A shocked response to the over-the-top
people and events in this film gradually gives way to a feeling that the director’s
main goal is to present an unfamiliar subculture, without judgment (or even
analysis), to a more mainstream audience.
The subculture is that of a group of Hollywood transgender prostitutes
who turn tricks, do drugs, fight with each other, fuss about their wigs and
make-up, and deal with problems in their relationships (including cheating) as
best they can. Director Sean Baker shot
the film using iPhones, but you can’t really tell (apart from a general
low-budget on-location feel), and the seedy streets of Los Angeles often look
stunning, bathed in the tangerine light that gives the film its title. Kitana Kiki Rodriguez and Mya Taylor play the
two central characters, both actually trans females who provide a strong degree
of authenticity to the film, and the way they maintain their friendship
throughout the “drama” is the main theme of the film. All around them seems to be unstable, even
chaos – but this may be the world to which those who are extremely stigmatised
may be relegated. Poverty, exclusion, and
violence seem commonplace but somehow these women maintain their optimism and
determination (even if sometimes misguided).
A subplot follows an Armenian taxi driver who patronises the girls
despite having a wife and family of his own (who are horrified to learn about
his extra-marital affairs); this provides another contrast between acceptance
and non-acceptance. It is hard to tell too whether they are being exploited or
loved by their pimp, Chester (James Ransone) whose cheating is the engine that
drives the plot. Eye-opening and
definitely not for the timid!
Andrei Tarkovsky’s take on science fiction
is more about memory and relationships than it is about space stations or
mysterious planets (although it is about those too). Using Stanislaw Lem’s novel as his canvas
(and I haven’t read the book to know how closely he hews to it), Tarkovsky
creates widescreen images of incredible beauty (often depicting the four
elements) with rich complex textures (the opening shot of weeds in a pond; the
swirling abstract surface of the planet Solaris). The pictorial display is surely as important
as the humanistic themes here – and, again showing us the importance of art and
artists for him (as in Andrei Rublev, 1966), Tarkovsky treats us to a close
inspection of “Hunters in the Snow” (1565) by Pieter Bruegel the Elder, which
he would revisit again in Mirror (1975).
However, this film really strikes its chord by producing a painful
nostalgic reverie in its protagonist and questioning its appropriateness as an
escape. Can we or should we dwell in the past?
Or is it impossible to avoid? Donatas
Banionis plays Kris Kelvin, a psychologist sent to a space station orbiting the
planet Solaris to investigate the problems faced by the researchers living
there who have been acting erratically.
As it turns out, the planet (or its immense sea) is able to generate
lifelike replicas of people from our memories, real physically incarnated
beings (made up of neutrinos) who appear to have a consciousness of their own
with some (but not all) of the memories that the real person would have. For Kelvin, the doppleganger is of his
ex-wife (Khari, played by Natalya Bondarchuk) who committed suicide ten years
earlier, after a series of arguments.
Her return is psychologically heavy on him (and it is implied that the
other scientists on the station have experienced similar visitations – with
similar impacts). Kelvin is faced with a
choice – return to Earth and the depressed existence he seems to have there or
stay on the station with this reincarnation of his loving wife who he
acknowledges as different from his original wife (just as we should acknowledge
that our memories are rarely accurate portrayals of the past). This is a choice we will never face ourselves
(at least I don’t think so) but the opportunity to be absorbed, swayed, delighted,
or destroyed by the past seems omnipresent, perhaps even more so as we age.
There’s nothing like a movie about the
Holocaust to put everything in perspective -- and Son of Saul is a very
visceral and intense move about the Holocaust that can’t help but
overwhelm. Part of this tension is created
by the strategy of keeping the hand-held camera close to the protagonist, Saul
(Géza Röhrig), a member of the Sonderkommando, a group of concentration camp
prisoners who are engaged in the dirty work of the camps, dealing with those
who are gassed to death before and after they die. This camera style means that often we see the
horrors of the camp only at the periphery of our vision – or suddenly in full
view, if the camera happens to look in a particular direction. In fact, as Saul
moves through the day and across different locations in the camp, it becomes
very clear that writer-director László Nemes’ real goal is to show us what
happened in the camp (Auschwitz, in particular) in all its confronting and
terrible detail. Sure, there is a
plot: Saul becomes obsessed with finding
a rabbi to say prayers over the body of a young boy who he comes to call his
“son” before he buries the boy. However,
the plot feels very much like a means to an end, a means to show us this
horror, although Saul’s sad and ill-fated, perhaps confused, obsession also
seems a likely reaction to his role, a way to assuage what must be terrible guilt
and sorrow. The sonderkommando as a
group are not well differentiated – they are angry tense men who eventually
stage a futile escape attempt (based on true events). The German soldiers are portrayed as cruel,
using distancing strategies to dehumanise their victims. It is the worst of human nature (an
understatement if ever there was one), recreated vividly onscreen. Forcing yourself to watch with your eyes open
seems an important reminder to be mindful of those who are unjustly stigmatised
among us. And all the little trials and
tribulations of your daily existence become small in comparison.
Another movie depicting a teenager coming
of age, but with a distinct difference.
In particular, this film is told from the female point-of-view, written
and directed by Greta Gerwig (star of Frances Ha, 2012) and starring Saoirse
Ronan (who has real talent and carries the film). There are some elements that are familiar
(American high school situations, such as the drama club, prom, applying to
college) but they seem an authentic part of life rather than set-pieces for
comedy or pathos. The central characters feel well-rounded and less stereotypic
than in other films of this type; even small parts feel genuine, such as the
older priest and nun who are portrayed humanely and with warmth (and yes,
comedy and pathos). Lady Bird (Saoirse’s
character) is clearly having identity issues, as most teenagers do, rebelling
against parents (particularly the tough mom played intensely by Laurie Metcalf)
or teachers, ditching the nerdy friends of the past for the cool crowd, falling
in love with the wrong boys, and dreaming of leaving her hometown (Sacramento)
for a cooler place. Many small moments
are nicely observed and it is difficult not to recall similar experiences from
one’s own life – except the setting for the film is 2002-2003 (when Gerwig
graduated from high school) and not 1984-1985.
But perhaps some human needs, feelings, mistakes, complexities, and
resolutions don’t change too rapidly and whether this is Gerwig’s own story or not,
the truths in the telling transcend the specificity of time and place. A funny loving ode to youth (and not
forgetting your roots).
True
Detective (Series 1 --2014) – N. Pizzolatto & C. J. Fukunaga
I
have limited myself almost entirely to feature films in recent years even as it
became obvious that the long-form TV serial was attracting bigger stars,
budgets, and acclaim.Perhaps David
Lynch’s Twin Peaks third series was the turning point, although it still seems
easier to pick up the DVD set to watch a series than to try to set my clock to
catch it each week.In this case, the
2014 series of True Detective was available at the local library – I
binge-watched the 8 episodes across three nights.Why? Because indeed it was gripping enough to
compel me to continue watching.And if
you want to get the same enjoyment of the series, then I suggest you stop
reading now so as not to learn too much (i.e., there may be spoilers
below).The plot is pure pulp, a serial
killer detective thriller not unlike The Silence of the Lambs (1991) or Seven
(1995).In fact, the main events at the
start of the series do take place in 1995 in Louisiana – but they are recounted
by the two detectives, Marty Hart (Woody Harrelson) and Rust Cohle (Matthew
McConaughey), from a future vantage point in 2012.The first few episodes are part standard
detective work and part revelations about the personal lives of both men – Hart
is married (to Michelle Monaghan) with two small daughters and Cohle is single
with a mysterious past.Both have their
flaws (Hart is cheating on his wife, Cohle takes a seriously pessimistic view
of human nature) but I think audience identification would have to be with Cohle,
even though the 2012 version we see of him is pretty burned out.As the men tell their stories, we start to
wonder whether they are both telling the truth or whether (in Rashomon-like
fashion) what we are learning is biased to suit their own self-interest.At a certain point, the events on the screen
do not reflect the stories being told by Hart and Cohle to, it turns out, the two
police detectives interviewing them.And
just like that, in 1995, the case seems solved and there is a bit of focus on
Hart’s personal life until we fast-forward to 2002, when things fall apart in
the relationship between the two men and the story stops for ten years.This is where the ability to have 400 minutes
(or more) to play with helps to give the story greater weight and depth then
might be possible in a two-hour film.In
particular, across six or so episodes, there is a growing sense that the real
killer had never been caught and that Cohle is now a prime suspect.We don’t know for sure whether the burned out
Cohle really could be warped enough by the events of his past (which are
revealed to be quite harsh) to lead him to a copycat crime (or perhaps he even had
some involvement in the original crimes). Returning completely to 2012 and
picking up events when the men (who have been interviewed separately) meet up
to discuss their encounters with the police (both long since off the force), the
final episodes offer an exciting return to detective work with a renewed
fervour -- and then we are back to the straightforward narrative of the
thriller, in the mode of the first few episodes, expertly edited and directed
(by Cory Joji Fukunaga) with great aerial shots of Louisiana and perfect
attention to creepy mise-en-scene.To be
honest, however, this felt a bit of a let-down because, no matter how much
mystical or philosophical shit Cohle spouts, it can’t help being a genre film
in the end rather than something that looked as though it might transcend the
genre.That said, it was a gripping and
fascinating ride, extremely well-acted by McConaughey, Harrelson, and Monaghan –
and all the unique actors in small parts.Being on HBO meant sex, drugs, violence, and each episode ended with a
well-chosen moody song.If the detective
thriller is your cup of (strong) tea, then this series is highly
recommended.
Carol Reed’s very European masterpiece,
filmed in post-war Vienna and focused on black marketeering as its subject, is
often thought of almost as an Orson Welles film. True, Welles does appear, as the mysterious
and rascally criminal Harry Lime. And
the film’s lead is taken by his Mercury Theatre colleague Joseph Cotten, as
pulp western writer Holly Martins, a childhood friend of Lime’s who knows
nothing of his current actions but nevertheless travels from the US to Vienna
to meet him. Welles apparently wrote at
least one of his own monologues in the film – the one suggesting that tyranny
in Italy led to the Renaissance whereas peace in Switzerland led only to the
cuckoo clock. Finally, the film has the stylish look of Welles’ cinema, with
dramatically crooked camera angles and beautifully glistening sewers beneath
the city. But in fact, The Third Man
must actually be attributed to director Reed and screenwriter Graham Greene
(and the teams behind them). Indeed,
Reed was no slouch and made a number of other impressive films (without Welles)
around this time (such as Odd Man Out, 1947, and The Fallen Idol, 1948). The tropes of the film also fall in line with
the currently trending film noir genre (to which Welles also contributed),
featuring low key and chiaroscuro lighting – but the famous lilting zither
music of Anton Karas somehow lightens the tone, even as the characters uncover
the darkness that lies in the hearts of Lime and his cronies. The plot does unfold as a mystery, with
Martins arriving in Vienna to find Lime already dead but then, in partnership
with Lime’s girlfriend Anna (Alida Valli) and the police (led by Trevor Howard),
slowly realising that he may not be (as they ponder the titular third man). You
almost think Anna and Holly will fall in love, but a showdown between the moral
virtues of justice and loyalty put a damper on that, resulting in one of the
most classic slow and bitter endings of all time.
Postscript. Here is another earlier, briefer, review:
Watching this again (on VHS), it's hard to regain one's first surprise about Harry Lime's fate (and callousness to humankind) but the noir-inflected look of the film remains a draw card (even if Joseph Cotton never really feels in jeopardy as a noir lead should). I did forget how well the film captures the predicament of being unable to speak a country's language (and therefore being dependent on bilinguals for support). Added to this is all the confusion from Post-WWII caretaker government arrangements, which is pretty surreal from the modern vantage point.
The first thing I noticed about this
biopic of Emily Dickinson by director Terence Davies is the remarkable use of
light (kudos to cinematographer Florian Hoffmeister). The 19th
century sets are lit as if by candle or firelight or with natural light
streaming in from the windows. The sets
and costumes certainly evoke the time and place – as do the hairstyles (Keith
Carradine is nearly unrecognisable in his beard and sideburns). The plot starts with young Emily’s
non-traditional home life, supported by parents who allow her to resist
Christian evangelizing and to voice her own thoughts alongside a sister,
Vinnie, and a brother, Austin, raised similarly. Emily begins writing poetry and even has a
poem published, anonymously. Then, with a spooky use of morphing to age the
characters in the onscreen daguerreotypes, we see the children as young adults,
moving into relationships and careers.
Emily is now played by Cynthia Nixon (yes, she who just ran for New York
State governor in the recent primary).
Supported by her friend, Vryling Buffam, Emily continues to speak truth
to power and to advocate proto-feminist views.
However, she eventually becomes embittered and melancholy, a reclusive
eccentric dressed all in white, spurning potential suitors even as she seems
lonely. The success she seeks through
her poetry does not materialise. On the
soundtrack, we hear her poems in voiceover ("Because I could not stop for
Death" is the one that stands out as familiar to me, but my relationship
to poetry is now a distant one, although it is refreshing to take the time to
drink deep of words, even ironically through film). Ultimately, then, the
trajectory for Emily and the film is painfully downward, observed by Terence
Davies quietly but with passion. Looking at his filmography shows that I seem
to have missed several recent Davies films -- but I highly recommend Distant
Voices, Still Lives (1988) and The Long Day Closes (1992), his meditative
reveries about his own youth in England.
A Quiet Passion doesn’t measure up to these earlier films but it does
contain many special moments (especially in the camerawork); however, casual
viewers should be prepared for a “slow” film.
