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

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

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

Dr Plonk, Once, Shut Up and Sing

With each new film he makes, Australian director Rolf de Heer seems to surprise his audience just a little bit more. Now, during a time when everyone around him seems to be pushing the boundaries of cinema potential, he ploughs backwards through film history to the days of silent comedy. Set in 1907, Dr Plonk is a slapstick romp (reminiscent of Buster Keaton or Charlie Chaplin) that tracks the efforts of scientist/inventor Dr Plonk, as he attempts to prove his theory that the world will end in 101 years time by developing a time machine in order to travel there. While De Heer’s effort to reconstruct the feel of silent film reel is commendable (it was actually a complex process combining old technology with extensive digital post-production), the narrative is unfortunately just as dull as it sounds. Slapstick routines haven’t gotten any funnier than they were to begin with, and while this film will illicit a few laughs here and there, it’s not particularly clever or memorable humour. At best, this film will offer a pleasing amusement for those who enjoy (or nostalgically recall) the slapstick comedy of silent film. At worst, this film could be described as a pallid, two dimensional effort from a director who has previously always hit the spot. Perhaps de Heer should stay away from movies that demand a more overt humour.

Director John Carney always dreamt of making a film that, while bypassing the stale conventions of a traditional musical, would still utilise songs in order to tell a “very modern, very simple love story.” The result is Once, a simple, low budget effort, set in modern Dublin, where a heartbroken busker (Glen Hansard) meets a spirited Czech migrant (Marketa Irglova), and the two fall in love over shared duets and broken vacuum cleaners. With only sixty pages of dialogue, music envelopes practically ever visual gesture in this film, infusing it with a deeper, more intangible emotional quality. Where one would usually find trite romantic dialogue or stifled exchanges, there are instead naturally occurring songs that speak volumes about the gradually developing relationship without the need for tired clichés. Strangely, there is no particularly direct narrative correlation between (most of) the lyrics on the soundtrack and the script itself, yet both share the same musical texture, emotive tone and intimate personal voice. While at times this film digresses onto unbelievable territory (look out for the singing banker, and the slightly overdone recording studio montage), it is redeemed by this indescribable magical quality. The combined impact of Hansard’s composition, the simple cinematography and the actors’ touching sincerity is, quite frankly, monumental.

During a time when documentary has become the new black, Shut Up and Sing stands out because it is harder to classify than your average, being neither strictly political nor strictly musical. It focuses upon the journey of the Dixie Chicks since 2003, when their lead singer spoke out against George Bush’s War on Iraq, and the group became the instant victim of Republican outcry. Unfortunately, the film’s shifting focus, while arguably its most defining feature, is also its most irritating. The film jumps through chronology, skipping from 2003 to 2006 (when the Dixie Chicks are working on their comeback album). Not only do these jumps in time feel awkward and forced, but the contrast in footage is also quite significant. While the scenes from 2003 are compellingly action packed, those set in 2006 focus upon the “personal triumph” of the band (looking at emotions, relationships and so on), and are, ultimately, quite dull and lacklustre. As the film nears its end, it increasingly focuses upon celebrating this personal strength, much to the film’s detriment. Rather than tapping its potential to explore issues of democracy and freedom of speech, the filmmaker has opted to produce yet another story of inspiration and personal struggle. While this may all be indeed quite affecting, it’s hard not to feel a little cheated after the promising potential of the film’s seemingly fresh trailer.

Dr Plonk: 1.5
Once: 9.5
Shut Up and Sing: 6.0

Crossing Borders, Go Away From Me, Hecuba: A Dream of Passion

For the first time in four years, the Spanish Film Festival arrives at Cinema Paradiso. Commencing on a resoundingly high note, the festival opens with Crossing Borders (Un Franco Catorce Pesetas) a drama sprinkled with reality’s comedy, and accented by shades of social criticism. It focuses on Martin (Carlos Iglesias) and Marco (Javier Guiterrez), two friends who leave behind the rife unemployment and faltering economy of 1960s Madrid in favour of picturesque Switzerland. There, they quickly become accustomed to modern technologies and steady wages, and, after being joined by their families a year later, they learn to call this Alpine village their home.

This film is nothing short of an absolute pleasure – the warm, exuberant performances are a joy, and the story remains intensely involving until its conclusion. Weaving effortlessly through the six years these families spend in Switzerland, the plot intersects all manner of life experiences – some joyful and lightly humorous, others harsher and more profound. Tackling themes of migration and home sickness with an appropriate complexity, this is a film that will speak not only to Spanish migrants now living in Australia, but to all those who are caught in limbo between two countries. The personal pick of festival director Natalia Ortiz, this film is a definite highlight.

Rating: 8.5


The festival also presents Go Away From Me (Vete De Mi), a satirical comedy from director Garcia Leon (No Pain, No Gain), about Santiago (Juan Diego), a seemingly satisfied professional actor, (relatively) content with life and his live-in girlfriend, Ana (Christina Plazas). That is all until his hedonistic thirty-something son, Guillermo (Juan Diego Botto), arrives at his doorstep. After initially attempting to dispel Guillermo from his house, Santiago soon finds himself trying to offer advice, and, unexpectedly, ends up questioning his own direction in life.

This film could be easily cut in two. The first half is slow moving, mundane and lackluster, while the second half is entirely bizarre and will most likely leave you somewhat confused. If you are strong enough to push through the first half, the second is relatively intriguing, particularly as the two men begin to influence each others’ perspectives on life. The performances progress in a similar manner; initially they are utterly unremarkable, and grow stronger as the film continues. Overall, however, despite several pleasing moments, this film is largely forgettable.

Rating: 6.7


Spanish cinema is desperate to prove that it is not all comedy and drama, though, and does so in this festival with the inclusion of short films, co-productions and a couple of documentaries, including Hecuba: A Dream of Passion (Hecuba, Un Sueño De Pasión). This documentary features interviews with about a dozen Spanish actors (including Carmen Maura, Antonio Banderas and Javier Bardem), all of whom speak about the joys and pitfalls of acting as a profession. They discuss, amongst a myriad of topics, the merits of acting school, the reality stage fright, the process of generating emotion on stage and popular myths about actors (such as their inherent vanity), and their spiels are interspliced appropriately with visions from various Spanish films that have explored acting as a subject or theme.

The strength of this film is its selection of interviewees. All the actors are also interesting, inspiring speakers, who liven up the film with intriguing anecdotes and moral lessons. Certainly, this film would probably satisfy anyone with an interest in acting, or with a connection to the Spanish film industry. Unfortunately, for the rest of us, it has very little to offer. The filmmakers have not done anything particularly creative with the documentary form, and, coupled with the fact that the subject matter is also actually not very interesting, the film quickly grows tiresome. While the passion of the speakers is evident, it seems a bit more passion could have been invested into this film as a project.

Rating: 4.5