Boxing Day Releases

With Boxing Day right around the corner, cinema aficionados are gearing up for some of the most awaited films of the year. Director Wes Anderson (The Life Aquatic…) returns to his favoured themes of family and love with The Darjeeling Limited, a gently comical story of three estranged brothers uniting for a train journey across India. Tinted by the real life experiences of co-writers Anderson, Jason Schwartzman and Roman Coppola, Anderson carves his most emotionally grounded offering to date, whilst still maintaining his signature eccentricities. Julie Delpy (Before Sunrise/Sunset) meanwhile steps behind the camera to both direct and star in Two Days in Paris, where she plays a verbose, borderline-hysterical Parisian who brings her cynical, arrogant, French-hating American boyfriend (Adam Goldberg) home for the weekend. Delivered with all the verbal frenzy of a Gilmore Girls episode, there’s something delightfully endearing about the film (perhaps because of Delpy’s effortlessly likeable nature), despite her self-conscious narration and the film perilous dance on that thin line between comedy and tragedy. And the musical biopic receives yet another make-over in I’m Not There, where Marcus Carl Franklin, Richard Gere, Christian Bale, Heath Ledger and Cate Blanchett all recreate different images of Bob Dylan through interweaving narratives. For all that it’s trying to do, the film doesn’t really do anything all that well, coming off as extremely self-conscious and with some narrative strands decisively more interesting and well-developed than their half-baked counterparts.

Ratings: 8.5, 8.0, 6.9

And, as cinemas around the nation brace themselves for the onslaught of post-Christmas cinema releases, Perth prepares for some more local surprises. The Luna Outdoor season gets going with its second film, Buddha’s Lost Children, a documentary about Thai boxer-come-monk, Khru Bah, who now devotes himself to assisting struggling hillside tribes throughout Thailand’s impoverished borderlands, and to taking in homeless or lost boys, in order to give them another chance at life. There’s a very intimate feel to the unfolding storytelling, as we are gradually drawn into the community’s daily workings, the lives of the young boys and the karmic life philosophies of Khru Bah himself. The filmmaking is solid, sprinkled with exquisite cinematography and some genuinely thought-provoking interviews. While it may be slower paced and less exciting than other ‘inspirational’ documentaries making the rounds at the moment, Buddha’s Lost Children remains an interesting, if not enthralling, portrait of a hidden community.

Rating: 7.5

PIAF’s Film Festival also introduces two new films for the new year. I Served the King of England is the Czech comedy that will soon be lighting up the Sommerville auditorium. It sees Czech actor Ivan Barnev become a cross between Charlie Chaplin and a weasel (sneaky, yet somehow endearing), as he plays the ingratiating Jan Dite, a waiter hoping desperately to become a millionaire in wartime Czechoslovakia. Despite its trailer suggesting nonsense absurdity, there is actually a gripping narrative weaving through all the more unbelieve images that cross the screen (monetary note wallpaper, a pool for naked Aryan women and a waiter who upturns the tables of his clients, to mention a few), whilst these surreal interludes help to spice up the film as whole.

Rating: 8.1

Meanwhile, Moliere welcomes 2008 at Joondalup Pines. No doubt inspired by the success of Shakespeare in Love, director Laurent Tirad presents a speculative take on how the famous French playwright may have gained inspiration for his most famous play, Tartuffe. While the film could have suffered under the confines of its period setting, and what many have criticised to be a poor casting choice Romain Duris as Moliere), the screenplay has obviously taken many of its comedic cues from the playwright it celebrates, rendering the end result fresh and genuinely funny, as well as just that little bit touching. This, combined with the perfectly tuned performances of the supporting cast (especially Fabrice Luchinni and Laura Morante as the wealthy couple who welcome Moliere into their home with mixed results) cements the film as one of the Festival’s most notable highlights thus far.

Rating: 8.6

Eagle Vs Shark; Hunting & Gathering; War/Dance

There is little need to extrapolate upon the success Napoleon Dynamite, and the way in which this film’s particular brand of ‘geek-humour’ rippled through pop culture, inspiring a whole breed of people who insist on quoting lines to the point of banality, the proliferation of a particular slogan shirt, and, apparently, this recent New Zealand comedy flick. In Taika Cohen’s Eagle Vs Shark we meet Lilly (Loren Horsley), a pathetically weak yet well-meaning fast-food worker, in love with Jarrod (Jemaine Clement), a mulleted, baselessly arrogant electronic store clerk. After proving herself worthy through an impressive video game performance, Jarrod is soon asking Lilly out, standing her up, excusing himself with the excuse over “I’m just so complex,” and eventually taking her with him to visit his hometown, in a trip that gives him a chance to finally avenge his high school nemesis and Cohen a chance to play Lilly off against Jarrod’s dysfunctional family. At no point along this journey does Cohen shy away from blatant ND references (nam-chucks, ‘liger’-esque sketches and that trademark flat delivery all make an appearance). Cohen’s only attempt at an original edge is her effort to look further beneath the surface, but this is largely manifest through self-consciously poignant asides that do little to rectify the situation (and significantly also feel reminiscent of a million other indie flicks along the lines of Garden State). There are some delightful moments (including Cohen’s stop motion sequences, the film’s cute final scene and admittedly the entire character of the amiable Lilly), and, certainly, if it had been released three years earlier then the film would no doubt be a cult classic. As is, though, it is not worth watching this one more than once, because you’ve already seen it all before to start with.

Rating: 7.3

Adapted from a 600 page novel by celebrated author Anna Gavalda, Hunting and Gathering marks the first time that veteran French filmmaker Claude Berri (Jean de Florette, The Housekeeper) has looked towards a younger generation for his subjects. The film tracks the lives of three, vastly different 20-something year-olds over the course of a year, as they are unexpectedly thrust into a shared living space. Philibert (Laurent Stocker) is a kind-hearted, stuttering aristocrat temporarily looking after a large, regal apartment for his wealthy family, Franck (Guilaume Canet) is his temperamental housemate and Camille (Audrey Tautou) is their lost and lonely neighbour, who Philibert takes under his wings after she develops the flu. There are some touching moments (particularly thanks to Philibert) and the performances are all impressive (especially Francoise Bertin in a gracious turn of Franck’s grandmother Paulette), but on the whole the film suffers slightly from the stilted feel of inadequate adaptation. The narrative jumps through developments with an awkward swiftness, the story’s romantic plotline feels like it must have been drastically simplified and, although Berri did make many changes to the original novel, he did not inject enough structure into the story’s flowing narrative to make it feel like a movie rather than an extended episode of television drama. This is a sweet movie, but it just doesn’t pack a punch, or the melancholic flavour one could have expected from this director.

Rating: 7.0

This Monday, the US/Ugandan documentary War/Dance opens at Joondalup Pines for PIAF’s Lotterywest Film Festival. Gifted with an extraordinary story and some colourful interview characters, War/Dance is a compelling look at the poverty stricken Achioli tribe in northern Uganda, where a class at the Patonga refugee camp primary school has been asked to compete in a nationwide music and dance competition in Kampala. The students, many of whom are orphaned, have seen the atrocities of war first hand, and lived amongst conflict their entire life. By focusing on three outspoken class members, we learn of their unbelievable individual sufferings and the potential of music and passion to provide relief in amongst the darkest circumstances. Like some sort of cross between sweet innocence of Mad Hot Ballroom and the powerful emotion of Born Into Brothels, this documentary is compelling and, ultimately, deeply affecting.

Rating: 7.9

vier minuten; outsourced

Next Monday (10 December), Sommerville replaces The Dinner Guest with Four Minutes (Vier Minuten) – a highly taut German character study. This film follows the elderly piano tutor Traude Kruger (Monica Bleibtreu), as she struggles to impart some musical knowledge onto Jenny (Hannah Herzsprung), a gifted but traumatised inmate at the woman’s penitentiary. Though the two women are divided by age and by experience, a potent, almost electric, relationship develops between them, forcing them both to come to terms with the weight of their pasts as they titter perilously between sanity and hysteria. And far from diverging into a sloppy fairytale about the transformative power of music, Four Minutes remains captivating in its complexity; positioning music simultaneously as the interest that unites the woman, and as the force that divides and torments them. Get ready for another darkly enthralling offering from Germany, propelled by a powerful soundtrack and two near-flawless performances.

Rating: 8.0

Meanwhile, at Sommerville’s sister cinema, Joondalup Pines (located at ECU Joondalup), the PIAF film seasons gets started with Outsourced – a cross-cultural romantic comedy set against the backdrop of call centre chaos. The zaniness begins when Todd Anderson (Josh Hamilton) is forced to swap his comfortable Seattle office cubicle for a dingy building in the middle on the outskirts of an Indian city. Here, his new job to educate Indian telemarketing staff in the art of sounding American. More cynical cinema-goers will be frustrated by Todd’s extreme cultural ignorance, as well as by the unrealistic and somewhat simple romance that develops between him and the vivacious Asha (Ayesha Dharker), one of his staff members. Nonetheless, there’s something quite delightfully humorous about this brazen culture clash (nothing beats the comedic impact of a cow nonchalantly wandering through an office), and there is relief to be found in other moments of the film, when the scriptwriters’ demonstrate an astute ability to portray those more nuanced cultural differences, and inevitable cultural similarities.

Rating: 6.9

Hola Mexico!

The 2007 Hola Mexico Film Festival is all about new beginnings. For starters, the festival is only one year old, having been founded by Festival Director Samuel Douek just last year. “At the moment I’m deliberately bringing a wide selection of films to the festival, because I still don’t know my crowd that well,” Douek confesses. “I’m just trying to bring something for everyone. I try to bring some comedy, some drama, some thriller and some horror – just bringing films from all the genres that are happening in Mexico.”

Secondly, the festival also represents new beginnings for the Mexican film industry. Following a brief hiatus from the international cinema scene, Mexican film is once again garnering popular attention, thanks to the efforts of “The Big 3” – Alejandro Gonzalez Iñárritu (Babel), Guillermo del Toro (Pan’s Labyrinth) and Alfonso Cuaron (Children of Men). “These three directors are not necessarily making ‘Mexican cinema,’ but are shifting the eyes of the world towards Mexico,” Douet suggests. “They are forcing people to say, ‘OK so these guys came from Mexico; let’s see what else is from there.’”

In celebration of “The Big 3,” the festival presents its ‘A Tribute to Mexico’ program, featuring the debt films of each of the three directors (Iñárritu's Amores Perros, Del Toro’s Cronos and Cuaron’s Solo con tu Pareja.) In setting their sights towards an international audience, all of these directors have in some sense forsaken that strong Mexican filmmaking essence in favour of Hollywood styling, so this program celebrates their traditional origins. “Each of the three films represents the really good beginnings of their careers, while it’s really interesting to see what they were doing with not that much money, and when they were still making films for an exclusively Mexican audience,” Douet explains.

For the remainder of the program, Douet has similarly focused his attention upon debuting directors. He gushes; “There are all these new directors coming out right now – it’s a whole new filmmaking generation! So, a lot of the films in this festival are the first or second films from directors, and these are really the new faces of Mexico cinema. They have such crazy ideas and their filmmaking is so good and so artistic, with influences as diverse as Indian or French cinema. And I think these are the films that really represent a growing Mexican film industry.”

Douet is particularly thrilled by the selection of documentaries on offer. This year there are two. One is 1973, the remarkably real romantic comedy story about a woman who, in search a lost love, contacts three men of the exact same name, promting each of them to respond in turn. The second is Born Without, Eva Norvind’s documentary about armless musician/actor, Jose Flores (completed Norvind’s daughter after Eva’s death in 2006). “They are so amazing this year, I’ve been really surprised,” Douet remakrs, “And the stories that are behind these two documentaries are almost more remarkable than the documentaries themselves!”

While all these filmmakers may be newcomers to the Mexican scene, Douet emphasizes the fact that they remain true to the Mexican film spirit. “When people ask me what is characteristic about Mexican cinema I would say ‘the reality.’ I think people like the idea of the raw or the real, or something that isn’t fake, just like Mexican cinema.” Then, in an almost-awkward sounding whisper, he recalls how last year he spotted several movie goers leaving cinema halls early, perhaps because they could not handle such an intense dose of reality. “I don’t think I’ve seen a single person leave the cinema this year,” he laughs. And for only his second attempt at directing a festival, that’s not bad at all.

Into the Wild; September

Transposing backpacking escapades into a group email or internet blog is always a challenge. The sprawling nature of new experiences is not well suited to such restricting formats, and the seemingly endless list of ‘Wacky Things that Happened to Me’ will often bore the friends who have stayed behind, and who read of your adventures from their office cubicle. The first hour of Into the Wild is comparable to this phenomenon. Based upon a true story, it follows the journey of Christopher McCandless (Emile Hirsch), who has just graduated from college and is therefore finally free to dispose of his affluent existence in favour of a lonesome trek up to Alaska. Not wanting to feel ‘chained’ to society, he donates his life savings to Oxfam, dumps his car and burns his remaining dollars, hoping that the wilderness will deliver him salvation from the insidious materialistic world he has left behind. What follows is a collage of scenes that depict his various travel experiences, and that jump through chronology to be loosely ordered in a sequence that depicts his personal maturation.

For the most part, this seemingly endless string of new experiences is exhausting. The cinematography may be breath-taking, but it’s doubtless that the film would have benefited from some far more severe editing. Its slow pace combined with the sheer volume of experience that director Sean Penn packs into this limited space is a little overwhelming. It has to be acknowledged, though, that like bathroom renovations, a history textbook or a week of exams, you won’t fully appreciate Into the Wild until it is over. It is also only with hindsight that the significance of scenes that had previously seemed arbitrary is made clear, transforming the film from a simple travelogue to a complex philosophical exploration of human nature. In the end, despite it being such hard work, Into the Wild is a profoundly worthwhile experience, and the film’s philosophical undertones are no difficult to quickly shake-off.

8.0

Australian films often have a tendency to lose themselves in the thick web of their own clichés and, when a movie is set in the 1960s on a dry wheat field, audiences can not be wholly blamed for fearing the worse. There is, however, something quite transcendental about Peter Castair’s feature debut, September, despite the story’s specific location. The film follows the lifelong friendship between two 16-year old boys – Ed (Xavier Samuel of 2:37), whose parents own and run an expansive wheat farm, and Paddy (Warwick Senior High School’s Clarence John Ryan), whose parents work of Ed’s in exchange for food and shelter. Inevitably, times begin to change, and as new laws are introduced (requiring fair pay for Aboriginal work) and as Ed’s attention gravitates towards his school’s ‘new girl’ Amelia (Mia Wasikowska), the friendship begins to fracture and eventually shatter.

September is the first film to be produced by the Tropfest Feature Program – an incentive designed to extend Tropfest’s interest in exposing emerging talent (through its short film festival) to sustaining this talent through career support for new filmmakers. Indeed, September is powered by that feeling of freshness brought to it by Peter Castair’s youthful vision. The dialogue is refreshingly (and appropriately) sparse, while the meaningful silences are plumped by poetic cinematography. Low depth of field emphasises the character drama, and the powerful performances of the young leads (who are never overshadowed by their older counterparts). Some of the hand-held camera work feels a touch misplaced but there is something quite captivating about this slowly-unfolding drama. And if you’re worried that the ‘black and white friendship angle’ will veer into didactic preaching or trite cultural commentary, have no fear, because September is far from this. The thematic undertones of this narrative certainly transcend its 1960s context, but it remains nonetheless a realistic snapshot of Australia’s past, produced with the highest level of storytelling talent and artistic integrity.

9.0

Interview

These days, Dutch director Theo Van Gogh is probably more famous for his 2004 death (he was murdered by a religious fundamentalist upset by his portrayal of Islam in a short film) than for his actual films. After his tragic death, however, two Dutch producers decided to return attention to Van Gogh’s work by fulfilling his dream to remake three of his movies in English with Hollywood stars. The first of these three films is Interview, starring Sienna Miller as Katya, a glowing celebrity who stars in B-grade films and television soapies, and Steve Buscemi as Pierre, the fatigued political journalist who is forced to interview her. Like all of Van Gogh’s films, this one’s focus is the relationship that develops between the two characters, as, through a series of coincidental events, they end up sharing the night together, confessing secrets and testing each others resolve.

Filmed in Van Gogh’s characteristic cinematographic style (a three-point camera system and a short filming schedule) and largely in one single location (Katya’s sparse penthouse apartment), this film feels a little like a recorded play. On the one hand, this renders the performances fresh and natural, with both Miller and Buscemi shining in roles that essentially critique their usual performance choices. On the other hand, however, the dialogue itself feels extremely artificial. Try as they might, Miller and Buscemi just do not succeed in pouring enough honesty into their performances to make up for the stiff scriptwriting. The final result is film that is obviously striving for intensity, but falling just short of the mark. As a showcase for Van Gogh, and also for Buscemi (who actually directed the film), Interview unfortunately lacks the extra punch necessary to push it out of mediocrity.

Rating: 7.0

Crazy Love

Despite their relationship making tabloid headlines in the sixties, today very few people will have heard of Burt and Linda Pugach. And, despite Crazy Love being a documentary entirely about their relationship, initially, very little attempt is made to explain their significance to the audience. At first, Crazy Love feels boring and pointless – it presents a stream of unknown interview subjects discussing the seemingly insignificant and rather innocuous ‘early days of Burt and Linda.’ At this point, the most intriguing aspect of the film is the trashy appearance of these interviewees (complete with diamante-studded sunglasses and a fake tan that induced audible giggles from the audience). The film’s ability to lull its audience into a false sense of security, however, is actually what makes the ensuing developments so utterly surprising. In true tabloid fashion, this mundane exposition contrasts ideally with the shocking twists that are to follow.
To discuss these zany developments would be to undermine the film’s entire central premise and yet, at the same time, there does seem to be so much more to this film than the headline-worthy scandals it exposes. Director Dan Klores actually seems to push beyond the sensationalist gleam of the story to expose some humanity beneath it. His interviews weave through themes of love, loneliness, desperation and infatuation with a level of insightfulness that disables you from dismissively slotting Crazy Love between Woman’s Weekly and Life Magazine. The interviews with Burt and Linda (now in their 60s and 70s respectively) are particularly well-handled, with both individuals revealing a practical attitude to love that many will be able to relate to, but few will admit to. While there’s little to this film to suggest that it should be viewed on silver screen rather than on television, it is a surprisingly intriguing offering, which holds a particular relevance in a time when people are so interested in sensationalist tales that tabloid headlines often make it to our evening news (albeit not on all stations).
Rating: 6.9

Inland Empire

It seems as if two separate reviews should accompany Inland Empire; one for the well-seasoned David Lynch connoisseur and another for the more ignorant filmgoer. A fan of this director’s work will be familiar with his complex repertoire; from his sketchy beginnings with Erasurehead, through his more commercial and mainstreams efforts (Elephant Man and, later, Twin Peaks,), all culminating in cinema cult-classics like Blue Velvet and Mullholand Drive. This fan will not be surprised by Lynch’s exploration of blurred subconscious (collective and individual) and so find pleasure in Inland Empire’s gradual slide away from coherent narrative and towards less literal representations of more visceral sentiments. This viewer will applaud the eccentricities that lace this movie, like the inclusion of a nonsensical sitcom about stilted conversation in a house of anthropomorphic rabbits or the arbitrary scenes from an unrelated storyline taking place in Poland. This audience member will be moved by the strong performances of the film, in particular Laura Dern’s ability to slip seamlessly through a whole of personas, and applaud the film’s haunting soundtrack and Lynch’s powerful use of Beck’s “Black Tambourine” (the subversive use of songs being one of the director’s distinct auteur trademarks).

An ordinary filmgoer will have far more difficulty here. They will be frustrated by Lynch’s initial attempt to lull the viewer into a false sense of security, by providing a vague semblance of a narrative before ruthlessly snatching it away. As the original narrative, which sees two upcoming film stars (played by Laura Dern and Justin Theroux) begin work on a new film, disintegrates into detached narrative fragments and morphing personas, this viewer will grow increasingly resentful of Lynch’s failure to cast any shadow of meaning over his work. Attempts to uncover literal or even symbolic sense in the garble of images and sounds will inevitably prove futile, as Lynch weaves a collage that is not only non-linear, but also non-circular, and rather a collection of various jagged edges, heaped together with the appearance of a disaster aftermath. Indeed, this film will test the patience of even the most devoted Lynch fan, as he pushes the surreal envelope further than ever before, offering no respite through length (dragging this torture on for over three hours) or through aesthetics (using digital filmmaking techniques to carve ugly, unappealing images of dull colours and confusing blurs). Unless you have enjoyed every single piece of cinema that Lynch has ever touched, this one is to be approached only with sever caution.

Rating: 2.0

Painting the Town

It was during the eighties that Tony Bective first took notice of Perth’s street art. At the time, Fremantle was “buzzing” with artistic energy, and it was within this infectious atmosphere that Bective stumbled across the work of Sam Abercrombie (now a famous artist living in Portugal) on a wall at Ciccerllo’s Fish Markets. “Basically, what I saw there was the process was involved with an artist putting a painting on a wall,” he remembers, “I saw all the sketching and the outline and the filling-in with colours and concepts. Then, gradually, as the mural developed, I saw how he [Abercrombie] would rub parts of it out and add new notes. So it was very much like seeing an artist thinking and working on a wall. Normally, you just see the final product, but on this wall you could just see the whole process there and I was fascinated by that.”

Since then, Bective has remained ‘on the look out’ for more artistic evidence on the streets of Perth, photographing the most distinct works he comes across during regular walks or cycles through the city. This week, Artrage presents an exhibit of the best in his collection. “I’ve got something like 1200 slides all up and each one is very different,” Bective stresses, “Even the smaller ones, that perhaps use less colour, are still impressive in their intricacy, or just in terms of where the artists have done it. People are using so many mediums now too, it’s being done with spray painting and texture, while others are just writing messages or using stick-on labels. It’s all very intricate and it takes a lot of time and care. It’s not just slaphappy; these artists consciously think about and then have to go out and actually put it somewhere.”

For Bective, though, Perth’s intolerant attitude is stifling the art form. He compares our perception of street art to that which exists in Melbourne and Sydney, where street art is often held up as an urban feature or tourist attraction. “Years ago, Perth’s street art was a bit better, because we could see it and it stayed up longer,” he laments, “It had a bigger presence, whereas nowadays it’s a real race. People put it up and it’s taken down straight away, because it is just seen as defacing. It’s a real war out there, so it’s becoming more tagging or ‘glorified tagging,’ as opposed to art that’s trying to say something about the community or individuals.

“I also guess that that doesn’t exist to the same extent in Perth because we don’t have as much of a social consciousness here, compared to elsewhere. I don’t think we’re as politically minded. When you look at different communities or areas, like in L.A. or Mexico or South America, street art is a social and political statement. It’s used to tell stories of the community, and make political statements about conflict. In Northern Ireland for example, street art will actually reflect what’s going on in the streets. I would have thought Aboriginal youth would be doing more political or social art to say ‘We’re here, what the fuck is going on?’ or something that will convey their voices to people, but I haven’t seen that.”

Nonetheless, Bective still believes that there is a place for street art in Perth, hoping that his exhibit will increase our city’s awareness of the art form and encourage more commissioned work. In particular, he emphasises the decorative potential of street art, and its ability to transform an uninviting environment into an urban playground. “Quite frankly, some of our buildings and gas tanks and huge factories are pretty bland and awful, and could do well with some fantastic graffiti,” he suggests. “These artists could be encouraged to channel their expression. Companies could just say, ‘Instead of defacing my wall, why don’t you do some art here?’ Then the art becomes part of the environment, and I think that would be very exciting – and also probably the only way to avoid seeing your building actually defaced.”

Bomb Harvest

As a young Australian soldier, Laith Stevens once dreamt of signing up for the Gulf War. As an adult and a bomb disposal specialist now working in Laos, he has grown a very different perspective. Bomb Harvest is the Australian-produced documentary that tracks Steven’s work in Loas, as he trains a new Lao ‘big bomb team,’ and later travels around the country with them, in order to test their skills on live, dangerous bombs left in inhabited areas. With a ‘typically Australian’ informality and forthrightness, Laith is every filmmaker’s dream subject. He is almost immediately endearing, and thus relieves the film of its potential to verge into overwhelmingly heavy territory – something that director Kim Mourdaunt pushes further, by focusing upon the individual personalities of all members travelling in the team, and also upon the distinct cultures and traditions of Loas.

Simultaneously, though, this documentary maintains a grip on its more serious aspects. Asides provide an insight into one of Vietnam War’s lesser-known atrocities – the ‘secret war’ occurring across the border in Loas, named thusly because the American government of the time entirely denied its existence. Today, few people realise that Loas is the most heavily bombed area in the world. In particular areas, the number of dropped bombs actually exceeds the number of inhabitants. While pointing these facts out, Mourdaunt also cleverly breaks up the bomb team’s journey with news reports and presidential speeches from around the time of the Vietnam War, all of which echo today’s ‘just war’ rhetoric. Notably, there is no patronising narration present to point out the frightening comparisons. There doesn’t need to be; this movie’s footage speaks for itself. With only two screenings this weekend at Cinema Paradiso, it’s only a pity that more people will not be able to see the simple, but incredibly powerful, documentary.

Rating: 7.5

Delirious

Forgotten director Tom DeCillo has synchronised his recent return to the cinema radar with a return to the themes that gained him recognition in the first place. Before he disappeared behind the B-grade curtain for a few years, DeCillo directed a quirky little independent film about independent filmmaking, called Lost in Oblivion. In his latest release, Delirious, sees the director once again cast a satirical eye over the movie industry, but this time he has climbed up the budget ladder to peer directly into Hollywood, examining Hollywood’s notorious celebrity culture and the very notion of fame. Michael Pitt (Last Days ,The Dreamers) dons his usual five o’clock shadow and slightly dazed look to play Toby Grace, an optimistic homeless youth driven by a vague desire to become an actor. After a coincidental meeting, he ends up living in the squalid apartment of a paparazzi photographer/self-appointed philosopher, Les, (played by Steve Buscemi). DeCillo actually wrote this role with Buscemi in mind (after Buscemi starred in a number of his past films, including Lost in Oblivion), and the actor slides flawlessly into the shoes of this worn-down professional, who actually lacks all the connections and experience that he frequently boasts about.

Flicking randomly from comedy to drama, Delirious is pleasantly unpredictable. One moment you’re being hit with a powerful character insight, and the next you’re laughing at a cunning satire of star publicity. The increasing intensity of Les and Toby’s relationship is balanced nicely by the more comedic plot developments, including Toby’s with the talentless starlet K’harma, and later his role on a hilarious reality TV show. Vice versa, the light-heartedness of these developments serves to increase the impact of the film’s more powerful serious moments, like when we see Les disintegrate into a bumbling mess in front of Elvis Costello or Toby painfully make sacrifices in the hope of winning Les’s approval. While it may not really bring anything new to the sheer wealth of celebrity culture themed films, Delirious is eccentric and entertaining enough to warrant a look. With an appropriately rough, grungy cinematograph, a strong soundtrack and a clever marketing campaign (look up “Gina Gershon Sex Tape” in YouTube), the film heralds a promising future for DeCillo.

Rating: 7.0

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford

A good Western, like say, The Proposition, will push through its genre restrictions and clichés to touch on realistic human predicaments and carve a genuinely captivating story in a unique setting. For all its claim to be a ‘psychological Western,’ The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford does neither of these things. Based upon Ron Hansen’s novel of the same name, it is intended as a look beyond the sensational newspaper articles and dime novels that have characterised James and Ford as a simplistic hero/coward duo in America’s collective memory. The casting of the two men is spot on – Brad Pitt being ideally predisposed to portray the troubled charisma of James (America’s Ned Kelly), and Casey Affleck (who starred alongside Pitt in Ocean’s) being perfectly suited for the grating forwardness of Ford. The cinematography is spectacular, with the opening train robbery scene unarguably exhibiting flawless technical and artistic mastery.

And yet for all that there is to like about this film, it is as if the screenwriters failed to realise that not everything that works on paper can be simply transposed onto the silver screen. Affleck’s perfect portrayal of the ingratiating Ford grows increasingly difficult to stomach – reading about an unlikable character may be enjoyable, but when he becomes the centre of your visual attention it is not so easy to bare. The poetic visuals also sit uneasily. Just as you grow increasingly tired of Ford, you will also grow sick of endless wheat fields and dawn-lit countryside. Add to that the tedious rivalries of the James’ gang members, as well as the decision to carry the narrative beyond James’ death with a “six months later” section that is far too long to be an epilogue and far too short to flow on from the rest of the film, and what you have is a fairly average offering. Even Nick Cave’s soundtrack (written together with Warren Ellis) is, while solid, predictably melancholic and rather unimaginative. At nearly three hours, this film is just too much hard work if you aren’t a die-hard Western fan.

Rating: 6.5

Across the Universe

Reminiscent of Baz Luhrmann’s Moulin Rouge!, Across the Universe swirls 33 Beatles’ songs through a story of the love, loss and anti-war protests. It tracks the journey of the predictably-named Jude (Jim Sturgess), as he leaves Liverpool for Princeton in search of his birth father. While he may not find the paternal comfort he had been expecting, he does find a new direction after befriending Max (Joe Anderson) and his effervescent sister, Lucy (Evan Rachel Woods). Together, the three of them end up moving to New York to pursue a colourful bohemian existence, fuelled by music, art, energy and protest – where plot becomes secondary to the evocative sights and sounds of the sixties. By now the soundtrack has been well and truly focused centre stage, giving way to sprawling psychedelic sequences and fluoro animations set to recognisable Beatles’ classics. At this point, director Julie Taymore (Frida, Titus and the Broadway musical The Lion King) makes the risky decision to preference style over substance. And this is a risk that does not pay off.

Across the Universe’s colourful fantasy world feels inconsistent, forced and actually quite uninspired. All the usual sixties clichés are rolled out (Vietnam War, drug culture, civil rights protests), as if their presence alone should be enough to give the film some sort of deeper significance. Relationships are lost in the flurry of colour, particularly as the focus of the film swings schizophrenically through an entire range of incidental characters. Classic tracks are allowed to unnecessarily sprawl out at their full length where they would have functioned far more effectively as montages or snippets, particularly given the film’s rather painful length. The film’s tone shifts awkwardly from gritty realism and complex song interpretations to ridiculous theatrics and meaningless vocals (for example, “Dear Prudence” is sung to a character called Prudence with little actual connection to the narrative – Bollywood, anyone?). Essentially, this film becomes a mere showcase of the versatility of The Beatles’ music, rather than a sophisticated fusion of recognisable lyrics with fresh interpretations. It’s enjoyable – but only if conceived as a sequence of disjointed video clips set to some quite pleasing covers, rather than as a supposedly integrated whole.


Rating: 6.5

Interview with Sam Riley

Post-punk pioneers, Joy Division, are one “those” bands.. One of those bands that inspire a quasi-religious following and widespread reverence from fans and musicians alike. One of those bands that never seem to stop attracting new listeners, topping various “all-time best song lists” over years thirty years after their break-up. One of those bands with a frontman whose dark decline that has now become a pop culture legend.

It was, therefore, a big deal when production began on Control – a new, no-holes-barred biopic that charts Ian Curtis’s rise to success, and subsequent descent into personal darkness. From the outset, director Anton Corbijn made clear his intentions to look beneath the surface of Curtis’s facade, and to not shy away from his infidelity or battles with epilepsy and depression. Little-known actor Sam Riley (who ironically played Mark E Smith in 24 Hour Party People before his short role was cut in post-production) is happy to laugh about the pressure he felt taking on the role of Joy Division’s frontman. “It was out of my control,” he jokes, somehow not yet sick of a pun that he must have heard many times before.

“He wasn’t anyone I personally revered or idolised,” Riley eventually admits, “so it wasn’t until I went onto the internet and looked at a Joy Division forum that I started really panicking. After it was announced that I would be playing Curtis, I foolishly went back to look again and there was mass panic and fear. The fans were all looking at photos of me and commenting on how I looked nothing like Ian. Which I don’t think I do normally – no one has ever said I have done. And then the fear kicked in.”

Corbijn, however, obviously saw something that Riley didn’t. He claims to have seen “something of Curtis” in Riley the first time he laid eyes on the young actor. “I can’t imagine that to be true,” Riley denies, “I think he’s a photographer, and what he saw was a snapshot of me; outside, smoking and shivering in the cold, wearing an overcoat. No, I don’t think we have the same aura. Though I don’t know what his was, as I never met him.”

Either way, Riley’s performance has been celebrated by even the most devoted Joy Division fans, with New Order themselves applauding the film. Riley credits his success to the fact that Corbijn never asked him to play a “rock star.” He explain; “I could deal with the pressure because my instructions were to play a young man with an exceptional talent, who chased his dreams, fell in love with two people and then had it all get too much for him – not to play the son of God.

“After all, [Curtis] is not a classic in many respects,” Riley continues, “On stage, he isn’t the strutting rock star that a lot his heroes are. He looks very vulnerable at his most manic, and the clothes and the hair almost make him look childlike. And it’s not all sex, drugs and rock and roll – the rock and roll was his life passion, the drugs were prescribed medications for epilepsy, and the sex was with his wife and girlfriend, who he loved. So it’s not the classic rock story in any respect.”

Rather than merely replicating the exterior of the musician then, Riley dove into an intense research stage, focusing his attention upon the singer’s complex interior and writhing contradictions. He read and re-read Deborah Curtis’s novel Touching from a Distance (which details Curtis’s infidelity and was the greatest inspiration for the Control screenplay). “The book really gives you the most insight into him as a character,” he emphasises, “And it isn’t the most flattering look at a young man, but that didn’t put me off; that was just more interesting. He was very complicated, he was very young, and he was only a teenager when he got married. I mean that wasn’t so unusual those days, but it was still probably too early to make that decision. And he was petulant and moody, but also good fun and very compassionate towards people, from all accounts.”

In attempting to fully understand Curtis, Riley also drew upon his own experience as a musician, comparing it to Curtis’s. “There are actually some things we have in common,” he explains, “We both dreamt of being rock stars, we both came from the same place in England, and I understand some of his fears. I’ve never contended with epilepsy and depression, but once you start seeing the world through his eyes than it’s not particularly hard to understand the dilemmas and problems he was faced with. He wasn’t a conscience-free rock and roller who I might have had trouble relating to, he was a thoughtful guy and really resented himself for putting his wife and child in that position.”

It would appear as if Riley actually encountered more challenges in attempting to capture the more superficial details of Curtis. He recalls how he spent seemingly endless days watching the very limited selection of Joy Division video footage available today (totalling in just over one hour), in an attempt to appropriately gauge Curtis’s idiosyncratic dance moves. “The only connection we have musically is that the music I played was similar to the music that Ian looked up to, because I revered David Bowie and Iggy Pop and The Doors, just has he did. But there’s where the similarities end, in terms of our performance roles.”

Nonetheless, after many days of dance practise, Riley felt he had finally managed to grasp something of Curtis’s style. He also believes that the live music scenes (in which he actually sings, almost perfectly replicating Curtis’s distinct tone), just “clicked” because of the particular casting choices. “We loved playing together, we loved being a band,” he recalls enthusiastically, “and once we’d got our costumes on had our haircuts it all just fit. You’d have a tough time convincing us that we weren’t Joy Division, because we loved it.”

This sentiment ideally echoes the advice that Riley received from Bernard Sumner himself (guitarist and keyboardist in Joy Division), when several of the cast members made the most of an invaluable opportunity to meet New Order. He remembers; “The weekend before we were starting filming, they happened to be playing Liverpool, so they invited Anton [Corbijn], Samantha [Morton, who plays Deborah] and the boys [in the band] to go up and watch them play. Then we met them backstage, and everyone was talking to their counterparts, though mine wasn’t there of course. I spoke mainly to Bernard, who gave me confidence because he said that I had something about me that was similar to Ian. And he said that we should have fun, because they had fun being Joy Division. And that was the sum total of advice that we received from New Order, because that’s the way that they are. “

At this point Riley again mentions how happy he was to later learn that New Order “loved the film.” I point out that that is indeed a compliment of the highest order, and he retorts with another laugh, “Indeed! You could actually say that it was a compliment of the highest new order!”

Control, Eastern Promises, Waitress

Many biopics suffer under a pretty formulaic treatment. Director falls for musician; director idolises musician; director channels sloppy sentiments into movie; director portrays musician in an idealistic, and often very simplistic, manner. This, however, is exactly where Control shines. The cinematic debut of Anton Corbijn (previously famous for rock photography and music video direction) presents a realistically balanced portrait of Ian Curtis (Sam Riley), the enigmatic frontman of Joy Division. You’ll find no pedestals here; instead, the many varying sides of Curtis’s personality are laid bare, allowing audiences to form their own opinions. Charting his development from a bored recruitment officer to a tortured musical icon, this film closely examines his relationship with his wife, Deborah (Samantha Morton), and later his affair with Belgium journalist, Annik Honore (Alexander Maria Lara). The narrative’s inevitable pull towards Curtis’ disintegration and suicide makes it all the more enthralling viewing. Filmed entirely in black and white, this is a film that has truly succeeded in capturing the bittersweet tone of the period while simultaneously maintaining a captivating level of character complexity. Aside from some of Riley’s dance moves (that feel more robotic than the awkward motions of Curtis), this is a near-flawless film that should satiate film-lovers and Joy Division devotees alike.

Rating: 8.8

Canadian director David Cronenberg has long been polarising audience opinion through his extreme treatment of the human body. Under Cronenberg’s direction, the body is transformed into a piece of meat. If it is male, it will be thrown around the set with the set with all the weight of a worthless prop, inevitably ending up as a mass of slaughtered, bloody pulp. If it is female, it will become the star of an explicit sex scene, often being similarly treated as a prop that catalyses male pleasure. Cronenberg maintains this attitude in his latest thriller, Eastern Promises – a London-based tale of Russia’s global criminal brotherhood, Vory V Zakone, and the innocent midwife, Anna Khitrova (Naomi Watts), who is inexorably drawn into their world. At long last, though, Cronenberg’s physical and sexual excesses do not feel arbitrary. Instead, these extremes work to develop the film’s dark and threatening tone, to explore the limits of the male characters and to further the tautly thrilling narrative progression. Even the performances feel far more even-handed than in Cronenberg’s previous offerings, with Viggo Mortenson ideally capturing the moral ambiguity of Nikolai Luzhin (the official chauffer of the brotherhood) and Watts perfectly articulating Anna’s conflicting emotions of fear and curiosity. Combine this all with a genuinely tense, interesting and fairly complex storyline, and what you have here is one of Cronenberg’s most mature and impressive offerings thus far.

Rating: 9.0

There are plenty of sweet little comedies out there, and while many may succeed in producing that familiar, warm, fuzzy feeling, few do so with the aid of characters that are as truly memorable as those featured in Waitress. Written and directed by Adrienne Shelly (who also acts in it), Waitress in set in America’s deep south, where Jenna (Kerri Russell) dreams of escaping her loveless, abusive marriage, until an unexpected pregnancy throws her plans of course. The pregnancy, which she initially sees as a curse, gradually evolves into a blessing-in-disguise, as it introduces her to the town’s new doctor, with whom she begins a risky affair. The film suffers a little from some uneven pacing, some jerky shifts in tone, and also from some unnecessarily repeated messages (a husband doesn’t need to shout “Make me my dinner” ad nauseum for us to understand that he’s a bad guy!). Nonetheless, though, Russell has made the most of this showcase, channelling a grace to rival Natalie Portman, while all the supporting cast members are equally memorable in their portrayals of the idiosyncratic characters that surround her. And don’t even get me started on the electric chemistry that sparks between Jenna and the doctor (Nathan Fillion). With a powerfully heart-warming conclusion, Waitress may well be the romantic comedy of the year.

Rating: 8.9

Interview with Elysia Zeccola

They say that Italians are all about family. Elysia Zeccola, the manager of this year’s Lavazza Italian Film Festival, jokes about the all-enveloping nature of her father’s “big Italian family, who made it impossible for her English mother to avoid adopting the culture and learning the language." Even work is a family affair for Zeccola, who has spent the last eight years organising the festival alongside her father, Antonio (the managing director), who actually proposed the original vision for an Italian film festival eight years ago.

“Back then, we saw how well the French one was doing and we just thought, ‘Why isn’t anyone organising an Italian festival?’ It seemed strange, because Italy has got such a long established and well respected film industry and so many fantastic films, so we decided to start organising one ourselves,” she reflects, “In the first year we picked up a selection of films and screened them only in Melbourne and Sydney, and pretty much from the second year onwards we’ve just expanded, because there seems to be such a demand and people just enjoy those films so much. We’re getting more and more films and also expanding at each individual location. In Perth it was just at Paradiso initially, and it’s moved to Paradiso and Luna on SX.”

Zeccola makes no claims to understand the festival’s ever-growing popularity, but she does emphasise the particular power that film can have over Italian migrants living in Australia. “So many Italian films touch on immigration themes – and whether they’re talking about immigration to Canada or America or Australia, they’re looking at experiences that all migrants can sort of connect with,” she stresses. “Even for second or third generation migrants, these are films about people who have moved from small villages and travelled across the world to live in another country, and as you watch them you realise that that’s what your parents have also done and it’s quite interesting.”

Zeccola herself certainly used film as a means to connect with her own Italian identity. From the age of 11 she worked a foreign film cinema and reflects fondly upon the days of “sitting up the back watching the film, once you’ve ripped everyone’s tickets.” It was in this dark space that Zeccola first tasted Italian celluloid, and quickly found herself hooked. “I’d definitely watch a lot of these films, and slowly it became so important for me to learn Italian,” she remembers, “because after I saw all these Italian language films I felt very much that I had such a strong connection with the country.”

This year, the film festival programme presents a wide range of Italian films, all of them united in box office success. “They aren’t all blockbusters, but they are all films that have reached a certain level of success and have gained good reviews in Italy,” Zeccola explains. “It’s a combination of factors. Some of them have stars and actors that people are interesting in seeing, while some are just films that have really succeeded in touching hearts through their themes.”

There is certainly a diverse range of subject material on offer. Personally, Zeccola recommends Manual of Love 2 (Manuale D’Amore 2), the sequel to Italy’s record breaking romantic comedy, that returns once again with four more interconnecting love stories. She also speaks highly of One Hundred Nails (Centochiodi), the final fiction film from Palme D’Or winning director, Ermanno Olmi, who has decided to from now on only produce documentaries. This film delves into the heavy themes of theology, love and friendship, after a country librarian awakes to find 100 rare manuscripts nailed to his library floor.

“They’re all so varied! There’s such a great mix there because Italians are always churning out so many great films, which makes my job easy,” Zeccola laughs. “People say that Italian films are always about passion and infidelity and adultery, and there certainly is a lot of that going on, but there’s also so much more to it.”

The Night Before Exams, One Out of Two

This year, the Lavazza Italian Film Festival presents a range of Italian box office hits, including the light-hearted The Night Before Exams (Notte Prima Degli Esami). After witnessing the first five minutes of this film, you’d be forgiven for thinking that you’d accidentally stumbled into a subtitled version of John Hughes. Its introduction bares all the classic hallmarks of American eighties teen comedy – from fluro leggings and novelty shirts through to sweeping aerial shots of enthusiastic adolescents engaged in synchronised partying around a glittering backyard pool. And, like any respectable teen comedy, Luca (the awkward-looking teenager who directs the story with his reflective narration, played by Nicolas Vaporidis) is simultaneously facing girl and teacher troubles. He is in love with the beautiful Claudia (Cristiana Capotondi), who may or may not remember his name, and he’s just gone ahead and insulted a literature professor (Giorgio Faletti) before realising that the teacher will actually be sitting in on his oral exam. What a conundrum!

Beyond this predictable exposition, though, The Night Before Exams does carry some endearingly European characteristics. For starters, this film features a lot of breasts. That’s right; like any foreign film worth its salt, it’s just that little bit racier than its American counterpart. Also, there’s a fair amount of actual drama. Rather than simply dealing with high school stereotypes and the real people beneath them, this film is tinted by some more serious themes like teen pregnancy, loyalty, respect, trust and death. These dramatic developments sit comfortably alongside the comedic antics of the main characters, appropriately conveying the teenagers’ swinging emotional states. This film is nothing spectacular, but the narrative is simple enough to easily enjoy, and deep enough to actually respect a little, while the colourful eighties milieux provides solid entertainment value. After all, if a film’s dramatic conclusion is accompanied by “The Final Countdown,” then you know it must be good value.

A more serious offering, being showcased as part of the same film festival, is One Out of Two (Uno Su Due). Following up on his reputation for realistically representing contemporary Italian life, director Eugenio Cappuccio introduces us to the high-flying corporate lawyer, Lorenzo (Fabio Volo), without making any attempt to direct our sympathy towards him. The film essentially begins when the seemingly-invincible Lorenzo suddenly faints and ends up in hospital, only to wake up and discover that he has a malignant brain tumour. Forced to wait several weeks for the results of his biopsy, Lorenzo grows increasingly enraged – at the perceptive cancer patient he is forced to share a room with, at his usually-meek business partner and at his caring girlfriend. Having fought hard all his life in order to climb the ladder of financial prosperity, Lorenzo does not react well to this sudden bout of special attention, no matter how well-intentioned.

This film takes a while to truly gain momentum. The first half mainly charts Lorenzo’s growing irritation as he awaits the test results, which is frustrating for audiences. Perhaps exactly because the film so accurately captures Lorenzo’s impatience, you’ll find yourself sharing it and genuinely willing the tedious wait to come to an end, which is a not altogether desirable effect. Once events begin to speed up, though, and as Lorenzo finally begins to grow as a character, the plotline does deliver some genuinely touching developments. It’s also hard not to notice Volo’s outstanding turn as Lorenzo, which just seems to grow stronger as the film progresses. Volo was actually awarded Best Italian Actor at the Rome Film Festival for this part, and rightly so. He subtly injects the character with an overwhelmingly rich complexity, conveying a multitude of contradicting emotions through a single look. His performance is a definite highlight in what is otherwise a fairly unremarkable offering.

The Night Before Exams: 6.7

One Out of Two: 5.9

Year of the Dog

Anyone who has every forged an emotional connection with a pet will find it very difficult to dislike Year of the Dog. Few films have so subtly and accurately captured the relationship between human and animal, and the catastrophic feeling of loss that accompanies the death of a pet. Without sliding into any clichés or predictable character developments, screenwriter Mike White (in his first original screenplay) represents the sometimes hysterical, sometimes pathetic and sometimes sympathetic journey of the relatable receptionist Peggy (Molly Shannon), after she finds her beloved dog Pencil dead in her neighbour’s yard. Having previously relied upon Pencil as her sole companion, Peggy is suddenly thrust into the world of human interaction once again, with a mixed bag of results.

Thanks to both White’s writing and Shannon’s performance, the representation of Peggy as a character reaches an intriguing level of complexity. As she becomes increasingly obsessed with animal welfare campaigns, we are positioned to feel simultaneously angered, alarmed, alienated and approving. We are at once laughing with her and at her, and are thusly forced to reconsider our own personal positions on obsession and depression. It is undeniable, though, that White does get a little carried away at the end of the film, veering the narrative towards extremes that really only serve to confuse the audience. Indeed, it could be said that the film’s disappointing conclusion significantly reduces the rich complexity of the rest of the story. If it had ended just fifteen minutes earlier, before several unnecessarily dramatic developments, the film would have been remembered solely for its complex characters, quirky stylistic devices, and touching mix of pathos and humour. Instead, this is will be remembered as another film that began promisingly, but sadly (and messily) disintegrated. This is probably one to see on DVD, so that you can decide when to stop watching.

Rating: 7.2

The 11th Hour

These days, it’s all too easy to get lost in the crazy haze of environmentally themed documentaries. Many a documentary is bound to disappear unnoticed, swept under the ever flowing current of inconvenient truths, electric cars and oil production bell curves. On the other hand, though, it’s really not that hard to guarantee yourself a place in popular consciousness. Essentially, all you need is a superstar narrator, and a collection of household names who can step in as your interview subjects. This formula is best exemplified by The 11^th Hour – a documentary that is hosted by none other than Leonardo DiCaprio, and features interviews with David Suzuki, Stephen Hawking and Mikhail Gorbachev. Throw in a frighteningly sensationalist montage of apocalyptic visions (more reminiscent of an action film than a documentary) and you’ve pretty much sealed the deal.

There’s certainly a lot left open to criticism in this film. Yes, the arbitrary choice of interview subjects is woeful, and the hysterical introduction is aggravating. And yet, there is another, far more impressive reason, to see and remember this film. The reason is that, unlike the mainstream of environmental documentaries, this one pushes through its own sensationalist agenda to deliver a note of hope. While An Inconvenient Truth merely skirted over the surface of potential solution, this film explores and celebrates our ability to alter the course of the future. It looks at environmental design, alternative fuels, and simple day-to-day savings that can make a difference, becoming, in the end, an uplifting and empowering celebration of both human and environmental potential. Here is a film that will not only get people talking, but will hopefully also inspire them to start doing. Try to see past Leo, because it really is worth it.

Rating: 7.8

Interview with Nicholas Maksymow

No film student worth their salt could deny Russia’s epic influence upon cinema history. It was here that montage techniques were first pioneered and refined, and it was here that some of film history’s greatest masterpieces were born. So many years and one iron curtain later, and Russia is again eager to reassert its position on the international cinema landscape. The 2007 Russian Film Festival Russian Revolution is a tribute to Russia’s fast growing cinema industry, and, this week, it makes its way into our part of the globe.

“Russia’s film production is increasing at an incredible rate!” exclaims the festival director, Nicholas Maksymow, “Firstly, there are lots of private bodies who provide funding for budding filmmakers, and if that does not work there is always the state funding board. What’s happening there now is similar to what the AFI did in the late seventies to revive the Australian film industry. There’s this strong, creative reenergising.”

Luckily, Russian filmmakers are also enjoying a lucrative success at the Russian box office. This year they are expected to retain over one quarter of the total national box office takings. “Unlike Australians, Russians don’t really experience that kind of ‘cultural cringe’,” explains Maksymow. “There really isn’t a pressure to be Western, because Russians are so proud of all their art and above all their cinema… Films like Daywatch and Nighwatch and Wolfhound are obviously Russian films trying to copy Hollywood, but there is still this unique ‘Russianness’ about them, and there’s no pressure to get rid of that. In fact, that’s why people seem to enjoy them so much.”

Maksymow connects this sense of “Russianness” with the Russian artistic drive to paint realistically complex pictures of daily life, that accurately scan the whole range of the emotional spectrum. “For instance, in one movie you might cry, you might laugh and you might feel scared,” he emphasises, “There is so much emotion going through one film and that’s what life is like in Russia at the moment, because it’s so unpredictable. In everyday life people go through both laughter and hardship, and Russian film is all about capturing that realistically.” At this point, he laughs about how the highest rating Australian film to have ever been screened in Russia was Lantana – a fact that he attributes to Lantana’s complex, realistic, and unquestionably dark, treatment of human emotions.

If there is one section of human life, though, from which Russian cinema steers clear, it is contemporary Russian politics. While the world reels in response to news about Russia’s (often brutal) censorship of political journalism, the film industry is safe in its detachment. Maksymow explains, “The journalists get into trouble because they’re overtly political, and trying to push a certain view, while cinema is still seen as a democratic form of the arts, in the sense that it’s not really political at all. Filmmaking doesn’t really touch sensitive political issues in Russia; it’s more about making fun of the old politicians and examining our past than looking at the contemporary situation.”

Cinema and politics therefore enjoy mutual support and respect in Russia, a phenomenon reflected by the fact that Vladimir Putin (the Russian first head of state to ever visit Australia) officially opened the festival in Sydney last week. Significantly, Putin’s visit to Australia (for the APEC summit) corresponds with the 200 year anniversary of Australia’s relationship with Russia. Maksymow ponders on how all these aspects work together to strengthen international cultural understandings, as he reflects, “While obviously our relations, and Putin’s visit, have been mainly political and economic… festivals like these fill in the cultural aspects… I believe that what we’re trying to do by having Russian film festivals in Australia is giving not only those of Russian heritage, but also Australian citizens, a chance to see something they would not usually see.”

Interview with Megan Spencer

Megan Spencer is the perfect poster girl for GenerationX. She reifies pop-culture as a deity, she explodes with awe for those who dedicate their life to the cultivation of an obsession and she finds poetic beauty in the seemingly mundane. “Pop culture replaced our god,” she laughs, without a hint of irony. “It replaced our children and our mortgages – for a while, anyway. And pop culture, in a sense, has replaced art. I don’t mean to sound like a philistine but I guess I find the most artistic gratification and profound poetic experiences usually through pop culture.”

Certainly, as Spencer herself admits, it takes a significant dose of “crazy one-eyed fandom” to centralise an entire career around a love of cinema, which is exactly what she’s done. In fact, Spencer has skipped through the entire spectrum of Australia’s film industry – as a reviewer for both radio and television, as the artistic director of Perth’s own Revelation Film Festival, and as a filmmaker in her own right, specialising in a raw, ‘guerrilla style’ portraiture.

No prizes for guessing the kind of subjects that Spencer chooses for her own documentaries. So far, she has consistently focused upon exploring the lives of passionate, unique individuals devoted to their personal obsessions. From fanatical AFL supporters to professional dominatrixes, Spencer has no qualms about entering social spheres that are far removed from her own, and from the realities inhabited by most of her viewers. In her latest DVD release, Lovestruck: Wrestling’s #1 Fan, she tracks almost ten years in the life of Sue Chuster, Australia’s most devoted wrestling fan.

Chuster doesn’t fit the expected demographic of a wrestling fan, and yet she’s dedicated the last 35 years of her life to the sport, has travelled to America twice in hot pursuit of wrestling superstars, owns over 4000 wrestling DVDs and videos, and has plastered her house shift in a make-shift wallpaper composed of over 4000 wrestling photos. It would have been dangerously easy for Spencer to adopt a condescending or ridiculing perspective with this film, but instead she has injected it with a warm, heartfelt and emotionally sensitive tone.

“If it was a superficial look at her, then it could have been become that, but that was never my intention. I wouldn’t want to make a superficial film about anyone. And I was determined to dig deeper with Sue and hang in there until that deeper reason presented itself. She is a bit more of an extreme figure… But I admire the way people can take something that is seen as banal or everyday or of no cultural value and turn into something that has enormous value, even if it’s just personally to them. I think those sorts of stories are really valuable and really entertaining and really reflective of who we might actually be.”

Unfortunately, Spencer believes that the heartfelt honesty with which she represented Chuster is also the reason why she had so much trouble obtaining funding from broadcasters and public boards. In the end, Spencer was restricted to releasing her television-friendly fifty-minute film through DVD – a not entirely regrettable decision, because it did allow her the space to include over thirty minutes of special features.

“I think [broadcasters] are scared of real people, and of not presenting them in a controlled way,” she elaborates. “In parts of Lovestruck, sometimes the subject is making the film and I don’t put in any voice-overs telling you how to receive it or react. And I think we have a pretty generic, formulaic approach to television documentaries in this country. I am generalising [but many directors]… try to clean their films up, and they end up second guessing their audiences which is something I refuse to do and don’t need to do and don’t want to do, and if it keeps me on the margins then I’m happy to stay there.”

Away From Her

Sarah Polley seems an unlikely candidate for the direction of a film about old age. Having began her film career as a child television actor, the sprightly 28 year-old Canadian has spent the rest of it skipping through various acting instalments – most notably her touching portrayal of a mother dying from cancer in My Life Without Me. Stepping behind the camera for the first time, Polley tackles surprisingly similar themes in Away From Her, but this time her focus has skipped backwards a generation. The main characters are in their sixties, and this time Alzheimer’s is the destructive force slowly erasing its victim. After a 44-year marriage, Grant (Gordon Pinsent) has to cope with the gradual mental dissent and institutionalisation of his suffering wife, the eccentric and beautiful Fiona (Julie Christie).

Based upon the short story “The Bear Came Over the Mountain,” Away From Her sounds simplistic when described on paper – and to a certain extent this initial judgement remains correct. Yet, though the drama may remain relatively straight forward, Polley effectively steers it away from all expected clichés and potentially maudlin developments through a series of subversive narrative turns. What’s more, this uncluttered narrative has obviously allowed Polley room to move. She has unearthed a rich complexity from the space between the lines, inscribing a multi-layered complexity upon every pause in the script.

And, in the end, the strength of Away From Her lies not in its thought-provoking dialogue or in its richly crafted characters, but in its visual impact. In the way that Christie’s face flickers elusively between recognition and confusion. In the soft edged pastels of Grant’s flashbacks, toned with nostalgia and regret. In the heart wrenching devotion with which he observes his wife from afar. And in the palpable distance that slowly wedges itself between them, like an invisible current subtly pulling them apart. These are the images that will remain with you days after seeing the film, infused with a seemingly unaltered emotional impact. This is a rare gem of a film, but please remember to bring tissues with you. Trust me.

Rating: 9.4

Superbad

It’s hard not to be jealous of teenagers today. While we had clunky discmans and thick CD wallets, they have svelte iPods. While we were stuck with demure, wholesome Christina Aguilera, they enjoy racy Xtina. And while our age-defining comedy ‘classic’ was the painful American Pie, they are able to enjoy the genuine humour of Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg (part of the crew responsible for The 40 Year Old Virgin and Knocked Up). Superbad is everything a teenage comedy should be – it is immature without being simplistic, and it is offensive without being cringe-worthy. Rogen and Goldberg have obviously drawn upon their own high school experiences in carving the central characters, Seth (Jonah Hill) and Evan (Michael Cera, playing a somewhat more racy version of Geroge Michael from Arrested Development). Unpopular and generally disliked, Seth and Evan unexpectedly gain entrance into a ‘cool’ party when their nerdy friend Fogell (Christopher Mintz-Plasse) scores a fake ID. What begins a simple attempt to purchase alcohol, though, quickly descends into a night of unpredictable madness, involving jaded policemen, unexpected sexual encounters and dangerous gatecrashing. In a genre that suffers from its lack of originality, Superbad is a breath of fresh air, injecting a unique freshness into the well-worn teen themes of virginity, romance, alcohol, friendship and moving away. If you’re willing to suffer through a seemingly endless series of penis jokes (and one really terrible menstruation gag) then this movie will deliver genuine laughs, and also an unexpectedly touching sentiment.

Rating: 8.9

Strummer: The Future is Unwritten

When Joe Strummer (the legendary front man of The Clash) passed away in 2002, his best friend, filmmaker and musician Julien Temple (of The Filth and the Fury), decided to immortalise Strummer’s life on celluloid with Strummer: The Future is Unwritten. If you’re looking for a film that exemplifies exactly how not to make a music documentary, then look no further. This is a perfect case in point. While it’s easy to understand why, it’s nonetheless disappointing that this film feels more like a eulogy than a documentary. Temple has gathered Strummer’s friends and associates around a campfire (a perplexing stylistic choice not explained before the film’s conclusion) and together they reminisce. These scattered reflections are largely sycophantic, and Temple clearly makes little attempt to paint a holistic portrait. Furthermore, for no apparent reason, none of the interviewees are identified, and so the patchwork of memories that they weave together feels more like a labyrinthine maze, made all the more confusing by the inclusion of token celebrities (Steve Buscemi, Johnny Depp, and, of course, Bono). This movie is long, repetitive, puzzling, self-indulgent and unyieldingly boring, which is a pity, because with some very simple clarifications, it could almost have been saved.

Rating: 3.8

The Bet

“A broker. A banker. A bet.”

This tagline essentially summarises everything you need to know about the latest, privately financed, film from director Mark Lee (Gallipolli). You won’t gleam much more from actually watching it. Matthew Newton (Looking for Allibrandi, and, more famously, Bert Newton’s Son) is the boyish-faced stockbroker from a working class background, Aden Young (Black Robe) his the cocky, affluent banker friend, and their bet is a 90 day race to see who can be the first to earn $100 000. And, yes, it’s refreshing that while most Australian films relish our country’s lost youths and our suburban misery, this one should jump into our upper class, where the characters play golf, buy diamonds and know exactly what they want out of life. It’s very possible that this film could have been intriguing insight into Australia’s fast paced stock market world, or a riveting financial thriller to rival Boiler Room, or its closest Australian counterpart, The Bank. Unfortunately, though, this film suffers from an irrational intensity, compounded by its percussive soundtrack, weighted dialogue and unnecessarily prologued close-ups. Additionally, while Neweton’s broker does occasionally elicit flickers of empathy, the other character characters (in particular Young’s banker, Angus) are infuriatingly shallow. These characters are one-dimensional ciphers, existing merely to propel the heavy-handed narrative.

Rating: 4.2

Russian Film Festival Reviews

This week, for the first time in Perth, Cinema Paradiso will host the Russian Film Festival, Russian Resurrection. One film enjoying its world-wide premier as part of this festival is Vitali Melnikov’s Beat the Enemy. Set in the waning months of the Second World War, this film charts a communist propaganda group, hastily assembled from mismatched exiles and actors, as it travels down a remote Siberian river. Stopping at various isolated communities, the group’s task is to glorify Soviet military feats through an eclectic fusion of song, dance, music, theatre, art and silent film. What begins as a seemingly simplistic narrative quickly develops into a rich tapestry of wildly variable encounters and gradually shifting relationships, that all come to a head when the team’s vessel floods, and they find themselves isolated on one of the river’s sparsely populated islands.

Whether they be propaganda projects or powerful post-war reflections, Russia has always been renowned for its war films, and for its treatment of wartime themes. While not set on the frontline, Beat the Enemy is a powerful and appropriately complex exploration of the war’s impact in Russia, and of this tremulous transition period in Russian history. By introducing so many varied local communities, the films scans the whole register of emotional responses – from the devoted Communist youth leader who barks orders at her inferiors and cries over the propaganda footage, to the old woman forced to saw the crucifix off her local chapel as it becomes a Communist ‘activities’ hall,’ to the German exiles suspended in limbo between two identities. But what truly rescues this film from mediocrity is the complex development of its five main characters. These characters shift unpredictably as the narrative progressions, and, even though this results in a far less concise narrative, their rapid mood swings are indulged and given full reign. The result is a film that is touchingly realistic, and thought-provoking in its density. Produced in grey tones and adhering to all classic conventions, this is no cinematic marvel, but it is an intriguing character study, tinted with an emotional variety that marks it as uniquely Russian.

Far less successful is Heat, Russia’s miserable attempt at romantic comedy. Set in the midst of a stifling Russian heat wave, this film sees four school friends reunite several years after graduation. These men are clearly meant to symbolise a cross-section of Russian society, with the navy boy, spoilt rich kid, aspiring actor and black ‘gansta’ all represented. This mix of characters feels painfully contrived, and the narrative developments seem to only emphasise this self-consciousness. This feels like a film that is desperately trying to represent modern Moscow as a space that is “Western-yet-still-distinctly-Russian,” but its desperation to do so results in it failing miserably, both as a tourism advertisement and as a film.

The narrative itself is wildly ridiculous, and not even in a pleasingly post-modern or seductively surrealist manner. It’s just plain silly. Somehow, all the characters end up going their separate ways and finding themselves on madcap, screwball adventures that transport them alternately through prison cells, nightclubs, penthouses, film sets, construction sites, mafia meetings and underpasses guarded by violent street gangs, where they alternately encounter romance, career development, violence and party. To make matters worse, this narrative is portrayed in the clumsiest, messiest manner imaginable. The varying sub-plots are confusingly interwoven so that it’s difficult to tell what is what and who is who, reducing the film to a convoluted mass of unbelievable city encounters. It’s impossible to make sense of this chaotic offering, and one hopes that this film reached number one at the Russian Box Office only because the same people saw it repeatedly, in the hope of uncovering some semblance of meaning.

Beat the Enemy: 6.5
Heat: 2.0

Interview with Nicholas Maksymow

No film student worth their salt could deny Russia’s epic influence upon cinema history. It was here that montage techniques were first pioneered and refined, and it was here that some of film history’s greatest masterpieces were born. So many years and one iron curtain later, and Russia is again eager to reassert its position on the international cinema landscape. The 2007 Russian Film Festival Russian Revolution is a tribute to Russia’s fast growing cinema industry, and, this week, it makes its way into our part of the globe.

“Russia’s film production is increasing at an incredible rate!” exclaims the festival director, Nicholas Maksymow, “Firstly, there are lots of private bodies who provide funding for budding filmmakers, and if that does not work there is always the state funding board. What’s happening there now is similar to what the AFI did in the late seventies to revive the Australian film industry. There’s this strong, creative reenergising.”

Luckily, Russian filmmakers are also enjoying a lucrative success at the Russian box office. This year they are expected to retain over one quarter of the total national box office takings. “Unlike Australians, Russians don’t really experience that kind of ‘cultural cringe’,” explains Maksymow. “There really isn’t a pressure to be Western, because Russians are so proud of all their art and above all their cinema… Films like Daywatch and Nighwatch and Wolfhound are obviously Russian films trying to copy Hollywood, but there is still this unique ‘Russianness’ about them, and there’s no pressure to get rid of that. In fact, that’s why people seem to enjoy them so much.”

Maksymow connects this sense of “Russianness” with the Russian artistic drive to paint realistically complex pictures of daily life, that accurately scan the whole range of the emotional spectrum. “For instance, in one movie you might cry, you might laugh and you might feel scared,” he emphasises, “There is so much emotion going through one film and that’s what life is like in Russia at the moment, because it’s so unpredictable. In everyday life people go through both laughter and hardship, and Russian film is all about capturing that realistically.” At this point, he laughs about how the highest rating Australian film to have ever been screened in Russia was Lantana – a fact that he attributes to Lantana’s complex, realistic, and unquestionably dark, treatment of human emotions.

If there is one section of human life, though, from which Russian cinema steers clear, it is contemporary Russian politics. While the world reels in response to news about Russia’s (often brutal) censorship of political journalism, the film industry is safe in its detachment. Maksymow explains, “The journalists get into trouble because they’re overtly political, and trying to push a certain view, while cinema is still seen as a democratic form of the arts, in the sense that it’s not really political at all. Filmmaking doesn’t really touch sensitive political issues in Russia; it’s more about making fun of the old politicians and examining our past than looking at the contemporary situation.”

Cinema and politics therefore enjoy mutual support and respect in Russia, a phenomenon reflected by the fact that Vladimir Putin (the Russian first head of state to ever visit Australia) officially opened the festival in Sydney last week. Significantly, Putin’s visit to Australia (for the APEC summit) corresponds with the 200 year anniversary of Australia’s relationship with Russia. Maksymow ponders on how all these aspects work together to strengthen international cultural understandings, as he reflects, “While obviously our relations, and Putin’s visit, have been mainly political and economic… festivals like these fill in the cultural aspects… I believe that what we’re trying to do by having Russian film festivals in Australia is giving not only those of Russian heritage, but also Australian citizens, a chance to see something they would not usually see.”