Werckmeister Harmonies

In lieu of a totally new post, I've decided to post a short piece I wrote for a film theory class. Enjoy!

Werckmeister Harmonies: A thrilling antidote to the Hollywood thriller

It can safely be said that Béla Tarr does not make films for the average filmgoer. In fact, one could argue that’s an understatement. A visual stylist of epic proportions, Mr. Tarr shoots his films on black and white film, edits in camera, and, most uniquely, his shots traditionally last an average of 3 minutes.

Mr. Tarr reached a high point with his stylistic choices in Werckmeister Harmonies, his 1999 film about the chaos and violence that erupts in a small Hungarian village when two sinister forces rear their ugly heads. While the description makes the film sound like a classic thriller, it is anything but a traditionally driven film. Beyond the structural differences discussed in our previous paper, Werckmeister Harmonies deviates from the Hollywood model in three important ways: it’s shot length, elliptical storytelling, and, most importantly, it’s largely passive protagonist.

The opening shot of Werckmeister Harmonies, which lasts a mesmerizing 9 minutes, defines a people and a character with astonishing clarity. As the camera pans away from a freshly distinguished fire, a group of drunken peasants come into frame. Mr. Tarr has opened in a bar on a late night somewhere on the Hungarian plain. What is being shown is largely pedestrian (a common theme for much of the film’s first act): drunks falling over, people chatting, and an irritated bartender trying to escort the men out.

But suddenly Mr. Tarr shows us something unexpected: a young (and sober) gentleman named Janos. Janos is being asked to explain something to the men, and so, by using the man as puppets, Janos illustrates a solar eclipse, highlighting the moment of absolute eclipse before moving onto the beautiful moment of the sun’s re-appearance. As this occurs, a piano piece begins to play which highlights the beauty Janos seems to find in the world. It’s a refreshing moment, a deviation from what is expected, and highlights the way that Janos, optimist and believer in the omnipotent, views the world.

Mr. Tarr follows up this wonderfully long scene with two more extended takes: a long shot of Janos walking down the street, and then a scene of Janos putting Gyorgi to bed. It is a scene that highlights two important aspects of the film:

1.It reinforces Janos role as the favorite son of the town, by showing his care and consideration for Gyorgi.

2.It highlights Mr. Tarr’s use of the long take, which deviates strongly from the usual use of the long take and from Hollywood filmmaking

Probably the most famous modern example of the long take in narrative filmmaking is Chantal Akerman’s Jeanne Dielmann, which uses the long take to highlight the soul crushing monotony and eventual derangement of a Belgian widow. Ms. Akerman’s long takes create an astonishing sense of anxiety and tension. Likewise, the current films coming out of Romania, dubbed by critics as ‘The Romanian New Wave’, use long shots to highlight the performances and tension, but mostly as a metaphor for the laborious process of change going on in the country that faced the most violent Eastern European revolution and is slowly finding it’s footing in the modern world.

I highlight to clarify Mr. Tarr’s use of long shot, which deviates from the Hollywood model in that the average Hollywood shot length is no more than a few seconds, but also because Mr. Tarr doesn’t use his long take in this case to create a palpable sense of anxiety or fear, but to highlight the pace of life on the Hungarian plain where the film takes place. Mr. Tarr doesn’t want us to simply feel or understand the process of time, but instead wants us to have experienced it by allowing the events which occur to his characters occur to us, without the use of visceral editing or image manipulation. A drastic difference from the Hollywood model, in which films such as The Bourne Ultimatum or Transformers has an ASL of 1.9 seconds.

Additionally, Werckmeister Harmonies features extremely elliptical, even oblique, storytelling. This is true from the very first frame: who is Janos Valuska? Why does everyone in the town love him so much? Why is he so well trusted? Mr. Tarr never spells this out for his audience. Additionally, he never exactly clarifies why everyone seems to begin to distrust Janos later in the film. The implication is that the insidious nature of the circus and its dangerous Prince has somehow worked their influence over the community, and a clear example of this is seen in the chilling hospital attack later in the film.

This leads to the film’s most prominent example of oblique storytelling, namely: what is the connection between Aunt Tunde’s political campaign and the arrival of the Prince? In a more traditional film, there would be a scene in which some kind of deal was made between the two entities, or a scene in which their opposition to one another would be shown, but neither of these occurs in the film. Certainly most audience members would crave closure on this point, but Mr. Tarr doesn’t seem eager to provide such answers. While trying to avoid conjecture, I think it has something to do with the nature of Hungarian and, indeed, Eastern European history, with it’s many conquerors and many agendas.

The prime illustration of Mr. Tarr’s elliptical and oblique storytelling, which comes directly from the shadowy nature of Aunt Tunde’s political campaign, occurs in the final few moments of the film. Janos, having been told to run away from the town by one of his relations, is running along the railroad tracks when a helicopter passes overhead. Janos’ eyes fill with fear and he freezes as the helicopter lands before him.

Cut to a hospital bed. Janos sits on it, unable to speak except to make short whimpering sounds, as his uncle Gyorgi explains that his home has been overtaken by Aunt Tunde and the police chief. In a frighteningly sad moment, Gyorgi whispers ‘nothing counts…nothing counts.’

Janos has indeed witnessed some horrible sights throughout the film, but the exact nature of his apparent madness is never explained. What has happened to him? Why was a helicopter dispatched to retrieve him? Moreover, is the helicopter connected with the military and Aunt Tunde’s politics? The implication is, of course, that it is, but it’s never made clear to us as an audience. The result? A much more unconventional, but also much more terrifying, example of storytelling.

Perhaps the most unconventional aspect of Werckmeister Harmonies is the character of Janos. Janos violates one of the most basic rules of a conventional Hollywood narrative film: the idea of the active character. Hollywood films demand a character that takes action, who saves the day. Collateral is a classic example of a film where a generally passive protagonist decides to take a risk and change something about their situation. They act.

This is not the case with Janos, who is constantly led around by his uncle Gyorgi and Aunt Tunde. He is manipulated and controlled, and not aware of it. Occasionally there is some degree of hesitation, particularly when Aunt Tunde convinces Janos to force his uncle to help with their political campaign, but Janos never takes a stand. Janos does appear to be taking action at one point, running away from the town, but only under the influence of his aunt Harrar, who tells him the military is looking for him and he must flee. Part of this inaction comes from Janos’ optimistic disposition, but it is also clear that Mr. Tarr is trying to highlight the roles of people who don’t fully understand the situation in which they are caught. By ignoring the traditional rules of character, Mr. Tarr creates an even more tragic story of someone in a world beyond their control.

Through his use of long takes, elliptical storytelling, and finally a non-traditional protagonist, Mr. Tarr creates powerful portrait of life on the Hungarian plain, but also what happens when sinister forces try to control it. His powerful use of these techniques takes a story that could have been a routine thriller and turns it into a more interesting study of humanity as a whole. Had this been a Hollywood film, it would have tried to build tension through cuts rather than building long takes, a clear relationship between the various forces at work in the town, and a protagonist who takes action against them. Instead, the film focuses on the human moments, and thus what happens when humanity is tested. It is a powerful idea made strong by its lack of adherence to traditional storytelling choices.

Thoughts on Béla Tarr and The Turin Horse.

'Don't be influenced by anybody.'
-Béla Tarr

It isn't very often a living legend stands in front of you.

Today, The New York Film Festival premiered (in the US, at least) The Turin Horse, the final film from Hungarian filmmaker Béla Tarr. Mr. Tarr, who began his career in Communist-era Hungary making social realism and slowly transitioned to films of a more allegorical and metaphorical nature, is a unique individual in the ranks of world cinema: a self-described 'autocrat', he makes film in black and white, uses endlessly long takes (his film Werckmeister Harmonies runs 145 minutes and contains 39 cuts) and hasn't gone near a digital camera in his storied career. In the eyes of a less discerning public, his work almost feels like a joke, a goofy representation of European artsy-fartsy miserablism, what with the austere camera work, hopelessness, and focus on the poor, uneducated, and marginalized of our world. It would be nearly impossible to take Béla Tarr seriously if he didn't take his work so seriously.

I mean this as the highest praise possible. Mr. Tarr is fully committed to film as art form. In today's discussion, he called it 'the seventh art.' He has created a body of work that no other filmmaker could ever make, and every frame is his own.

I've only encountered Mr. Tarr’s work in the past few years, and I fully admit to not having seen all his films. It took me three tries to finish Werckmeister Harmonies (indeed, I didn't get past the FIRST shot initially). Once I did, I was hooked. Fairly recently, on a hot Friday in July, a cinephilic friend and I committed to Sátántangó, Mr. Tarr’s 7.5 hour film about the disintegration (and manipulation) of a collective farming community. It was a mesmerizing, provocative, and sometimes boring experience, but unlike any other I’ve had watching a movie in my home. I’m sure I didn’t understand everything, and I know the film isn’t for everyone, but I’m certain it is a worthwhile experience.

That’s how I felt at today’s screening of The Turin Horse. A portrait of six days in the life of a horse driver (an infamous one, based on the title) and his daughter, it’s not an easy film. At times it’s downright trying, but as I felt the film coming to its conclusion, I felt a deep sense of loss. Despite occasional restlessness, and a desire to escape that theater, I didn’t want the film to end. I didn’t want to leave the world Mr. Tarr created for me. I wanted to sit and watch the family of two eat their potatoes, drink their palinka (Hungarian brandy), and struggle with the wind.

Part of this could have been because Mr. Tarr has publicly declared The Turin Horse would be his last film. When asked why at the film’s pre-talk, Mr. Tarr said we would all understand when we had seen the film. When the same question was asked at the post film talk, Mr. Tarr just pointed at the screen and smiled.

I think I understood. Mr. Tarr has made a film of incredible simplicity. It is an articulation of everything that has come before it. This is a film of beautiful images and painful truths expressed by a man whose artfulness and directness is astounding. I have now had the opportunity to hear Mr. Tarr speak, and it wasn’t at all what I expected. I expected someone harder, someone less articulate and certainly someone with a smaller sense of humor. Mr. Tarr is funny (he asked why we were indoors on such a beautiful day), and he seems ultimately hopeful. As the screening began, he said he hoped we would love the characters as he loved them. I walked out loving them.

And him, in a way. Mr. Tarr may be one of the last of the true filmmakers. He shoots in black and white 35mm, utilizes long takes, edits in camera, and seems deadly serious about what he wants to say. But, finally, what I have in my mind after a day of memorable images is a smiling man dressed entirely in black, pointing his thumb at the screen.

If that isn’t someone who lets their work speak for itself, I don’t know who is.

5 Reasons why you should see The Seven Samurai this weekend rather than another summer action blockbuster (particularly the one about robots fighting)

Summer is upon us, and as the heat goes up, so does the size of the movies playing at multiplexes across the country. Superheroes will defeat evil, cowboys will battle aliens, and of course, robots will collide with robots in massive (and probably largely incomprehensible) battles. Summer is the time of the action film, and what better time of year to sit in air-conditioned, dark theaters and watch spectacle upon spectacle occurring right before your eyes, at 24 glorious (and now 3D) frames per second.
Except something isn't right, is it? There's something missing. Those characters are pretty thinly sketched, aren't they? You're not really clear who is running away from the Decepticon, are you? Most egregiously, the action doesn't have much tension, does it?
In an age of bigger is better, we've lost a sense of what makes action films great. There's no consequence anymore, no sense of stakes. It's elementary story-telling, one would argue, and action offers us the rare opportunity to offer that stuff in it's purest, most unpretentious form. Maybe it wouldn't hurt for some of us to take a step back, and see what a real action movie looks like.
We're in luck. For the next three days, IFC Center, that glorious New York City institution, is offering a chance to see Akira Kurosawa's classic The Seven Samurai. Kurosawa's action epic, about a group of Samurai hired to protect a village under assault from marauding bandits, is the touchstone film for most of the great action films that followed, yet manages to outshine them in every way. Even if you don't live in an area where Kurosawa's masterwork is playing, it's easily available (on Blu-Ray, no less) through Netflix or your local video store.
Here are 5 reasons why your movie this holiday weekend shouldn't be the one about robots fighting.

1.The Seven Samurai has stakes.
So often in action films these days we're given ludicrous reasons to care. They usually, and most lazily, consist of a mystical item which will bring power to whoever possesses it, or some kind of loosely plotted time travel situation that threatens to unravel the time-space continuum. These 'plots' are thrown at us with such speed and indifference that before we know it we're knee deep in action without much reason to care.
However, Mr Kurosawa took his time. He was a believer in human drama, and it shows from the opening frames of Samurai, as a group of bandits descend on the hills above a small peasant village to plot their attack once the harvest comes. As they disappear into the hills, a peasant is revealed, having been hidden throughout the entire scene. The look on his face is one of the many looks that will be burned into your mind once the film ends: it is one of abject terror, and absolute hopelessness. These weren't easy times in Japan (the film takes place in the late 1580's - the Warring States Period - one of great social and political upheaval in Japanese history), and the idea of losing an entire harvest to bandits meant disaster for these peasants. Eventually a decision is made to hire Samurai in order to protect the village, but not before we understand the desperation of these peasants' situation, and thus are far more invested in what happens to them, which makes the film's climatic battle all the more suspenseful and thrilling. This does, of course, result in a long running time: 3 hours, 27 minutes. Before you scoff, however, keep in mind: the latest Transformers movie clocks in at just an hour shorter.

2.The Seven Samurai invented the modern day action hero, seven different ways.
It's disheartening at how little charisma there is among action heroes these days. Does anyone think that Shia Lebouf's teenage spaz has any depth? Is a Ryan Reynold's bland take on Hal Jordan really the best we can do?
The cast of characters in The Seven Samurai are the basis for nearly every modern action hero we have. Like Jack Sparrow's drunken heroics or Tony Stark's arrogant, yet intense vulnerability? Watch Toshiro Mifune's tormented and hilarious work as Kikuchiyo, the Seventh Samurai, and you'll see an almost uncanny resemblance. One of Optimus Prime's ridiculous moments of philosophy sticking with you (I seriously hope not)? It can be traced back to Takashi Shimura's wonderful, meaningful performance as Kanbe Shimada, the leader of the Samurai.
Every modern action hero, from the wise ass side kick (Minoru Chiaki's good-hearted Heihachi) to the stone cold bad ass warrior (Seiji Miyaguchi's Kyuzo), can be found in this film, and, amazingly, they feel as fresh as ever. They're specifically defined, given moments to stand out, and their fate actually means something to you. It isn't giving much away to say that the film doesn't end with all seven Samurai still among the living. What may surprise is how moved you are when they meet their fates. Action movies don't work without characters. This film invented those characters.

3.The Seven Samurai may be the most influential action film ever made.
Going beyond the richly created characters, it's apparent from almost frame one that The Seven Samurai is a film that has shaped the way modern action films are made. Everything from the introduction of the central conflict to the film's final moment feels iconic.
Perhaps the most clear example of this comes in the first hour, as the rag-tag team of Samurai are brought together. One is seen haphazardly chopping wood, a clear indication of his strengths as a fighter. Another is seen resisting armed conflict before being forced to take his opponent down, a task he performs with the minimum of fuss and maximum precision, establishing him as the film's silent warrior. Another is seen dancing over the body of a thief dispatched by a far more skilled Samurai. Another is...
You get the point. With a great deal of economy and skill, Kurosawa establishes who these men are in several tightly constructed scenes and exchanges. Michael Bay would do the same years later when he gave us an introduction to his team of roughneck oil drillers in Armageddon; Christopher Nolan did it when he introduced us to his dream thieves in last year's Inception. Not to mention Soderberg's Ocean's films.
Likewise, nearly every modern filmmaker will give Kurosawa his due when it comes to influence. Freeze frame certain shots of Samurai against the climatic battle of Saving Private Ryan, and you'll be hard pressed to tell the difference. Do those wipe-cuts look familiar? Lucas did the same with Star Wars (in fact, without Kurosawa's Hidden Fortress, another less celebrated Samurai film, there wouldn't be a Star Wars to speak of). I could keep going, but I won't. This film has been remade time and time again whether officially (the seminal western The Magnificent Seven; Pixar's A Bug's Life), or unofficially.

4.The Seven Samurai has action that makes sense.
Yesterday, I tried to watch the trailer for Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol. I could barely keep up with the action. There wasn't a shot that lasted more than two or three seconds, and the poorly-chosen Eminem track playing over the endless shots of explosions and gun fights did little to add clarity.
This is the sad state of many action films these days. It's becoming much easier to edit a film to within an inch of it's life, thereby making the film more frenetic, more 'edgy', and, as a consequence, less comprehensible. Occasionally, this works (the new 007 films serve as an example). Mostly, it doesn't, as Michael Bay's nearly avant-garde cutting and shooting in his Transformers films demonstrates. What the hell is happening in these films?
This is not the case with Kurosawa, whose action sequences in Samurai are absolutely top-notch. We feel the weight, drama, and consequence in every scene, even in those with relatively little action.
Take an early scene when Shimada disguises himself as a monk to save a child being held captive by a crazed and terrified thief. Shimada approaches the thief's hideout with food. He throws the food into the room, waits a split second (presumably for the thief to pick the food up), and dashes in. A few absolutely hair-rising seconds pass as the audience stares at an empty frame, and suddenly the thief dashes out. He freezes, and, in a slow-motion shot that has been copied time and time again, falls into a heap, the victim of an unknown blow from Shimada. Cut to the villagers gathered around the hideout. As they exhale, so do we.
All of this is accomplished with approximately 15 cuts, spread over a minute and a half. A majority of the cuts are to the villagers watching helplessly, which heightens the tension. The actual action occurs in 7 or 8 shots, with a minimum of fuss, but producing great tension and excitement.
Imagine the modern equivalent, with a series of cuts as Shimada enters the hideout, the music blaring as he saves the child (undoubtedly in slow-motion), and the blood pouring out of the thief as he falls to a heap. Gratuitous, to say the least. Once again, the best action is about suggestion. Kurosawa is a master.
That isn't to say the film lacks action or battle. The last 40 minutes are packed with exciting action that builds as it progresses, with each minor defeat and victory raising your blood pressure. By this point, the characters are so well defined that their loss is yours. It's an incredible testament to the necessity of action being about character and drama over spectacle.

5. The Seven Samurai has resonance, reality, and consequence.
Rarely do robots, particularly robots that are almost invulnerable, justify any real concern about their fate in action films. Do the robots in Transformers mean anything?
Michael Bay has made one great action film: The Rock. Have you seen it? In it, disgruntled general Francis Hummel (Ed Harris, bringing real pathos), upset over the way the deaths of his men in Desert Storm was handled, storms Alcatraz and takes 81 tourists hostage. He demands reparations be made to their families. He means it. He cares. This isn't only about money. It's about the memory of real men. What follows is fairly preposterous when compared to the gravity and reality of Hummel's stated intent, but the film also leaves the fate of one of it's central protagonists up in the air. Former British spy John Mason (Sean Connery) , who was supposed to be freed from prison for agreeing to lead the rescue team into Alcatraz, is betrayed by the FBI. He is warned by nerdy scientist turned warrior Stanley Goodspeed (Nicolas Cage, in one of his first action roles), and escapes. It isn't exactly a down ending for Mason, but it isn't the tidy wrap-up we have come to expect from our action films.
The same can be said for Seven Samurai, though much more so. As I said before, this film doesn't end without death, without loss and without lives being irrevocably changed. These men knew there would be consequence. Their duty is to save and preserve the village; to preserve life. Preservation of life doesn't happen without some loss of life. Surely a simple lesson, but one with a kind of resonance most action films can't even think of having these days, much less the downbeat note that this film ends on. It ultimately makes the film more rewarding, as it realizes the consequences of action.
Ultimately, consequences are what action movies great. Without them, action films resemble empty spectacle: a series of images cut together that may resemble a film, but beyond the sound and fury, signify nothing.
Sound familiar?


Additionally, IFC's screening of Seven Samurai this weekend is part of a longer KUROSAWA series whose ticket sales benefit the Japan Society's Earthquake Relief Fund. You're not only seeing a great film, but helping those in serious need.

Best films of 2010

Below are the ten best films I've seen this year. It wasn't a great year for movies, and it was, in some ways, difficult to come up with a list I could truly stand behind, but I'm happy with what is here.
A NOTE: I am not a paid critic, so I don't see everything. There are many films this year that were lauded critically which I missed, mostly due to a lack of interest on my part. These are the films I paid money to see, and enjoyed.
There are also a few films I missed, and won't have a chance to see before the new year, which I'm disappointed about. They include I AM LOVE and SCOTT PILGRIM, as well as a few others.

1.Carlos
Oliver Assayas' epic Carlos was shot in some 13 different countries in nearly as many languages, and film chronicles the life and career of Ilich Ramírez Sánchez, AKA Carlos the Jackal, one of the world's most famous terrorists. This 3-part, 5 and a half hour epic covers several periods in Carlos' life, but focuses on his taking of the OPEC meeting in Vienna 1976. As portrayed by Edgar Ramírez, Carlos is a mesmerizing, arrogant, and charismatic brute. It is by far the most fun I have had in the cinema this year. Shot in grainy, penetrating digital video, Assayas has made a film which is a thrilling look at international terrorism at a time when it had barely stepped onto our shores. A major work from a major director. The film of the year.

2.Black Swan
Black Swan had the potential to be a dud. A psychological horror film centering on the dance world, the film just barely notices the line of good taste and subtlety before blasting beyond it. In anyone else's hands it would have been a disaster. Luckily, it was under the control of Darren Aronofsky, who has fully lived up to the incredible potential he showed with Pi and Requiem For a Dream. Natalie Portman is magnificent. Years from now, this will go down as a masterwork.

3.Winter's Bone
Winter's Bone is a tight and mesmerizing film noir that does incredible work detailing the inner workings of a ruthless world deep within the Ozarks. When 16 year old Rhee (the wonderful Jennifer Lawrence) finds out that her family will lose their house if her absentee crack-cooking father isn't found, she becomes junior detective and tries to hunt him down. What follows is by turns frustrating, complicated, chilling, and deeply revealing about the realities of poverty, while at the same time walking, magnificently, a thin line between film noir and kitchen sink realism. The result is incredible.

4.Mother
The influence of Alfred Hitchcock could be seen in at least 3 films this year, two of which made were made by famous directors (Scorsese's Shutter Island, Polanski's Ghost Writer), but South Korea's Bong Joon-ho's (The Host) story of murder and matriarchy is by far the best. A tightly controlled crackerjack of a film, Mother features an incredible lead performance (Kim Hye-ja as the title character), amazing cinematography, and truly powerful moments of guilt, violence, and finally some kind of sweet release. A must-see, especially for those interested in the rise of South Korean cinema all over the world.

5.Inception
As a follow up to 2008's The Dark Knight, there was a lot of anticipation for Inception, a heist film dealing in dreams, memory, fathers, sons, architecture, and the blissfully cinematic combination of skiing and shooting. Nolan has delivered a major work: a film that never rests on it's flash, and is effortlessly exciting, emotional and thought-provoking.

6. Life During Wartime
Life During Wartime is the least recent of the films on my list, but it's a testament to the film's power that it has stuck with me. A quasi-sequel to Solondz's Happiness, Life During Wartime explores the fractured state of relationships, grief, and, most powerfully, family bonds in the confusion of post 9/11 America. It's a deeply affecting ghost story with one the most haunting final shots in recent memory.

7. Tiny Furniture
Tiny Furniture is an oddity of a film that announces a major new talent: Lena Dunham, a mid 20's writer/director who choose to shoot a film in her own apartment in Tribeca starring her mother and sister as her mother and sister. It is probably one of the few films so far to deal honestly with the realities of post-collegiate life, exploring the anxieties, both personal and professional, being faced by a bright, young adult entering a economically and socially depressed world.

8.The Red Riding Trilogy,
The Red Riding Trilogy is indeed three films, but needs to be taken as one bruising, atmospheric experience. A series of fictionalized films detailing the real life story of the Yorkshire Ripper, who terrorized Nothern England for over a decade, Red Riding is as close to neo-noir as we can get. I walked out of the theater after six hours of cinema exhausted, tired, but ultimately exhilarated by the experience.

9.The Social Network
By now, David Fincher and Aaron Sorkin's take on the founding of facebook has already won major awards, and for good reason. It is a tightly controlled, incredibly well crafted and acted film. The script is wonderful, and the score by Atticus Ross and Trent Reznor is the score of the year. The Social Network breezes past it's reputation as 'the facebook movie' and becomes a fascinating examination of friendship, betrayal, and boasts one of the more interesting characters of the year (Eisenberg, in a remarkable performance as Zuckerberg). While I'm not sure this is the best film of the year, and nowhere near Fincher's crowning achievement (Zodiac), it's a great film, and deserving of it's reputation.

10.True Grit
True Grit is the most recent of the 2010 prestige films I've had a chance to see, but it made an impression, mostly due to it's fantastic characterization and writing, but also due to (always by the Coens) impeccable production design and cinematography (Richard Deakens, arguably one of the best in the business). A very strong and enjoyable western, one of the simplest films the Coens have made.


Notable mentions:
Exit Through the Gift Shop - Banksy's documentary is a great critique on modern art, and a great prank (maybe) of a film.

Enter the Void - a technical and provocative masterpiece, and one absolutely worth seeing, but marred by weak acting and scripting. Still, Gasper Noe remains one of cinema's most important voices.

Alles Anderen (Everyone Else) - Maren Ade's exploration of the break up of a young couple in Sardinia is European cinema at it's finest.

A Prophet - Jacques Audiard story of a young Muslim man rising through the ranks of a Corsican controlled French prison is epic and powerful.

The American - Anton Corbijn's follow up to his film Control is an atmospheric slow burn of a thriller. Clooney does some of his best 'anti-Clooney' work, and the final twenty minutes are as suspenseful as films get.

SPECIAL MENTION:
Police, Adjective - Police, Adjective came out the waning days of 2009, and I didn't see it until this year. As I didn't do a 2009 list, I wanted to give it a special mention here.
Romanian cinema (or the Romanian New Wave, as it is often called) is being recognized all over the world for it's human stories, simple aesthetic, and political/social relevance.
Police, Adjective is the best of the New Wave so far. A study of a police officer tailing a group of pot-smoking kids in a small Romanian town, Corneliu Poromboiu's film is a masterwork of language and pacing. The final, 15 minute scene (played out in one hardly moving shot) is a stunner. Had this been a 2010 release, it would have been my number 1.

Black Swan

Black Swan


Director: Darren Aronofsky

Venue: Regal Union Square Cinema. Digital Projection


In the list of filmmakers whose work I anticipate with every project, Darren Aronofsky figures high. His debut, Pi, is a mesmerizing, powerful piece of cinema. The follow-up, Requiem for a Dream, was a truly disturbing film. But since then, Aronofosky has yet to fulfill the promise of those two films. While I admired it's ambition, The Fountain suffered from a weak central performance, too short a running time, and a pretentious tone. The Wrestler amounted to very little in my opinion, save some great Aronofosky gore and a compelling (if somewhat overrated) performance from Mickey Rourke.

It was for these reasons that I approached Black Swan with some degree of trepidation. While it looked fascinating and compelling, I couldn't help but wonder if Aronofsky was able to pull it off. I'm happy to report that he does. Aronofsky's film is overblown, ridiculous, hypnotic, one of the best films of the year, and easily his best since Pi.

Black Swan is the story of Nina Sayers (Natalie Portman), a aging but still childish ballerina with the Lincoln Center ballet. A 4-year veteran, Nina has yet to have her big moment. This opportunity presents itself when aging star Beth Macintyre (Wynona Ryder, playing wonderfully against type) is forced to leave the company by artistic director Thomas Leroy (Vincent Cassel, effective and unlikeable). Leroy has decided to begin the season with a 're-imagining' of the classic Swan Lake, and is looking for a dance capable of playing both the innocent white swan, and her darker counterpart black swan. In what is one of the film's funnier moments, Nina convinces Thomas she is up to the role.

But there is something going on with Nina. The skin around her shoulders is blistering. She is seeing herself everywhere, including in the company's newest dancer, Lily (Mila Kunis, doing great work), who is the opposite of Nina in every way. Her mother seems unwilling to allow her a social life, and there are mentions of self- mutilation and cutting. When all of this comes to a forefront, Nina begins to change.

Thematically and storywise, Aronofsky isn't breaking any new ground. We've seen this before, and if we know the story of Swan Lake, it's very clear where this is going. It's the approach and vision that make this film such a show stopper. Aronofsky's character's are always ones of great ambition, and they are always a reflection of him. He isn't afraid to pull out all the stops in order to achieve what he wants. This is fully on display in Swan, which is a technical masterpiece. The cinematography, sound, and production design are incredible. Every inch of this film is realized, and corresponds to Aronofsky's vision. It is one of the most vividly directed films of the year. At times, it goes too far with it's surrealistic touches and horror (in addition to being one of the best films this year, it's also one of the least subtle. It is a credit to the entire team that this lack of subtlety doesn't ruin the film), but it is this kind of balls to the wall, unhinged filmmaking that we rarely seen anymore. There are moments that take us back to the films of Bergman, and of David Lynch as well. It is an impressive achievement, technically and artistically.

None of this would be possible without good performances, and here is where we come to Natalie Portman, who absolutely owns this film (she is rarely not on screen). It is a large, expressive performance that runs across the spectrum, but is most effective in it's few quieter moments (a early on phone conversation in a bathroom stall is moving and beautiful). Able support is provided by Cassel, Kunis, and Barbara Hershey, as Nina's mother.

Black Swan is an incredible work, a film of such passion and force that occasionally it's unclear what response it wants from us, but I can't find fault with it for that. Aronofsky has absolutely pushed his ideas and vision to the limit, and it's a breathtaking thing to see.

4/4

The Killer Inside Me

The Killer Inside Me.


Director: Michael Winterbottom.


Venue: IFC Center, 323 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York. Theater 1
Date: June 20, 2010


Few titles have been higher on my list of 'Must-Sees' in 2010 than The Killer Inside Me. Based upon the infamous 1952 book by Jim Thompson, and boasting Casey Affleck as gentleman/sociopath Lou Ford and the versatile directing talents of Brit Michael Winterbottom (A Cock and Bull Story, Welcome to Sarajevo), my hope was that this film would be the highlight of the year so far. In that regard, it disappoints, but it is not without its merits.

Killer tells the story of Lou Ford, a 29 year old deputy sheriff doing his duty in the small West Texas town of Central City. One day, Lou is told by sheriff Bob Maples (excellent character actor Tom Bower) to go put a little pressure on prostitute Joyce Lakeland (an unexpected Jessica Alba, who doesn't really have the chops for the role) to leave town. When Ford arrives, Joyce becomes irate, and hits him repeatedly. At first resisting his impulses, eventually Ford pins her, removes his belt, and begins beating her backside. Joyce likes it. What begins as violent assault results in sex.
So begins a love affair, which results in the blackmail of Joyce's former lover Elmer Conway, whose father is local (corrupt) building magnate Conway (Veteran, brilliant Ned Beatty). Eventually, Joyce ends up dead, beaten savagely by Lou, who is revealed to be a ruthless and sadistic killer. From there on, the film falls into place as a film noir, with Lou trying to cover up his crime and his mistakes until one violent act leads to another, and often for reasons which are unclear.

That's the biggest problem with Winterbottom's take on Thompson classic novel, which is admired both for it's plotting and it's development of a truly disturbed individual. The director seems to be aiming for the latter much more than the former. In his quest to create a distinctive character in Lou, Winterbottom has lost command of his narrative. Events fly by without fitting into a comprehensible package. Characters appear and reappear, and their motives don't become clear (this is particularly true of Elias Koteas' turn as Joe Rothman - a fine performance, but the character's reasons for being in the film are woefully unclear until too much late). The narrative whizzes along, but the scenes themselves often feel long and languid, which creates a vacuum within the film. Winterbottom doesn't seem too concerned with building any tension or suspense, and the film's climatic scenes thus have little to no weight. It feels as though he hoped the story could take care of itself, while he and Affleck could create a monster.

And what a monster they've created. Affleck, so good in The Assassination of Jesse James..., builds upon his work on that film and has created something incredible here. His Lou Ford is a mesmerizing piece of acting. He creates a character that, to the film's audience, is terrifying, puzzling, and simultaneously naive and knowing - he's dangerous. However, to those around him ignorant to his true nature, Ford comes across as well-meaning, gentlemanly, and helpful. It's astounding.

So is the production. The 35mm cinematography is beautiful and crisp, and the production design is authentic to a fault. This IS Texas in 1958, no question. Everything, from image to sound to dialects, is top notch.

It should be noted that Killer contains extreme violence, particularly in an early sequence when Lou beats Joyce to death. Winterbottom has not spared his audience at all, and the effect is excruciating and horrible. We see, hear, and feel every blow. At times it feels questionable, but it is also something that sets the film apart from other films which deal with violence. Here, it doesn't feel like a cheap thrill, but rather an extension of a sick man's psyche. Likewise, the connection between sex and violence plays an important role in Killer, and, to Winterbottom's credit, he manages to make the (fairly violent) sex both arousing and troubling. It's rare to see that contradiction played out on screen, but it's done so effectively here.

In the end, Killer is a much more viscerally effective film and portrait than it is a thriller. It's sights and sounds are alluring and disturbing, while it's story suffers. Winterbottom is more interested in the world that these characters inhabit than he is the things that drive them, which makes for a unique, if flawed, experience.

3/5

Shutter Island

Shutter Island

Director: Martin Scorsese

Venue: AMC 34 Street
Review Date: March 5, 2010

Martin Scorsese was, arguably, the greatest filmmaker America had ever produced until the early nineties when Goodfellas arrived. While a great movie, it lacked the fiercely personal point of view that has defined Scorsese's best work (After Hours, Taxi Driver, Mean Streets). Since losing the Oscar that year to the far less deserving Dances With Wolves, he has increasingly made highly conventional, albeit technically accomplished, films. Finally, in 2006, Scorsese was awarded the best director for The Departed, a high energy, substance less riff on the Hong Kong film Infernal Affairs. It was the least personal film Scorsese had ever made. Now, he's back with Shutter Island, another Boston set thriller filled with technical mastery, occasionally dazzling sequences, and only slightly higher level of resonance than The Departed.

The films opens on the deepest fog seen since Hitchcock made thrillers in the 50s and 60s. (Appropriate, as Scorsese spends about 75% of the film's run time paying homage to films better than this). From this fog emerges a boat pulling out of Boston harbor. On board are state troopers Teddy Daniels (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his new partner Chuck Aule (a woefully miscast Mark Ruffalo. It's hard to see such a talented actor doing work that just wasn't meant for him). Both are veterans of World War II, and both show it in their every mannerism, Daniels in particular. Tragedy, both large and small, has informed this man's life, and his permanent scowl and temper make it clear he hasn't quite gotten past it. The two are headed for Shutter Island, which houses a new age treatment center for the disturbed and criminally insane, in search of escaped patient Rachel Solando. The facility, run by the sinister Dr. Cawley (Ben Kingsley) and Dr. Naehring (Max Von Sydow, in a inspired bit of casting - he's fantastic, despite his limited screen time). Cawley's philosophy on the treatment of the mentally ill is decidedly modern for the time, but Naehring's slight German accent instantly makes Daniels suspicious.
As Daniels and Aule begin their investigation, and the pounding storm heading for the island grows stronger, they quickly begin to sense that everything is not as it seems on Shutter Island. How did Solando escape from a room with one exit and a barred window? What kind of experiments are being conducted at the hospital, and what is happening in Ward C?

Shutter Island's biggest weakness may be Scorsese and Co's inability, or perhaps unwillingness, to push beyond genre. The character of Teddy Daniels is by far the most interesting protagonist Scorsese has attempted to create in a long time, but DiCaprio is not up to snuff. Daniels has an everyman quality that DiCaprio does not. He is too technical and self-aware to create an all encompassing character. We are too aware of DiCaprio the actor. The decision to make Daniels a World War II veteran is one of the best elements taken from 50's noir, as World War II had a definitive role in the creation of the noir genre. These characters are meant to represent the disillusionment of the era, which, if explored further, could have been a great thematic element to the film. Likewise, the constant reference to Daniels as a 'man of violence' is something Scorsese has explored beautifully in the past, and could have done so here, especially in the context of noir. Unfortunately, Scorsese and screenwriter Laeta Kalogridis chooses instead to prolong the inevitable, albeit obvious, 'stunning' conclusion with cliche twists and turns. For those paying attention, the ending of the film becomes fairly clear about 90 minutes in. As a result, the film suffers from a lack of suspense, and only an occasional jump (a scene taking place at a graveyard during the storm is particularly effective). Scorsese comes close to an exploration of psyche, but drops it in favor of a dot connecting story. It's disappointing to say the least.

That isn't to say the film is a complete waste.It is, as expected, a technical knockout. The cinematography by Robert Richardson (whose work on Inglourious Basterds was probably the most beautiful lens work of last year) is exquisite, and filled with flourishes that enhance the many moods and feelings the film is meant to evoke. Dante Ferritti's production design is dead-on. Everything about the film visually and aurally is masterful. Additionally, there are some show-stopping set pieces. The one-shot execution of several soldiers is downright eerie, and an early flashback featuring Daniel's mysterious wife (Michelle Williams, given little to do) really sticks. Likewise, the film's concluding moments has an emotional heft that nearly achieves greatness, had it not been for the plodding and cliche story leading up to it. There are images here that will stick in your mind. Unfortunately, the film itself won't.

Some of the greatest filmmakers of all time have been exceptional at genre work. Scorsese's powers of deep expressionism, questionable protagonists, and powerful treatment of violence should have put him on this list. Unfortunately, he gets so caught up in creating atmosphere that he loses his hold on the characters, themes, and story. The film is, at best, a pastiche of better films. It has very little to call it's own, which is a great disappointment for it's maker after a career spent defining American cinema.

2.5/5