Joy Division; Prague

This week, amongst a flurry of tunes, pizza and beer, Luna Outdoor will premier the documentary Joy Division. Riding fresh on the coat tails of Control’s recent success, one can confidently expect a large turn out for this, more rigorous, exploration of the Manchester band’s inspiring start and tumultuous decline – though the two could hardly be considered mutually exclusive. For starters, Joy Division’s director Grant Gee (who has previously worked on documentaries about Radiohead, Gorillaz and Scott Walker) has chosen to look more broadly at the context of the events. Through never-before-seen footage, audiotapes, personal photos and period films, Gee creates a collage that represents not only the band, but also their city and the musical/artistic movement that they belonged to. As the late Tony Wilson states in a voice-over that opens the film, the story of Joy Division is also the story of Manchester, and of a city awakened by their music. Indeed, it’s hard to watch the documentary without feeling drawn into the infectious punk atmosphere of 1980s Manchester, alive with new hope and music.

Strikingly intimate interviews with the surviving members of Joy Division, fellow musicians and musical icons, and even with Anton Corbijn (the director of Control) are slotted into the footage, adding detail and cohesion to the period collage. While many Joy Division ‘anecdotes’ (such as their famous meeting at Manchester Hall, their involvement with Tony Wilson and so on) have been milked dry by the double impact of Control and 24 Hour Party People, it is surprising to learn that these interview subjects still have something fresh to offer. Gee has directed them to speak with great sincerity and insightfulness – one notable example being the way in which the band members and Annike Honore (the Belgian journalist with whom Curtis had an affair) reflect upon how everyone seemed to ignore the darkness of Curtis’s lyrics. Similarly, it’s touching to see the Joy Division story carried beyond Curtis’s death, to look at the musical and cultural legacy that the band left behind them before going on to become New Order.

Rating: 7.1

Every film festival has to reach its nadir, and for PIAF’s Lotterywest Film Festival, it seems that point is Prague, which screens at Sommerville from next week. The latest film from Danish director Ole Christian Madsen (Kira’s Reason – A Love Story, Angels in Fast Motion) is a dark look at both the practical and emotional aspects of grieving, and how the two intermingle. Christoffer (Mads Mikkelson – After the Wedding, Casino Royal) and Maja (Stine Stengade – Kira’s Reason) are a couple of 14 years, whose marriage is tested when they travel to Prague to retrieve the body of Chrostoffer’s dead father. Having not seen his father since he was abandoned by him 25 years ago, Christoffer appears unfazed by the death, but is forced to leave his emotional plateau after Maja confesses to having an affair. Now trapped together in a city they both seem to despise, the couple share their final days amongst increasing levels of tension, while Christoffer simultaneously deals with his father’s lawyer, house-keeper and some ‘unexpected’ revelations.

Unfortunately, the surprises that send Christoffer over the edge are all too easy to spot from a mile away, while the extreme close-ups of a hand held camera (here an ear, there an eye) suggest a level of pretension at odds with the utterly predictable nature of the script. Madsen obviously thought he was creating something deeply moving, but whether it is the trite nature of his dialogue, or some less-than-perfect performances, at least two of the film’s central revelations were enough to send a ripple of groans/giggles through the crowd. While several scenes are genuinely emotional and thoroughly well-acted (particularly where Mikkelson is concerned), they fall flat when viewed in the context of the whole film. In the end, Prague makes a mockery of the deep themes it is presenting, and the emotional story that it is attempting to share.

Rating: 5.1

Jane Austen Bookclub; Empties

One would hardly expect a film entitled The Jane Austen Bookclub to be particularly offensive. Based on Karen Folwer’s novel of the same name, the title inspires visions of something akin to Becoming Jane. Yet for even the most softhearted fans of Austen or Austen-inspired films (almost a genre unto themselves these days), The Jane Austen Bookclub is an absolute offence to intelligence. Prepare to meet six infuriating bookclub members with the potential to scare anyone away from the literature classics they revere.

After introducing the six central characters, their various predicaments and their relationships to one another (all of which is done in the first ten minutes), there is near to no further character or plot development. The club members simply read one Jane Austen classic after another (with the progression marked in titles so we are reminded of exactly how much is left), and we watch them uncover parallels with Austen’s heroes. Sometimes this is done in a grossly obvious manner (e.g.: “Our world really is but a small English village”), while at other times the connections are barely tenuous and near impossible to spot. The ensemble cast’s acting is consistently unconvincing, though that’s to be expected with dialogue so trite that it often sounds as if it were lifted straight from the pages of the novel, with no concessions made for the switch in medium. In the end, this film does little more than suggest that Austen’s novels must all be banal and boring works, if these are the kind of lives that they reflect. The author must be rolling in her grave.

Rating: 3.0

Meanwhile this week, PIAF's Sommerville auditorium presents Empties, a bittersweet comedy from Jan Sverák, one the Czech Republic's most popular and critically acclaimed directors. Collaborating once more with his father Zdenek (who both wrote and stars in this film), Sverák follows up on the themes he began to explore in Kolya (1994) and Obecna Skola (1991). Again, Sverák investigates the themes of maturation, masculinity, growth and cross-generational communication, while simultaneously looking at the way in which the Czech people are coping with shifting societal pressures. We see these shifts through the eyes of weary schoolteacher Josef (played by Zdenek Sverák), who leaves his job in a cloud of frustration after being unable to cope with the ignorance and disrespect of his student. Confined to his apartment with wife Eliska (Daniela Kolarova), Josef lasts barely a week before he takes on a job as a bicycle courier and, when that fails to go according to plan, he becomes a handler at the bottle return point in his local supermarket. There, he seeks further distraction from his lacklustre homelife by engaging with his colleagues and clientele and by desperately seeking a match for his recently divorced daughter.

Unlike in most of Sverák's other films (and indeed in a lot of the more financially reputable comedies to have emerged from Central Europe), this protagonist provides little room for the kind of sympathy required to render the film "touching" or "sweet" or any of the other adjectives required to help a foreign film survive at the international box office. While he may suffer at the hands of his students, Josef is also grumpy, manipulative, selfish and cruel (especially to his wife), and his nightly mental excursions into a train-set sexual fantasy world do little to help the cause. It's certainly difficult to watch Empties without feeling disgrace or disdain towards Josef, and at times this enough to warp the film’s appeal. Simultaneously though, this flawed character is quite compelling viewing, and his relationships with others pose interesting questions about chemistry, love and growing old with another person beside you. In the end, there are some touching moments for those who persist, but for most these will not compensate for the effort involved.

Rating: 6.6

Juno; The Kite Runner; Tell No One

The much anticipated indie comedy, Juno, sees a whole lot of cinema favourites joining forces under the direction of Jason Reitman (Thank You for Smoking) and a debut script from stripper-turned-writer Diablo Cody. Ellen Page (Hard Candy) is the sharp-tongued, assertive 16 year-old, Juno McGaff, who has just fallen pregnant to her insecure best friend Paulie, (played by Michael Cera of Superbad and Arrested Development) after one singular sexual act inspired by a naïve crush and a night of boredom. Suddenly she’s facing major decisions, meeting adoption parents, forging unexpected connections and testing the limits of her emotional strength. And, while you may be forgiven for expecting the clichés that traditionally accompany ‘pregnancy films,’ this film breathes life into what could have easily been very tiresome subject matter. Certainly, there’s a certain constructed nature to the dialogue (comparable to the unstoppable quips of the Gilmore girls), but it is sprinkled with so many delicious insights and clever witticisms that it seems seamlessly natural in its sheer originality. The way in which these lines are delivered is also worthy of notice – with the actors smoothly avoiding caricatures to create rich and endearingly eccentric characters without calling to heavily upon their past roles (with the possibly exception of Cera – though even he brings a new layer to his usual portrayal of the a adolescent). Juno is already the first note worthy film of the year.

Rating: 9.3

Upon exiting the cinema after viewing The Kite Runner, I overheard someone commenting about how great it was that the filmmakers had opted to leave this subtitled, going on to speak of this factor as if it could inherently be associated with “quality.” I’d like to take this opportunity to point out that subtitles alone should not be so simplistically equated with profundity. David Benioff’s adaptation of Khaled Hosseini’s novel is in fact so overtly sentimental, cheaply tear-jerking and sensationally dramatic that it entirely destroys any remote semblance of the profound. A cross-generational epic set against the violent backdrop of Afganistan’s recent political turmoil, The Kite Runner follows young Amir and Hassan, whose friendship is destroyed Hassan is made a victim of religious vilification and Amir is revealed a coward. Ten years on, Amir is in America writing novels about his childhood when he is called by to rescue Hassan’s son and redeem himself at long last. Throughout this shifting (and seemingly endless) narrative flow, virtually every cheap trick in the book is pulled out and placed centre stage – the worst example of which is Amir running into the bullies of his childhood when he returns home (can you guess what they will now be doing?). In addition, the pacing is terrible, the performances are stiff and uninspiring, and the characters are all undeveloped (especially the women).

Rating: 5.9

This week at Sommerville, PIAF presents Tell No One, based on the novel of the same name by American author Harlan Coben. Adapted by Guillaume Canet in his second directorial role, the story transposes neatly into a French context, although the American accents of the original remain in tact – arguably to the film’s detriment. Tell No One focuses upon paediatrician Alex Beck (Francois Cluzet) who, eight years after his wife’s mysterious murder, has received an inexplicable email suggesting that she may still be alive. Things spin out of control when two bodies are concurrently found near the murder site, one of them containing traces of Beck’s DNA, therefore forcing him to flee police accusation whilst simultaneously struggling to piece together the scattered puzzle, with only the aid of his sister’s wealthy girlfriend (Kristin Scott-Thomas). On the one hand, it’s a pity that there is nothing distinctly French about the adaptation – the storyline’s potential to give way to emotional or psychological investigation has been forsaken in favour of car chase sequences and scared facial expressions. On the other hand, quite a few French thrillers have been so distracted by their psychological undertones that any semblance of actual thrill is lost. In that respect, Tell No One excels – because its fast-paced plot and thickening aura of mystery will keep intrigued despite its lack of depth and its perhaps trite emotional cues (be on the look out for Canet’s use of “With or Without You” by U2.)

Rating: 6.5

The Edge of Heaven; Hearbreak Hotel

As we edge further in 2008, PIAF’s film season intensifies with German director Faith Akin’s The Edge of Heaven. A definite highlight of this film festival season, The Edge of Heaven plays upon Akin’s favourite themes of birth, love and death, and, like his 2003 success Head-On, the film’s storyline weaves through the porous boundary between Turkey and Germany in today’s post-EU Europe. Against a shifting backdrop that gradually moves from Germany to Turkey (a journey symbolised through clever camera work) three parent-child couples find their lives unexpectedly interweaving. Ali and his academic son Nejat are Germans of Turkish descent who become involved with the fate of the Turkish prostitute Yeti, after she moves in with Ali in exchange for a monthly allowance. Meanwhile, German student Lotte and her conservative mother Suzanne are drawn into the turbulent life of persecuted political activist Nejat, who is actually Yeti’s daughter and simultaneously being desperately sought by Nejet back in her homeland.

Certainly, this is a very dense film. The narrative spins out several interweaving plotlines, each of which is as intense and significant as the last. Nonetheless, this intensity is never overwhelming or exaggerated. Akin plays his characters against each other with a natural ease, smoothed by remarkable performances from all the cast. The storyline may seem hyperbolic and convoluted in print, but Akin breathes life into these situations, celebrating the ordinary people who get caught up in extraordinary situations. Furthermore, through these performances, coupled with the script’s intimate dialogue, a strong sense of connection is forged between the characters and the audience – even with those lead characters who are not introduced until halfway through the film. Watch out for the Akin’s clever repetition of the first scene later in the film. While initially this scene feels arbitrary and even banal, when it is repeated later it bulges with significance and emotion. Just like other increasingly popular cross-cultural film efforts such as Babel or Crash, The Edge of Heaven calls upon us to delay judgements until we have a fuller understanding of the circumstances – and it does so through marvellous storytelling rather than through dogmatic preaching.

Rating: 9.0

From next Monday, The Edge of Heaven will move from Sommerville to Joondalup, giving way to Sweden’s Heartbreak Hotel. Although it is a far lighter offering, Heartbreak Hotel, like a lot of these festival films, similarly looks at fragile human beings struggling to make sense of their lives. This time the protagonists are Elisabeth and Gedrun, two women in their forties who have recently lost their husbands and are in the process of rediscovering what it means to be single. For the feisty gynaecologist, Elisabeth, this means drinking at dancing at the local bar, Heartbreak Hotel, but for the insecure traffic warden, Gudrun, life has become an endless stream of crossword puzzles and TV guide analyses. Despite the conflict that erupts between the two when they first meet (tempers flare over a parking ticket dispute), they keep running into each other, and gradually Gudrun finds herself inspired by Elisabeth’s fun, youthful outlook.

There’s naturally a certain age group that will get the most of this film, but it’s not to be completely dismissed by others. After all, the film isn’t so much about aging as it is about challenging our traditional expectations of aging, in a reality where life does not end (or even slow down) at forty. Unsurprisingly, there are some well-worn clichés to be found within this storyline, but luckily none of them are unfairly cast upon the main characters. In fact, in the tradition of many other European filmmakers (most notably Pedro Almodovar), these two women are sexy, assertive and strong, and also humanly flawed. They realistic, complex human beings, who at times demand sympathy, at others pity, and, at others still, admiration. It’s not the deepest film on the bill, but it’s a pleasantly heart-warming number, accompanied by a fun soundtrack and a warm feeling that will not be out of place on a summer evening at the outdoor cinema.

Rating: 7.5