Fallen Leaves (2023)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Fallen Leaves (2023) – A. Kaurismäki

It’s probably easy to underestimate Aki Kaurismäki, the 68-year-old Finnish director. His films are short, understated, and droll. In Fallen Leaves, the characters interact in a version of Helsinki filled with movie posters – including for films by Bresson, Godard, David Lean, and Jim Jarmusch (whose film, The Dead Don’t Die, 2019, the central couple go to see). This provides some hints about Kaurismäki’s intent – his film may feel slight, but it is actually linked carefully to film history, though unique in its own style. Bresson is a clear inspiration because we often see the characters doing things, small things like looking at the expiry date on food or sweeping a factory floor, which puts viewers in an existential mindset (thinking about doing and being). This is part of the so-called “Proletariat Trilogy” (the fourth film, following 1990’s The Match Factory Girl) which speaks to the class differences which were pivotal to Godard’s politicised cinema; including ongoing reports of the war in Ukraine every time a radio is switched on also reminds us of Godard’s intertextual approach (his bold colour palette also shows kinship). As far as the plot goes, David Lean’s Brief Encounter (1945) seems to be a touchstone, although in Fallen Leaves, Alma Pöysti’s Ana and Jussi Vatanen’s Holappa aren’t married to others and approaching an affair – they are just lonely strangers who struggle to make their connection happen.  Kaurismäki observes them nonjudgmentally (even when Holappa’s behaviour is clearly self-destructive, but with a wry eye that suggests that finding humour in life is one way to survive its repeated letdowns. Bemusing sequences, such as in the karaoke bar, are played as deadpan as you can get (a tendency also shared with his friend Jarmusch). Things go wrong, yes, but it’s never as bad as it seems – or at least the characters pull themselves together and get on with it (as existential proletariats must do). Music ties the whole thing together, bringing the melancholy, especially with a Finnish version of the French song “Les Feuilles Mortes” (known in English as “Autumn Leaves”, and translating to the film’s title here) and a Finnish version of Gordon Lightfoot’s Early Mornin’ Rain. Holappa’s friend Huotari (Janne Hyytiäinen) sings a traditional Finnish ballad at karaoke and indie-rock duo Maustetytöt get showcased in a bar. Definitely worth 80 minutes of your time.

La Chimera (2023)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

La Chimera (2023) – A. Rohrwacher

Director Alice Rohrwacher’s most recent feature and her first since her breakthrough with Happy as Lazzaro (2018).  (She seems to make a lot of shorts).  La Chimera feels very European (Rohrwacher is Italian), even if it stars British Josh O’Connor (he barely speaks and usually in broken Italian). Isabella Rossellini plays a matriarch (the mother of O’Connor’s lost girlfriend). As in Lazzaro, there’s a communal feel to the casting, with a lot of amateurs, possibly non-actors, in bit parts or just part of the gang. Is this Fellini-esque? Rohrwacher also seems to enjoy gazing at faces. The blurb at iMDb seems to position this as some sort of arthouse Indiana Jones but I have to tell you that even though O’Connor plays a sort of archeologist (or perhaps just a graverobber), this is not that (although there are some beautiful arthouse shots!). Instead of action, we get an elusive meditation on our connections to the past, both cultural (as in the hunt for artefacts or lost treasures) and personal (as in returning to one’s old haunts or dwelling in one’s thoughts about people who have passed). Not so much bringing the past to light in the present but perhaps escaping to the past, not necessarily but especially one’s own past, not an updated version? But that’s just one of the themes and ideas free-floating through the film. Rohrwacher again toys with magical realism with O’Connor also a sort of dowser for graves, overcome when near treasure-filled hollows in the ground. But how do these lost souls feel about giving up their riches?

Killers of the Flower Moon (2023)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Killers of the Flower Moon (2023) – M. Scorsese

I was going to write that the idea of this film is superior to its execution but waking up this morning, I find that it has stuck with me more than expected.  Focusing a fiction film on the murders of the Osage people (women, especially) in 1920s Oklahoma as a way of calling attention to colonialism’s effects on Indigenous people and culture more broadly is laudable indeed. Lily Gladstone (a Blackfoot woman) plays the central Osage heiress to an oil fortune, Molly, with powerful resignation, never giving in spiritually to the white usurpers but also not overtly speaking out, perhaps playing a long game or perhaps accepting her culture’s fate.  We are told early on that hers is a culture that speaks little but knows all.  Clearly, her situation is one of supreme powerlessness – and the plot echoes other “women in distress” pictures, such as Gaslight (1944), which director Martin Scorsese would be well aware of.  But the film focuses less on Molly and her family (her three sisters and her mother all die) and instead, perhaps for commercial reasons or from loyalty to his stable of actors, the narrative spends most of its time with the white characters (i.e., the villains in this story). In particular, we follow Ernest Burkhart (Leonardo DiCaprio), a WWI vet who has moved to Oklahoma to live with his rich uncle Bill “King” Hale (Robert De Niro).  Hale has a plan that involves his family members marrying Osage women in order to secure the “headrights” to their oil money (as oil was found on tribal lands). Not coincidentally, these same Osage women soon die, either from the “wasting illness” or from murder.  About two hours into the movie, the FBI (led by Jesse Plemons) investigates.  I was also going to write that I’m not a big fan of Leo’s but I’m willing to reconsider that statement as well.  Here, he seems to be playing just a dumb guy – or an unreflective one, driven to this lack of reflection by the way it suits his own self-interest.  Again, this seems a metaphor for much of white America’s foreign and domestic policies:  do what lines the pockets of the powerful while somehow maintaining a complete lack of self-awareness about any ill effects on the poor and people of colour. So, I have to hand it to Leo for suppressing his natural instinct to be charismatic to play this evil man (if evil can be represented by bad faith; see Sartre).  De Niro, playing old rather than morphing young, also disappears into his character, the much more crafty and overtly evil boss.  Scorsese takes his time allowing the plot and characters to develop (running time = 3 hours and 17 minutes) but I really did not feel that things dragged (even if I believe undoubtedly there must have been ways to cut this down).  He pulls out a few directorial flourishes that delight the eye and, in a moment of real panache, uses an unusual coda to tell us the ultimate fates of the remaining characters, as these events are based on a true story (from David Grann’s book).  The coda seems to serve a number of functions – homage to the days of storytelling of yore but also perhaps an acknowledgment of the need to use artifice to present the tale.  Naysayers may question whether the implementation of the idea for the film has transgressed on the real lives and real issues of the Indigenous people portrayed (or not portrayed) but I reckon Scorsese was right to use his starpower (and that of DiCaprio and De Niro) and his bully pulpit to focus our attention here.

 

Evil Does Not Exist (2023)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Evil Does Not Exist (2023) – R. Hamaguchi

Director Ryûsuke Hamaguchi’s follow-up to his award-winning Drive My Car (2021) deserves close scrutiny but a firm interpretation might remain elusive.  Starting with that title, it is hard to fit it to the events of the film which see the residents of a rural Japanese village (a few hours drive from Tokyo) resisting a company’s attempt to locate a touristy glamping site in their midst.  You could argue that the company is evil for attempting to exploit the natural resources of the village and for trying to over-ride the concerns of the small community (focused on water contamination and bushfire risk).  Yet, the villagers themselves acknowledge their own impact on the local ecosystem has not been entirely positive either and count themselves as outsiders whose families relocated there only after the government encouraged farming in the region after WWII.  (Some, like the local Udon restauranteur, arrived even later). Not all of them are polite. This pushes us toward a reading of the title somewhere in the vicinity of Jean Renoir’s “Everyone has their reasons” (thought to be the awful thing about life; from The Rules of the Game, 1939). So, perhaps evil does not exist because everyone sees their own actions as justified, even if to others they might appear “evil”.  Yet, this isn’t even the main theme of the film (or perhaps not a theme at all).  Instead, there is a man versus nature or perhaps civilisation versus nature theme that weaves its way through the film.  Takumi, a local handyman, and his young daughter, Hana, seem to be the main representatives of “nature” or perhaps they are better thought of as people who live in harmony with nature; he chops wood and draws water from the local stream for the Udon restaurant. In contrast, Takahashi and Mayzumi, employees of a talent agency wanting to get into the glamping business, represent Tokyo and the intrusion of civilisation on nature.  Although Mayzumi seems the most sympathetic to the objections of the villagers, Takahashi is the one who becomes fascinated with the potential of a “back to nature” tree-change to his life and vocally considers moving to the village to become the glamping caretaker.  A side conversation hints that Takahashi, who desires a family and has been using a dating app, is closer to the “traditional” evolutionary behaviour of humans than Mayzumi who rejects the possibility of having children.  So, another reading might suggest that evil does not exist to the extent that humans are simply other “natural” creatures following their instincts, even if more recent changes move us away from the more animalistic needs of our early evolution.  The film is slow cinema, highlighted by Eiko Ishibashi’s intense score, and Yoshio Kitagawa’s mysterious transcendental visuals.  So, when anxiety and conflict erupt at the end of the film (echoing many of the themes but somehow still opaque and inscrutable), it’s a shock to the viewer who must ponder this reverberating moment as the film abruptly concludes.

 

American Fiction (2023)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

American Fiction (2023) – C. Jefferson

Audacious directorial debut by Cord Jefferson who also won the 2024 best screenplay Oscar for adapting Percival Everett’s book Erasure.  Apparently, the title of the film was going to be the same as the title of the book by Stagg R. Lee in the film but ironically the producers must have gotten cold feet.  Irony is the name of the game here in this smart dramedy that manages to retain its heart, make some solid points, and even go “meta” at the end while never losing the audience. It is great to see Jeffrey Wright (as Thelonious “Monk” Ellison) take the lead (as he did so many moons ago as Basquiat) and he holds down the centre of the picture with a not-always-likeable character who nevertheless is very human.  He’s a respected writer (and college prof) who doesn’t have sales to match the esteem.  After seeing another Black writer receive plaudits for writing a trashy novel of the (stereotyped) Black experience, he bangs out what he thinks is a parody and gives it to his agent.  This sociological theme sits alongside a nicely delivered family drama, given life by Wright, Leslie Uggams, Sterling K. Brown, Tracee Ellis Ross, and Myra Lucretia Taylor. Erika Alexander is excellent as Monk’s love interest, an independent woman rather than a sidekick.  Endings to films like this are often hard to stick so kudos to the filmmakers for taking chances and landing the perfect one (or two… or three).

 

The Zone of Interest (2023)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Zone of Interest (2023) – J. Glazer

A new movie about the Holocaust raises many questions.  Do such films trivialize or exploit the unspeakable horror of the murder of six million Jews (and others) or do they serve as a worthwhile reminder of the way that humans have and can rationalize evil acts (and/or the banality of evil, as Hannah Arendt noted) for which we should be on constant guard? Jonathan Glazer’s film invites us to view (or, in fact, listen to) the events at Auschwitz from a detached distance – unlike the visceral “you are there” experience of Son of Saul (2015) or the overwhelming amount of specific detail provided by Claude Lanzmann’s nine-hour Shoah (1985).  But knowing the true nature of the horror is a sort of pre-requisite for the dread that Glazer provokes with the Zone of Interest, named for the area around the concentration camp where the camp commandant and his family live. Christian Friedel and Sandra Hüller play the commandant and his wife, living in the shadow of the camp (we see it in the background of most outdoor shots) and living off the work and possessions of those being exterminated. As viewers, we never enter the camp and only see it from the outside but importantly hear what goes on as a distracting backdrop to the action we do see (mundane household actions and discussions of the work of the commandant, using terrible euphemisms for killing or discussing the mechanisms for killing in a matter-of-fact way).  This creates a sort of divided consciousness for viewers and leads directly to the question of what the family members (children and adults alike) must be thinking while hearing and experiencing the camp next door – in other words, you know that they can’t not know. Glazer and his team based the film only loosely on Martin Amis’s novel but also on extensive research on Commandant Rudolf Höss, Auschwitz, and the years 1943-44.   They find numerous ways to present the indirect effects of the camp, leaving the greater horror looming in the background, with only its shadow on show.  But whether this be warning, memorial, educational opportunity, or introspective public art, it only serves to present one view of the Holocaust, to make one specific point about those involved -- but perhaps that’s sufficient in the face of the enormity of the catastrophe and our inability to come to terms with it.  Notwithstanding the possibility for morbid fascination, understanding the Holocaust from all angles, with every good faith contribution warranted, seems necessary.

 

The Holdovers (2023)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Holdovers (2023) – A. Payne

Director Alexander Payne and actor Paul Giamatti previously teamed up for Sideways (2004) where the actor played a similarly bummed out but know-it-all character touring California’s wine country. Here, decades later, he’s the misanthropic classics-spouting history teacher, unloved by students and colleagues alike, stuck baby-sitting students whose parents left them at boarding school over the 1970 Christmas break.  Payne and screenwriter David Hemingson do a wonderful job fleshing out the characters of those stuck at Barton School which also include Da'Vine Joy Randolph’s school cook Mary Lamb and Dominic Sessa’s troubled student Angus Tully.  As in Payne’s other films, the film advances via humorous episodes (a sporting accident, a Christmas party, a trip to Boston) and the characters’ relationships with each other deepen and they learn something about themselves too.  But Payne avoids the saccharine by ensuring that the proceedings are adult and authentic feeling.  He (and his team) also captures the time-period not only with perfect set-decoration/art-direction/cinematography (think The Paper Chase) but also in the social, race, and class relations depicted (amiably defiant of norms in some cases perhaps).  Bittersweet is the dominant flavour here but that’s not to say that your heart won’t also be warmed. So good.    

 

Anatomy of a Fall (2023)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Anatomy of a Fall (2023) – J. Triet

Having just watched Anatomy of a Murder (1959) with my Dad, I can definitely see the family resemblance with Justine Triet’s Oscar-winning Anatomy of a Fall.  Both films deconstruct a central death with exacting forensic/clinical investigations leading to high-profile court cases with fallible defendants (Ben Gazzara in the older film, Sandra Hüller in the newer one).  They differ in the way that Otto Preminger focused more on Jimmy Stewart’s lawyer, whereas Triet honed in on the relationship between Hüller’s Sandra Voyter and her blind son Daniel (Milo Machado-Graner) who is the sole witness able to tell the court whether his father was killed by his mother.  Court cases in France do not seem to follow the same rules as those in America, with the defendant (as well as the defense team) freely interjecting (and/or being asked to comment) while the prosecutor questions witnesses. Evidence mounts and seemingly supports a strong case against the defendant – or does it? Hüller, who was so good in Toni Erdmann (2016), is fascinating here, ably allowing us to doubt her while remaining hopeful that she didn’t do it.  Absorbing throughout. It won the Palme d’Or at Cannes.

Perfect Days (2023)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Perfect Days (2023) – W. Wenders

Japan’s entry for the Best International Oscar was their first directed by a foreigner, in this case, Wim Wenders (Wings of Desire, 1987).  Koji Yakusho (Cure, 1997; Shall We Dance, 1996) won Best Actor at the Cannes Film Festival in 2023 for this film.  He plays a cleaner for The Tokyo Toilet company who services restrooms in the Shibuya area. But these are no ordinary toilets!  The film’s idea itself apparently originated with these architect-designed toilet blocks that were created for the 2020 Olympics – after the pandemic overshadowed everything, the feeling was that the toilets did not get enough attention.  So, a commission was offered to create a documentary to highlight their uniqueness, but when Wim Wenders won, he decided to create a fiction film instead. (Wise choice).  We follow Yakusho’s daily routine in detail and learn that it rarely changes.  He is a man who clearly takes pleasure in the simple things of life and is conscientious about his work and his life. He also listens to cassette tapes of sixties music and reads classic novels.  He has a particular interest in photographing trees (or one particular tree).  Wenders takes a minimalist approach (this is slow cinema) with some experimental flourishes to represent the dreams of Hirayama (Yakusho), which unfold like abstract shadow plays. Gradually, we learn more about Hirayama as a result of his interactions with other people (although his routine shows him to be a loner who barely speaks). There is a mystery of sorts here although many will feel the movie to be virtually plotless. The final shot (or nearly final shot) is likely to be the one that garnered Yakusho his acting awards and Wenders holds it long enough for us to ponder the character’s motivation and emotions. After the credits, Wenders offers an insight that unlocked the film for me:  "‘KOMOREBI’ is the Japanese word for the shimmering of light and shadows that is created by leaves swaying in the wind. It only exists once, at that moment.”  I’m pleased to see Wenders’ success after a number of years when his documentaries outshone his narrative films. Highly recommended.  

Monster (2023)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Monster (2023) – H. Kore-eda

I’ve been following director Hirokazu Kore-eda since I first caught After Life (1998) randomly in London in 1999 (and soon after found his breakthrough film Maborosi, 1995, on VHS). He is probably best known now for Shoplifters (2018) which won the Palme d’Or at Cannes that year. He’s become an expert at the shomin-geki (family drama, or “common people” drama). In many ways, Monster, Kore-eda’s return to Japanese film-making after stints in France and Korea, falls into this genre too (but may also represent the classic coming-of-age story).  We begin by following Sakura Ando’s single mother who becomes increasingly concerned with the experiences of her son Minato (Soya Kurokawa) at primary school when he comes home with a bloody nose and hurt ear.  He tells her that the teacher hit him and called him “Pig Brain”.  She confronts the principal who instructs the teacher to make a formal apology to the parent, but without quite admitting everything.  This agitates the mum who takes legal action against the school.  But the truth is not so simple (as is often the case in Kore-eda’s films) and we are subsequently treated to two more versions of events before settling in to see things from Minato’s point of view. Without giving too much away, let’s just say that the film transforms into a story about societal norms, constraints, and prejudices – the way some people may be seen as monsters and may even self-stigmatise themselves as monsters. But freed from these shackles, in a separate reality, love can prosper. Although ultimately the film decides to move on from its promise of a Rashomon-styled tale of subjective perceptions, the resulting focus on primary human relationships (despite verging on the overly sentimental) offers a triumphant conclusion. Unfortunately, the world we know may not allow this euphoria to be sustained. 

Barbie (2023)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Barbie (2023) – G. Gerwig

A bit under the weather on a Sunday afternoon with just Amon (aged 11) at home and the Barbie DVD having arrived from the library, so we chucked it in.  It was a bit weird to begin with – a grown man and a young boy watching Barbie – after the homage to 2001 (not quite funny but odd), the opening musical number, singing and dancing in Barbieland, had us cringing.  But then, the movie started to show its true colours (beyond just pink), critiquing the patriarchy, critiquing Barbie herself – and having fun while doing it and more importantly, letting the audience in on the fun.  Margot Robbie (Stereotypical Barbie) and Ryan Gosling (Just Ken) play the dolls as not-too-bright but they grow in sophistication (okay, she does) as the movie unfolds and they leave Barbieland for the real world (where Ken discovers men have more power than they do back home). America Ferrera and Ariana Greenblatt play our mother-and-daughter identification figures with diametrically opposed feelings about Barbie.  Will Ferrell is here as Mattel’s CEO and Rhea Perlman shows up as Barbie’s creator Ruth Handler (we get some actual Barbie history lessons, including from narrator Helen Mirren). There are a lot of in-jokes for movie-lovers with nods to Monty Python, Jacques Tati, and more. It’s silly but serious, funny but dark, and altogether knowing in a way that even Amon understood.  He thought the end of the film might bring a world where women and men are equal (at least in Barbieland) but, of course, even more apropos, the Kens (there are multiple Kens and multiple Barbies, in line with the release of doll variants) only get a slight increase in their rights (just like women in the real world).  Director Greta Gerwig manages to tread a very thin line (including a message but avoiding being too didactic) and creates a wondrous world (with old-school special effects) that lingers with you long after the movie has ended.

Past Lives (2023)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Past Lives (2023) – C. Song

Celine Song’s debut film is a wistful and melancholy reflection on many things, chiefly the people we used to be in earlier parts of our lives.  Perhaps it is telling that the film includes two lengthy flashback scenes: first, 24 years ago when the protagonists are around 12 years old and living in Korea, and then again 12 years after that, when one of them (now named Nora; played by Greta Lee) lives in New York City (after her family migrated first to Toronto) and the other (Hae Jung; played by Teo Yoo) remains in Korea.  They found each other as a result of facebook.  I am sure this was a common experience at the time (it was for me!) as people suddenly found that they could look up old primary and secondary school friends to find out where they were now (and marvel at how much everyone had aged).  But intriguingly those people you found again only knew a past version of you, one that might not even feel accurate anymore.  And, as Song points out, this odd feeling might be even more significant for migrants, who may have even starker differences between past and present selves, including speaking different languages, practicing different cultural norms, etc.  Such is the case for Nora.  Yet, it is easy to romanticize the past, probably even for those who have not moved places (as much as some of us have). In the film we are led to feel that there could be romantic possibilities between Nora and Hae Jung based on their friendship at age 12 and their rapid re-engagement 12 years later.  But another 12 years pass before they actually meet face-to-face and by then, Nora is married (to a Jewish American, Arthur; played by John Magaro).  When Hae Jung shows up in New York, will Nora leave Arthur for him?  Arthur worries about this “fairy tale” possibility (and the Korean notion of pre-reincarnation past lives creating a sort of destiny for lovers in this life). However, Nora (and Celine Song, whose story this may be) may be more realistic than the men in her life. Naturally, this film hit me in all sorts of ways and might be more relevant for me than others, as a migrant myself, married to a migrant from Japan, and, especially, as a 56 year old with many past selves. The reflective tone (punctuated by quiet shots of NYC with appropriate music) was just right for contemplating these things as well as the beautifully acted characters and relationships within the film.

Asteroid City (2023)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Asteroid City (2023) – W. Anderson

I guess we all know what to expect from a Wes Anderson film by now: quirky characters played by name-brand actors (and handpicked children or adolescents), outstanding but heavily stylized art direction (with splendid use of colour), carefully chosen pop songs on the soundtrack, and a certain mix of nostalgic, melancholic, whimsical, absurd, wry, knowing, and even dark moments (often all at the same time).  So, with his 11^th feature, do we just get more of the same?  The answer is basically yes.  This time, Anderson takes us to Asteroid City (somewhere in the West of the USA but filmed in Spain) in the 1950s where young people who have won a science competition creating futuristic inventions (focused on space, mostly) are congregating for an event (chaired by General Grif Gibson – Jeffrey Wright). The main focus (if you are able to focus amidst the busy mise en scene) is on Augie Steenbeck (Jason Schwartzman) who is chaperoning his son Woodrow (Jake Ryan) but who also has his three daughters with him because their car broke down on the way to the house of his father-in-law (Tom Hanks), who then arrives to take them back.  Also present are movie star Midge Campbell (Scarlett Johansson) and her daughter Dinah (Grace Edwards).  These families are marked by absent spouses and their reaction to the fractured nuclear family (caused by death/illness/violence) is the dark vein that Anderson mines here.  But it is easy to be distracted by all of the other events, characters, asides, music, visual references, etc. that he throws at you.  For example, you wouldn’t be surprised if Wile E. Coyote showed up at any moment, as the art direction here is cribbed straight from Chuck Jones (the roadrunner is here, although the coyote is noted only in passing). There are also singing cowboys, flying saucers, a very topical quarantine, allusions to Marilyn Monroe – in fact, the whole thing is staged as a play within a movie, where Bryan Cranston narrates a recounting of what appears to be a Group Theatre production (with Willem Dafoe and his actors assisting playwright Edward Norton to develop what we are seeing in the film). As such, Anderson repeatedly breaks the third wall and the actors play characters playing characters, not just the characters themselves.  It is dizzying.  So, as before, your enjoyment of the film is going depend on your appetite for Anderson. If you’ve cultivated an appetite already, I would say that Asteroid City feels a bit fresher than The French Dispatch (2021) but doesn’t reach the exalted heights of the Grand Budapest Hotel (2014).  I haven’t checked out Anderson’s other 2023 releases – a trio of shorts drawn from the work of Roald Dahl on Netflix – which suggests a surging productivity in the director.  But how much is too much?