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