list http://www.spout.com/ Recent community activity around Everything Is Illuminated on Spout Copyright 2005-9 Spout, LLC Spout RSS http://www.spout.com/images/SpoutLogoRSS.jpg http://www.spout.com/ 136 30 http://www.spout.com/films/Everything_Is_Illuminated/244612/default.aspx Title: Everything Is Illuminated
Year: 2005
Director: Liev Schreiber
Plot: A young man takes a strange and unexpectedly funny journey in search of a family heroine he's never known in this screen adaptation of the novel by Jonathan Safran Foer. Jonathan (Elijah Wood) is a lifelong collector of any and all objects pertaining to his family, and he has become obsessed with a woman he's never met. The woman saved the life of his grandfather during World War II, when the Ukrainian town where he was born was destroyed by Nazi troops. Wanting to know more about the woman, Jonathan flies to the Ukraine, where with the help of a hip-hop obsessed, gold-toothed tour guide and translator named Alex (Eugene Hütz), Alex's grandfather (a chauffeur who has claimed to be blind since his wife's death, played by Boris Leskin), and a dog named Sammy Davis Junior Junior, Jonathan searches for the meaning of the present that lies buried in the past, unexpectedly shedding the same such light on the lives of those around him. Everything Is Illuminated was the first directorial assignment for acclaimed actor Liev Schreiber. ~ Mark Deming, All Movie Guide
Times Tagged: 34
Number of Lists: 21
Number of blog posts: 4
SpoutRating: 3
]]>Wed, 25 Feb 2009 02:10:16 GMTEverything Is Illuminated2005Liev SchreiberA young man takes a strange and unexpectedly funny journey in search of a family heroine he's never known in this screen adaptation of the novel by Jonathan Safran Foer. Jonathan (<a href="/players/P____77309/default.aspx" style='text-decoration:underline'>Elijah Wood</a>) is a lifelong collector of any and all objects pertaining to his family, and he has become obsessed with a woman he's never met. The woman saved the life of his grandfather during World War II, when the Ukrainian town where he was born was destroyed by Nazi troops. Wanting to know more about the woman, Jonathan flies to the Ukraine, where with the help of a hip-hop obsessed, gold-toothed tour guide and translator named Alex (Eugene Hütz), Alex's grandfather (a chauffeur who has claimed to be blind since his wife's death, played by Boris Leskin), and a dog named Sammy Davis Junior Junior, Jonathan searches for the meaning of the present that lies buried in the past, unexpectedly shedding the same such light on the lives of those around him. Everything Is Illuminated was the first directorial assignment for acclaimed actor <a href="/players/P___197753/default.aspx" style='text-decoration:underline'>Liev Schreiber</a>. ~ Mark Deming, All Movie Guide34Tag Target (>10)2143http://www.spout.com/ProductImages/t72535b52hs.jpghttp://www.spout.com/films/Everything_Is_Illuminated/244612/default.aspxFilm http://www.spout.com/blogs/karina/archive/2008/6/3/30403.aspx Post By: Karina
Post To: Karina on SpoutBlog
Post Date: 6/3/2008 1:01:07 PM
Body: This review first appeared in slightly different form during the 2007 Toronto Film Festival. Operation Filmmaker opens in New York tomorrow. As a portrait of post-Sadaam Iraqi youth, Operation Filmmaker doesn’t have the “wow!” factor of another recently released movie about Iraqi kids looking for refuge in American popular culture. But for a film that began life as a vanity project designed to document an act of kindness on the part of a Hollywood star, it’s a surprisingly evocative examination of privileged, well-intentioned ignorance. That director Nina Davenport chooses to resolve the story on a pat, inappropriately jokey note is thus maybe a fitting way to end a story of conflict between the self-oblivious and a master manipulator, but it’s still a disappointment. In 2004, an MTV documentary featured a nine-minute segment on Muthana Mohmed, a twenty-something Iraqi with a passion for Hollywood film. MTV’s cameras followed Muthana as he toured a giant street market, searching in vain for cinema books; they captured a pile of bombed-out bricks, which Muthana said was once the site of a school in which he was studying film. Actor Liev Schreiber saw this documentary as he was preparing to travel to Prague to shoot his first film as a director, an adaptation of Jonathan Safran Foer’s Holocaust-memories-as-cultural-bridge novel, Everything is Illuminated. Schreiber decided to contact Muthana and invite him to come to Prague and work on the set of the film as an intern. Undoubtedly wanting a document of his own cross-cultural generosity for the Illuminated DVD, Schreiber hired filmmaker Davenport to trail Muthana and document his experiences on set. Schreiber and his producer Peter Saraf undoubtedly went into the Muthana endeavor with the best intentions, but their cultural naivete is apparent from the outset. Schreiber says he wants to encourage Muthana’s filmmaking ambitions because “Baghdad needs artists”; Davenport lets the obvious follow-up question–– “Yeah, but don’t they need, like, safety, running water and electricity first?”––hang in the air unsaid. When Muthana chooses an evening of clubbing over working on an editing assignment, Saraf begins to doubt Muthana’s true ambitions. The producer notes that if he really wants a Hollywood career, he should be making himself “invaluable” on the set by making sure the actors never lack for coffee. But Muthana, who has never spent a night outside of Iraq or away from his childhood home, has no concept of the Hollywood ladder and has a hard time seeing how fetching snacks is going to teach him anything about filmmaking. The conflict is compounded by politics: both Schreiber and Saraf are self-professed “left-wing American Jews,” and both are visibly distressed with Muthana’s insistence that he “loves George Bush.” As shooting on Illuminated nears completion, Muthana makes an impetuous declaration that he should go back to Iraq to be with his family, and to his apparent surprise, Schreiber and Saraf agree with him. But Muthana’s friends back home, who have been taping video diaries with cameras sent to them by Davenport, tell Muthana he should do whatever he can to stay in Europe. One of Muthana’s friends describes being virtually imprisoned in his home by violence, and unable to do much to entertain himself in between the frequent blackouts. Youthful petulance bleeds through the direness of the situation: if going outside doesn’t kill him, the boredom of staying inside just might. Muthana eventually goes back to the producers and tells them that he can’t go home because local militias have threatened his family upon learning that Muthana has been working for American Jews. Davenport keeps the truth of the matter ambiguous: it doesn’t seem totally implausible, but Muthana’s employers write Muthana off as untrustworthy and assume he’s lying. Davenport doesn’t press the issue, but it seems likely that once Schreiber and Saraf realised that they could no longer count on being canonized as saints for rescuing the Iraqi Spielberg, Muthana’s fate no longer fell within the realm of their concern. With his visa about to expire, Muthana makes a last ditch effort to ingratiate himself with a third producer, and lands himself a visa extension and a P.A. gig on the Prague set of Doom. Though her closest collaborator chooses to quit the project, Davenport sticks with Muthana and continues to build her portrait of a first-class manipulator with no qualms about taking advantage of white liberal guilt. With the exception of Davenport, no one on these film sets really takes the time to get to know Muthana, and that amplifies his ability to serve as a projection screen for a wide variety of disappointments. Still, it would be impossible to call the guy an A+ employee–throughout, he shows himself to be far more interested in girls and drinking than in filmmaking, which, as the film goes on, comes to seem less like his life-long passion and more like his chosen hook for attention. Whether her subject is serious about the movie business or not, Davenport gives Muthana’s plight extra resonance by cross-cutting between footage of real-blood violence in Iraq, and scenes of Muthana on the fake-blood soaked set of Doom. Can you blame the guy for pulling out all the stops to stay in the realm where the piles of corpses are only make-believe? It’s too facile to lump the director of this film in with the Hollywood types who blindly offer Muthana assistance out of liberal duty, and yet aren’t prepared to commit to a long-term mentoring relationship. But by focusing the final act of the film on her personal struggles with Muthana, the director makes herself a target. You do have to cut Davenport some slack: she’s been a constant in Muthana’s life throughout the course of the filming, and after many months of watching through the lens of the camera, she’s clearly frustrated with her subject’s never-ending series of bad and/or selfish choices. But Davenport also plays into Muthana’s bad behavior. Via first-person inter-titles, the director explains that “despite serious reservations,” while waiting and hoping that Muthana’s story would naturally evolve into an happy ending, she gave her subject several loans. This is a fascinating breach of documentarian/subject etiquette, and it’s to Davenport’s credit that she owns up to it on screen. But not long after that admission, the film’s final title card seeks to neatly wrap up Muthana’s story with a glib rejoinder, which simultaneously reduces Muthana to a caricature of a nagging, unwelcome hanger-on, and positions him as a stand in for the whole of the Iraqi people. As Schreiber before her, Davenport seems to be projecting her disappointments concerning the entirety of the Iraq situation onto Muthana, thereby excusing herself from culpability in his individual plight. It’s a puzzling turn in position for the filmmaker. Davenport is surely conscious that she encouraged Muthana’s narcissism by putting a camera in his face; she surely understands that his two options are to either go back to Iraq (where, whether because he’s been “working for American Jews” or just because he’s walking down the street, he’s got a fair chance of getting killed), or to milk the guilty generosity of Americans for all it’s worth. That’s a powerful concept, even if it doesn’t offer an immediate resolution. It’s frustrating that, rather than let that incredible conundrum say it all, Davenport felt the need to close her otherwise productively provocative film on an easy joke. These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web page Originally posted on:SpoutBlog » Karina Longworth
]]>Tue, 03 Jun 2008 17:01:07 GMTKarinaKarina on SpoutBlog6/3/2008 1:01:07 PM This review first appeared in slightly different form during the 2007 Toronto Film Festival. Operation Filmmaker opens in New York tomorrow. As a portrait of post-Sadaam Iraqi youth, Operation Filmmaker doesn’t have the “wow!” factor of another recently released movie about Iraqi kids looking for refuge in American popular culture. But for a film that began life as a vanity project designed to document an act of kindness on the part of a Hollywood star, it’s a surprisingly evocative examination of privileged, well-intentioned ignorance. That director Nina Davenport chooses to resolve the story on a pat, inappropriately jokey note is thus maybe a fitting way to end a story of conflict between the self-oblivious and a master manipulator, but it’s still a disappointment. In 2004, an MTV documentary featured a nine-minute segment on Muthana Mohmed, a twenty-something Iraqi with a passion for Hollywood film. MTV’s cameras followed Muthana as he toured a giant street market, searching in vain for cinema books; they captured a pile of bombed-out bricks, which Muthana said was once the site of a school in which he was studying film. Actor Liev Schreiber saw this documentary as he was preparing to travel to Prague to shoot his first film as a director, an adaptation of Jonathan Safran Foer’s Holocaust-memories-as-cultural-bridge novel, Everything is Illuminated. Schreiber decided to contact Muthana and invite him to come to Prague and work on the set of the film as an intern. Undoubtedly wanting a document of his own cross-cultural generosity for the Illuminated DVD, Schreiber hired filmmaker Davenport to trail Muthana and document his experiences on set. Schreiber and his producer Peter Saraf undoubtedly went into the Muthana endeavor with the best intentions, but their cultural naivete is apparent from the outset. Schreiber says he wants to encourage Muthana’s filmmaking ambitions because “Baghdad needs artists”; Davenport lets the obvious follow-up question–– “Yeah, but don’t they need, like, safety, running water and electricity first?”––hang in the air unsaid. When Muthana chooses an evening of clubbing over working on an editing assignment, Saraf begins to doubt Muthana’s true ambitions. The producer notes that if he really wants a Hollywood career, he should be making himself “invaluable” on the set by making sure the actors never lack for coffee. But Muthana, who has never spent a night outside of Iraq or away from his childhood home, has no concept of the Hollywood ladder and has a hard time seeing how fetching snacks is going to teach him anything about filmmaking. The conflict is compounded by politics: both Schreiber and Saraf are self-professed “left-wing American Jews,” and both are visibly distressed with Muthana’s insistence that he “loves George Bush.” As shooting on Illuminated nears completion, Muthana makes an impetuous declaration that he should go back to Iraq to be with his family, and to his apparent surprise, Schreiber and Saraf agree with him. But Muthana’s friends back home, who have been taping video diaries with cameras sent to them by Davenport, tell Muthana he should do whatever he can to stay in Europe. One of Muthana’s friends describes being virtually imprisoned in his home by violence, and unable to do much to entertain himself in between the frequent blackouts. Youthful petulance bleeds through the direness of the situation: if going outside doesn’t kill him, the boredom of staying inside just might. Muthana eventually goes back to the producers and tells them that he can’t go home because local militias have threatened his family upon learning that Muthana has been working for American Jews. Davenport keeps the truth of the matter ambiguous: it doesn’t seem totally implausible, but Muthana’s employers write Muthana off as untrustworthy and assume he’s lying. Davenport doesn’t press the issue, but it seems likely that once Schreiber and Saraf realised that they could no longer count on being canonized as saints for rescuing the Iraqi Spielberg, Muthana’s fate no longer fell within the realm of their concern. With his visa about to expire, Muthana makes a last ditch effort to ingratiate himself with a third producer, and lands himself a visa extension and a P.A. gig on the Prague set of Doom. Though her closest collaborator chooses to quit the project, Davenport sticks with Muthana and continues to build her portrait of a first-class manipulator with no qualms about taking advantage of white liberal guilt. With the exception of Davenport, no one on these film sets really takes the time to get to know Muthana, and that amplifies his ability to serve as a projection screen for a wide variety of disappointments. Still, it would be impossible to call the guy an A+ employee–throughout, he shows himself to be far more interested in girls and drinking than in filmmaking, which, as the film goes on, comes to seem less like his life-long passion and more like his chosen hook for attention. Whether her subject is serious about the movie business or not, Davenport gives Muthana’s plight extra resonance by cross-cutting between footage of real-blood violence in Iraq, and scenes of Muthana on the fake-blood soaked set of Doom. Can you blame the guy for pulling out all the stops to stay in the realm where the piles of corpses are only make-believe? It’s too facile to lump the director of this film in with the Hollywood types who blindly offer Muthana assistance out of liberal duty, and yet aren’t prepared to commit to a long-term mentoring relationship. But by focusing the final act of the film on her personal struggles with Muthana, the director makes herself a target. You do have to cut Davenport some slack: she’s been a constant in Muthana’s life throughout the course of the filming, and after many months of watching through the lens of the camera, she’s clearly frustrated with her subject’s never-ending series of bad and/or selfish choices. But Davenport also plays into Muthana’s bad behavior. Via first-person inter-titles, the director explains that “despite serious reservations,” while waiting and hoping that Muthana’s story would naturally evolve into an happy ending, she gave her subject several loans. This is a fascinating breach of documentarian/subject etiquette, and it’s to Davenport’s credit that she owns up to it on screen. But not long after that admission, the film’s final title card seeks to neatly wrap up Muthana’s story with a glib rejoinder, which simultaneously reduces Muthana to a caricature of a nagging, unwelcome hanger-on, and positions him as a stand in for the whole of the Iraqi people. As Schreiber before her, Davenport seems to be projecting her disappointments concerning the entirety of the Iraq situation onto Muthana, thereby excusing herself from culpability in his individual plight. It’s a puzzling turn in position for the filmmaker. Davenport is surely conscious that she encouraged Muthana’s narcissism by putting a camera in his face; she surely understands that his two options are to either go back to Iraq (where, whether because he’s been “working for American Jews” or just because he’s walking down the street, he’s got a fair chance of getting killed), or to milk the guilty generosity of Americans for all it’s worth. That’s a powerful concept, even if it doesn’t offer an immediate resolution. It’s frustrating that, rather than let that incredible conundrum say it all, Davenport felt the need to close her otherwise productively provocative film on an easy joke. These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web page Originally posted on:SpoutBlog » Karina Longworth http://www.spout.com/blogs/spoutblog/archive/2008/6/3/30402.aspx Post By: SpoutBlog
Post To: SpoutBlog on spout.com
Post Date: 6/3/2008 1:00:58 PM
Body: This review first appeared in slightly different form during the 2007 Toronto Film Festival. Operation Filmmaker opens in New York tomorrow. As a portrait of post-Sadaam Iraqi youth, Operation Filmmaker doesn’t have the “wow!” factor of another recently released movie about Iraqi kids looking for refuge in American popular culture. But for a film that began life as a vanity project designed to document an act of kindness on the part of a Hollywood star, it’s a surprisingly evocative examination of privileged, well-intentioned ignorance. That director Nina Davenport chooses to resolve the story on a pat, inappropriately jokey note is thus maybe a fitting way to end a story of conflict between the self-oblivious and a master manipulator, but it’s still a disappointment. In 2004, an MTV documentary featured a nine-minute segment on Muthana Mohmed, a twenty-something Iraqi with a passion for Hollywood film. MTV’s cameras followed Muthana as he toured a giant street market, searching in vain for cinema books; they captured a pile of bombed-out bricks, which Muthana said was once the site of a school in which he was studying film. Actor Liev Schreiber saw this documentary as he was preparing to travel to Prague to shoot his first film as a director, an adaptation of Jonathan Safran Foer’s Holocaust-memories-as-cultural-bridge novel, Everything is Illuminated. Schreiber decided to contact Muthana and invite him to come to Prague and work on the set of the film as an intern. Undoubtedly wanting a document of his own cross-cultural generosity for the Illuminated DVD, Schreiber hired filmmaker Davenport to trail Muthana and document his experiences on set. Schreiber and his producer Peter Saraf undoubtedly went into the Muthana endeavor with the best intentions, but their cultural naivete is apparent from the outset. Schreiber says he wants to encourage Muthana’s filmmaking ambitions because “Baghdad needs artists”; Davenport lets the obvious follow-up question–– “Yeah, but don’t they need, like, safety, running water and electricity first?”––hang in the air unsaid. When Muthana chooses an evening of clubbing over working on an editing assignment, Saraf begins to doubt Muthana’s true ambitions. The producer notes that if he really wants a Hollywood career, he should be making himself “invaluable” on the set by making sure the actors never lack for coffee. But Muthana, who has never spent a night outside of Iraq or away from his childhood home, has no concept of the Hollywood ladder and has a hard time seeing how fetching snacks is going to teach him anything about filmmaking. The conflict is compounded by politics: both Schreiber and Saraf are self-professed “left-wing American Jews,” and both are visibly distressed with Muthana’s insistence that he “loves George Bush.” As shooting on Illuminated nears completion, Muthana makes an impetuous declaration that he should go back to Iraq to be with his family, and to his apparent surprise, Schreiber and Saraf agree with him. But Muthana’s friends back home, who have been taping video diaries with cameras sent to them by Davenport, tell Muthana he should do whatever he can to stay in Europe. One of Muthana’s friends describes being virtually imprisoned in his home by violence, and unable to do much to entertain himself in between the frequent blackouts. Youthful petulance bleeds through the direness of the situation: if going outside doesn’t kill him, the boredom of staying inside just might. Muthana eventually goes back to the producers and tells them that he can’t go home because local militias have threatened his family upon learning that Muthana has been working for American Jews. Davenport keeps the truth of the matter ambiguous: it doesn’t seem totally implausible, but Muthana’s employers write Muthana off as untrustworthy and assume he’s lying. Davenport doesn’t press the issue, but it seems likely that once Schreiber and Saraf realised that they could no longer count on being canonized as saints for rescuing the Iraqi Spielberg, Muthana’s fate no longer fell within the realm of their concern. With his visa about to expire, Muthana makes a last ditch effort to ingratiate himself with a third producer, and lands himself a visa extension and a P.A. gig on the Prague set of Doom. Though her closest collaborator chooses to quit the project, Davenport sticks with Muthana and continues to build her portrait of a first-class manipulator with no qualms about taking advantage of white liberal guilt. With the exception of Davenport, no one on these film sets really takes the time to get to know Muthana, and that amplifies his ability to serve as a projection screen for a wide variety of disappointments. Still, it would be impossible to call the guy an A+ employee–throughout, he shows himself to be far more interested in girls and drinking than in filmmaking, which, as the film goes on, comes to seem less like his life-long passion and more like his chosen hook for attention. Whether her subject is serious about the movie business or not, Davenport gives Muthana’s plight extra resonance by cross-cutting between footage of real-blood violence in Iraq, and scenes of Muthana on the fake-blood soaked set of Doom. Can you blame the guy for pulling out all the stops to stay in the realm where the piles of corpses are only make-believe? It’s too facile to lump the director of this film in with the Hollywood types who blindly offer Muthana assistance out of liberal duty, and yet aren’t prepared to commit to a long-term mentoring relationship. But by focusing the final act of the film on her personal struggles with Muthana, the director makes herself a target. You do have to cut Davenport some slack: she’s been a constant in Muthana’s life throughout the course of the filming, and after many months of watching through the lens of the camera, she’s clearly frustrated with her subject’s never-ending series of bad and/or selfish choices. But Davenport also plays into Muthana’s bad behavior. Via first-person inter-titles, the director explains that “despite serious reservations,” while waiting and hoping that Muthana’s story would naturally evolve into an happy ending, she gave her subject several loans. This is a fascinating breach of documentarian/subject etiquette, and it’s to Davenport’s credit that she owns up to it on screen. But not long after that admission, the film’s final title card seeks to neatly wrap up Muthana’s story with a glib rejoinder, which simultaneously reduces Muthana to a caricature of a nagging, unwelcome hanger-on, and positions him as a stand in for the whole of the Iraqi people. As Schreiber before her, Davenport seems to be projecting her disappointments concerning the entirety of the Iraq situation onto Muthana, thereby excusing herself from culpability in his individual plight. It’s a puzzling turn in position for the filmmaker. Davenport is surely conscious that she encouraged Muthana’s narcissism by putting a camera in his face; she surely understands that his two options are to either go back to Iraq (where, whether because he’s been “working for American Jews” or just because he’s walking down the street, he’s got a fair chance of getting killed), or to milk the guilty generosity of Americans for all it’s worth. That’s a powerful concept, even if it doesn’t offer an immediate resolution. It’s frustrating that, rather than let that incredible conundrum say it all, Davenport felt the need to close her otherwise productively provocative film on an easy joke. These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web page Originally posted on:SpoutBlog
]]>Tue, 03 Jun 2008 17:00:58 GMTSpoutBlogSpoutBlog on spout.com6/3/2008 1:00:58 PM This review first appeared in slightly different form during the 2007 Toronto Film Festival. Operation Filmmaker opens in New York tomorrow. As a portrait of post-Sadaam Iraqi youth, Operation Filmmaker doesn’t have the “wow!” factor of another recently released movie about Iraqi kids looking for refuge in American popular culture. But for a film that began life as a vanity project designed to document an act of kindness on the part of a Hollywood star, it’s a surprisingly evocative examination of privileged, well-intentioned ignorance. That director Nina Davenport chooses to resolve the story on a pat, inappropriately jokey note is thus maybe a fitting way to end a story of conflict between the self-oblivious and a master manipulator, but it’s still a disappointment. In 2004, an MTV documentary featured a nine-minute segment on Muthana Mohmed, a twenty-something Iraqi with a passion for Hollywood film. MTV’s cameras followed Muthana as he toured a giant street market, searching in vain for cinema books; they captured a pile of bombed-out bricks, which Muthana said was once the site of a school in which he was studying film. Actor Liev Schreiber saw this documentary as he was preparing to travel to Prague to shoot his first film as a director, an adaptation of Jonathan Safran Foer’s Holocaust-memories-as-cultural-bridge novel, Everything is Illuminated. Schreiber decided to contact Muthana and invite him to come to Prague and work on the set of the film as an intern. Undoubtedly wanting a document of his own cross-cultural generosity for the Illuminated DVD, Schreiber hired filmmaker Davenport to trail Muthana and document his experiences on set. Schreiber and his producer Peter Saraf undoubtedly went into the Muthana endeavor with the best intentions, but their cultural naivete is apparent from the outset. Schreiber says he wants to encourage Muthana’s filmmaking ambitions because “Baghdad needs artists”; Davenport lets the obvious follow-up question–– “Yeah, but don’t they need, like, safety, running water and electricity first?”––hang in the air unsaid. When Muthana chooses an evening of clubbing over working on an editing assignment, Saraf begins to doubt Muthana’s true ambitions. The producer notes that if he really wants a Hollywood career, he should be making himself “invaluable” on the set by making sure the actors never lack for coffee. But Muthana, who has never spent a night outside of Iraq or away from his childhood home, has no concept of the Hollywood ladder and has a hard time seeing how fetching snacks is going to teach him anything about filmmaking. The conflict is compounded by politics: both Schreiber and Saraf are self-professed “left-wing American Jews,” and both are visibly distressed with Muthana’s insistence that he “loves George Bush.” As shooting on Illuminated nears completion, Muthana makes an impetuous declaration that he should go back to Iraq to be with his family, and to his apparent surprise, Schreiber and Saraf agree with him. But Muthana’s friends back home, who have been taping video diaries with cameras sent to them by Davenport, tell Muthana he should do whatever he can to stay in Europe. One of Muthana’s friends describes being virtually imprisoned in his home by violence, and unable to do much to entertain himself in between the frequent blackouts. Youthful petulance bleeds through the direness of the situation: if going outside doesn’t kill him, the boredom of staying inside just might. Muthana eventually goes back to the producers and tells them that he can’t go home because local militias have threatened his family upon learning that Muthana has been working for American Jews. Davenport keeps the truth of the matter ambiguous: it doesn’t seem totally implausible, but Muthana’s employers write Muthana off as untrustworthy and assume he’s lying. Davenport doesn’t press the issue, but it seems likely that once Schreiber and Saraf realised that they could no longer count on being canonized as saints for rescuing the Iraqi Spielberg, Muthana’s fate no longer fell within the realm of their concern. With his visa about to expire, Muthana makes a last ditch effort to ingratiate himself with a third producer, and lands himself a visa extension and a P.A. gig on the Prague set of Doom. Though her closest collaborator chooses to quit the project, Davenport sticks with Muthana and continues to build her portrait of a first-class manipulator with no qualms about taking advantage of white liberal guilt. With the exception of Davenport, no one on these film sets really takes the time to get to know Muthana, and that amplifies his ability to serve as a projection screen for a wide variety of disappointments. Still, it would be impossible to call the guy an A+ employee–throughout, he shows himself to be far more interested in girls and drinking than in filmmaking, which, as the film goes on, comes to seem less like his life-long passion and more like his chosen hook for attention. Whether her subject is serious about the movie business or not, Davenport gives Muthana’s plight extra resonance by cross-cutting between footage of real-blood violence in Iraq, and scenes of Muthana on the fake-blood soaked set of Doom. Can you blame the guy for pulling out all the stops to stay in the realm where the piles of corpses are only make-believe? It’s too facile to lump the director of this film in with the Hollywood types who blindly offer Muthana assistance out of liberal duty, and yet aren’t prepared to commit to a long-term mentoring relationship. But by focusing the final act of the film on her personal struggles with Muthana, the director makes herself a target. You do have to cut Davenport some slack: she’s been a constant in Muthana’s life throughout the course of the filming, and after many months of watching through the lens of the camera, she’s clearly frustrated with her subject’s never-ending series of bad and/or selfish choices. But Davenport also plays into Muthana’s bad behavior. Via first-person inter-titles, the director explains that “despite serious reservations,” while waiting and hoping that Muthana’s story would naturally evolve into an happy ending, she gave her subject several loans. This is a fascinating breach of documentarian/subject etiquette, and it’s to Davenport’s credit that she owns up to it on screen. But not long after that admission, the film’s final title card seeks to neatly wrap up Muthana’s story with a glib rejoinder, which simultaneously reduces Muthana to a caricature of a nagging, unwelcome hanger-on, and positions him as a stand in for the whole of the Iraqi people. As Schreiber before her, Davenport seems to be projecting her disappointments concerning the entirety of the Iraq situation onto Muthana, thereby excusing herself from culpability in his individual plight. It’s a puzzling turn in position for the filmmaker. Davenport is surely conscious that she encouraged Muthana’s narcissism by putting a camera in his face; she surely understands that his two options are to either go back to Iraq (where, whether because he’s been “working for American Jews” or just because he’s walking down the street, he’s got a fair chance of getting killed), or to milk the guilty generosity of Americans for all it’s worth. That’s a powerful concept, even if it doesn’t offer an immediate resolution. It’s frustrating that, rather than let that incredible conundrum say it all, Davenport felt the need to close her otherwise productively provocative film on an easy joke. These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web page Originally posted on:SpoutBlog http://www.spout.com/blogs/spoutblog/archive/2007/8/9/17696.aspx Post By: SpoutBlog
Post To: SpoutBlog on spout.com
Post Date: 8/9/2007 2:01:02 PM
Body: On the Toronto International Film Festival’s official Doc Blog, TIFF documentary programmer Thom Powers has been asking various film fest and doc professionals (including Matt Dentler, Agnes Varnum, and David Nugent) to name the nonfiction films that they’re most excited to see at this year’s TIFF. No one’s asked me what I think, so of course I’m going to chime in anyway: the film on the Real to Reel program that I’m most looking forward to is probably Obscene, Neil Ortenberg and Daniel O’Connor’s portrait of publisher Barney Rosset, who fought obscenity trials over works like Tropic of Cancer and I Am Curious … Yellow. I’m also interested in Operation Filmmaker, which made a few of the Doc Blog lists. Directed by Nina Davenport, it’s the story of an Iraqi film school student who, after the bombing of Baghdad in 2003, gets a job on the set of Liev Schreiber’s Everything is Illuminated. One blogger, reviewing the film at the Sydney Film Festival, called it “an often gauling example of the naive simplifications that those on the Left, for all that they may mean well, often make.” He didn’t mean that as a compliment, but it’s piqued my interest nonetheless. (more…) Originally posted on:Spoutblog
]]>Thu, 09 Aug 2007 18:01:02 GMTSpoutBlogSpoutBlog on spout.com8/9/2007 2:01:02 PMOn the Toronto International Film Festival’s official Doc Blog, TIFF documentary programmer Thom Powers has been asking various film fest and doc professionals (including Matt Dentler, Agnes Varnum, and David Nugent) to name the nonfiction films that they’re most excited to see at this year’s TIFF. No one’s asked me what I think, so of course I’m going to chime in anyway: the film on the Real to Reel program that I’m most looking forward to is probably Obscene, Neil Ortenberg and Daniel O’Connor’s portrait of publisher Barney Rosset, who fought obscenity trials over works like Tropic of Cancer and I Am Curious … Yellow. I’m also interested in Operation Filmmaker, which made a few of the Doc Blog lists. Directed by Nina Davenport, it’s the story of an Iraqi film school student who, after the bombing of Baghdad in 2003, gets a job on the set of Liev Schreiber’s Everything is Illuminated. One blogger, reviewing the film at the Sydney Film Festival, called it “an often gauling example of the naive simplifications that those on the Left, for all that they may mean well, often make.” He didn’t mean that as a compliment, but it’s piqued my interest nonetheless. (more…) Originally posted on:Spoutblog http://www.spout.com/blogs/moviebabe/archive/2007/7/14/14330.aspx Post By: MovieBabe
Post To: MovieBabe Blog
Post Date: 7/14/2007 2:25:00 PM
Body: By Tricia Olszewski At 27, Catherine is already worried about turning into her parents. “I think I’m like my dad,” she says. “I’m afraid I’m like my dad.” She’s not talking about a tendency to be critical or scavenge the refrigerator late at night, though: Her father, a brilliant mathematician at the University of Chicago, is also mentally ill. In Proof’s opening scene, Dad—aka Robert (Anthony Hopkins)—reassures Catherine (Gwyneth Paltrow) that she’s just fine. “Crazy people don’t sit around asking if they’re nuts,” he says. Catherine buys this for a minute—it’s her birthday, after all, and her father and his bottle of cheap champagne constitute her midnight celebration. But then she points out that it’s not a sound argument, because Robert is sitting around discussing the topic despite the fact that’s he’s clearly certifiable himself. He concedes to her logic, then counters, “Yes, but I’m also dead.” At this, Catherine’s face falls, and already Paltrow is doing a better job playing a woman on the verge than she did in 2003’s Sylvia. Perhaps it was the pressure of representing a beloved literary giant, because whereas Paltrow’s Sylvia Plath was stiff and ridiculous, her Catherine is petulant, defensive, desperate, and generally cracked. And when she gets a little love—and relief from the family and professors who also doubt her prospects—she’s radiant. The fact that Paltrow had experience playing Catherine onstage in London couldn’t have hurt. Proof, directed by Shakespeare in Love’s John Madden, is an adaptation of the Pulitzer Prize– and Tony Award– winning 2000 play by David Auburn. He co-wrote the screenplay with Rebecca Miller (The Ballad of Jack and Rose), and the engrossing story about trust and love and family remains the same: Catherine’s been her father’s caretaker for the past five years. After his death, she must contend with a former student, Hal (Jake Gyllenhaal), who wants to dig through Robert’s 103 notebooks of nonsense in the hope of finding something publishable, as well as with her sister, Claire (Hope Davis), a well-put-together sort who’s come in from New York to sell the house and drag the surely batty Catherine back with her. The opening scene’s not the last we see of Robert. Madden relies on flashbacks to illustrate the way Catherine became so angry (at the people who show up for his funeral but were never around when he was sick) and so uncertain (of her own mind and abilities, provoked by her dad’s frequent reminders that he’d done his best work by her age). Woven through these scenes are hints about Proof’s central question, unresolved until the end: After Catherine decides to trust Hal, she gives him the key to a desk drawer that holds what he was looking for—a remarkable proof that will rock the math world. Hal’s beside himself, as is Claire, but they’re really thrown for a loop when Catherine tells them that Robert didn’t write it—she did. Neither believes her, and it’d be difficult to prove the authorship either way. Paltrow’s impressive performance is matched by those of her co-stars. Davis is friendly but crisp as Claire, appropriately straddling the responsible/irritating caretaker line even though, as written, her character veers toward a knee-jerk assessment of Catherine as completely delusional. Gyllenhaal has standout moments, notably his pained expression during an impromptu eulogy by Catherine and the tricky way Hal, in love with Catherine, agrees with Claire that she couldn’t have written the proof but keeps backpedaling in an attempt to preserve his personal interest. Hopkins, too, gives a sprightly performance, his Robert energized by talk of work and numbers even though he’s no longer as sharp as he thinks he is. Auburn and Miller’s script is, of course, full of sadness and angst. But there’s cheerfulness—and humor—here, as well. Nerds will love the way Catherine, Hal, and Robert convivially approach nearly every conversation with cold logic instead of meaningless small talk, and the really nerdy nerds will snort at math jokes such as a song called “i,” during which Hal’s band stands silent for three minutes. (The imaginary performance, naturally, represents the imaginary number of the song’s title.) And Catherine keeps up her sarcasm throughout, especially when everyone around her is failing to point out the obvious. It’s one indication that although she may be damaged, she’ll probably be all right. Even if Catherine doesn’t quite believe it, Paltrow makes sure we do. Moviegoers who prefer sheer wackiness to math jokes should have a fine old time with Everything Is Illuminated, writer-director Liev Schreiber’s adaptation of Jonathan Safran Foer’s best-selling novel about a young man researching his family’s past. At least until its second half, when the film turns solemn with whiplash abruptness. But I suppose that’s what happens when you try to meld humor with the Holocaust. Foer’s ballyhooed debut, heralded by some while pronounced unreadable by others, juggles stories-within-a-story. But Schreiber extracted only the main plot, which focuses on an American Jew, also cutely named Jonathan Safran Foer, who visits the Ukraine in an attempt to locate a woman who appears in an old picture with his grandfather, whose life she might have saved. Jonathan (Elijah Wood) retains the services of Heritage Tours for his trip, an agency that turns out to be Alex (Eugene Hutz), a bling- and track-suit-wearing college kid who’s obsessed with American culture, and his grandfather (Boris Leskin), a cranky codger who thinks he’s blind and therefore has a—sigh—“seeing-eye bitch” named Sammy Davis Jr. Jr. Grandpa drives. Schreiber packs his film with as much tired affectedness as Foer’s book, if not more. Klezmer plays incessantly, and Alex’s thickly accented, “comically” malapropian English (“Girls want to get carnal with me, because I’m such a premium dancer”) serves as irksome narration. There’s also a giant, mean waitress who appears when the tourist attempts to order vegetarian food, and, of course, several cuts to Sammy Davis Jr. Jr., who for the entirety of the trip is actually outfitted with a shirt announcing the dog’s status as a—ugh, don’t make me say it again. Amid all the yuk-a-minute daffiness, Jonathan is as impassive as wallpaper. Always in a black suit, Wood wears big, heavy-framed glasses thick enough to grotesquely magnify his eyes, and his skin is pale and pancake-smooth. Jonathan barely reacts to his sometimes-boorish traveling companions, timidly submitting to their company even though he’s terrified of dogs. In short, he’s infuriating. And after a while, he’s even more infuriating than Alex: It seems an impossible feat, but Hutz, leader of a “gypsy punk band,” eventually transforms his character from a caricature to someone with goofy warm-heartedness and good intentions. He may kinda mean it when he tells the waitress, “Please, this American is deranged” as he tries to order a potato for Jonathan, but his pleading works. Even his cracked English is funny once in a while, though Schreiber ruins one of Alex and Jonathan’s livelier conversations—“I’ve heard of this John Holmes. He has a premium penis!”—with a shot of the damn dog. Once the trio find the shtetl where Jonathan’s grandfather once lived, the klezmer turns poignant and the car rides get quiet. But from that point, very little is illuminated, really, especially not to an audience unfamiliar with the book. There are flashbacks to executions, sometimes through Alex’s grandfather’s eyes. A lovely elderly woman (Laryssa Lauret) figures into the finale, and there’s a curious but interesting hint of the magical realism that’s more prominent in the book. There are some revelations, and everyone is touched. If you can survive wacky-foreigner jokes, dog jokes, old-man jokes, Sammy Davis Jr. jokes, klezmer, and the Holocaust, you might be, too.
]]>Sat, 14 Jul 2007 18:25:00 GMTMovieBabeMovieBabe Blog7/14/2007 2:25:00 PM By Tricia Olszewski At 27, Catherine is already worried about turning into her parents. &ldquo;I think I&rsquo;m like my dad,&rdquo; she says. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid I&rsquo;m like my dad.&rdquo; She&rsquo;s not talking about a tendency to be critical or scavenge the refrigerator late at night, though: Her father, a brilliant mathematician at the University of Chicago, is also mentally ill. In Proof&rsquo;s opening scene, Dad&mdash;aka Robert (Anthony Hopkins)&mdash;reassures Catherine (Gwyneth Paltrow) that she&rsquo;s just fine. &ldquo;Crazy people don&rsquo;t sit around asking if they&rsquo;re nuts,&rdquo; he says. Catherine buys this for a minute&mdash;it&rsquo;s her birthday, after all, and her father and his bottle of cheap champagne constitute her midnight celebration. But then she points out that it&rsquo;s not a sound argument, because Robert is sitting around discussing the topic despite the fact that&rsquo;s he&rsquo;s clearly certifiable himself. He concedes to her logic, then counters, &ldquo;Yes, but I&rsquo;m also dead.&rdquo; At this, Catherine&rsquo;s face falls, and already Paltrow is doing a better job playing a woman on the verge than she did in 2003&rsquo;s Sylvia. Perhaps it was the pressure of representing a beloved literary giant, because whereas Paltrow&rsquo;s Sylvia Plath was stiff and ridiculous, her Catherine is petulant, defensive, desperate, and generally cracked. And when she gets a little love&mdash;and relief from the family and professors who also doubt her prospects&mdash;she&rsquo;s radiant. The fact that Paltrow had experience playing Catherine onstage in London couldn&rsquo;t have hurt. Proof, directed by Shakespeare in Love&rsquo;s John Madden, is an adaptation of the Pulitzer Prize&ndash; and Tony Award&ndash; winning 2000 play by David Auburn. He co-wrote the screenplay with Rebecca Miller (The Ballad of Jack and Rose), and the engrossing story about trust and love and family remains the same: Catherine&rsquo;s been her father&rsquo;s caretaker for the past five years. After his death, she must contend with a former student, Hal (Jake Gyllenhaal), who wants to dig through Robert&rsquo;s 103 notebooks of nonsense in the hope of finding something publishable, as well as with her sister, Claire (Hope Davis), a well-put-together sort who&rsquo;s come in from New York to sell the house and drag the surely batty Catherine back with her. The opening scene&rsquo;s not the last we see of Robert. Madden relies on flashbacks to illustrate the way Catherine became so angry (at the people who show up for his funeral but were never around when he was sick) and so uncertain (of her own mind and abilities, provoked by her dad&rsquo;s frequent reminders that he&rsquo;d done his best work by her age). Woven through these scenes are hints about Proof&rsquo;s central question, unresolved until the end: After Catherine decides to trust Hal, she gives him the key to a desk drawer that holds what he was looking for&mdash;a remarkable proof that will rock the math world. Hal&rsquo;s beside himself, as is Claire, but they&rsquo;re really thrown for a loop when Catherine tells them that Robert didn&rsquo;t write it&mdash;she did. Neither believes her, and it&rsquo;d be difficult to prove the authorship either way. Paltrow&rsquo;s impressive performance is matched by those of her co-stars. Davis is friendly but crisp as Claire, appropriately straddling the responsible/irritating caretaker line even though, as written, her character veers toward a knee-jerk assessment of Catherine as completely delusional. Gyllenhaal has standout moments, notably his pained expression during an impromptu eulogy by Catherine and the tricky way Hal, in love with Catherine, agrees with Claire that she couldn&rsquo;t have written the proof but keeps backpedaling in an attempt to preserve his personal interest. Hopkins, too, gives a sprightly performance, his Robert energized by talk of work and numbers even though he&rsquo;s no longer as sharp as he thinks he is. Auburn and Miller&rsquo;s script is, of course, full of sadness and angst. But there&rsquo;s cheerfulness&mdash;and humor&mdash;here, as well. Nerds will love the way Catherine, Hal, and Robert convivially approach nearly every conversation with cold logic instead of meaningless small talk, and the really nerdy nerds will snort at math jokes such as a song called &ldquo;i,&rdquo; during which Hal&rsquo;s band stands silent for three minutes. (The imaginary performance, naturally, represents the imaginary number of the song&rsquo;s title.) And Catherine keeps up her sarcasm throughout, especially when everyone around her is failing to point out the obvious. It&rsquo;s one indication that although she may be damaged, she&rsquo;ll probably be all right. Even if Catherine doesn&rsquo;t quite believe it, Paltrow makes sure we do. Moviegoers who prefer sheer wackiness to math jokes should have a fine old time with Everything Is Illuminated, writer-director Liev Schreiber&rsquo;s adaptation of Jonathan Safran Foer&rsquo;s best-selling novel about a young man researching his family&rsquo;s past. At least until its second half, when the film turns solemn with whiplash abruptness. But I suppose that&rsquo;s what happens when you try to meld humor with the Holocaust. Foer&rsquo;s ballyhooed debut, heralded by some while pronounced unreadable by others, juggles stories-within-a-story. But Schreiber extracted only the main plot, which focuses on an American Jew, also cutely named Jonathan Safran Foer, who visits the Ukraine in an attempt to locate a woman who appears in an old picture with his grandfather, whose life she might have saved. Jonathan (Elijah Wood) retains the services of Heritage Tours for his trip, an agency that turns out to be Alex (Eugene Hutz), a bling- and track-suit-wearing college kid who&rsquo;s obsessed with American culture, and his grandfather (Boris Leskin), a cranky codger who thinks he&rsquo;s blind and therefore has a&mdash;sigh&mdash;&ldquo;seeing-eye bitch&rdquo; named Sammy Davis Jr. Jr. Grandpa drives. Schreiber packs his film with as much tired affectedness as Foer&rsquo;s book, if not more. Klezmer plays incessantly, and Alex&rsquo;s thickly accented, &ldquo;comically&rdquo; malapropian English (&ldquo;Girls want to get carnal with me, because I&rsquo;m such a premium dancer&rdquo;) serves as irksome narration. There&rsquo;s also a giant, mean waitress who appears when the tourist attempts to order vegetarian food, and, of course, several cuts to Sammy Davis Jr. Jr., who for the entirety of the trip is actually outfitted with a shirt announcing the dog&rsquo;s status as a&mdash;ugh, don&rsquo;t make me say it again. Amid all the yuk-a-minute daffiness, Jonathan is as impassive as wallpaper. Always in a black suit, Wood wears big, heavy-framed glasses thick enough to grotesquely magnify his eyes, and his skin is pale and pancake-smooth. Jonathan barely reacts to his sometimes-boorish traveling companions, timidly submitting to their company even though he&rsquo;s terrified of dogs. In short, he&rsquo;s infuriating. And after a while, he&rsquo;s even more infuriating than Alex: It seems an impossible feat, but Hutz, leader of a &ldquo;gypsy punk band,&rdquo; eventually transforms his character from a caricature to someone with goofy warm-heartedness and good intentions. He may kinda mean it when he tells the waitress, &ldquo;Please, this American is deranged&rdquo; as he tries to order a potato for Jonathan, but his pleading works. Even his cracked English is funny once in a while, though Schreiber ruins one of Alex and Jonathan&rsquo;s livelier conversations&mdash;&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve heard of this John Holmes. He has a premium penis!&rdquo;&mdash;with a shot of the damn dog. Once the trio find the shtetl where Jonathan&rsquo;s grandfather once lived, the klezmer turns poignant and the car rides get quiet. But from that point, very little is illuminated, really, especially not to an audience unfamiliar with the book. There are flashbacks to executions, sometimes through Alex&rsquo;s grandfather&rsquo;s eyes. A lovely elderly woman (Laryssa Lauret) figures into the finale, and there&rsquo;s a curious but interesting hint of the magical realism that&rsquo;s more prominent in the book. There are some revelations, and everyone is touched. If you can survive wacky-foreigner jokes, dog jokes, old-man jokes, Sammy Davis Jr. jokes, klezmer, and the Holocaust, you might be, too. http://www.spout.com/members/0/tags/funny/MemberTagFilms.aspxfunny
Number of films tagged: 608

Number of people who tagged: 315

Number of times used: 941

]]>Fri, 11 Dec 2009 01:28:29 GMT608315941Tag http://www.spout.com/members/0/tags/Loved-It/MemberTagFilms.aspxLoved-It
Number of films tagged: 509

Number of people who tagged: 179

Number of times used: 921

]]>Tue, 03 Nov 2009 17:56:35 GMT509179921Tag http://www.spout.com/members/0/tags/the/MemberTagFilms.aspxthe
Number of films tagged: 124

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]]>Thu, 24 Sep 2009 02:01:38 GMT124131150Tag http://www.spout.com/members/0/tags/Quirky/MemberTagFilms.aspxQuirky
Number of films tagged: 131

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Number of times used: 249

]]>Mon, 30 Nov 2009 19:54:25 GMT131110249Tag http://www.spout.com/members/0/tags/of/MemberTagFilms.aspxof
Number of films tagged: 96

Number of people who tagged: 87

Number of times used: 105

]]>Sat, 11 Jul 2009 06:13:39 GMT9687105Tag http://www.spout.com/members/0/tags/weird/MemberTagFilms.aspxweird
Number of films tagged: 90

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]]>Tue, 15 Sep 2009 19:57:36 GMT9083131Tag http://www.spout.com/members/0/tags/suicide/MemberTagFilms.aspxsuicide
Number of films tagged: 1828

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Number of times used: 185

]]>Fri, 04 Dec 2009 01:40:50 GMT182880185Tag http://www.spout.com/members/0/tags/Good/MemberTagFilms.aspxGood
Number of films tagged: 97

Number of people who tagged: 71

Number of times used: 113

]]>Sat, 22 Aug 2009 03:00:47 GMT9771113Tag http://www.spout.com/members/0/tags/life/MemberTagFilms.aspxlife
Number of films tagged: 1082

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]]>Wed, 02 Dec 2009 23:13:43 GMT108252224Tag http://www.spout.com/members/0/tags/journey/MemberTagFilms.aspxjourney
Number of films tagged: 1175

Number of people who tagged: 50

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]]>Fri, 17 Jul 2009 13:02:52 GMT117550124Tag http://www.spout.com/members/0/tags/book/MemberTagFilms.aspxbook
Number of films tagged: 683

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Number of times used: 114

]]>Tue, 03 Nov 2009 17:55:43 GMT68345114Tag http://www.spout.com/members/0/tags/depressing/MemberTagFilms.aspxdepressing
Number of films tagged: 55

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Number of times used: 74

]]>Tue, 15 Sep 2009 14:23:43 GMT554574Tag http://www.spout.com/members/0/tags/jewish/MemberTagFilms.aspxjewish
Number of films tagged: 452

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Number of times used: 60

]]>Tue, 01 Dec 2009 19:51:45 GMT4522860Tag http://www.spout.com/members/0/tags/visual/MemberTagFilms.aspxvisual
Number of films tagged: 140

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]]>Mon, 30 Nov 2009 19:54:25 GMT14028161Tag http://www.spout.com/members/0/tags/holocaust/MemberTagFilms.aspxholocaust
Number of films tagged: 363

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