'Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps' review:

Love him or loathe him, Oliver Stone is an interesting modern American filmmaker. Stone is not a director whose work I generally enjoy, or even particularly admire, but (as I have no doubt written here before) the source of my interest in him is twofold. Firstly, I am fascinated by the fact that he remains something of a chronicler of contemporary American history, covering everything from sporting life ('Any Given Sunday') to counterculture and popular music ('The Doors').

The filmmaker has made three films directly about the Vietnam War and as many covering American presidents, including one, 'W.', whilst the subject was still the incumbent. He also made his 9/11 movie, 'World Trade Center', within five years of the tragedy. Similarly films he has written but not directed, such as 'Scarface', have just as much to say about the American experience and (invariably) the evils of capitalism. This recurring interest in certain themes and issues is what marks him out as an auteur. This leads on to my second reason for finding Stone interesting.



I also really respect the fact that in an age where overtly polemical storytelling and documentary making is discouraged (or at least readily disregarded) Stone remains energised by a sincere politicism which he won't compromise. Whether you agree with him or not: Oliver Stone always wants to tell you something. More than that, he wants to convince you of something and even improve your understanding of the world. This is a rare trait – and, I think, a rather welcome one. Yet I must always come back to the fact that, in spite both these qualities, I am never moved to actually like his work. A fitting example of “good Stone/bad Stone” can be gleamed from his latest movie: 'Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps'.

A sequel to 1987's original 'Wall Street', 'Money Never Sleeps' is a self-consciously timely look at the world of banking and finance in the wake of the current worldwide economic difficulties (archive news footage of which Stone blends into the film). Michael Douglas steps back into his Academy Award winning role as Gordon Gekko, who when as film begins in 2002 has spent the last eight years in prison as result of sleezy, insider trading crimes committed in that previous movie.



The first film focussed around Charlie Sheen's Bud Fox, but save for a small cameo role, this is not his story. Instead the sequel stars Shia LaBeouf as an opportunistic, up-and-coming Wall Street trader who begins a clandestine friendship with Gekko after becoming engaged to his estranged daughter, played by the illuminescent Carey Mulligan. As you'd expect, Stone wastes little time being subtle and early on Gekko gives a speech in which he tells us exactly what to think about corporate greed (whilst promoting his book “Is Greed Good?”).

The evils of Wall Street are also shown to us via high-level meetings in which a cast of really good old character actors, including Frank Langella and Eli Wallach (a scene stealer at 94), enact the sort of backroom deals that run the world. These scenes are reminiscent of situation room bits in 'W.', in which a lot of exposition is sold as dialogue. Also present is Josh Brolin as the film's antagonist, Bretton James (the “son of Satan”), the film's avatar for the ultimately self-destructive A-morality of corporate greed. Brolin, a last minute replacement of Javier Bardem (who chose to be in 'Eat, Prey, Love' instead), is flat as James, lacking the charisma that would make his attitude and lifestyle seem appealing. By contrast Douglas imbues the similarly morally bankrupt Gekko with considerable gravitas.



Stone makes it abundantly clear where his politics lie and what he thinks of these characters and this is the director at his most heavy-handed. The camera is forever circling characters, often zooming and panning around, often seemingly at random. But amongst his usual hyper-active grasp of cinematic style he does manage some genuinely inspired visual motifs, such as a graphic that likens the New York skyline to a diagram of boom and bust economics – a fitting metaphor, given how closely the growth of the city was itself tied up with the growth of international capitalism (with skyscrapers built by the biggest tycoons of the early twentieth century).

But generally, the director's bombast approach left me as cold as it ever has. He is helped a little in this instance by solid performers, with even LaBeouf shinning. But the focus on the relationship triangle between LaBeouf, Mulligan and Douglas is surplus to requirements (not to mention deadly dull) in a film which would do better to keep its eye on Wall Street. The resolution of this storyline is also pretty dire, feeling rushed and contrived – it seems to come from nowhere, not based on anything we have seen in the preceding two hours.



'Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps' is, to my mind, the quintessential Oliver Stone film. It's overlong, brash, simplistic and oddly proud of itself at the same time. The camera is never still, the dialogue is trite and feels written, with an emphasis on style over substance which runs counter to Stone's obvious genuine interest in his chosen subject matter. However, it is also, like the rest of his work, boldly topical and daringly propagandist.

In the end it feels reminiscent of watching him interview South American leaders earlier this year in ‘South of the Border’, having unprecedented access to people like Raul Castro and Hugo Chavez, but in the end wasting the opportunity asking them to play soccer with him or enquiring about how many pairs of shoes they own. I'm thrilled that he is out there making these films, usually attracting big stars and big budgets. I just wish that he had the intellect or the artistry to support his obvious ambition - and, what I believe, are good intentions.

'Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps' is out in the UK on the 6th of October and is rated '12A' by the BBFC.

'Certified Copy' review:

'Certified Copy' is a truly multi-national animal. A French, Italian and Belgian co-production, in which the dialogue is almost equally spread between French, Italian and English. Its writer and director, Abbas Kiarostami, is Iranian and its stars are the French Juliette Binoche and the English opera star William Shimell (in his first film role). The whole thing is set in Tuscany. But its nationality is probably the easiest thing to classify.

More than one critic has described it as "beguiling" and I'm not about to break ranks. Essentially, Binoche plays an antiques dealer and a single mother known only as "she" in the credits. She meets Shimell's James Miller (an author who has just written a book about the nature of originality and reproduction in art) ostensibly for the first time and they drive to a small, picturesque village for lunch. However, as you may have picked up from my not-so-subtle use of the word "ostensibly", things are not as they seem. Have the couple met before? Are they in fact a husband and wife? Or are they just a good facsimile of a couple? The answers are not altogether clear. Perhaps the more pertinent question is: does it matter?



These are the questions posed by Kiarostami's sweet and colourful film - his first feature made outside of Iran - which takes an interesting look at the idea of copies mostly via Shimell's scholarly author. Shimell is slightly wooden, affected and a bit pretentious, but no more so than an academic might be and he is a watchable presence. But it is Binoche who excels here in a role which requires her to (at times quite artificially) slip between extremes of emotion at a moments notice. Binoche is really quite something. She needs to be, as Kiarostami as always favours long takes on a single camera leaving nowhere to hide for either actor, especially when afforded one of many intense and prolonged close-ups. It is little wonder Binoche won the Best Actress award at Cannes for this role, earlier in the year.

Another Kiarostami motif recurring here is his use of a camera stuck to the bonnet of a car to capture the driver and passenger over a long, real-time journey, which is brilliantly used here. The buildings on either side of the Tuscan streets are reflected in the window, falling translucently over the protagonists, with the blue sky reflected between them. Your guess is as good as mine as to what (if any) significance that has as a visual. Perhaps seeing the sky and the buildings reproduced on a pane of glass so beautifully is proof of the virtue of a copy? In any case, it's a visually arresting film from a master filmmaker.



'Certified Copy' is difficult to talk about at length without running the risk of compromising it for those yet to see it (though perhaps any concern about the danger of "spoilers" is a testament to our belief that a copy can diminish the original?). In any case, I found it engaging and stimulating viewing, if every bit as unknowable, and well... beguiling, as I was lead to believe going in. Beautiful looking, with a terrific performance from its lead actress, 'Certified Copy' is engaging and thought-provoking cinema.

'Certified Copy' is on a limited release in the UK, playing at the Duke of York's Picturehouse in Brighton until Thursday. It is rated '12A' by the BBFC.

'Winter's Bone' review:

Winner of the Grand Jury Prize at this year's Sundance Film Festival, 'Winter's Bone' is a gritty thriller adapted from a novel by Daniel Woodrell. The story concerns a young girl, Ree, who is forced by circumstances (a drug-addicted mother and a father absent through imprisonment) to raise her two young siblings in harsh surroundings of the Ozark Mountains in Missouri, facing immense poverty. Things quickly get worse for Ree when she learns from the local sheriff that her father has left prison, using the family's meager home as his bail bond and that he is nowhere to be found. Ree then sets on a quest to find out what happened to her father in order to save the family home. Is he dead or alive? That is what Ree must discover, and in doing so she must ask a lot of people a lot questions - and not everybody in the small community appreciates it.

Written and directed by Debra Granik, the film stars the young Jennifer Lawrence as Ree. A compelling young actress, I first saw Lawrence Arriaga's 2008 drama 'The Burning Plain', and she is without doubt the best thing about the film, convincing as a tough and capable girl whilst also seeming vulnerable and often desperate. It is Lawrence who carries the film and it's successes are hers. Also good is John Hawkes as Teardrop, Ree's uncle who exhibits a quiet menace as well as warmth and somehow dignity (in spite of his drug dependency and unkempt demeanour). Ree exists in a small town with few options for people of her social class. It is made clear during one scene (in which Ree walks through her high-school) that the only opportunities on offer for most kids are joining the army or having a baby. It is a bleak look at what I suspect for many poor, working class (well, technically lumpenproletariat) Americans is a grim reality.



Yet 'Winter's Bone' troubled me a little, feeling like a sort of "poverty porn" film, taking pride in its ugliness and spending so much of its time focused on "grim realities" that it began feel a little forced. It's a sort of middle-class oriented poverty safari. I suppose much of the same could be said about last year's Sundance winner, 'Precious', and 'Winter's Bone' is similarly relentless in the way things get worse and worse for our protagonist.

Another thing that diminished the film for me, cutting its impact in half, was the sense that I'd seen much of it before and done better, and by another film with a seasonal title. The 2008 film 'Frozen River' (also a Sundance prize winner and also made by a female director in Courtney Hunt) also looks at American, small town poverty from the perspective of one woman. In this case the woman (the Oscar-nominated Melissa Leo) was looking for her husband rather than her father, but for essentially the same reason: to save her home and protect her two children. But 'Frozen River' feels more authentic, being based on the genuine realities of life for people in that part of Upstate New York, and the harshness of the landscape is more visceral - the cold feels colder - and any suspense or thrill is generated by an emotional interest in Leo's character.



'Winter's Bone' enters more traditional thriller territory, generating suspense by way of threat and even violence, featuring a gang of unfriendly locals that wouldn't be out of place in a horror movie, or even a horror video game. It's riddled with cliché "why don't you just turn around and go on back home missy" dialogue and the people and the mise en scène feel like something out of John Hillcoat's adaptation of 'The Road'. The climax of Ree's story is so obviously tailor made to be edgy and disturbing that it ends up feeling slightly ridiculous.

This isn't the last we'll hear of 'Winter's Bone', however. Jennifer Lawrence is hotly tipped to receive an Oscar nomination, and she will deserve it. I hope and expect that there is much more to come from her. But for Debra Granik, whose first feature ('Down to the Bone') was similarly focused on poverty, drug use and the struggle to raise children under these circumstances, I can only see more Sundance-friendly liberal condescension. Middle-class experience, it seems, is not "real" enough as a subject matter. And the poverty safari rolls on in hope of finding some new tragedy around the next corner. Meanwhile, pampered Hollywood actors prepare to cover their perfect faces in dirt all over again in their continuing quest to win golden statues. Now there is a hideous borgeous reality Granik should know something about.

'Winter's Bone' is out now in the UK on a limited release. It has been rated '15' by the BBFC.

'Empire of Silver' review:

Oliver Stone is not the only filmmaker with an upcoming movie about corruption on Wall Street. Chinese filmmaker Christina Yao also has her eye on many of the same timely themes in her film 'Empire of Silver' ('Baiyin Diguo') – which is set during the Boxer Rebellion in the closing days of the nineteenth century, in Shanxi: then considered the Wall Street of China.

'Empire of Silver' is a story of rivalry, ambition and corruption, centering on a family who control the vast majority of China's silver in the days before paper currency. The film's central focus is on a ruthless and powerful patriarch, Lord Kang (Zhang Tie Lin), and his relationship with his third son, played by Aaron Kwok. The central conflict is set around Lord Kang's demand that his heir consolidates the families wealth and power for the future of his dynasty, whereas the son is more compassionate, and unwilling to follow so closely in his father's footsteps. This is complicated further by the presence of Lord Kang's young wife (Lei Hao), who is also the son's one true love.

In many ways 'Empire of Silver' is everything we have come to expect from products of China's booming film industry. It is beautifully photographed and realised on a large scale, with emphasis on sets and costumes. However, this film is rather light on martial arts compared to the most successful Chinese exports! There is one unnecessary action sequence in the middle section that reeks of lack of confidence in the material's ability to entertain an audience, as two men square off against around thirty unconvincing CGI wolves. There is also a much more relevant and brief skirmish near the film's conclusion. But mainly the film eschews action – focusing on the human drama, the banking crisis and Chinese politics: both familial and international.



This makes for an interesting film, even for someone with a sketchy grasp of Chinese history, such as myself. The lead actors are compelling, with supporting players also decent – including a very small role for Jennifer Tilly as an English teacher.

The film is also quite accomplished in its unflinching depiction of the great poverty suffered by many of China's poorest people. Sometimes this falls into sentimentality, as when we get a shot of a small girl crying to emphasis the plight, but generally this is well handled. Lord Kang is an exploiter of poverty for economic gain, withholding resources to create a demand and raise prices, increasing his profit. He is not so far removed from today's business leaders – giving 'Empire of Silver' a striking relevance. It is a well-intentioned piece of cinema, with the central point being that there is nothing honorable about the accumulation of wealth and power. The noble and heroic deed is ultimately one born of compassion for those at the bottom, rather than ambition and greed – even at the price of lost status.

Unusually for a mainstream Chinese film, 'Empire of Silver' is also quite mature in it's depiction of sex. There was an uproar in China when 'Curse of the Golden Flower' featured, what was deemed, excessive amounts of cleavage. Likewise, the most recent Chinese films I have seen (including the likes of 'Reign of Assassins' and 'Di Renjie', in Venice) do contain female nudity, but usually artfully shot so as to conceal anything that could be deemed more explicit than the lower back. By contrast (and although very tame by Western standards), 'Empire of Silver' is fairly explicit, and its brief love scene is made all the more tender by its relative frankness.



'Empire of Silver' is an intelligent and well-made Chinese drama, which – like every good historical film you could name – works equally well as a story about more recent concerns. It could have done without the silly CGI wolves, which strike me as the most overt insertion of irrelevant action since Toshiro Mifune's aging doctor crippled a gang of heavies midway through Kurosawa's nineteenth century medical epic 'Red Beard'. But other than that, there is little to criticise about this effective and engaging film.

A UK general release is yet to be confirmed for 'Empire of Silver', which has not yet been rated by the BBFC.

'Tamara Drewe' review:

I have to admit I was a little prejudiced towards Stephen Frears' latest film, 'Tamara Drewe'. For every good review (like Peter Bradshaw's intriguing write up in The Guardian), there was a nagging doubt based on several, admittedly superficial, factors. First among these was the horrible trailer in which a character says “she doesn't need a boy... she needs a man” (a line which never actually appears in the film). Then there was the poster, which generally just displayed Gemma Arterton in hot pants, resting on a fence in a bright and cheerful Dorset setting. These efforts to promote the film actually sold it short, giving little indication of the loose morals, black comedy and violent tragedy that actually lay within.

'Tamara Drewe' is based on a newspaper comic of the same name by Posy Simmonds, and sees Tamara (Arterton), an attractive young journalist, return to the quaint village of her youth in order to sell her family home. However, she soon disrupts the equilibrium of the village with her beauty, and her new rock star boyfriend (Dominic Cooper). The original comic was a reworking of Thomas Hardy's Far From the Madding Crowd - a fact that the film pays homage to with frequent references to Hardy's life and work, via a socially awkward American academic (a touching underdog played by Bill Camp).



In fact 'Tamara Drewe' is pretty solidly entertaining. It was never as sidesplittingly funny for me as it was for the rest of the audience (though I did laugh), but what won me over was the characters, who seem like broad archetypes from the outset but reveal more depth and complexity as the film goes on. By the its climax, the film has taken many unexpected turns and shunned many established conventions. For example, none of the characters are purely good or bad, with the adultery of Roger Allam's pompous author not able to completely diminish his wife's affection for him by the film's conclusion. Similarly, a less interesting film would have seen the “good” boyfriend (the boring Andy, played by Luke Evans) getting one over Dominic Cooper's indie hellraiser Ben, but again this never really materialises.

Instead there are performances of disarming depth and subtlety. Notably from Tamsin Grieg, who is the emotional centre of the film. Arterton is passable as Tamara, although she is probably the film's weakest suit. But it doesn't matter at all, because every other performer is really appealing. It is also of note that 'Tamara Drewe' features some of the best screen depictions of children that I have ever seen (Jessica Barden being the standout case), as two young girls gossip and bitch throughout the film – refreshingly not played by actors in their mid-twenties. They too are afforded a degree of emotional complexity and depth that goes beyond their comic exterior.

I can't say I ever need to see 'Tamara Drewe' again. But I was never bored and was always kept pleasantly entertained by a film with more to offer than perhaps immediately meets the eye.

'Tamara Drewe' is still on general release in the UK and is rated '15' by the BBFC. Also, check out my other recent reviews for 'A Town Called Panic' and 'Round Ireland With a Fridge'.

Cambridge reviews, so far...

I've been lucky so far at the 30th Cambridge Film Festival, in that between working as a sub-editor for the daily paper here I have also been able to see a few films. I have been reviewing them over at Obsessed with Film, so I'll post the links here:

'The Extraordinary Adventures of Adèle Blanc-Sec'
'Enter the Void'
'Police, Adjective'
'World's Greatest Dad'

'The Dispensables' review/The start of the Cambridge Film Festival...

Venice is now a thing of the past and I have just landed at another film festival: Cambridge Film Festival. It starts today at the Arts Picturehouse and I will be working as one of two sub-editors on the daily paper here. I had hoped to watch the opening night movie, the next Luc Besson film 'The Extraordinary Adventures of Adèle Blanc-Sec'. But instead I have been roped into presenting the on-stage Q+A tonight for the first film in the festival German Cinema Season: 'The Dispensables'. I'll be talking to director and writer Andreas Arnstedt about the movie... and so I better end this now and write down some questions...



I'll fill this entry out by putting my review of the film here, an expanded version of one published in today's daily:

The Dispensables, which played as the opening of the German Film Season here at the 30th Cambridge Film Festival, is the debut feature written and directed by Andreas Arnstedt – a well-known TV actor in his native country. Set in contemporary Berlin, it is the story of those who fall through the cracks of society – focussing primarily on one working class family. It is a universal story of poverty, that its director told me has been best received in festivals in some of the world's poorest countries (notably winning top prizes in Sao Paulo,Brazil).

It is the complex and uncomfortable, true-life tale of a boy who,fearing life in an orphanage, continues living with his father's corpse in their squalid flat. It shines a light on problems not
normally associated with the cities of Europe's most affluent nations – but which is actually always right under our nose, unreported. As a result, the film has been a tough sell in Germany (and currently has no distribution deal outside that country). Arnstedt was in fact forced to fund the film entirely out of his own pocket, and the great personal attachment he has to this story is evident and sincere.

Traumatic events in recent German history are in the background here, but often go unaddressed, from the neo-Nazis in the street, to the old man still fighting the Second World War with an army of garden gnomes. There is a socially satirical streak here and some black comedy, in this gritty social drama that feels more similar to something offered by Ken Loach or even the late great Rainer Werner Fassbinder (Arnstedt's idol), as opposed to anything else in recent German cinema.

Told from the perspective of the young boy, Jacob (Oskar Bökelmann), the film goes backwards and forwards in time with some considerable skill. The transitions are seamless and flow naturally, whilst the narrative line is always coherent. The film is a real triumph of editing, and perhaps a genuine fascination with film editing is the reason for the film’s running joke about the superior editorial skills of Steven Spielberg.

There are some really good performances here too, especially from the actors playing Jacob’s parents, André Hennicke and Steffi Kühnert. Hannicke manages to portray the temperamental “master painter”, Jürgen in a way which is sympathetic, despite the jarring physical abuse he inflicts upon his family. There is always a pitiful sadness behind his eyes. Kühnert is better still as Jacob’s alcoholic mother, Silke, never straying into cliché or playing the victim.

The Dispensables is tragic, gritty and unflinching, yet also moving without ever verging on sentimentality. It is also made with style and confidence uncommon in a debut feature.

Back in the UK! Final stuff from Venice...

Back from Venice now (finally) and there are a few more reviews I want to link to from my time there, including one I've written for the Sunday Telegraph. It is in today's paper:

The Tempest
Barney's Version
Drei

You may or may not know, but the winners this year were announced last night, and were as follows (copied from the official festival web page):

VENEZIA 67
The Venezia 67 Jury, chaired by Quentin Tarantino and comprised of Guillermo Arriaga, Ingeborga Dapkunaite, Arnaud Desplechin, Danny Elfman, Luca Guadagnino, Gabriele Salvatores, having viewed all twenty-four films in competition, has decided as follows:

GOLDEN LION for Best Film:
SOMEWHERE by Sofia COPPOLA (USA)

SILVER LION for Best Director to:
Álex de la Iglesia for the film BALADA TRISTE DE TROMPETA
(Spain, France)

SPECIAL JURY PRIZE to:
ESSENTIAL KILLINGby Jerzy SKOLIMOWSKI
(Poland, Norway, Hungary, Ireland)

COPPA VOLPI
for Best Actor:
Vincent GALLO
in the film ESSENTIAL KILLING by Jerzy SKOLIMOWSKI
(Poland, Norway, Hungary, Ireland)

COPPA VOLPI
for Best Actress:
Ariane LABED
in the film ATTENBERG by Athina Rachel TSANGARI (Greece)

MARCELLO MASTROIANNI AWARD
for Best Young Actor or Actress:
Mila KUNIS
in the film BLACK SWAN by Darren ARONOFSKY (USA)

OSELLA for Best Cinematography to:
MIKHAIL KRICHMAN
for the film SILENT SOULS (OVSYANKI) by Aleksei FEDORCHENKO (Russia)

OSELLA for Best Screenplay to:
Álex de la Iglesia
for the film BALADA TRISTE DE TROMPETA by Álex de la Iglesia
(Spain, France)

SPECIAL LION FOR AN OVERALL WORK to:
Monte HELLMAN

In brief summary, I am not too unhappy to see Sofia Coppola's 'Somewhere' win the award, although I would personally have liked to see 'Black Swan' emerge victorious. There was a rumour going around on the Saturday morning that the Russian film 'Ovsyanki' was going to win. Instead it took a deserved award for cinematography. It was the highest rated film at the festival, according to the festival daily's look at newspaper review scores ('Somewhere' is placed 9th on that list - but what do critics know?).

I am genuinely surprised that Natalie Portman didn't get the actress nod, although 'Black Swan' did get the award for the best young actor, which went to Mila Kunis (who is 27!). Instead the actress category was a real shock, with the unfancied 'Attenberg' taking it via Ariane Labed. Vincent Gallo is good value for his best actor award, for his silent part in 'Essential Killing' - as an Afghan man on the run from US forces. I would like to have seen Paul Giamatti rewarded for the title role in 'Barney's Version', but Gallo was my next choice.

I had mixed feelings about 'Balada triste de trompeta' but I don't begrudge Álex de la Iglesia his best director award, or the screenplay one. You need to see the film to understand, but it is unlike anything else I have seen.

On an non-Venice note, my review of Herzog's 'My Son, My Son What Have Ye Done?' is up at Obsessed with Film.

More from Venice...

This will be my last update from Italy. I should be back in the UK by now (originally I was due back on Thursday), but I have stayed after a UK national newspaper asked me to review a film playing Saturday morning. I feel nervous and excited about the whole thing, and will be writing it whilst dashing from the screening to the plane home, but it is a great opportunity and well worth delaying my return home for.

Since I last posted here, I wrote another Picturehouse blog entry and the following reviews have been submitted to Obsessed with Film:

I’m Still Here
Noi credevamo
Surviving Life
Balada triste de trompeta
Attenberg
Venus Noire
Promises Written in Water
The Town
La solitudine dei numeri primi
The Road Nowhere
13 Assassins

Just a quick Venice update...

Writing from the Venice press room in the Lidocasino, just to say that I haven't had very much time (at least not with an internet connection) in order to update the blog along with my other (paying) commitments. I'm planning on writing some more in-depth stuff on my Venetian adventure when I touch down back in Blighty. Probably more about my travels, as well as about the films. I'm also going to do my own awards for the festival. Which should be fun.

Whilst I've been away Jon and I have recorded two Splendor Podcasts (one of which is online now) and the latest Flick's Flicks has also been put online:



Anyhow, here is an easy summary of everything I've written elsewhere (so far):

Black Swan
Showtime
Legend of the Fist: the Return of Chen Zhen
Norwegian Wood
Happy Few
Miral
La pecora nera
Somewhere
Ovsyanki (Silent Souls)
Reign of Assassins
La passione
Potiche
Meek's Cutoff
Post Mortem
Essential Killing
Di Renjie zhi Tongtian diguo (Detective Dee and the Mystery of Phantom Flame)
I'm Still Here - Press conference
The Ditch

I have also contributed three fairly long-winded run-downs to the Picturehouse Blog:

First post
Second post
Third post

More Venice Adventures!

Ok! Little pushed for time, so here is a little update.

I posted a summary of the films so far on the Picturehouse Blog, as well as impressions of 'Showtime', 'Legend of the Fist: the Return of Chen Zhen' and my short, instant reaction to 'Black Swan', at Obsessed with Film. Jon and I also recorded a new podcast, which will be up soon (I hope).

Full reviews of 'Black Swan' and 'Miral' will be up later, along with summaries of 'Norwegian Wood' and 'Happy Few'. So check back later!

'The Girl Who Played With Fire' review:

In my review of the first of the Swedish-made adaptations from Stieg Larsson's Millennium Trilogy, 'The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo', I remarked that its original Swedish title ('Men Who Hate Women') was perhaps a better fit with the material. Certainly that film saw the hacker-punk heroine, Lisbeth Salander (Noomi Rapace), repeatedly sexually assaulted, raped and otherwise kicked around – the violence depicted with unflinching grit and unsettling realism. True, the film also allowed Salander to enact extreme and brutal revenge on her rapist. But in the main, Salander is a women beaten and abused with uncustomary regularity – at least for a leading lady.

Well the sequel, 'The Girl Who Played With Fire', allows Salander to exact a little more pain on her (male) assailants. She knees them in the balls, tasers them (also in the balls), shoots them, threatens to hang them, and so on. And the men deserve it, such as they are here. Or at least that is what we are so clearly being telegraphed to think. One man - who has paid for sex with prostitutes and so is evil - is easily distracted as he talks to Salander's friend, ace investigative journalist Mikael Blomkvist (Michael Nyqvist), eying up a jogger and then a young mother as she pushes in baby along in a stroller. Men in this world are sleazy characters who deserve the roughest treatment, and often receive it to our vengeful satisfaction.



It is strangely reminiscent of Tarantino's 'Kill Bill' in some respects. Obvious plot parallels include the fact that Lisbeth has been sexually assaulted and takes the law into her own hands, as well as the fact that this film features a scene in which she is buried alive. But it is also reminiscent of Tarantino by way of its old testament bloodlust and in the way that it equates literal female strength with female empowerment. It is, much like 'Kill Bill', a film written and directed by men who (in my view erroneously) believe they are acting as equal opportunity crusaders. Instead they are simply perpetuating violence and playing up to the worst aspects of human nature: showing them on the screen and appealing to those instincts in the audience.

Perhaps one way in which this film is unique, is in its completely de-sexualized depiction of Rapace's character. She is tough, resilient, cold: seldom smiling and seemingly unable to take any joy from life. Even during sex scenes she is never presented to us as an object of desire. This is brave and certainly sets this film, and this character, apart from the likes of Uma Thurman's heroine in 'Kill Bill' - who more traditionally plays up to a male fantasy image. However, this does help to make Lisbeth fairly unappealing as a character. There is no beauty in the film, and no humour at all. There is no lightness here to counteract the shade, no relief from the constant onslaught of nasty, perverted men. This world is so ugly that it is hard to understand why anyone would want to survive in it to begin with. There is no humanity and the characters are less than two-dimensional. Sure, Lisbeth has a "back story" and with it a straightforward psychological justification for her actions. But nobody else, especially the antagonists, can make any claim to depth.



On the positive side, this sequel is marginally less dull than its predecessor, although it is still overlong and suffers from monumental pacing problems (it takes around 40 minutes before Lisbeth is falsely accused of murder: the central plot catalyst this time around). It is also less TV-like in its aesthetic, possibly aided by the change of director, with Daniel Alfredson (brother of 'Let the Right One In' helmer, Tomas Alfredson) stepping in. It is also less of a formulaic "whodunit", detective story. That element remains, of course, with Blomqvist frantically trying to prove that Lisbeth is not the killer. But this film is more full of action and incident. There are many more fights, there is a car chase and a genuinely tense and gripping finale (or I imagine it would have been had I cared about any of the characters at that point).

Whilst the first film felt like it could have been a one-off episode of a detective series - albeit with much more graphic sex and violence than you'd usually find watching Angela Lansbury - this film feels much more like part of a longer story. It leads neatly into the upcoming film ('The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest') with an 'Empire Strikes Back' style ending, and follows on from a few threads established during the first. But, for me, 'The Girl Who Played With Fire' is an ugly film about a deeply unsympathetic character who at times seems only a second away from becoming Jigsaw or 'Se7en's John Doe - she is certainly capable of being just as sadistic as the men she despises. For some that maybe the appeal. Lisbeth is certainly not a fragile victim and she gives as good as she gets. But, call me old fashioned, I'd sooner not get my kicks from seeing men or women taking theirs.

'The Girl Who Played With Fire' is rated '15' by the BBFC and is out on general release across the UK.

'Scott Pilgrim vs. the World' review: A beautifully realised and imaginative love letter to youth...

"Ramooooonaaaa" sings Scott Pilgrim (Michael Cera) to the object of his exaggerated and overzealous affection, Ramona Flowers. It is the only word, repeated over and over, in a heartfelt ballad he plays her on guitar. Edgar Wright's third film 'Scott Pilgrim vs. the World' operates in much the same way as this song over its brisk 112 minute running time. It is a heartfelt paean to youth and to those fleeting and ultimately trivial, but nevertheless extreme, outbursts of emotion. To that anguish that felt so real at the time. To that bottomless heartache and empty despair. And equally, to that joyous and unselfconscious sense that everything is awesome. But the film does not trivialise these feelings and instead Wright transports us back to that time and place in all of our lives - in a stylish and hyperactive flurry of bright colours and loud sounds.

'Scott Pilgrim' is a somewhat impressionistic vision of youth, viewed through the prism of the protagonists interests. These happen to be video games and rock music and so we see his world through this lens. It is a world with explodes with geekish detail and where even the smallest movements are rendered dynamic and exciting. The film is adapted from a six-volume comic book series by Bryan Lee O'Malley and Edgar Wright does well to capture this spirit. Think of the film as a sunnier, funnier cousin of Robert Rodriquez's 'Sin City', as Wright has seemingly also used the comic book itself as a direct reference point for storyboards, with some shots matching their corresponding panel exactly.



For those that don't know by now, 'Scott Pilgrim' is the story of a Canadian twenty-something in a garage band who falls for the new girl in town. However, this romance is complicated by the fact that this girl has "seven evil exes" who Pilgrim must defeat if he is to survive and (more importantly) win his girl's heart. These fights involve mystical powers (such as vegan telepathy) and video game-style power-ups (such as a large pixelated hammer) and see Pilgrim face-off against a terrific supporting cast which includes the one-time Superman, Brandan Routh, and the current Captain America, Chris Evans (no, not that one), as well as Jason Schwartzman.

On top of this, Pilgrim must break-up with his "fake high school girlfriend", Knives Chau (Ellen Wong). Much like Wright's previous films 'Shaun of the Dead' and 'Hot Fuzz' (not to mention the TV series 'Spaced'), 'Scott Pilgrim' is filled with in-jokes and references to other films. Wright has already demonstrated his love for parody of genre conventions in all of the above and continues to do so here. But there is a new source of reference material Wright is free to mine here: video games.



From the brilliance of the 8-bit rendition of the Universal Pictures logo that opens the film, to the Super Mario reference in Scott's band's name (Sex Bob-Omb), to the Legend of Zelda music which accompanies one poignant emotional scene, Wright does mine this rich seam fully. In some ways it is probably the best video game adaptation ever, in that the spirit of games is really recreated here. The fights themselves each take the form of a different video game genre too: the Katayanagi twins are fought in a Pokemon-style brawl; one fight is a Guitar Hero inspired "Bass Battle"; another takes the form of a skateboarding game; and the opening bout is more in line with something like Street Fighter or Tekken.

And Wright doesn't stick to well-known games either, as the final fight sequence seems to be directly inspired by the cult Wii title No More Heroes, with Pilgrim brandishing a lightsabre-style sword as he shatters his besuited foes into showers of sparkling coins. That game like 'Scott Pilgrim', perhaps coincidentally, also involves the checking of enemies off a numbered list. It's a geeks paradise and I'm sure a more avid gamer than myself would find some reference or other in every single frame. But it is the sort of film where it doesn't matter particularly if you don't get every joke. It is pretty rapid fire and if you miss a few you'll doubtless get the next one ten seconds later.



The standout aspect of the film is doubtlessly the visuals, which are detailed, almost beyond precedence, certainly for a live-action film. Ramona's roller-skates melt the snow instantly on contact (just as she melts poor Scott's heart). The promotional posters for the various fictional bands are authentic looking and do well to create a tangible world, albeit one larger than life and steeped in fantasy. Chris Evans' character is a Hollywood action hero and we see not only a great number of blink-and-you-miss-them mock film posters, but also a short segment from one of his films ("the first click you hear is me hanging up. The second one is me pulling the trigger"). During one fight, in an empty nightclub, a villain's psychic energy forces the discarded plastic beer tumblers out of his radius. It has the feel of a film which will reward repeat viewing for the eagle-eyed obsessive.

I'm sure 'Scott Pilgrim' is destined to become some people's favourite film. Their is certainly a very specific niche of people who will totally "get it", although cross-over appeal seems limited. The opening grosses in the US have been fairly disappointing and it remains to be seen whether UK audiences will flock to it in greater numbers. Personally, I only laughed a couple of times, and more in recognition of a joke than because it split my sides. But I was never bored and I feel like I can appreciate what this film is trying to do. It is more imaginative, more colourful and more beautifully realised than most films. The only thing I would go so far as to say I disliked was the ending, which felt tampered with and like the result of too much testing. The film gears up to end one way, only to then lose courage and retreat into a more familiar comfort zone. But this aside, 'Scott Pilgrim vs. the World' (whilst not quite a perfect "K.O") is a quite unique and broadly stylised celebratory tribute to youth and love and video games... and being awesome.

'Scott Pilgrim vs. the World' is rated '12A' by the BBFC and is on general release across the UK from Friday the 27th of August.

'The Illusionist' review: a slight and melancholy animation from a modern master...

Fans of Sylvain Chomet's surreal 2003 animated feature 'Belleville Rendez-vous' will not be surprised to find his follow-up, 'The Illusionist', is a melancholic, mostly silent tale with an old-fashioned sensibility and a penchant for physical comedy. What this latest feature does, however, is take Chomet's obvious Jacques Tati influence to a new extreme. Whereas 'Belleville Rendez-vous' was full of playful allusions to the celebrated comedy film-maker (such as a poster for 'Les Vacances de M. Hulot' - a gag he repeats here), 'The Illusionist' goes one step further with the titular character bearing Tati's real surname (Tatischeff), and aping his mannerisms and appearance. It is also, most importantly, based on a long-forgotten and previously un-filmed screenplay written by Tati himself. And so 'The Illusionist' is, in its quirky, surreal way, a slightly more grounded film than his first as it functions as a sort of loose biography of Tati's bittersweet relationship with his own daughter (the late Sophie Tatischeff - to whom the film is fittingly dedicated).

If you have ever left a movie derisively declaring that "nothing happened", then it is safe to say that 'The Illusionist' is not going to be your idea of a fun time. The "plot" is slight: set in the 1950's an aging magician finds his act no longer appeals to people in an age of rock n' roll and television. But when he plays a remote Scottish island he finds a new fan in the form of a young girl who comes to believe he is genuinely magical. Perhaps beguiled by the young girl's sincerity and good nature, or possibly just because he has found an appreciative audience, the magician takes the girl under his wing and, like Chaplin in 'City Lights', has to work menial jobs in secret in order to maintain his increasingly expensive illusions - lest the girl learn the truth. This is essentially it. But this is enough. It is a serene film which takes you across the Scottish countryside and into a beautifully realised picture of 1950's Edinburgh (the city where Chomet's Django Studios is actually based).



It is a film which you can relax and enjoy as it washes over you. It is calming and purely joyful - that is, at least until its poignant and sombre conclusion, which is pitched perfectly. Whilst it never caused me to well up in the way something like 'Up' did, it still provided much to think about. Perhaps it is a film that asks you to be more reflective than reactive. It certainly isn't shamelessly manipulative like 'Toy Story 3'. I wouldn't like to spoil the ending, but I'll just say that there is a bit of business involving a pencil at the film's climax which is on the level of genius. It is also nice to see another traditionally animated film in 2010.

I have nothing against computer-generated animated films. However, in the last decade they had come to supersede all other forms of animation. But now that Disney have returned to hand-drawn and good stop-frame films like 'Coraline' and 'Fantastic Mr. Fox' are being made, Chomet's film is another reason to be cheerful for fans of the art form. There is some distracting CGI in 'The Illusionist' that seems to harken back in early 90s Disney, notably the cars, trains and one ill-conceived aerial shot of Edinburgh, but generally it is one of the nicest looking animated films you will ever see. To say it is charming is to revert to a wet cliché, but it is exactly that. Especially in its loving detail, which includes an accurate reproduction of the inside of Edinburgh's own Cameo Picturehouse, among other things.



It is true that the characters are broad caricatures (much like they would have been in one of Tati's own films), with a be-kilted, drunken Scotsman, a fat opera-singer and a number of unflattering depictions of the teeth of British aristocratic stock, but there is no malice here. In fact there is great humanity in the film, which also depicts a number of other vaudevillian entertainers now tragically down on their luck, such as a suicidal clown and a homeless ventriloquist forced to pawn his dummy.

'The Illusionist' is not just light entertainment, but it is a poignant and mournful love letter to a long-dead world of light entertainment (reminiscent of another Chaplin feature: 'Limelight'). In recent years Pixar have lead the way in addressing the fears of aging, of loss and of growing obsolete, in films as diverse as 'The Incredibles', 'Finding Nemo' and, of course, 'Up'. But what is brave about Chomet's film is that he is prepared to end on that particular note of melancholia. Though with animation this beautiful, Chomet is certainly keeping the wonder and the magic of Jacques Tati alive.

'The Illusionist' is rated 'PG' by the BBFC and is currently playing across Picturehouse cinemas, including Brighton's Duke of York's.

'Ajami' review: Israel's answer to 'City of God'...

If you had to take a wild guess at what feature triumphed in the best film category at last year's at Israel's national film awards - the Ophirs - you'd most likely go for Sam Maoz's 'Lebanon', the Golden Lion winning film entirely set within the claustrophobic confines of a tank during the 1982 war with that country. But you'd be wrong. Triumphing instead was Israel's own answer to Brail's 'City of God' and Italy's 'Gomorra', a harrowing and realist portrayal of life in a poor Jaffa neighborhood called 'Ajami'.

Split between five interconnecting chapters, which each show a different aspect of life in the city from a different character's point of view, the film has an ambition and a broadness of scope which make it feel almost like the opposite extreme to the tightly wound 'Lebanon', with its restricted viewpoint. But in actuality the two films aren't miles apart. Both are visceral, gritty and feel authentic and both portray the conflict in the region from a humanistic standpoint, whilst neither is overtly political. And as Maoz based his film on personal experiences as a young conscript soldier, 'Ajami' is also deeply personal to its directors.



Co-directed by a Palestinian (born in Ajami) and an Israeli Jew, in the form of Scandar Copti and Yaron Shani, 'Ajami' seems accurate in its portrayal a cross-cultural melting pot that sees Jews living alongside Muslims and Christians and where a grasp of both Arabic and Hebrew is essential to survive. So too is crime, as almost all the protagonists must break the law in order to make ends meet. One family is forced into thievery and drug dealing in order to pay off a debt to a powerful clan of gangsters. Another reluctantly turns to crime in order to pay for an operation for his terminally ill mother (admittedly, a somewhat hackneyed subplot). The Jewish police have to combat the Arab residents distrust and accusations of incompetence from wealthier citizens. In many ways it is like watching the Middle Eastern equivalent of an episode of 'The Wire'.

'Ajami' is an accomplished feature film debut from Copti and Shani. It is a polished film with a solid cast (including many non-actors) and its subject matter is certainly worthy of cinema. However, it is so much like those other films about criminality in poor and undeveloped, urban areas that it is questionable how trailblazing it is. Perhaps this similarity is part of a broader, more vital moral: that people are the same around the world and that poverty is the route of crime and intolerance. But in of itself 'Ajami' is indistinct in terms of its aesthetic or its take on the sub-genre. For that reason my vote would certainly have gone to 'Lebanon': a more original film. Though 'Ajami' is certainly no less compelling viewing.

'Ajami' is on very limited release in the UK and is rated '15' by the BBFC.

Book review: 'Mushroom Clouds and Mushroom Men' by Peter H. Brothers

Regular readers of this blog will know that I am a fan of Japanese cinema. Whether I'm banging on about the work of Kurosawa, looking forward to the next Kitano film or getting evangelical over the latest Miyazaki animation, I have written a fair bit about film-makers from that part of East Asia. So when I heard that there was an English language book on one of the most popular and influential - yet curiously most overlooked - Japanese directors, I was genuinely excited to read it.

That director is Ishirō Honda (1911-1993), the man most closely associated with the monster movies of the 50s and 60s: most notably 'Mothra' (1961) and the original 'Godzilla' (1954). Despite being one of the most commercially viable Japanese directors of his day (most of his monster movies made it into American theatres - albeit with changes) serious analysis of his work is hard to come by in the West. Stepping bravely into that void is Peter H. Brothers, with his comprehensive, film-by-film volume Mushroom Clouds and Mushroom Men: The Fantastic Cinema of Ishiro Honda.



Although, as Brothers himself points out, Honda was not exclusively a maker of fantasy movies (at least not early in his career) this book focuses on those films for which he was best known. Mushroom Clouds covers no less than 25 of his films in detail, looking at their production as well as providing decent analysis of their content and often their political context. These passages are, happily, bookended by chapters on his life before, during and after the monster movies. These chapters are written in the form of a narrative in chronological order and help to provide a decent context in which to put the films, as well as proving perhaps the most compelling read as they look at Honda the man.

Almost equal attention is paid to several of Honda's most frequent collaborators: his producer at Toho, Tomoyuki Tanaka (1910-1997), his longstanding composer, Akira Ifukube (1914-2006) and, most significantly, the man behind the visual effects, Eiji Tsuburaya (1901-1970). Ifukube's scores are deconstructed in some detail by Brothers, whilst Tsuburaya is afforded a lot of praise for his work and influence - heralded as the Japanese equivalent of Ray Harryhausen and Honda's "true mentor". As a result, the book is just as informative about Japanese cinema of the period and the studio system as it is about Honda himself.



Brothers clearly has a great knowledge of these movies and seems to know the supporting actors and crew members from this era of Japanese film as well as anybody. However, his appreciation of Honda's movies can at times make the book seem fannish, rather than academic. This is not necessarily a criticism, as sometimes it is nice to read something so celebratory, but the level of enthusiastic praise reserved for even the campiest of these films at times left me incredulous. Instead I rather enjoyed the book as a narrative history told by an enthusiastic guide. There is certainly an element of melancholy in the story of Honda's life as a director which is never really addressed by the author.

Honda was, like many Japanese people of his generation, a very loyal company man. He never worked for anyone but Toho all his life and seemed to feel very restricted by the monster movies he was contracted to make - ironically the very films Brothers book celebrates as it is equally guilty of marginalising his other work. He also found his career interrupted by military service and when he returned found that many of his subordinates had been promoted above him. As a result it took him far longer to become a director than some of his contemporaries, including his friend Kurosawa, for whom he worked as an assistant (at both ends of his directorial career). There is an unspoken feeling, reading between the lines, that Honda was never allowed to become the film-maker he could have been. Although Brothers chooses to celebrate the care he put into his fantasy work and finds lot of examples of how his monster movies are far more humanistic and character driven than they were really required to be.



Some interesting themes are left unexplored, such as the sexpoitation aspect of the 1957 film 'The Defense Force of the Earth', the plot of which involves aliens capturing Earth women for cross-breading, and the significance of the US title change of the 1956 'Radon, the Monster From the Sky' to the less overtly metaphorical 'Rodon! The Flying Monster'. And whilst Tsuburaya's work was evidently amongst the best effects work of the day - and the most influential (prior to Tsuburaya, Japanese studios didn't even have dedicated visual effects departments) - his work has not aged well compared to that of his American contemporary Harryhausen. For instance, comparing the model work from 1953's 'The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms' with the laughable man-in-a-suit work seen in 'Godzilla' a year later does not favour Tsuburaya.

That is not to demean Tsuburaya, but just to say that the level of praise reserved for his work in the book is difficult to take seriously, especially the claims made to its realism, with audience members apparently asking Honda where he got all the military equipment from after one film. As upbeat and sanguine as Honda seems to have been, one can't help but wonder whether he really saw himself as the director of film's like 'MechaGodzilla's Counterattack' (1975) or whether he privately yearned for more.



But then I think that is the point of Brothers' book. Rather than apologise for these campy movies, he has chosen to find the good in them. He has looked at them and is trying to bring to our attention the things of value that Honda was able to bring about within these fantasy pictures. And he does so with palpable love of his subject and real verve, which as a result prevents the book from ever being dull or too dry (at least for anyone pre-disposed to read about Japanese movies). Brothers manages to locate some genuine humanity and even some poignant moments in all of these increasingly absurd films, which is laudable in itself. Perhaps in doing so he is a brave defender of all the easily dismissed fantasy films of the 50s and 60s.



Perhaps a definitive, more sober look at the cinema of Ishirō Honda is still yet to be written. However, Mushroom Clouds and Mushroom Men is a long overdue celebration of a much-maligned film-maker with an equal claim to fame and influence as his better known contemporaries. Perhaps, given more opportunities and with more good fortune, Honda would have emulated Kurosawa and made more than one great film ('Godzilla'). After all, he directed entire segments of some of Kurosawa's later films, most notably two whole segments of 'Dreams' in 1990. The director once told a colleague: "Unless your film is caught in the critic's net, it will be washed away into history." If nothing else, Brothers' book is the first necessary step in ensuring that does not happen to the films of Ishirō Honda.

Mushroom Clouds and Mushroom Men: The Fantastic Cinema of Ishiro Honda by Peter H. Brothers is available now here.

'Skeletons' review: An amiable and gently amusing British comedy...

Last week I hosted a Q&A with Nick Whitfield, the writer and director of the low budget British black comedy 'Skeletons'. The film won the Michael Powell Award for Best New British Feature Film at this year's Edinburgh International Film Festival and stars two relative unknowns, Andrew Buckley and Ed Gaughan. The duo play a pair of professionals whose job is to investigate the skeletons in their clients (literal) closet. But the pair have their own difficulties with the work, as Buckley's Bennett gets too empathetic towards his clients (whose vices range from secretive Latin dance lessons to use of prostitutes), whilst Gaughan's Davis is "on the glow" (addicted to using the procedure to revisit his own past) - a fact the duo must disguise from their boss, the Colonel, played by Jason Isaacs, in a spirited and memorable turn as a gruff Yorkshireman.

The first feature film from Whitfield, 'Skeletons' is a beneficiary of UK Film Council funding, without which the film would never have been made, according to the director. Shot on location across the Midlands, the film is primarily set in the countryside as the besuited protagonists walk from job to job. The film's best moments occur during this walking, as Davis talks about such topics as the lack of moral ambiguity surrounding Rasputin. The interplay between the two leads is funny and Gaughan in particular is really watchable. Written with the two actors in mind, the dialogue and characters are perfectly suited to these actors. The film feels something like a cross between 'Ghostbusters' and 'Alan Partridge' - mixing the spiritual and paranormal with the mundane and the regional.



There are instances where the comedy misfires slightly, with a tired, sub-Chuckle Brothers exchange of "you're unprofessional", "no you're unprofessional", "no you're being unprofessional" being among the less successful moments. But generally the film is gently amusing throughout, even if never side-splittingly hilarious. That may sound like faint praise for a comedy film, but 'Skeletons' gets along fine with these gentle laughs of approval, with its pleasant and amiable tone. It is also uncommonly ambitious and fantastical for a low budget British feature. There is no gritty, kitchen sink realism here as we plunge into territory not too dissimilar from that recently mined in Christopher Nolan's (much bigger budgeted) 'Inception': not only in its premise, but in its fascination with the nature of reality and with Davis' character mirroring DiCaprio's Dom Cobb as he finds himself haunted by the past.

It is refreshing to encounter a film of this modest means which isn't frightened to tackle the imagination and isn't afraid to get quite abstract and surreal (it is a film where an accident can turn you Bulgarian and a man can live in a rusty old landlocked boat next to a power station). With 'Skeletons' Whitfield also shows that he is not shy about combining this humour and inventiveness with genuine emotion - the film ultimately being about loss and acceptance. 'Skeletons' is not perfect, but it is a pleasing and intriguing debut film from a writer and director with a unique voice in British cinema, and perhaps it forecasts something wonderful for the future. If he can get the funding. Let us hope that the demise of the UK Film Council does not put a premature end to this emerging talent.

'Skeletons' is rated '15' by the BBFC and is still touring the country accompanied by its director, Nick Whitfield, who is doing Q&As at selected Picturehouse cinemas. A full write up on the Q&A will appear on this blog during the week.

'Separado!' review: a cultural oddity in an experimental style...

Gruff Rhys, the man behind the Super Furry Animals, has co-directed, written and starred in a documentary so small that, at the time of writing, it is still "awaiting 5 votes" on the IMDB. That film is 'Separado!', a quirky little movie, less than an hour and a half long, which charts Rhys' journey from Wales to Patagonia (South Argentina) in search of his distant relatives who joined many hundreds of Welsh in emigrating to that part of the world in the late 19th century. On his journey, through Brazil as well as Argentina, Rhys traces the legacy of his Welsh ancestors and looks at the interesting musical hybrid between Latin and traditional Welsh music which can still be heard in parts of South America today.

It all started when Rhys saw an Argentinian gaucho singer named René Griffiths singing in Welsh on BBC Wales as a child. After finding that they were in fact related, the musician became interested in tracking down the man himself. On his journey to find René Griffiths, Rhys meets many other distant relatives and encounters a whole range of other musical performers, including a Brazilian musician who has invented his own instrument - a cross between a guitar and a drum machine. He also puts on several low-key concerts and looks a little bit at the cultural, historical and economic causes and effects of this strange chapter in Welsh history (which apparently played a key role in Argentinian history too - allowing the government to successfully claim the disputed South from neighbouring Chile).



On this trip we see that many Patagonian places have Welsh names and that many still speak the language. Rhys even manages to meet an old man who is closely and directly descended from the original Welsh settlers (who is also proudly in possession of the first organ brought to Argentina by these pioneers). Impressively, he does all of this speaking three languages over the course of the film, speaking Welsh, English and having a decent command of conversational Spanish to boot.

All of this is shown in a really surreal and unconventional way too, with Rhys teleporting himself between locations after donning a huge Power Ranger helmet, and with many bizarre and trippy musical interludes. In fact the film is as much about making music as it is about anything else. There is really nothing to criticise here. The film is barely long enough to get boring. The history is fascinating in itself and seeing the modern Welsh communities of Patagonia (and hearing their music) is an intriguing cultural oddity. Rhys comes across very well too, and spending time in his company is hardly a chore, even for someone who isn't a fan of his music, such as I (not because it's bad, but because I am not familiar with it).

Perhaps the movie could put many off with its unconventional and experimental form, but even then the chance to see this South American road trip is too good to miss. It also has a serious point, underneath all the quirky-ness, about how important it is to hold onto cultural identity - a fact which is perhaps more pressing today for Welsh-speakers than it was in the 1860s. There is also the brutal irony (not lost on the filmmakers), that in escaping persecution from the British, like many other colonials, the Welsh played a part in the persecution of another native people (in this case the Tehuelche, who were removed by the Argentine government now in control of the region). If you can find it playing and have even a minimal interest in any of the above, then there is probably something for you in 'Separado!'.

'Separado!' is so small it hasn't even been rated by the BBFC. But it can be found playing one-off shows at various cinemas, including many Picturehouses.

'Le Concert' review: If Jim Davidson could play violin...

'Le Concert', directed by the Jewish Romanian-born director Radu Mihaileanu, is a big cultural melting pot of a movie. On the surface (and from most posters) a French production boasting 'Inglourious Basterds' star Melanie Laurent, though many of the actors and much of the dialogue is Russian. Fitting then that the story concerns a once-great Orchestra conductor, Andreï Filipov (Aleksei Guskov), thrown out of the Bolshoi for standing up against racial intolerance towards Jews under Brezhnev. But, 30 years after the this injustice, Filipov intercepts an invitation to play in Paris, intended for the Bolshoi and resolves to take a rag-tag group of Russians, from all walks of life (including a wealthy oligarch), to France disguised as the professionals.

Yet, for a film which makes a feature of the fight against racially motivated intolerance, 'Le Concert' is pretty happy to indulge in stereotype. Uncomfortably so: the orthodox Jewish musicians miss practice because they are hawking their wares across Paris from out of a suitcase; the unskilled workers immediately leave the hotel and become illegal immigrants working menial jobs; the gypsies make their living from stealing and forging documents and an Arab restaurateur threatens one patron by saying "they call me Muhammad Al-Qaeda". Some may see this as a good-natured celebration of difference, but I couldn't help but squirm uncomfortably in my chair as racial caricature after racial caricature was exploited for humour in this movie which very quickly descends into farce.



'Le Concert' certainly thinks it is a comedy and it isn't afraid to go pretty broad with it. An oligarch's daughter's wedding is marred by an all-out gangland shootout, for example (which feels as misjudged and out of place as it sounds), whilst the gypsies fake 80-odd passports very publicly at an airport. Maybe this is a very broad cartoonish way of commenting on corruption and criminality in contemporary Russia, but it strains credibility. Especially as the film plays it relatively straight at other points. It is also a film which is terrifically critical of the old Soviet Union and communism, with plenty of jokes about the old regime, so adding that to the cynicism about the modern era, you get a film which is pretty nihilistic.

Melanie Laurent is the film's saving grace, as she has an intensity about her which is always stirring. She is one of those actors who can communicate so much with a subtle change of expression. Aleksei Guskov is also pretty good, always portraying his character with a touching sweetness as well as a dangerous obsession. But mostly everyone in 'Le Concert' shouts their lines at one another in a way which is very unappealing and engaging. It is a film which seems to hate Russian people. For example, when the 80-odd strong Orchestra arrives at their hotel they are all continuously shouting all at once, bursting through the doorway en masse and surrounding the hotelier, waving their arms in the air frantically. These people are idiots, their characters thinly drawn and unsympathetic and, as a result, their plight is uninteresting.



The film scooped several César awards earlier in the year, for Best Sound Design and Best Music, and these were probably deserved. The Tchaikovsky music performed at the titular concert is mesmerising and intense. The fact that the final scene is more or less a long unbroken musical performance is the film's strongest suit - and in that respect it ends of a high note (no pun intended). But for much of the film's running time, it is nothing more than a misfiring comedy of racial difference that feeds off the very intolerance it claims to be in opposition to. A woeful film.

'Le Concert' is rated '15' by the BBFC and is still on a limited release in the UK.

'The Sorcerer's Apprentice' review + My slot on Radio Reverb

Yesterday I posted a review of Disney's latest blockbuster, 'The Sorcerer's Apprentice', over at Obsessed with Film - so check that out! It is rather less inflammatory than my last bit of writing for the site, so hopefully I can leave the witness protection program now.

'The Sorcerer's Apprentice' is rated 'PG' by the BBFC and released this Friday (13th) in the UK.

I have also neglected to mention that I have, for the last two weeks, been acting as a regular film reviewer for a breakfast show on Brighton's Radio Reverb, hosted by a lovely lady named Ridder. The show is from 8-10 on Friday mornings and my regular guest slot is around 9.10. So listen in online or on 97.2 FM if you're a local person.

Don't forget to tune in!