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  • "This, madame, is Versailles"

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    Marie Antoinette  (2006)

    Lux.  Charlotte.  And now Marie Antoinette.  With her latest film, Sofia Coppola adds the French queen to her list of isolated, female protagonists who grow from passivity and ambivalance to self reliance and determination.  Hitting many of the same emotional -- and visual -- notes as The Virgin Suicides and Lost in Translation before it, Marie Antoinette fuses its subject's life with a contemporary aesthetic which is surprisingly effective.  The film is willfully shallow in the finest, McLuhanesque way; it is no accident that we come to empathize with the characters far more than we come to understand them.  And any criticisms regarding the anachronisms of the film reflect far more poorly on the viewer than on the film.  By allowing the actors to play modern, and by placing the characters in scenarios befitting their age (parties, frolics through the fields), Coppola has stripped the precedings of the pretense that befalls innumerable period films which strive to adhere too rigidly to the common conception of the eras they represent.  Kirsten Dunst, who has the benefit of features which can effortlessly shift from jejune to elegant in a glance, spends the first act of the film in near silence, susceptive to her surroundings, and we are reminded that she is, in fact, a gifted actress.  In this first act, Coppola uses Dunst's expressive face to set the tone of the film.  It is only when Louis and Marie are crowned King and Queen -- and, more specifically, when Marie shortly thereafter begins to assert herself, acting upon seemingly every frivilous whim -- that she becomes something more than a pinball, acting and speaking for herself (sometimes at the expense of dignity and better judgment).  It is when Marie becomes assertive that the film's much publicized New Wave soundtrack begins, and its judiciously adroit punctuations prove it more than the foolish fancy of a precocious director, as the film's trailers had led many to assume.

    Ultimately, the film's only shortcoming is that in isolating the royal family to such an extreme, the audience gets little sense of the historical significance of the events that transpire around Marie in the film's final reel; to many, the film's final shots may seem anticlimactic.  Still, even taking Marie the character at face value, as a superficial spendthrift both obsessed with and captious toward appearances, the once opulent Versaille in shambles is a devastating denouement.

  • Soviet Youth Rebellion

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    Little Vera  (1988)

    Little Vera, like its eponymous heroine, is garish, loud, and vulgar, insubordinate to the conventions of Russian film just as Vera herself is insubordinate to her parents and superiors.  Vera's rebellion, however, is not only unusual in its form (marriage and children), but also misguided and seemingly overwrought.  "A helpless man is drowning in the sea," she reads, "but the smile on his face conceals his distress."   The complacency of her parents disgusts her; their unwillingness to admit their unhappiness inspires Vera -- already a parental figure to her sickly mother and drunkard father -- to set an example for them, but in doing so she loses sight of her own happiness.  Vera, whose name means "faith," believes too strongly in her own infallibility and invulnerability, and ultimately falls underneath the weight of her own dreams.

  • Autonomy versus Solidarity

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    Hey, Babu Riba  (1986)

    Set in 1953, Jovan Acin's Hey Babu Riba explores identity -- losing it and forming it, and an individual's identity versus that of his group.  "The Foursome" are a rowing team with a comely coxswain named Mirianna, whom they have affectionately dubbed Esther, alluding to the Esther Williams films they have come to adore.  On the cusp of adulthood, and wanting sovereignty within their circle, each of the boys approaches Mirianna in hopes of wooing her heart, but all are rebuffed with her diminutive response that they are and forever will be "The Foursome."  As the boys exchange gifts and sexual favors with a local woman for American blue jeans, listen to radios with their "dials always set to America," and meet a fellow rower with Stalin tattooed on one arm and Lenin on the other, they happen upon the merits of solidarity even while they reach for autonomy.

  • "You spare the dog by cutting off its tail one piece at a time."

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    Autumn Marathon  (1979)

    "You know that I cannot change anything in my life," Andrei (Oleg Basilashvili) tells his mistress Alla (Marina Neyolova) early in this self proclaimed Sad Comedy by Georgi Daneliya, and if he can be faulted for anything, it is his cowardice rather than his actions.  Juggling both Alla and his wife Nina (Natalya Gundareva), Andrei's overwhelming desire to not upset either is not so much admirable as it is sad; when he advises his daughter to consider other people's feelings, the audience wonders if Andrei truly believes he is following his own wisdom.  Attempting to cover the ugliness of his home, Andrei sets about to re-wallpaper his living room, and as he moves his furniture toward the center of his room, one sees his walls literally closing in on him, confining him, backing him into self imposed corners as he tries to merely hide the problems which have become unavoidable.  One of Andrei's students summarizes the film's ultimate question: "Did it not take courage to act in such a cowardly manner?"

  • A Heartbreaking, Personal Acount of War

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    What makes war tragic isn't the seemingly immeasurable body count or the often prohibitive cost of reconstruction, which are spoken in numbers too great to comprehend, but rather the personal stories of loss which comprise those grand totals.  Though Fyodor Ivanovich eases his wife's concern over their son Boris's burgeoning romance by declaring, "that's what love is, my dear: a harmless mental illness," anyone who has loved knows that its pleasures do not come without equal pains.  Mikheil Kalatozov fills The Cranes Are Flying with misconceptions, abuses of trust, longing, and self-deception, all of which may seem foolish at a distance but become heartbreaking up close; he understands that greater emotional resonance can be found in the personal than in the general, in the subjective than in the objective, and visualizes this conceit with the distorted perspectives of wide angle lenses.  Though Veronica does not want to forget her lost love, she learns to contextualize -- "we have won, and we shall live not to destroy, but to build a new life!"

  • All-time Classic

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    Early in the film All the President's Men, Editor of the Washington Post Harry M. Rosenfield (Jack Warden) tells reporters Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein (Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman) that "Charles Colson, special counsel to the president, has a cartoon on his wall. The caption reads 'When you've got 'em by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow.'" This could just as easily apply to the film; All the President's Men grabs viewers with its first shot -- an extreme close up of a typewriter banging out the date -- and, without the use of the gratuitous histrionics of most thrillers, doesn't let let them go until its close.

    All the President's Men tells the story of Woodward and Bernstein, the reporters who broke the Watergate scandal and followed the story all the way through. The two fought to get the scoop, fought to tell the story, fought to find the truth, and then fought to get it published. (There was a lot of fighting, as you can tell.) The film is based on the book they went on to write which detailed the endeavor, and neither the book nor the movie brush up the relationship they had. Woodward is the new guy with the story, and Bernstein is the established reporter who wants in. Bernstein doesn't muscle in very discreetly, either. He boorishly takes Woodward's article and rewrites it, explaining that it lacks an effective news story structure.

    From that point on, they are working together -- almost against each other, really -- each one trying to get the better scoop before the other. Once they've got some hard evidence, they pass it on through the executive staff headed by Ben Bradlee (Jason Robards, in a role that won him an Oscar) and into the public consciousness. They face a lot of opposition: they can't get people on the phone, the paper is wary of printing their articles, and they are constantly directed in circles by their sources. The only person who gives them any salient information is Woodward's mysterious and (until recently) unidentified informer Deep Throat (Hal Holbrook).

    Alan J. Pakula built a name for himself directing intelligent thrillers like Klute and The Parallax View. With All the President's Men, he uses his prowess to consistently hit all the right notes in telling a truly absorbing and suspenseful story. He is known to nuance his films and imbue as many accurate details as possible, and one of the most striking aspects of the film is how well we come to know the characters simply through their environment. The only time we see them at home, for instance, is asleep in a messy room about to be woken up by a phone call that will draw them back out to work. Another fine example is the presence of editor Harry M. Rosenfield. Early on in the film, he constantly looms in the frame, looking over the two reporters; as the film progresses, however, his presence is reduced to the point that he is only on screen when it comes to publishing time.

    That sense of detail and deliberation continues into the acting. The entire cast is perfectly chosen and deliver some of the best performances of their respective careers. Jason Robards gives a third dimension to what could easily have been a place-holder role with Ben Bradlee, and his Oscar is well-deserved. He plays the poker-faced executive editor to perfection, only letting emotion slip out in a knock on a desk or a single clap as he walks away.

    Many people will see this movie to learn about the Watergate scandal. They are wrong in doing so. This film, intentionally and smartly, never acts out the events of the scandal itself. The only time we see Nixon -- or really any political figure -- is on television through stock footage. The film is about Woodward and Bernstein, not Nixon, and wisely jumps right from the final verification and completion of their story to Nixon's resignation (presented to the audience as facts-only copy in a closing montage) to the credits. This is not shorthand filmmaking, but rather astute understanding of the film's focus; in All the President's Men, when Woodward and Bernstein's story is over, there's nothing left to tell.

 

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