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tommacy Blog

  • Review: Of Time and the City

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    The immaculate row of suspended brick apartments stand confidently, symmetrically and beautifully constant amidst the fog and condominiums.  They serve as a harrowing visualthroughline in Terence Davies introspective "Of Time and the City" wherein he dissects his beloved home town of Liverpool (and himself).  Closer to a documentary than any other genre, the blend of archive footage, poetry, classical music and sardonic baritone narration is more mosaic than film.   Mr. Davies chronicles theMerseyside Borough through much of the 20th century heaping on a healthy serving of personal exhibition and social commentary.

    While driven by non-linear collages of sight and sound the narrative structure is actually very straightforward, beginning with the Liverpool as Mr. Davies experienced it in his childhood.   Exuding a nostalgia both through the musings of the narration and the grains of the celluloid, this Liverpool is lovingly represented as a simpler time by a series of iconic images.  Overflowing boats cozy up to the ports and lumbering trains snake about their railways as they pour souls into the city.  Hard-working men and women (heavy labor and laundry respectively), and blissfully carefree children make up the model blue collar family (for which Mr. Davies clearly has sympathies for).  Gatherings of fellow Liverpudlians, a football stadium packed with frenzied, white towel waving devotees and the stunningly photographed Grand National (an equestrian-like steeplechase) with leaps that both terrify and amaze, portray Liverpool as a scrappy tight-knit community.

    This is interspersed with personal recollections some fond, others painful.  The long carefree days at the beach with "sand in the egg salad" give way to Davies tenuous relationship with Catholicism.  Clearly suspicious of religion from the outset it wasn't until homosexuality surfaced during adolescence that faith posed a direct contradiction.  This discovery is outlined in a deeply personal segment featuring underground wrestling matches like the ones he secretly attended with guilty fascination.

    But it's not all reminiscence and reflection, nor is it without humor.  As the city matures so too does our host, and with adulthood comes cynicism.  Withholding no disdain for Liverpool's best known export he openly mocks the Beatles professing his preference for classical music.  He also skewers the royal family in entertaining fashion.  Over footage (color now) of the Queens gaudy coronation Davies quips "The troublewith being poor is that is takes up all of your time.  The trouble with being rich is that it take up everyone elses."  As the condominiums begin to sprout, the city, like the increasingly pixelated footage, becomes less personal for both Davies and the viewer.  And as we venture into the unemployment crisis of the 70s and 80s what was once a tribute feels more like a cautionary tale.

    But Davies does not intend to brand his film with any sort of thesis or message.  Both a love letter and a condemnation it never delves into the indulgent moralizing that can befall passion projects such as these.  "Of Time and The City" is more of an examination of a relationship, that all of us an recognize, with place and time.  And, as it is for everyone, when places change and time passes the connection is more with a memory, concurrently distorting and enriching, than with any tangible object.  Most will categorize this film is as a lyrical poem, and I would have to agree.  Though as times teetering on the edge of self-seriousness, finally, Mr. Davies film is one of deliberate whimsy.   As he recites T.S. Elliot with intense conviction during the opening.   You think, "Is this guy for real?"  The answer, suitably, is yes and no.


  • Review: Silent Light

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    Silent Light  (2007)

    I saw my first new release of 2009 today.  Originally released at Cannes in 2007, I have been hearing about “Silent Light” for almost two years before getting a chance to see it (and I live in New York.)  It’s always daunting going in to a film with so much acclaim.  I don’t mean “Slumdog Millionaire” acclaim, I can prepare myself for that.  I’m talking serious cinephile cred.  “Silent Light” was on both Manohla Dargis and A. O. Scott’s top 10 for 2008 (I don’t know how they fit it in that year if it came out in ‘07).  It also appeared on the top 10 of the renowned J. Hoberman from the Village Voice.  That is a must-see if I ever heard one.

    The past 2 Januarys have yielded the previous year’s Palme dO’r winner.  After the slew of quality films cramed at the end of the calender year to quality for the Oscars it serves as a nice palate cleanser before the doldrums of January (Film Forum repertory time!).  Both films, “4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days” in ‘08 and “The Wind That Shakes the Barely” in ‘07 had the similar acclaim and anticipation (”4 Months” was on A. O.’s top 10 of ‘07) and both delivered in spades.  Check them out if you haven’t.

    So here was “Silent Light”, not a winner of the Palme (that honor went to “The Class” which will be released at the end of the month) but it was named as the “Jury Prize” winner (I don’t know what that specifically means but it’s Cannes so I’m sure it’s some form of illustrious.)  Having never seen a trailer or read a plot synopsis for “Silent Light” I was going in cold.  All I knew was what I recalled from a NY times podcast why back from Cannes in 2007 when Manohla and A.O. described the first shot of the film, a sunrise, as a breath of fresh air that gladly slowed the pace of the bustling festival.  So there’s a sunrise, that’s all I had.

    Well, it was some sunrise.  Holy crap.  The opening of this film is a genuine “wow” moment that will be hard to top this year on the basis of asthetic alone.  It’s good few minutes long, beginning with a black startlit sky and panning down on a faint horizon that appears at first to be a slight discoloration amongst the blackness.  That morphs to a discernable dark blue which then continues through an entire box of crayola crayon colors as the sky, trees, grass and enitre world are illuminated.  Nothing short of breathtaking.

    I should mention that this film is directed by Mexico’s Carlos Reygadas, only his 4th feature.  The slowing of time, forcing the viewer to focus on some of life’s everyday happenings is applied throughout.  The story centers around a farmer, Johan (Cornelio Wall), a devoted husband father to his wife and large family yet deeply in love with another woman whom, he says, even compared to his wife when they first met, would have been the better choice. Ouch.

    It takes about half and hour for even this much information to reach the viewer.  I could recount most of the plot for this 136 minute film in about 10 sentences.  But do not let that deter you.  The magic of Silent Light is it’s ability to make you lean in an appreciate not just the beauty of a landscape but also the beauty of a father shampooing his daughter’s hair.  Reygadas gives equal attention to all aspects of his world whether it is a father and son heart-to-heart or milking cows.  Every shot of this film could have 5 seconds chopped off it, every one!  You would not lose any information regarding the narrative.  But that extra hour, or whatever all those extra 5 seconds add up to, is where the meat is. The environment, and more importantly, the atmosphere is the driving force of this film.

    Played apparently by non-actors, the performances carry a stiffness that feels appropriate for characters who are not adept at expressing themselves.  I will admit though, their restrained communications coupled with the pacing was at times frustrating.  I’m not used to working this hard while watching a film.  I am used to being told what’s happening, not shown.  And on that coin I will say, this film will not be for everyone.  The previous “prize winner’s” I mentioned earlier are film’s of action.  The goals are clear, as are the motivations of the characters.  “Silent Light” is not a film of action, well, not a lot of action, it is a film of stoicism.

    That said, if you stick with it you will not be disappointed, as I was most certainly not.  An investment in “Silent Light” will be paid off in the end, and it ends, as spectacularly as it begins.


  • Review: The Reader

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    The Reader  (2008)

    The flaws in the reader are glaring.  A trial examines a character’s involment in the holocaust setting up themes of morality and shame that drive the second half of the film.  How do you come to terms with caring for someone who committed such atrocities?  How does a nation cope with the guilt?  Apparently by exchanging platitudes in a law school classroom debate (led by a competely wasted and bored Bruno Ganz) where the lead character decides to remain silent.   It’s regretable that these flaws serve as the downfall for this film rather than an extension of it’s mediocrity. They would be much easier to swallow that way.  Since the first half of The Reader centers around the most effective human romance story of the year (WallE was a robot).

    In 1958 Germany,  fifteen-year-old Michael Berg (a strong David Kross) meets Hana Schmitz (the impeccable Kate Winslet) a kind, stern woman of about 40.  A random act of kindness prompts Michael to nervously return to Hanna’s apartment where she catches him a sneaking a peek at her nylons (ah to be young) and it sends him running.  With no real intentions, or at least no concept how to act on them he returns a second time.  This strange courtship continues until she suddenly makes a pass so forward on paper it would read like a bad porn.  Preposterous, but executed with just the right balance of awkward, erotic and bizarre to make it believable, the lovers embody all the giggling and gasping excitement of a forbidden romance.  Some of the scenes are so explicitly intimate they induce guilty feelings of voyeurism.

    Other than the joys of the flesh the activity the two enjoy is literature.  Michael reads his prep school assignments (hence the title) to Hanna in a familiar but very effective montage featuring the luminous face of Winslet absorbing Micheal’s tales.  This serves as a their romantic throughline and is ultimately redeeming in the latter parts of the film.

    When summer ends and the relationship fizzles Michael finds himself in Law School.  The “progressive” environment of the 60s takes precedence over what is eating Micheal’s insides.  Sadly, that preference is never returned until we are barely interested anymore.

    While sitting in on a Nazi trial for class, Hanna reenters Micheal’s life.  It seems she was a guard at a Nazi camp and she and a number of her compatriots are finally getting justice.  This is where the aforementioned derailment takes place as Micheal is reduced to a slumping prop.  In the presence of a tour-de-force testimony (Winslet resists the usual territory for these types of scenes) without Micheal’s perspective the film turns it’s attentions to the holocaust and it’s affect on the characters and the country.  All this was already on the periphery, I don’t see what was gained by drowning out Michael’s voice.  The scenes border on didactic and are far too on the nose.

    The next time Micheal commits any actions of consequence he’s aged into Ralph Fiennes and Hanna is in prison.  With some gestures that could induce gags or sniffles depending on your mood (sniffles for me) the last act is simultaneously compelling and maddening as it turns into a piece about reflection and regret.  It is ironic that the first half of the film shot with shimmering nostalgia and swelling music seemed the most immediate.

    Finally, this is a frustrating film that will be categorized with some of the other handsome productions that fell short of their lofty expectations, including Ms. Winselt’s other endeavor “Revolutionary Road,” “Doubt,” and “Frost/Nixon.”

    I enjoyed all of these films and would happily revisit them all.  But I generally agree with the consensus that they where just a little too careful to have any lingering impact.  I give more credit to “The Reader” though.  It reaches at some more delicate, ambiguous areas, or I should say approaches them more delicately.  The rush of Michael and Hanna’s first encounter is one I’ll not soon forget.  Or maybe I’m just giving it a pass because I’m in love with Kate Winslet.


  • Review: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

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    With a great trailer and the reuniting of Brad Pitt and David Fincher, whose last effort was the now classic “Fight Club,” anticipation was high for “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.”  Not being a huge Brad Pitt fan and wary of over-hyped Oscar vehicles, I was wary and kept my expectations in check.

    Very loosely based on F. Scott Fitzgerald’s short story chronicling the life of a man who ages backwards, the film is told mostly in flashback by an elderly Cate Blanchett.  On her death bed (inexplicably as Hurricane Katrina approaches), she recounts via dairy a previously untold portion of her life to her daughter (Julia Ormond, still smarting from “First Knight”).  The tale begins in lively 1918 New Orleans with the birth of baby Benjamin at age 75.  Following his mother’s death, his widowing father abandons him on the front steps of retirement home (irony!).  Resembling a raisin with extremities, Benjamin is discovered by the gentle Queenie (a fantastic Taraji P. Henson) a kind black woman who works at the establishment, which is full of doddering white folk.   With almost no apprehension to his “curious” appearance she takes to raising Benjamin as her own.

    By the time Benjamin reaches about three odd digital renderings of Brad Pitt’s familiar features start to creep in.  A composite of body doubles, Brad Pitt’s face and CGI stand in until Mr. Pitt himself is able to take over.   The look is strange and, perhaps appropriately, off putting.  Highlights of his adventurous youth include getting drunk and laid, as well as receiving advice much earlier than appropriate for his actual age.  But the most significant encounter during this period is with the crimson-haired Daisy, who will one day grow up to be Cate Blanchett and his primary romantic interest.

    At eighteen, looking fifty, he sets sea and the film enters full sweep mode.  Benjamin’s adventures sprawl 70 years and include a wide array of people and places.  The art department is more than up to the task recreating them all in wide shots and large crowds.   Overall, the production design in terms of scope and detail is ravishing.  Enhanced, not overwhelmed, by digital effects, the various sets and costumes are impressively realized with the amber tinge as of an aging photograph.

    While the stories outcome is never in doubt, (Benjamin’s gray hair will turn gold, his wrinkles will beget a flawless complextion and he will morph into Brad Pitt) the how proves to be intriguing enough to keep one engaged as they wait for the inevitable.   Particularly in witnessing the stunning incarnations of Benjamin, and Daisy, as they age inversely are staggering, especially in their youth.  In the age of “Transformers” special effects struggle more and more to impress when CGI has unmasked all remaining mystery of movie magic.  The rendering of Cate Blanchett as a professional caliber dancer at 23 is so believable it’s frightening.   The camera is too close to be a body double but not far away enough to be faking the dancing.  It truly begs the question “how did they do that?”

    Mr. Fincher has always been adept at enhancing his visual storytelling by utilizing these tools, he did so in last years “Zodiac” as well as the immortal “Fight Club.”  But aside from it’s visual grandeur and specificity this ponderous story is a departure from Fincher’s earlier efforts.  It is much easier to recognize the hand of screenwriter Eric Roth who also penned “Forrest Gump,” comparisons to which are inevitable.  Both title characters are not concerned with leaving their but mark on the world, just finding their place in it.  Thus their quests are not pursuits of success but of acceptance.  These consistencies are not detriments mind you, (though they will be for some).   Tonally, the films are quite different, “Forrest Gump” is told with more whimsy while “Benjamin Button” is more of a mediation.

    Unlike Mr. Gump though, here the title character is really more of a prop than anything else, albeit a spectacular one.  There’s an emptiness to Pitt’s that keeps his Benjamin at arm’s length keeping him from becoming more than a story-telling device.  This is not to say he does bad work, his charisma alone is enough to carry such a film.  It’s just that such a vast narrative may have warranted delving a little deeper.  Contrary to Pitt’s enigmatic reserve, Balncett’s Daisy injects the film with a much needed vibrancy and serves as the life blood of the story.  A confirmed superhuman performer, Blanchett is completely believable as someone waiting a lifetime for.  In one enchanting sequence Daisy attempts to seduce Benjamin, dancing in moonlit silhouette.  It’s a perfect marriage of performance and filmmaking.  Fincher brings the sumptuous imagery but, like the mist hovering above the lake behind her, Blancett makes it emanate off the screen.

    In perhaps the most memorable section of his travels, Benjamin encounters Elizabeth Abbott (Tilda Swinton), a lonley diplomat’s wife, and has a affair.  This is one of the most beautifully crafted sequences of the film largely due to Swinton’s lovely melancholic presence that intrigues Pitt’s quiet Benjamin.  Developed over a succession of sleepless nights drinking tea this relationship is built on loneliness stemming from Benjamin’s hopelessly unrelatable condition and Elizabeth’s life of personal regrets.  Thinking him a contemporary she confesses her disappointments to the impressionable Benjamin, (making one ponder the wisdom that could potentially be imparted if similar connections could be made in everyday life).  This candid encounter proves vital to Benjamin’s unique understanding of mortality.

    Death surrounds Benjamin, particularly in his formative years at the retirement home.  Potentially giving him unparaelled insights into the human psyche.  Unfortunately in the end there is little evidence that his life was any more fulfilling as a reult.  Thus, his odd circumstance is an intriguing, handsomely told yarn rather than the life affirming epiphany it hopes to be.   This lack of substantial revelation may seal it’s fate, for some, as a disappointment.  But you would be wrong to dismiss it on such counts.  Yes, it’s elaborate scheme poses no answers to any of life’s great mysteries, but it’s pleasures are rich and plentiful.  The world of Benjamin Button was one in which I was happy to spend time and one I am eager to revisit, regardless of whether it had a point.


 

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