilliance in the detrimental scenes here) in great detail doesn’t exactly impress intelligent comprehension of characters towards the viewers. Virtuous in giving the public a bit of perspective on the strains of your typical soldier, but not nearly as fulfilled as recent others (see: Days of Glory).

By the final frame – that in which the tank we spend almost the entire duration in placed in the middle of the frame displaying the group of hunched over sunflowers – the viewer has grasped exactly what Samuel Maoz wanted. With a lucid message, lighting pacing generally reserved for top-tier popcorn fare and as fantastic an ensemble one will experience all year – Lebanon supersedes the excitement of modern day warfare films with its timeless theme: ‘the world is already a depressive place – what good can war do?’ [9/10]

One of only two six film days I had this year. And its the only day where I review a film that’s “old news” in The Informant!

First up on the day was Les Herbes Folles (US title: Wild Grass), a film I was mislead into believing would star Mathieu Amalric and have a plot that was tangible. Turns out Resnais was aiming for a lesson in abstract humor – and while it did have its moments of potency – it fell flat and ran a more uncomfortable course than the main characters and their relationships.

After opening on a dire shot of grass poking out through concrete, the story follows Georges Palet (Andre Dussolier), an aged man with mundane ambitions. Whether it be working on his literature or seeing classic cinema on cooled nights, Georges appears as simple as men come. His routine is disrupted when he stumbles upon the wallet of a beautiful middle aged woman named Marguerite (Sabine Azéma). Early on the film finds itself a voice – and a special one at that. We’re all accustom to film-noir, but in the preliminary stages of the feature the viewer will find themselves witnessing a film-blanc (as I’d like to call it) unfold; a film-noir set during daylight hours with sunny photography. These two ideas of convention clash impressively and it only makes the disaster that follows that much more a shame.

Soon, Georges begins to observe the descent of himself and the idea of being a recreant come into fruition. There is a minimal inkling that comes with a discovery like this, but what starts off as simply feeding curiosity snowballs into an incline into obsession – putting his achieved family life on the brink of catastrophe. He stays awake during countless nights pondering the idea of calling the woman he feels intimate with, yet hasn’t met.

On the other side of the story is the life of Marguerite, a partner in a dentistry firm ran with her strikingly beautiful and eerily close friend Josepha (Emmanuelle Devos). At first, the idea of the kind man being apart of her life seems laughable – she has her tiring routine to fulfill and does even give second thought to thanking the man. So as the elder plays cat to the workaholic’s mouse, the story takes on a familiar, but engaging formula.

Alas, Resnais doesn’t strive to achieve quiescence. As the first act rolls into the second, there is a complete shift in purpose, the thematic elements grow heavy handed and the story adjusts itself for a nose-dive in interest for all but those that appreciate satisfactory abstract filmmaking. Yes, Wild Grass diversifies itself from what most would consider a cinematic norm, but what is being particular when you place your story in peril? One might interpret the plunge in formality as a symbolic gesture to the erratic behavior of the lead characters’ back and forth, but its far too dissatisfying and alienating to be potent symbolically; a prime reason as to why the theme falters.

The theme is easily grasped – the idea of events occurring and people’s lives intersecting in areas where they shouldn’t; parallel to wild grass poking out of concrete. This is completely fine, there is hardly any exaggeration and Resnais’ work ethic towards a comprehensive soul is only matched by the story’s misconstruing final line.

The dialogue lethargically spoken attempts to torpedo cinematic semblance, as well as audience identification through its weary voice; comatose in contempt. And while I embrace the performances – especially the bit roles worked excellently by two preeminent exports of France via Mathieu Amalric and Emmanuelle Devos – I loathe the focus of the feature. If cinema is wildlife, Alain Resnais’ Wild Grass could be thoroughly plucked off the sidewalk without a moment of my concern. [4/10]

One of the few big surprises TIFF had to offer was Faith Akin’s Soul Kitchen – a thought front-runner for Venice’s Golden Lion. While that was the primary reason I watched it, I was perhaps blown away by the masterful embracing of an idea that already sounded overwrought with convention.

The film starts off with a young man strutting to an 80s rock-pop soundtrack on his way to work. Immediately you know you’re in for a delightful romp of a film. Zinos (Adam Bousdoukos) is the man and his job is owning and running a downtrodden bar/restaurant that serves as cheap a food as it does liquor. Including his establishment, Zinos’ life is quotidian what with the argumentative girlfriend, feelings of insignificance and a group languid people that regular his bar.

However, the film only briefly shows Zinos’ life prior to his bubble being burst which arises many questions and speculations as to how the film should turn out. Fortunately, Akin’s approach excessively benefits the story at hand – rarely treading into nugatory territory and maintaining a pace only surpassed by that of Usain Bolt.

When things come crashing down around Zinos, they seem adamant in landing as mercilessly as possible. His girlfriend, Nadine (Pheline Roggan) is leaving to Tokyo to pursue the highest education possible – causing an obvious disruption in their relationship. Zinos can’t leave the bar unattended, so they make-do with online video chats… or at least try to. Obviously this set-up runs into deep complications and their relationship begins to fall apart at the seams. This soon begins to beg the question “Is love worth the risk?”, and even more fundamental to the plot “Is she worth it?”.

Around the same time, Zinos’ convict brother Illias (Moritz Bleibtreu) is searching for work – or at least a job title to stand behind while he deals in assumed illegal activities. Zinos uneasily churns out a yes, but the uneasy adhesive that has brought these brothers together once again turns out to be a less worrisome glue than one would expect crime would produce.

There’s a bit more external conflict put in place by Thomas Neumann (Wotan Wilke Möhring), a former colleague of Zinos. He seems like a man with hidden intentions, and of course, he is. It’s examples of immediate cliches like these being replaced by familiar, but fortifying plot points that revitalize the story where they would cause detriment for others.

In another minimal, but wholly effective accommodation to the feature, Mr. Akin galvanizes an unusual photographic style. Not for the entire duration, but rather used diligently in nominal scenes. The picture chosen above parades the particular technique that works on a fundemental I cannot even begin to explain. It’s endearing, exaggerated and somehow scrupulous. It’s small audibles like these that put an enchanting film like this far above the tenacious cesspool of generic dreck.

With an eclectic group of characters each played expertly – the best ensemble I witnessed at TIFF, and that’s saying a lot – only adding to the endless pleasure of the film, Soul Kitchen cooks up a beat for all to groove to. It truly says something to me (as it should to you, too) that I love this film despite the fact that it represents everything I hate in cinema – montages, eccentric characters that are only wacky for the sake of being wacky and chance events that are integral to the plot. Whether it be the discotheque soundtrack, the winsomely outlandish chain of events or the blazing humor contained, this movie has something for everyone. [9/10]

Next up is the only film I saw at the festival that had any sort of immediate release. Having waited a month to write this review, this film is far and away old news. The feature is The Informant! and it is the second Steven Soderbergh feature of 2009 (the other, of course, being The Girlfriend Experience)

The Informant! follows the true story of compulsive liar Mark Whitacre (Matt Damon) and his attempts of achieving his own “so crazy is has to be true” story, which is masterfully applied by the intrinsic use of narration. The viewer learns what has shaped Mark into the man he is through interpretive stories that he likes to ponder as opposed to straightforward and tired “when I was a child…” scripting that meanders to the masses. This is where the script is most potent because it serves up a dish for the commonplace cinema-goer and the contemplative one – there’s both insight and amusement inflicted into the story in an area that is generally serviceable to a script at best. They’re all tales of contemporary folklore that consist large amounts of favorable insight into Mark’s psyche – each story discusses largely hypothetical situations and how Mark would adapt to those situations if he was one of the infamous.

Akin to The Hoax and various other films about liars, the film begins a little melancholic towards the white-collar workers of today. Jobs are being alleviated from hard workers all to keep profit at a high (a bit of social commentary, no doubt), but no worries, Mark is nearing the head of the corn syrup plant. When the FBI get ear of a possible kick-back scandal from within the company, all of the heads are suddenly on the brink of losing their jobs – increasing Mark’s odds of becoming CEO. This makes good headway for a decent story, but its what follows that makes this a true great in the espionage subgenre.

After appearing to be a hero to the FBI – risking his job to inform on his coworkers – he begins to take on more cases that hold more weight. All involving various other corn companies, of course. Events start to grow out of hand and the story snowballs into scandal. Here absurdity begins to take its course – making way for a riotous second act and a priceless final one.

Enforcing that this is the tale of one man is the family dynamic – or rather, lack thereof.  Mark’s family life is scarcely tapped into, which allows the viewer to believe that Mr. Whitacre is a rather selfish man – leading the film’s structure and baffled vantage points to play allegory to the soul of it all. What the viewer interprets from Mark’s home life is almost too facile and where one of the few flaws lays; we see Mark as a nice father who is obsessed with his work, a loving husband who is clearly too preoccupied with attempting to break out of an ordained existence to continue on with a charade.

I’ve come to witness something about Soderbergh this year – is he fascinated with airplanes or what? It isn’t particularly just having the need to set a couple of scenes in an airplane, but he places his actors inside a glow of softened white lights. It makes for a very hallucinatory viewing experience – appearing almost dreamlike. Political discussions primarily take center stage in these scenes (also in The Girlfriend Experience), but I’m not sure if this is all an intentional formula at bringing light to political agendas that run our lives – the plane serving as a turbulent setting to unsettle a thinking viewer -  or is just a two-time coincidence. Either way, it’s obvious that Soderbergh is adroit with his films.

The development of Mark Whitacre is acutely constructed – partly due to the excellent performance by Matt Damon and partly due to devout scripting by Scott Z. Burns. This blend allows for various interpretations and judgments of Mr. Whitacre – once more leaving the lingering feeling that nothing in life is an absolute; that there is far more than black and white. With this, the creation of Mark Whitacre surpasses the simple idea a character being nothing more than celluloid concoction; actualizing the protagonist unlike many blundering biopics. A intricate and extrinsic character study, The Informant! is a multi-layered feature filled to the brim with hearty humor and exceptionally genuine suspense. [8/10]

Seldom does one come across a picture that so accurately describes the film they’re going to review, and here, to fully comprehend the insanity of violence and drug addiction that Werner Herzog’s Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans employs all one has to do is look at the picture above. The first note I’d like to make is that this is only similar to Abel Ferrera’s ‘92 feature Bad Lieutenant in that the lead character is a cop with a drug addiction. The only plausible reason for Herzog to call this film a re-imagination of any kind would be to mislead viewers to the structure that Ferrera’s rotten cop feature has; surprising viewers with events that unfold more.

Opening in a prison swollen with water, Bad Lieutenant quickly sets a tense scenario by bestowing its location as New Orleans, Louisiana and the current topic of interest as the on-going storm named Hurricane Katrina. Terence McDonagh (Nicolas Cage) and his partner Stevie Pruit (Val Kilmer) walk into an area of the penitentiary they frequent to see a convicted, but repentant murderer screaming for one of the cops to save him. Immediately we learn that Terence and Stevie are scummy policemen – they place serious bets as to how long it will take for the criminal to drown instead of doing the noble thing and saving a life. Stevie comes off as more emotionally distant; hardened without a sense of morality that loves the idea of the bad cop shtick more than lives it. Terence on the other hand jokes cruelly about not wanting to dive into water with his fifty dollar cotton underwear – apprehensive towards ruining them as they’re a gift. Thankfully Terence breaks and saves the drowning man. This sequence eloquently conveys the difference between Terence and a truly ruthless cop – he is clearly a good man that has been corrupted by a defective city – which is of great importance when pondering the events that unfold in this feature.

However, saving the convict comes at a price; a bad spinal injury. He is given prescription drugs to ease the pain, but when we skip one year ahead its obvious his need for medication has expanded outside of prescribed drugs and into far more dangerous and expensive territory. This causes the newly appointed lieutenant to have erratic behavior and cater to his own needs infinitely more than the needs of the public. Terence’s exaggerated morals are first put to the test when it appears Big Fate (Xzibit), a local druglord has killed an immigrant family from Senegalese. His blunt force tactics – not condoned by the rest of the police force – collide perfectly with a crime of this nature. There is plenty to gain from all of this – be it drugs or more recognition – and hardly anything to lose. Upon arrival to the crime scene, Terence skims over the decimated bodies with professional eyes – reiterating his valiance.

From here on out, the rest of the story whizzes by eagerly. Herzog’s lunacy runs in excess during the more hallucinatory scenes where Terrence tensely eyes down envisions of Iguanas. Juggling a priority case with a meager, drug-addicted girlfriend in Frankie (Eva Mendes), as well as comforting his own habits – be them the minor gambling issues or his copious narcotic addiction – declares surprisingly simple for the lieutenant. Although his plate is full and his servings begin to mix into each other, Terence’s ‘live life in the fast lane’ mentality proves what would be a harrowing experience to further affected officers to be a rather cakewalk.

A plethora of scenes bounce around self-aware; exuding a tremendous amount of humor throughout the feature. Comedic exertion occurs too often to entirely enjoy the two-hour crime film. Apparently you can have too much of a good thing in cinema; who knew it’d take a German auteur to uncover a new truth. Initially, bewildering happenstance is found enchanting; its very peculiar, seldom utilized in “good” films and exploits the zany soul to an excitable degree. After the first half these antics becoming predictable and proves flimsy writing and that the majority of the film holds no artistic semblance. The script continues to hold audience engagement despite this, but upon pondering the feature one will feel a tad cheated by the flamboyant antics displayed.

Herzog also adds an implicit view on wildlife, as he tends to do for reasons only viewers could begin to wonder (I think he finds that its the most simple-looking things in life that are inevitably the most complex; it works in connection to this film as well). Here he shows the anguish of reptiles; clearly post-Katrina has done a number on them as well. Herzog attempts to administer a metaphysical side to the feature that generally revolves around the idea that wildlife do have a conscience themselves. From an alligator mourning a fallen friend on the highway to “do fish have dreams?”, William M. Finkelstein’s screenplay is filled with ponderous goodies for viewers to behold. Personally, I found great pleasure in the line “shoot him again, his soul is still dancing” – both through the expert delivery of the line and the many profound associations it takes on. Do our souls dance after we die? Must we die twice to officially face our maker? All of these frenzied scenes are far more ambiguous than one would imagine – each of them prompting the though that perhaps its only those on the brink of cataclysm that have the scope to view life and what it has to offer in its entirety.

Nicolas Cage’s performance as the wayward law enforcer is sensational – a true cinematic experience to behold and one of the rare marvels that one can enjoy with an assortment of peers; be they critics or typical filmgoers. His portrayal is as flustering as the character he plays is resilient; muddling recent conceptions that Cage has lost his fervor. Ludicrous, anticlimactic and without the delusions of grandeur that plague a tired genre, Bad Lieutenant dashes out of the gates and never finds itself hitting the proverbial wall. [8/10]

Romanian New Wave: the truest cinematic artform of the decade. After winning the Palme d’Or in 2007, Cristian Mungiu’s latest film is cumulative effort on the parts of he and four other Romanian directors – none of which have a real name and have been directing shorts until this feature, where they direct some more shorts. Tales from the Golden Age is an impassive collection of stories resonating the absurd political agenda that took place in 70s and 80s communist Romania prior to its upheaval brought on by its antagonized citizens. Each story is quaint and minimal in structure, but hold very heavy and disparate connotations – building up effectiveness in portraying discordant conditions and eventually bridging the gap between audience and film.

Like all anthologies, you’re bound to come into a rough patch or two. Fortunately, the film opens on the only chagrin. Here, a group of townsfolk are in immense anticipation to see their leader pass by the town in his automobile. This story gives heed to what will come in future shorts – the amount of inanity between political interaction (“will you do this, comrade?” – “yes, comrade!”) and jejune thought processes in the higher up echelons give a taste for the humor the viewer will experience.

Despite the contempt the filmmakers of the film have for communist Romania, they never berate the dissipated faction with self-conscious, “look audience, this is what happened!” immaturity. They’d rather take the high road and insipidly commentate on the neglect that ran its course – scheming the bewilderment imposed by Romania’s public through deadpan expressions and dialogue.

Not content with just touching on one or two areas where reckless government totaled the commonplace, each of Tales from the Golden Age’s stories embody a directive – the first is perhaps the only that doesn’t do justice to what its meant to convey. There’s a greatly humorous story about greed and poverty in communist time that happens to crawl over onto education as well. The indicated story is about a family of three – and later on a grizzly uncle – who drudge through less than acceptable conditions in their routines. In school, children bypass the norm by exchanging good foods for answers (from their peers, of course) and gallivant in their minds about the possibilities of young romance. This story works its way from being multiple shades of adorable to a truculent final act that records the desperation of hunger and the remiss that comes with trying to kill a giant pig. Its a cumbersome tale that takes on some of the films most bright spots.

Poignantly articulate, the following fable murmurs depression and the want to keep tradition alive and prosperous. Because jobs are scarce and many people cannot afford eggs, Easter isn’t very decorative. When a truck driver (Vlad Ivanov) is sent to bring chickens to a farm outside the small farming community he lives in, Grigore is coaxed into being a partner in a shady effort in obtaining hundreds of eggs from his truck by what is assumed to be a woman he’s been in love with for a long time. All he has to do is stay in the humble area – with the tantalizing woman, of course – for the two days of leeway he has to take the chickens to the farm. For those days, they’ll collect and sell off the eggs that the animals drop off. Its a very endearing tale of one man trying to modulate his life into something picturesque, but because its a Romanian feature, don’t hold your breath for the greatest outcome.

Each story has an excess in modesty – especially the final tale. There isn’t much to discuss about it, but it is my favourite of the bunch. Its a simple story about a compromising young woman wanting to go on a school trip, but cannot afford it. When a strange young man introduces her to a hilarious pedestrian way of obtaining the money she longs for, a civil romance sparks up and is perhaps too unrequited to lavish in as a viewer.

Style doesn’t play important with films like these – they’re simply shot; simply written; but complexly contrived. Cristian Mungiu substitutes kicking a person while they’re down with forging a label of being impoverish to what was once considered a wealthy powerhouse. It’s intelligence like this that keep these similar feature distinct from one and other – continually allowing for much to yet be divulged into. Meticulously fabricated and emotionally stimulating, Tales from the Golden Age is a more than reasonable depiction of government gone wrong – playing alertly to countries with its cautionary tale(s). [8/10]

Generally horror movies suck. Over the last decade or so, people in the horror business have resorted to cliche after cliche after cliche – or, if you’re in Hollywood, stealing foreign concepts and remaking them for their masses. Even the first installment of [rec] was remade only a year after it had initially been released in Mexico for Americans. So with the unique zombiefest that the first [rec] accumulated, you’d expect that this – if any horror film – would be one of the rare treats for fans of the freaky. Unfortunately writer-director duo Jaume Balaguero and Paco Plaza give into the temptation of an ulterior route that completely compromises the purpose of the launching ground that was [rec].

After the mayhem that ensued in the first, [rec] 2 pursuits a similar route as the first. Although there is no fleshed out lead-in like in the first, its clear that the paths laid out for these fictional characters are explicit: chase, kill, survive. At first, the story follows four SWAT members and a priest into the house – why the priest is there is unexplained at first, but when his importance to the story is revealed, one cannot help but escape the justification without laughing. And in a film that’s entirely serious, laughter isn’t exactly desired.

After a plot twist is revealed and the zombies begin to scream manically dissimilar to their reactions in the first, the story finds itself a steady and thoroughly enjoyable course filled with bullets and scares. In an attempt to preserve one of the fundamental components of the first, each of the soldiers is given a headset with a mini-HD camera installed. So yes, the shaky-cam is back – and yes, it is at its most exploitative use.

As a frenzied pace brews due in majority to malicious use of guns and blunt objects, the priest looks for answers in the several story apartment. He’s entitles himself the leader of the group while the decadent pursuit of his begins to endanger the lives of “his men”. They continue onward in this dilapidated abode, allowing the audience to revisit the diminutive rooms that had already had viewers gasping for air. Once again, these rooms are filled with indeterminate dangers and once again, the nauseating scares are repeated.

The soldiers’ entire segment begins to run in a loop; all freight dissipates quickly because of this. It’s only until the second half of the feature that the vigor anticipated makes a return.

In the second half, we come to witness the lives of three teenagers – a brother and sister combo with the brother’s best friend/a boy that the sister really adores. It’s cut-and-paste characterization, but it’ll do. Mischievous and clearly curious as to what is unfolding across the street, the trio make their way into the house of horrors via esoteric entrance. Their relationships together are more annoying than boring as the writers expect the zany actions of these teens are at all plausible enough to be taken seriously. They jest in obscure ways, have a jealousy dynamic running an infantile course, and obviously play ironic happenstance on plenty of occasions in the house.

Despite these flaws, I very much enjoyed the readmission of innocence into this house. It seemed all too immediate to have tough men go in and demonstrate what happens when a zombiehead meets blunt object. At least with precocious kids the scares seem more genuine.

There’s a big plot twist midway through just prior to the teens being ‘completely’ introduced that makes you wonder what’s really going on. It’s only until the end that you give the writers any credit for their haphazard attempts at fabricating excitement. All in all, [rec] 2 isn’t what you’d expect from the first. There isn’t a brooding air or darkened mystique about any of the settings which makes the backdrop very innocuous – an area in which the first flourished in achieving. Despite all these flaws, you can’t help but enjoy the swift pace or at least give credit to the filmmakers in trying to keep the [rec] name above water. Even if there’s a bucket of unoriginality for every drop of inspiration, [rec] 2 manages to keep its competency without depriving itself of excitement. [6/10]

Sorry for the delay to anyone actively reading this blog – I’ve been taking some back pills that have put my mind in a very fatigued state and everything I’ve written has been bad at best. Anyways, I aptly entitled this day “The Films of Farrell”, as you will see why shortly.

The first film of the day is the latest film from the war-ridden mind of Denis Tanovic entitled Triage. Sporting a fresh and sober Colin Farrell, intricately showcases the mental cataclysm of knowledge, as well as the similarities that one’s physical characteristics will take on in conjunction. Tanovic sufficiently provides his viewers with enough bias to ponder about the apprehension of war without seeming at all pretentious or self-important; a trait rarely served in more recent films.

Set during the mid 1980’s, the opening shot reveals Mark Walsh (Colin Farrell), a war photographer with quieted aspirations and his best friend David (Jamie Sives), a man also working in the same profession, but obviously with less zeal than his buddy discuss their latest assignment with Elena (Paz Vega) and Diane (Kelly Reilly) – their better halves, respectively. Instantly the film displays apt symbolism as Mark is drying the bar’s tap with his unquenchable thirst for excitement and career furthering, while David timidly sips down the possibilities of his future. Mark lopsidedly exchange thoughts with his partner on their upcoming tour of work as David eye’s his pregnant girlfriend and her stomach with the hope of a less traumatizing tomorrow.

After two months of standing idly by in Kurdistan waiting for actual combat to take photos of, Mark develops a rapport with the doctor following the troops. Without any major medicines and even the majority of basic necessities, Dr. Talzani (Branko Djuric) expresses the deprivation he faces as a personified Death in his personal line of duty. Nearly every patient he faces he has to put a bullet in, in fear of them having to bleed out or agonizingly suffer with their wounds until their demise. Their conversations assert a sense of alarm into Mark who otherwise seems gleeful about running amidst bullets that pass by him and artillery shells that explode around his unscrupulous footing.

It’s only when David decides to up and leave their work in fear of his life and not witnessing the miracle of his child being born does Mark view the folly of his ways. However, he doesn’t want to have spent the last two months in terrible conditions for no financial benefit, so he runs off into the distance with the rest of the Kurdistan army.

Cut to: Mark laying on a table, debilitated; in agonizing pain. He’s speaking with the death doctor about how serious his injuries are and how worried for his life he should be. The doctor gives him the blue slip – blue and yellow slips are provided for the injured; blue means able to cure, yellow means death – that puts Mark at some ease. He’s got no major physical damage, but as the title Triage indicates, there’s something embedded in his mind keeping him from being of good health.

The rest of the film discusses the peril of a man whose witnessed some of the worst atrocities in humanity. Decapitation, contented murder, stacks of skulls – an existential nightmare. For example. when Mark arrives home from his tour Elena is eagerly awaiting him. She embraces him longingly, but Mark – still burdened by his past – cannot even coax his lust. He can’t look into a loving face after being to what appears to be his worst voyage yet and his suppression only becomes adherent.

When the story progresses, Elena’s uncle Joaquin (Christopher Lee) is brought in to examine Mark after various halfhearted attempts from other therapists fell through. There’s a dramatic subplot between Elena and Joaquin that plays out interestingly, if not for Vega’s terrible turn as Mark’s damsel.

That’s where the core of the film’s issues lays; in Paz Vega’s incapable hands. Her performance effects all those around her – even the otherwise great Farrell has issues holding a scene with the humorously banal actress. She makes the character seem laughably cliche and reduces would be emotionally impressive scenes to nothingness. Apart from the scenes she’s involved in, the acting is top-notch; the multifarious ensemble applies an authentic humanness required to portray this feature appropriately.

The emotional clarity is a tad blurred throughout, but is lucid for the majority – Tanovic drives home the complexity of anguish that war distributes to those who allow it to ravish their lives. When the film fades to black, Triage aptly establishes the theory that what happens to a man is far less significant than what happens within him. [7/10]

The next film is one I only watched because a) It was playing at a very convenient time and b) A friend offered me a free ticket to it. What surprised me the most out of all of these vast coincidences is that of all the Gala features that played this year, this seemed to be the one that got the best response (apart from Precious, of course). The feature is Get Low and it is the first feature length production from Academy Award winner Aaron Schneider.

The story starts off interestingly enough – a man on fire jumps through a second story window on to a garage roof only to pick himself up and thrust himself off of the building. It’s peculiar, but as you’d expect it does come into some tangible play when the plot has progressed. Simple, but an effective opening.

We then jump to a bitter old man chasing children away from his distant abode in the middle of what looks to be a hollowed out forest. The twanging guitar score mixed with the purpose of the scene only begin to demonstrate the gimmicks the film will offer to its viewers. If not for these obligatory and overwrought scenes that jump from generation to generation, landing into films such as these, it would most certainly be a more sincere gesture towards the intelligence of the audience. By not expressing facts so obviously.

The man’s name is Felix (Robert Duvall) and he is a troubled old soul. He’s entirely introverted and has been for roughly 40 years – allowing the community he used to stand with to create myth after myth about the past behind the elderly hermit. So much so that even catching a glimpse of him on his trip into town turns tan townsfolk pale and strong men frail. Felix’s evil background is only supported when a tough hooligan approaches him with blood-fueled intentions and is sent tumbling to the ground with two smacks with a blunt object.

Around this time we learn a little about Felix and his demeanor when he walks into a church, asking for a planned burial and funeral party before he passes. This, much to this dismay of the priest who had never heard of anything so odd. The priest only asks that Felix cleanse his soul of all the wrong doing he’s done in his life – of which no one is entirely sure – which the old man takes offense to and leaves promptly with a scowl.

In the other side of the story, Felix is perused by a funeral company headed by an a man from the city/owner Frank Quinn (Bill Murray). He, along side with a hometown boy looking for a financial break in Buddy Robinson (Lucas Black) try cheesy gimmick after cheesy gimmick to convince Felix that they’re his best shot at having the unique ceremony of his desire. Of course, Buddy isn’t drawn to Frank’s city antics as much as he would like.

Generally, the film is just a back and forth about how the town will react to a large shindig about their most infamous resident. Will people show up afraid that Felix will pick them off one by one with his shotgun, or will people show up only to pummel the rough presence out of the quiet old man? This ignites some rather hilarious dialogues between Frank and Felix, where Murray’s bewildered aura and deadpan reactions bring out the best bits of acting the film has to offer.

The intention of the film – showing a slow, rather poetic revelation of non-fiction turned folklore – is admirable. The ending leaves a lot to wonder about how the townsfolk really took to Felix in the end or how much of him was damaged by the demonizing talk. It’s passionate, but not without its apparent issue of losing the bitter taste of convention after convention.

The climax both wraps up the preconceptions spoken of earlier and serves up a dish of questionable malpractice. When you focus solely on Felix’s life, it does well in filling in all the gaps, but when you focus on everyone else in the tale, those gaps appear wider than previous. Weighing the film, it’s rather mundane with an impressive cast. I don’t see the big deal about this rather minimal feature. [5/10]

Next up was the only other documentary apart from L’enfer de Henri-Georges Clouzot that I saw during the festival. The film is The Sunshine Boy and it was directed by spiritualist Fridrik Thor Fridriksson; a director who often imbues his films with a whimsically majestic ambiance that is unparalleled in current cinema.

The film documents a variety of subjects all linked to autism. How does it occur? What is the mystery behind otherwise plain infants suddenly be stricken with autism? And most poignantly, how can children with autism communicate? There is never a jump from the material being presented to a person staring directly at the camera discussing their problems with autism – the entirety flows casually and more honestly because of this.

At the core of the feature, there is a curious Icelandic mother named Margret (dubbed in English by Kate Winslet) attempting to divulge into the world of autism to understand her son Keli’s disorder more intimately. Her interactions with her son – especially at HALO (a center where a kind Indian woman runs a program to help autistic children express themselves easier), in an extended scene that I’d be dumbfounded to hear of someone not welling up and dropping a tear or two from sheer glee. Yes, it is that touching.

Before the film began, Mr. Fridriksson said he decided to choose this as his first documentary in well over a decade because he deeply appreciates the mystique within our world. He said that here the topic was magical enough as is and that all he had to do was point the camera and capture the naturally wondrous essence. Of course he adds a bit of exterior beauty (as seen above) to the feature to prove our planet as a parallel setting ground for such resplendence.

With a mesmerizing soundtrack that showcases the likes of Icelandic acts in Bjork and Sigur Ros, there is hardly a flaw found in this 105 minute feature. Filled to the brim with hope, The Sunshine Boy is as emotionally affecting a film as you’ll see all year. With great pacing, the interest seldom expires; it only becomes less captivating when the direction applies too much pressure to a singular story – in this case, it would be the mother’s search for knowledge. Its impressive; its isolating; its entirely Icelandic – the best documentary of the year. [9/10]

The next feature – the second of two Colin Farrell headed ones on the day – is Ondine, a feature I was willing to skip for Rachel Weisz’s Agora until I heard about Christopher Doyle being the cinematographer and Kjartan Sveinsson (of Sigur Ros) being the composer for the film.

The concept that I had read was far different from the feature itself. The film is about a surprisingly sober fisherman named Syraceuse (Colin Farrell). Although barely dug into, you learn that our protagonist’s typical day is devoid of energy, without much human contact and very weary. Just after ruffling the feathers of Syraceuse’s characterization, the story takes a turn when the fisherman nets himself an alleged mermaid named Ondine (Alicja Bachleda) while hoisting up the large fishing net. Shocked, he immediately resuscitates her – and in a just as bizarre turn, she gives thanks by demanding him to hide her from the public eye. Because she’s beautiful and he has nothing to lose, she complies with the requests and carries along with his typical routine.

After work, the young beaut mentions that she has no home. Syraceuse, a somewhat kind individual, allows her to spend the night in his weathered shack/home. He leaves her unattended to, so as to pick up his sorrowfully ill, but optimistic young daughter Annie (Alison Barry) from school. Through conversation, the wise little soul begins to question her father’s peculiar stories about mermaids; a topic he never found to be of any interest prior. She enlightens him on the types of mermaids she’s been acquainted with through research and the scruffy seaman begins to question the origin of the gorgeous woman he saved.

In a disparate side-story, we see the life of Annie and her turgid homestead with a drunken, reckless mother and her suspiciously nice, but also constantly intoxicated boyfriend. A slightly humorous parallel is spotted within the destruction of good kidneys that the caretakers of Annie do to themselves when compared to the dismal state of Annie’s own kidneys. This works as a sweetened accessory to the already delightful story working itself along an informal, but tangible path.

Adjacent to Syraceuse’s life, Ondine has her own tiny fable to go with her placement in this quaint Irish town. Some of the most enchanting chemistry of the festival was ignited when Annie and Ondine began to form a sisterly bond – in context, it is something taken right from a Disney feature.

Despite the earnestness of the feature, there is a fair bundle of detriment that follows it around. The stories become tedious and repetitive; rarely adding any developmental significance after the first half. The humor jumps around a lot and plays most heavily for its native Irish audience – many references going over the viewer’s head. Then there’s the final quarter of the feature that is zany and draws suspicion to the events that had just taken place. Although this final chapter is by far the most interesting the film has to offer there are continuity questions, as well as evokes inquiry as to Neil Jordan’s thematic intentions.

With a top notch cast and a unique story under to attribute his intriguing latest project to, Neil Jordan has created what is perhaps his best feature to date. He aimed to please his audience (proclaiming the feature to be his “happy place” in introducing it) and did so notably. Very cheerful with sparse sadness, Ondine is a whimsical fish out of water story that will plaster a grin on your face from beginning to end. [7/10]

Ahhhh, as a big Norton fan it does me good to see him take on such roles – especially if such roles entail a duel performance as dissimilar twins who’ve grown apart over the years, despite their obvious affinity toward intelligence. Even if a questionable synopsis, Leaves of Grass was a “must-see” for me just for the brilliant cast that had been administered.

Coincidental. There has never been a movie easier to define in just one word than Tim Blake Nelson’s latest feature and the word coincidental. From the first frame to the last, the way the film works itself out in the perturbed way Nelson envisioned is my first note of displeasure. It lacks too much substance to be taken seriously as a drama and lacks too much instant humor to be called a comedy. There’s a thriller angle that the film takes on near in the final act that is exceedingly baffling – an area where the film will just completely lose you in its frantic, disgruntled travel or will take you along for a dandy and gratifying ride; either way, strap yourself in for a bumpy conclusion.

Alright, so the formula wasn’t exactly my thing, but the story was sincere and human enough to captivate a large part of my attention. It kicks off with an absurd scene that involves an uppity intellectual university professor being desperately (and hardly humorously, might I add) seduced by a chubby little student of his. The man is Bill Kincaid (Edward Norton) and this kicks off the series of his (un)fortunate events.

After blushing his way out of a bizarre situation, Bill finds himself on the road to Little Dixie, Oklahoma – the obscure town he was raised in and boastfully left with academics on his mind over 15 years ago. He’s told by cunning, but invariably high twin Brady (Edward Norton) that their mother has passed away and that the funeral is forthcoming soon. Having not been home since his departure over a decade prior, he arrives to the unappreciative town without a pep in his step, as he knows he’s done wrong by his otherwise loving family.

Turns out mother Kincaid (Susan Sarandon) isn’t deceased and that this was all a ruse to bring the family together in a peculiar way. Actually it isn’t to bring the family together, as the concocting Brady delicately whispers to his deterred twin, but rather to put an ingenious plan into motion – entirely requiring the contribution of his reserved kin.

Affable, Brady is eye-for-eye what you’d expect a southern pot messiah to be. He’s persistent in his daily routine, genial when conversing with any sort of company (whether they be good friends or brooding competition) and quite brotherly to his brother – whereas Bill far from resembles any of these genuine traits. He’d rather speak deliberately about a single word queried by Socrates than converse honestly about family; rather lose his native accent than speak endearingly; and rather chase after romance than spend time with a brother who he hadn’t seen since high school. This makes for a rarely seen exaggeration between the distinctions of twins; a bond thought to be insusceptible to lasting dispute.

Carnality plays a big factor in the bombshell Brady drops into his brother’s lap. As a heavily hinted way to resolve the debt he owes to his family, Brady suggests that his brother play a seemingly minor role in an unfounded and absurd strategy to get the drug selling competition off his back once and for all. High at the time, Bill lazily accepts. Of course, concurrence comes into play and individuality from pot-smoking cinema takes a lethargic turn to knot all the loose ends in a yawn-inducing montage of outlandish events.

Hit and miss humor, superb ensemble acting and a message that is more hackneyed than the pace is irregular, Leaves of Grass burns slowly as it strenuously attempts to gather its apropos a trivial question no one asked. [5/10]

Hopefully I’ll be able to get through the next five days competently. I’m seeing (or will try to see) Capitalism: A Love Story, Zombieland and The Invention of Lying tomorrow, so perhaps I’ll give the TIFF reviews a day’s rest as I gather some thoughts on those three highly anticipated films. Anyways, hope you enjoyed those – here’s hoping to a more reliable pace for these from here on out.