solafekxela Blog

Oblivious, I Remain

solafekxela — Sat, 12 Apr 2008 16:38:50 GMT

British filmmaker Paul Morrison hasn’t been working in the industry for long, but his first feature film, Solomon and Gaenor, was well received and earned an Oscar nomination for best foreign film in 2000. Both this and his latest effort, Wondrous Oblivion, deal with the culture clashes faced by Jewish people in post-World War II society. Whereas his debut was a tragic and heartfelt love story, Wondrous Oblivion is a more lighthearted portrayal of a young child desperately seeking his place in the world.

Eleven-year-old David Wiseman wants nothing more than to be the next great cricket player. His passion, displayed relatively quickly in the film through his adoration for the figures pictured on his many trading cards, is undeniable. However, like many ambitious young athletes, he’s, well, not very good. This, a problem faced by many prepubescent boys, is probably the most relatable aspect of an otherwise distant film.

1960s London provides the backdrop for the tale of this young lad seeking the approval of his friends and parents. The neighborhood the Wiseman family inhabits is filled with hateful, prejudiced people who condemn any sort of interracial interaction. When an exuberant Jamaican family moves in next door, David is delighted to find them to be helpful cricket experts. His parents (particularly his father), however, are quite hesitant to allow their son to grow too close to these foreign people.

Clearly, there are two central dilemmas at the heart of the film. The first is David’s struggle to channel his natural talent and become a respectable cricket player. The second, far less nuanced and interesting, is whether or not the family should break the racial barriers of the neighborhood and try to welcome the Samuels family.

When, early on, the captain for David’s cricket team is announced, the boy is saddened by the selection of one of his classmates. His father’s reaction, in particular, is notable, asking “why aren’t you the captain?”. David knows the answer is quite simple - he’s not good enough. This moment feels so truthful to the sort of pressure parents ignorantly force upon their young athletes that I really wanted to appreciate what the entire film had to say. However, it isn’t long before it becomes a predictable, overly polished retelling of clichéd stories that have overstayed their due in the film industry.

The excitement of David’s growing success at cricket is overshadowed by the racial stereotypes that plague the interactions between the two families. It’s obvious that Morrison is trying to break down these societal, cultural barriers, but he paints both families with such broad strokes that it’s hard to find anything new to learn about these important issues.

The visual style is another matter that really drags down any potential for nuance. He keeps almost everything in the frame in focus, uses vibrant colors to accentuate the cultural celebration he aims for, and fills many shots with obvious metaphors of the racial clashes he depicts. Every frame is so polished, so on-the-nose that it is hard to believe there is any subtlety lurking beneath the surface.

While actors like Delroy Lindo as Dennis Samuels and Emily Woof as Ruth are solid in their roles, they aren’t given much to do by the derivative script. I do admire the way Morrison seems to be quite passionate about the particular issues he explores in his films, but I was disappointed to discover that Wondrous Oblivion had nothing new to offer me about the plight of Jewish people in modern society and the way they clash with other cultures.

What Did You Say? Africa Should Unite?

solafekxela — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 00:12:55 GMT

    Africa Unite: A Celebration of Bob Marley’s Vision is a film with a very surprising and insightful message. It’s all about how Africa should, er, unite. Secondarily, it is a concert film about the Marley family’s voyage to Ethiopia in 2005. For a total of twelve hours, the family led a musical celebration about the late Bob’s dream for the continent. Though their musical talent is undeniable, director Stephanie Black fails to do them justice in her well-intentioned but flawed depiction of struggles past and present in Africa.
   Firstly, I must declaim that I have had little to do with Bob Marley’s music until now. As familiar as all the songs performed in the film sounded, I was still awed by their intoxicating rhythm and charming sincerity. The first and last few minutes of the documentary are devoted to the performances of the Marley family and those who join them on stage, but the entire film is underscored by the beats and lyrics of Bob Marley’s music. If nothing else, Black forced me to cherish every moment the concert was actually shown on screen by largely relegating it to the background. There are few moments more captivating than watching the performers’ brilliance and passion.
   Where the film missteps is in the time spent off-stage, as is the case with most concert films and musical biopics. I hesitate to blame the Marleys or any of the activists portrayed for the simplicity of their message, since I am quite certain they have much more to say than “Africa unite”. Sadly, Black assumes that all the information we can handle is contained in that two-word chant. She also assumes that since she was so fortunate to obtain the valuable concert footage, we will be won over by the power of the music and won’t really care about Bob Marley’s specific vision for the continent. In doing so, she leaves us wanting both more music and more insight.
   Even in handling the archival material and her access to the concert, she is unable to visually communicate the inspirational message of those depicted. For one, the film is shot almost entirely in a cinema verité, overly-gritty style. This technique works for a lot of films, particularly those of Paul Greengrass. However, in this case, the only impression is that the filmmakers are simply trying too hard to be real, uncompromising, and genuine. It reminds me a lot of the way Ben Affleck as director of Gone Baby Gone came off as an outsider because he so excessively tried to portray Boston as a rough town.
   Another part of the problem here is that Black disobeys the ‘show don’t tell’ guideline, which is particularly important for documentary filmmaking. In one instance, she shows a group of young Africans walking down a path overlaid by the text ‘African student delegates begin three day dialogue sessions’. First of all, I’m not really sure why that is important to the audience, since she never really shows us what they are trying to accomplish or how they are attempting to carry out Bob Marley’s vision. Secondly, wouldn’t it be doubly effective to get rid of the title card and spend an extra fifteen seconds showing their ‘dialogue sessions’ so we have some idea what they are talking about? Such is the way much of the film is constructed, beyond the concert footage of course. Everything from clips of Danny Glover speaking about the need for a united Africa to archival footage of famous speeches in the continent’s history feels disingenuous, overly simplified, and insincere.
   While I respect the effort of Black and the other filmmakers involved, I wish they would have put their access to this historic event to better use with a more comprehensive look at the vision and passion of Bob Marley.

Movies 101: Leading Men

solafekxela — Mon, 18 Feb 2008 17:48:41 GMT

Movies 101 is the NYU Film Course long moderated by Professor Richard Brown. The “Leading Men” series includes some of the finest working actors, as well as Josh Lucas. Each interview covers nearly every aspect of the actors’ respective careers, from the good, to the bad, to the ugly. This, of course, excludes Lucas, whose interview can only go so far in trying to make the man seem bearably competent.

George Clooney’s hour-long interview is first on the disc, and it is by far one of the most engaging. Clooney is, redundant as this sounds, naturally charming and charismatic. His great sense of humor is often overlooked, but Brown lets him run free, often chuckling at his subject’s one-liners. With this interview in particular, Brown’s knowledge about film really allows him to discuss in-depth the thought process that went into each film of Clooney’s. Now having directed his own films and having started a production company with good friend Steven Soderbergh, Clooney provides profound insight into the way Hollywood works. However, this does, to some degree, prevent him from really diving into the way he works as an actor. Much more time is spent discussing his work as a director, screenwriter, and producer. Perhaps this interview would fit better on a different disc. Still, the new information about Clooney’s childhood as well as his humility in discussing his work and aspirations make this well worth watching.

Next is Josh Lucas, who can aptly be described as a poor man’s McConaughey. Comparing him to Clooney in terms of acting skills and personality is like comparing Martin Scorsese to Michael Bay. One is very personal and involved in his projects; the other is a complete sell-out. Thankfully, the interview is salvaged by Lucas’ own admission that he is by no means one of the greatest working actors. The discussion of his work in films like Poseidon and Glory Road just doesn’t have the same weight as that of the other actors on the disc. Though he is able to discuss with some intelligence his own philosophy on films and the meaning of those in which he has acted, the interview only highlights his own pomposity, since all the discussion is more about him than his acting. The line that best summarizes his incompetence is the following, “I don’t know how method-y I am.” I’m not sure Lucas knows what method acting is.

Following Lucas is heavyweight Daniel Day-Lewis, whose recent performance in There Will Be Blood proved him the greatest, most daring actor working today. Day-Lewis is quite private, so just the privilege to interview him is an honor and undoubtedly a momentous occasion. The discussion mostly follows his limited but much acclaimed resume, and the talk of his early work is particularly fascinating. He exhibits a personality not often seen in his few available interviews, and their conversation about his experience with the Royal Shakespeare Company is quite engaging. I was most curious to hear about Day-Lewis’ recent work, largely because I am more familiar with it, and the interview provides decent insight. The focus on his relationship with Martin Scorsese is well-covered, as is his rationale for working so infrequently.

The last interview on the disc is with Dennis Quaid, a largely overlooked but very talented actor. The film discussed in the most depth during the interview is The Right Stuff, undoubtedly one of Quaid’s greatest roles. His comments are candid, genuine, and informative, though he’s not naturally as engaging a speaker as the other interviewees. Some of the stories Quaid shares aren’t as relevant to the discussion as he may think, but they aren’t necessarily uninteresting. Since I’m naturally fascinated with Quaid, his work, and the decisions he has made, I really enjoyed hearing his thoughts as well as Brown’s perspective on his career. This interview is decidedly more focused on Quaid’s life than his specific acting methodology, and it is all the better for it. However, there is a fair amount of talk on Quaid’s early movie experiences, and it is so nostalgia-infused that it proves the most exciting part of the interview.

The Heart is Lifeless, Cold, and Black

solafekxela — Sat, 19 Jan 2008 01:14:09 GMT

Italian filmmaker Dario Argento is considered the all time great horror maestro, with films like Suspiria and Inferno on his resume. HIs daughter, Asia Argento, is an aspiring young filmmaker and actress with a few films under her belt. Her latest, with a title as agonizingly interminable as the film itself, is a near-shameful entry into the oeuvre of her family. It’s torture porn meets melodrama meets senseless violence meets, well, porn. There is not one image in The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things that did not disturb, annoy, or offend me.

Based (loosely, I presume) on a short story by J.T. LeRoy, Argento’s film stars herself as an irresponsible teenage mother and Jimmy Bennett as Jeremiah, her seven-year-old son dragged from the comparatively heavenly foster home and thrust into a world of sexual and physical abuse. No film excites me more than one that sets out to toss countless disturbing images at my face for unidentifiable reasons. Schindler’s List portrays offensive events and images because it’s telling the true story of the Holocaust; Argento is like a kid at a carnival game, aimlessly tossing darts with the hope of finally hitting one emotion-filled baloon. Instead, I was the little specimen of inflatable latex in the corner defiantly refusing to pop. Having said that, it is claimed that LeRoy based the story (again, presumably loosely) on some aspects of his childhood. I pray for his soul. The reason I resort to perhaps unjustified assumptions about the faithfulness of the adaptation is that the way Argento presents the events implies that anyone who endured them would be too emotionally scarred to be able to relive them as catharsis. It’s endlessly painful to watch, and Argento’s motivation for telling such a macabre tale is mystifyingly undefined.

The film can be considered a road movie that follows Sarah, the mother, teaching young Jeremiah (Biblical reference explicitly intended) about the evils of the world. How so? Well, her boyfriend rapes him, she introduces him to the magic of drugs and alcohol, and her fanatically religious family leaves the poor child mentally and physically nonplussed. All this sounds like fantastic entertainment, sure, but Argento’s desired end is wholly nebulous. In fact, I’m not entirely sure she has one, other than the conspicuous manipulation found in her many failed attempts to strike a random emotional chord and lyrically suck you into the soulless story. I can see where some would find the alarmingly expressive cinematography enchanting, but I found it distracting and, frankly, meaningless. It’s a series of frame-able images that, had they not been ruined by the shear carelessness of Argento’s storytelling, I may have considered as potential wall decoration.

As for the acting, it’s actually tolerably subtle. The one arena in which there are no theatrics, Argento exhibits the kind of experience that can only be accumulated through watching a master work year after year, and the supporting performers, perhaps with the exception of young Bennett who just hasn’t quite developed the chops necessary to endure excessive torture, are generally watchable. It’s most difficult to say what Argento is attempting to achieve; it is less so to declare it a failure in all regards. There is no hope, no life, and no depth or dimension to the torpidly drawn characters. In fact, I was able to find much more comfort in the go-to cinematic depressant Schindler’s List.

Perhaps her goal is to suggest that some parents shouldn’t be allowed to parent at all. I submit that some filmmakers shouldn’t be allowed to make films at all, and Argento (the younger) is among them.

A Film By Who?

solafekxela — Sun, 09 Dec 2007 01:59:17 GMT

Carol’s Journey, pretentiously billed as “A Film By Imanol Urbie” (honestly, are we supposed to know who this guy is) is a surprisingly cold, unimaginative, dull film about a little girl from New York who joins her mother on a trip to Spain at the height of that nation’s Civil War. Though made in 2002, I could have been convinced that Urbie sat down to watch Pan’s Labyrinth, then determined he should make another film. What could it be about? Charming little girl in Spain? Check. Period Piece set in the Civil War? Check. Dysfunctional family? Check. Beautiful cinematography, mind-blowing originality and inventiveness, and devastating ending? Whoops!

In all fairness, four years separate the two productions, but that doesn’t make the comparison unhealthy. Pan’s is a film that took the troubles of a girl much similar to Carol and placed them in an exciting, surprising world. Carol’s Journey is a clichéd mess without a head or a heart, an entirely numbing bore. Sadly, what took me out of the film the most, as silly as it sounds, is the actress who plays Carol, Clara Lago. Though I am at this point unable to evaluate her potential for greatness, she, quite simply, looks a little bit like a boy. I am embarrassed to admit that I had such a problem with the appearance of a young actress, but I really could not get past her unisexual haircut and boyish habits. Above all, it made an adolescent romance with young Tomiche disingenuous and incredulous, rendering the emotional core of the film, well, core-less.

There is very little to say about the film, because it, itself, has very little to say about life. Carol goes on a journey. Bad stuff happens. Good stuff happens. More bad, more good, more bad. The end. Sure that is the basic premise to every film, but most others don’t drawn attention to their simplicity in the way this film does. It is hard to believe that Uribe has been making films since the golden era of movies (the seventies), since there is nothing masterful or ambitious about this undertaking. He is quoted as saying, “It seemed to me a challenge to make a film with children, in which important and serious things are counted.” I’m pretty sure just about every film fits this criterion. That’s right, every single film. Go ahead and throw one at me, out of the randomizer: Airplane! - ok, so there are kids on the plane, people are going to die if they can’t find someone who can fly a plane and didn’t have fish for dinner - check and check. How about another: Casablanca - well maybe I’m being a bit too figurative, but “Here’s lookin’ at you kid” says it all.

It is unfortunate that I must be so harsh on a filmmaker who clearly wanted to tell an exciting, important story. However, next time he should consider that wanting to tell an exciting, important story is the first step in making a pretentious, often eye-roll-inducing film. Placing the weight of a film on the shoulders of two young actors is an admirable undertaking, but the ambition of a film has no effect on its success. A movie as seemingly pointless as Airplane! can be just as successful as Casablanca in terms of what it tried and managed to achieve. Next time, Uribe should consider this loophole of sorts in the medium of film, instead telling an even less purposeful film, perhaps involving adults. This is a feat I sincerely hope he can manage.

Man on Fire

solafekxela — Sat, 10 Nov 2007 00:58:03 GMT

Prodigal director Steven Soderbergh is quoted as saying what he hates the most is when every part of a movie looks the same. It is this crime, though, that many times the otherwise original, inventive independent films are guilty of. Ironically, Soderbergh’s career was birthed from this circle, and many of his early films were a bit monotone. It is a great treat, then, when such a film is able to blend imaginative story with inventive visuals. The Rocket, directed by Charles Binamé, is just such a film.

Though natively from Belgium, Binamé is a Quebecer director who has a very distinct cinematic eye that should be given a look at broader fare. However, backhanded compliments aside, The Rocket is a superb hockey film, a spectacular sports movie, and all together a really good effort.

Playing legendary hockey player Maurice “The Rocket” Richard is Roy Dupuis, who embodies the man with sincerity and precision. Richard may not be as familiar to Americans as Gretzky or Lemieux, but he is almost indisputably the best player to come out of Quebec. However, the film is more than just his story. It tackles the complexities and atrocities of the National Hockey League during the Great Depression (and beyond), as well as the era in general. Though this time period has been handled well in dozens of films, there is much more that allows this film to live up to the legend it replays.

For one, the way Binamé shoots the hockey scenes is just marvelous. I’m not sure a sporting event has been captured so majestically since, well, ever. It’s certainly not the best sports film ever made, but it belongs among the ranks of them. The ultimate test for a sports movie is simple: is the game captured in a more exciting way than it is broadcast on television? The answer, in this case, is a defiant yes. I’m a huge hockey fan, but I can assuredly say that I may prefer revisiting this film to watching some live games.

Despite the magical quality of much of the film, it is not without its faults. Some scenes feel a little clichéd, such as, early on, when an employer confronts Richard about the financial situation of his family. Also, the film becomes a little redundant in that many of the scenes don’t necessarily say anything new about Richard the man or the environment he inhabited.

However, the ending of The Rocket can only be compared to one other sports film, The Natural. Poignant, heart-pounding, and majestic, the ultimate fate of Richard is not what makes the conclusion so perfect. Rather, it is the way Binamé brilliantly captures the brutality of the sport in a way that is true to the story and, particularly, the character himself.

The Rocket is an invigorating, enlightening, enthralling film about the culture built around one man and the era he embodied. It leaves little unanswered about his life, and, more significantly, about the state of professional hockey. Extrapolating the conditions expressed in the film, one can imagine just how wonderfully reflective it is of the nature of sports in general. It was money that drove the managers, but resolve that impassioned Richards.

The Male Paula Abduls, But Only Because They Have To

solafekxela — Sun, 30 Sep 2007 23:54:14 GMT

The music industry is a tough business, especially if you possess no talent, marketing knowledge, or financial background. It is easy to forget that there are many struggling musicians out there, when all most people here is the latest from Kanye or Shakira. Of course, this assuming you’ve never watched an audition episode of American Idol. Interestingly enough, much of Great World of Sound plays out just like one of those addicting episodes where one can watch people who think they’re really talented be injected with a small dose of reality courtesy of Simon Cowell.

The film, directed by Craig Zobel (who has done some brilliant work for Homestarrunner.com), follows Martin, played by a perfectly cast Pat Healy, and Clarence (Gene Holliday), as they begin jobs for the titular music production company. The duo’s naiveté in the first week or two of employment is exceptionally amusing to watch, and the mockumentary style masterminded by Christopher Guest (Waiting for Guffman, Best in Show) amplifies the comedic impact. The interracial banter of Martin and Clarence is remindful of that on Psych and Scrubs, but it never steals jokes directly from either of those shows, another remarkable feat.

Just about every joke attempted is successful to some degree, and there are some moments that made ma laugh out loud, even though, in some cases, it was at the expense of characters who didn’t see anything humorous in their actions. It is in these cases that Zobel is really able to craft sympathetic musicians who honestly believe, just like the many that line up to audition for American Idol, that they have a shot. However, many of these artists are just too similar; there is not much diversity. They all come from similar socio-economic backgrounds, and the only thing really unique about each one is the type of performance they are trying to sell. Countless times we are tortured by the dilemma of whether or not the possibility of maybe selling a record or two is worth the up-front investment. Regardless, in these more serious portions of the film, it never becomes melodramatic or sappy.

Now I can’t say that this film really compares with any of Guest’s efforts or the comedic genius of The Office, but, fortunately, it doesn’t really try to. Instead, Zobel has a clear and well-defined agenda - to expose the corruption of small producers like this one. It’s fine, no big deal; the film isn’t too bogged down by this message. However, it is in Martin’s scenes at home that Zobel really loses touch with the originality of his film. Each line delivered Rebecca Mader, playing Martin’s wife Pam, is airy and cliché. Zobel has nothing new to offer here; instead he provides a subplot to an otherwise captivating story that is uninteresting and distracting.

So, in the end, any comedic brilliance is curtailed by some disingenuous B-plotting and lack of ambition. Still, one must consider the central purpose of a comedy, which is too obvious to even subject to writing, but should stay in the back of the mind of anyone who sits down to watch a film with like aspirations. If such a film succeeds in this matter, then it is truly worth commending. However, preventing me from doing so in this case is the image that rest in the back of mind since about half way through Great World of Sound - Craig Zobel is sitting on his couch one night, large bowl of ice cream in hand, tuning in to the much overrated American Idol, and decides “Hey, everybody seems to love this show. And what is the best part of the show, Craig? The audition episodes, of course. How silly of you to ask. Here’s a thought: why don’t I turn this into a movie, craft some one-note characters, put them in a somewhat familiar environment, and let them play Paula Abdul for a while?” Genius.

Film Loses 'Sight'

solafekxela — Sat, 22 Sep 2007 02:36:09 GMT

Craig Ferguson’s film on the Iraq war has been called a documentary, an exposé, and an indictment. In a way, it is all three. He provides many factual accounts from those involved in the decision-making, combat, and reporting of the war. He exposes the actions of several politicians and key planners, and, quite clearly, their mistakes. He then accuses such authorities of making a grave mistake that cost Americans and innocent Iraqis thousands of lives.

No End in Sight begins with a Donald Rumsfeld press conference in which he emphasizes that the war is simply too complex for most Americans to understand. In the following thirty minutes, Ferguson successfully disproves that statement with engaging insight into the mistakes that were made in the early planning stages of the war, most of them by Rumsfeld, Bush, and by the Office of Reconstruction and Humanitarian Assistance (ORHA), which was doomed from the start. The first act of the film is gripping, informative, and, above all, incredibly frustrating. I couldn’t help but want to get up from my seat, reach through the screen, and strangle some of the men on screen. Naivety, ignorance, and laziness are inexcusable characteristics of men making such important decisions regarding the fate of several countries, including their own.

As soon as I was good and fired up, though, the film encounters some major pacing-related problems. Edited by Chad Beck and Cindy Lee, the film begins to feel like endless successions of talking heads incessantly describing every mistake made regarding the war. By the end of the second act, the film had become so redundant and repetitive that I had been desensitized to any potentially emotional and frightening revelations later on. As the men on screen argue, though not directly to each other, about the proper terminology and sequence of events, Ferguson gets bogged down in a world of nearly incomprehensible information. Maybe someone who took a very keen interest in all the political and military details would be fascinated by these endless ramblings, but I was nothing more than bored by it.

Regardless, it is clear that Ferguson and the editors know what they are doing, for the most part. Narration by Campbell Scott, a severely underrated actor, is very well placed. He never just describes what we are seeing, but serves as a way to complement the images with new information. Most of the storytelling in a documentary happens in the editing room, and, despite the aforementioned issues, its pretty spectacular. When text is used to reveal information, the haunting score disappears, emboldening the usually devastating information.

Also remarkable is the way Ferguson refuses to make villains of Bush or Rumsfeld, a huge fault of Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11. Sure he exposes their angering leadership in-capabilities and negligence, but he never proposes that they are the enemies. They simply made very poor decisions that had overwhelmingly tragic consequences.

No End in Sight provides plenty of information that will be new to most Americans in a way that is sometimes compelling but often times numbing. The biggest problem I had with it was, at the end, when Ferguson decided to tell the stories of some injured Veterans. It was not so much the way he did so as the effect it did, or rather didn’t have on me. I was so taken out of the film by all the stuffy politicians and experts that I could make no emotional connection to these victims of the war. Still, the incompetence he exposes makes the film worth seeing, if only for a dose of pessimism that will make everyone hope for nothing but an end. B-

Mumblecore Shmumblecore?

solafekxela — Sat, 15 Sep 2007 02:18:45 GMT

Joe Swanberg’s latest mumblecore film examines the relationships of three men, Tim, Chris, and Alex, and their addiction to technology. Swanberg is considered a forerunner of the mumblecore movement, a term given to films of the new millennium that are independent, usually shot digitally, and portray the lives of twenty-somethings through improvisation and non-professional acting. LOL of course fits that criteria, delving into how the men seek satisfaction in internet relationships, cell phones, and other technology. As if the film’s title wasn’t indicative enough, it’s clearly a film for the twenty-first century, though certainly not for everybody.

Along with the staples of mumblecore films, Swanberg’s own flavor permeates the film. Artistic, uncomfortable, and somewhat gratuitous nudity attempts to put the audience directly in the mind of the helpless men. Swanberg, also headlining the cast as Tim, joins C. Mason Wells and Kevin Bewersdorf as the film’s trio. The digital, cinema-verité style of the film is complemented by these non-actors, creating scenes that are tonally perfect. Many are quick to criticize the mumblecore movement for realistically dull portrayals of often seemingly pathetic characters. Swanberg clearly avoids any such pitfalls with a compassion for all everyone on the screen, even if just another girl on the internet.
That said, there certainly are faults within the technique of this film in particular. Since it deals with so much online video content, the entire movie being filmed digitally de-emphasizes these portions. Additionally, the way the film is edited is certainly distracting, with several jump cuts just within one scene, or even one shot. It breaks up the film and causes it to lose some grounding in reality, when all Swanberg was attempting to do was make it feel more like a documentary. As for the cinematography, despite its simplicity, at times it feels like the issues and commentary are being forced. Several shots indiscreetly force us to look at women the way these men do, which causes discomfort and, instead, took me out of the mind of the characters. It is this manipulation and heavy-handedness that diminish the impact of the film, along with the limited scope and somewhat obvious message, that is.

Still, there is quite a lot to be said for young filmmakers like Swanberg who certainly take risks with subject matter, if not with budget and style. If it is not the content that shocks, then certainly the way it is told will be refreshing to those bombarded from Jerry Bruckheimer movie coasters. And if neither the subject nor the approach shock you, then at least the film is sure to leave you exposed and informed about the way these twenty-something truly live in the digital age. The film is as realistic a depiction of modern communication as one can imagine, seeping with relevance and brevity.

It is because of the passion exhibited by Swanberg in LOL that my curiosity about the mumblecore movement is at least piqued. Unlike the now stereotypically categorized indie dramedy a la Little Miss Sunshine, not a shred of contempt can be found; nor does Swanberg take pleasure in the struggles of others. I truly got the sense that Swanberg was almost too familiar with the world he portrays in the film; it frightened me to consider putting myself in his position. Whether or not I’m ready to sit down and watch another of Swanberg’s explicit tellings (Kissing on the Mouth, Hannah Takes the Stairs) is another story, so my excitement is certainly restrained. LOL is an intriguing if not captivating entry for anyone looking to explore modern, emerging film techniques.

Cheung Comes Clean

solafekxela — Sat, 01 Sep 2007 18:35:00 GMT

Veteran director Olivier Assayas tackles the popular but uncomfortable topic of drugs and music in Clean. Maggie Cheung is a musician suffering through a drug addiction, with the memory of her late husband, Lee, who overdosed, looming over her. Both are musicians who share a son, who is staying with Lee’s parents (Nick Nolte and Martha Henry). The film proceeds to follow Emily’s attempt to change her life, kick her habit, and become a successful musician. Her journey is always compelling, as she gets sidetracked by past loves, the need to reinitiate a relationship with Jay, her son, and, obviously, her drug addiction.

Assayas doesn’t waste any time with dull exposition, only establishing Emily’s relationship with Lee and their life that revolves around music. When she leaves Lee alone for the night, a pouring rain in the morning signals not only her isolation, but the cleansing that her husband’s death will allow. Though the moment lacks some emotional gravitas, as more about Lee becomes clear, the impact of his life and death is more believable. The film really gains its steam after an encounter between Emily and Jay’s father, Albrecht, that sets the stage for her transformation.

The film loses some focus, but only because this is the track her life takes. She is unable to concentrate on her career as a musician and her son because she has to deal with some events and mistakes from her past. All of these elements are exciting and convincing; Assayas never gives the impression that his film is just an observation. Rather, it is told almost completely from Emily’s point of view. When he does break away for the subplot of Jay, Albrecht, and Rosemary, Lee’s ill mother, the film loses momentum and passion.
All the performances are almost pitch-perfect, including, of course, Cheung, who won the Best Actress prize at Cannes, and Nick Nolte. The supporting players are just as good, if not better, with the annoying exception of James Dennis, who plays the young Jay. Almost every moment with him falls flat because of his undeveloped talent, but the film has so much depth that it doesn’t take much away. Much of the dialogue feels obvious and easy, but, because of these performances, it is not entirely unbelievable.

The biggest problem with the film, though, involves Emily’s musical talent. Though her singing voice is rarely heard, Assayas never convinces that she has enough skill to land the deals that she does. Since he ends the film implying that everything is in order regarding her career, it falls a little short and loses touch with reality. It becomes less about her movement to kick her drug addiction and more about her finding a job and supporting herself, so Assayas failed to reveal the potential of her career early on, likely because he has Lee die so early in the film.

Clean is certainly not one of the best films ever made about drugs (see: Traffic, Requiem for a Dream, Last Days), but, thankfully, Assayas makes it about more than that. He never gets distracted by the less significant events in Emily’s life, always remindful of her ultimate goal. The performances are what sell the film; without them, it would just lie there with nothing but contrived dialogue and emotionally dead scenes. It becomes a very exciting musical journey. For Emily, though, it isn’t about the music at all; it’s her quest for independence and responsibility for her own life. Cheung plays not a musician, but a normal person who struggles to shake her life’s addictions in order to become more accountable for her actions.