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Karina on SpoutBlog

  • 35 Rhums Review, Toronto 2008

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    The new Claire Denis film is a Claire Denis film, and there are certain givens that this entails: nothing is spelled out, behavior is highlighted over action or incident, and we’re asked to spend a decent chunk of time getting to know the characters and observing their before the film’s concerns start to come into focus.

    But, rather shockingly, the new Claire Denis film is also a bittersweet family movie, and the work you put into it early on is paid back in surprisingly tender dividends.

    For the first time, Denis is working here with a virtually all-black cast, and as my companion at the press screening noted, there’s a bit of irony that this film is making its North American debut alongside Medicine For Melancholy, a film about a tentative connection between two racially self-conscious young black people which was not only inspired by Denis’ Friday Night but concieved as a generational update. Though Denis’ characters don’t discuss race as compulsively as Jenkins’, it’s not a matter off their minds. Josephine (Mati Diop), the daughter of widowed train operator Lionel (Alex Descas), seems to be studying it at university.

    Rhums takes place in and around the working-class apartment complex where Lionel and Josephine live in quasi-incestuous bliss, though from the start Denis conveys the sense that this arrangement can’t last for much longer. One neighbor, Gabrielle, clearly has a thing for the father, while another, Noe, cautiously courts the daughter. This is apparently how this ad hoc family has functioned for ages, but the film’s centerpiece scene sets a reconfiguration of this unit into motion. A night out that doesn’t go as planned leaves the foursome stranded in a cafe where they drink, flirt and dance to cheesy 70s soft rock. Rebelling against his perceived responsibilities to Josephine and Gabrielle’s need, Lionel leaves the other three watching as he hits on an attractive waitress, and waiting up at home for him to return from his walk of shame. Lionel’s disappearing act pushes father and daughter to reconcile their closeness and the tragedy responsible for it, leading to a surprisingly touching and uncynically romantic conclusion.

    Much of the film plays like a mystery, as we slowly piece together the roots of each relationship and figure out along with the characters where they’re going and what kind of change they’ll have to endure to get there. Cinematographer and frequent Denis collaborator Agnes Godard paints urban Northern France in muted colors, a maze of highways and train tracks weaving around towering apartment buildings. These cool, geometric fling cabinets for wage workers are, for Noe and Lionel, imprisoning, but for Josephine and Gabrielle, the walls store memories and promise that can’t be easily discarded. This locus of loneliness and longing is also their only outlet for love.


    Originally posted on:SpoutBlog » Karina Longworth

  • 3 Blind Mice, Toronto Review 2008

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    Under discussion:

    Three Blind Mice  (2009)

    The Hurt Locker  (2009)

    Are we entering the era of the apolitical Iraq film? I won’t see Kathryn Bigelow’s The Hurt Locker until later in the week, but the accounts I’ve heard suggest that it’s an action film that happens to be set in Baghdad, with tunnel-vision on the technical aspects of warfare and an almost complete disregard for the politics of the war being fought there. Similarly, Matthew Newton’s drama 3 Blind Mice is a film about Australian marines en route to Iraq, but the war these boys are heading into could be anywhere and backed by any kind of ideology, so timeless are the film’s ideas about camaraderie and duty. It’s essentially a modern redo of On the Town, with ample fist fights in place of fancy footwork, a much more cynical attitude towards the notion of patriotism, and a completely credible sense of verisimilitude. In fact, the writing and performances create such a life-like mise en scene that when movie-like violence happens, it’s as shocking as it would be in real life.

    Harry, Sam and Dean, three 20-something boys dressed in full Royal Australian Navy reglia, crash into a Sydney hotel room, where they’ll spend a single night before heading to the Gulf. They fall into three types right away: Harry is the charismatic schemer, Dean is the uptight innocent, Sam the brooder with a secret. Amidst intimations that “something happened out there” which Sam is still recovering from and the other boys aren’t sure how to deal with, Harry calls to arrange a late-night hooker visit as a back-up before the boys head out into the night looking to drink and get laid. Newton’s handheld camera follows them closely throughout the sleepless night to follow, their pale white faces more often than not lit blue by neon street lights, as their interactions with one another and others build slowly towards a shuffling of their moral standings and personal identities.

    Mice is full of incredibly long dialogue scenes which inevitably attain a natural-feeling momentum, maybe in spite of the rapid-fire edits with which they’ve been put together. The first notable example of this is an epic scene set around a poker table, which begins with the awkwardness of two groups of strangers being thrown together for an activity that, being that it involves a modicum of trust and gauging of sincerity, is probably best kept to friends. Not only does the gradual collision of personalities in this scene allow Newton to reveal what his characters are capable of, but it implicitly comments on the tension between street-smart young men who defend themselves and their own interests every day, and the relatively sheltered navy boys, who are decorated for ostensibly defending their country and its interests, but to this point have only spent months at a time stuck on a boat mired in petty procedure and miles away from any sort of action.

    But what we think we’ve learned up to that point gets thrown on its head in the film’s centerpiece, a meet-the-folks dinner which an excessive infusion of sake sends off the rails, pushing Dean to confess his role in the incident that may push one of the three to desertion. Newton manages to steer his characters from amiability to rowdiness to dead-serious, straight faced moral bankruptcy in the course of a single long meal without once loosing his uncanny grasp of conversational naturalism. Mice’s final act feels a bit forced and unearned, but on the whole it marks Newton as an exciting new talent to watch.


    Originally posted on:SpoutBlog » Karina Longworth

 


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