Things to Learn from the MIFF Critics Poll

After all the films and fun of the 60th Melbourne International Film Festival - yes, we're still discussing it! I should hope that the 60+ films I saw shouldn't be immediately deemed "old news" less than a week later - was over, a bunch of us filmy criticy folks submitted grades for every film we watched into a critics poll being hosted by At the Cinema.net. It's a fascinating look at how people respond to certain films and fail to connect with others. Most of the films at the very top of the poll receive unanimous acclaim while, likewise, the bottom rungs of the chart are almost universally negative.



I've included the feature poll here, but click over to this link to see what we all thought of the documentaries and shorts that screened.





Click for documentaries

Click for short films

Of the films that had several grades attributed to them, I can deduce the following facts:

• I am the sole representative to give 5 stars to Lena Dunham's Tiny Furniture and the only one to give Markus Schleinzer's Michael 1 star out of 5.
• I appear to be in the minority on Jon Hewitt's X (4 stars from me; average of 2.33/5) and Markus Schleinzer's Michael (1 star from me; average of 3/5).
• Werner Herzog's highly anticipated 3D documentary Cave of the Forgotten Dreams must surely take the title of the festival's biggest disappointment, scoring an average of 2.40 out of five. It was certainly the film that, for me, had the greatest discrepancy between levels of anticipation and end results.
• The King of Comedy, Martin Scorsese's 1983 satire masterpiece, was the festival's best-received title. Who cares that it was a retrospective title when it's able to amass eight 5-star raves from the nine critics who saw it? After The King of Comedy it was a three-way tie between A Separation, Senna and Melancholia, which all received six 5-star raves from the critics polled.
• Of the critics polled, I was the only one to see Ruhr, the Melbourne shorts programs, French child fable On the Sly, African drama Sleeping Sickness and French animation Tales of the Night.
• Three films managed 1 star from three separate critics: Norwegian Wood, Post Mortem and my personal choice for worst of the fest, Innocent Saturday. Another diabolically bad film, Greek import Wasted Youth, ranked equal last with two critics polling it with 1 star. I note that I know of at least one of the other critics here who ditched their later screening of Wasted Young based on the reception greeted to it.
• The lowest ranked film from the most amount of votes was another Greek film, Attenberg. Averaging a score of 3.0/5 from 12 critics.

MIFF Blogathon: Day 16 & 17 (Driving to Page One with Sushi & Attenberg)

This blogathon is an initiative of MIFF for their 60th anniversary year. I am one of six bloggers given the mission of seeing 60 films in 17 days and writing, reporting, reviewing and wrangling my way through the tiredness and hunger to bring the festival experience to your computer.

Page One: Inside the New York Times

Dir. Andrew Rossi

Running Time: 88mins

Unfortunately I had to leave this screening of Andrew Rossi's year inside the news offices of the "paper of record" The New York Times due to an emergency (er, an emergency known as "needing to earn money"), but I have a screener on the way so I'll be able to properly assess then. However, from what I did see I found Page One: Inside the New York Times to be a rather unfocused and haphazardly pieced together documentary.



It's a fascinating topic, and for a New York tragic like myself there should've been plenty to interest me, but it lacks a solid backbone. There are several different movies in Page One: a look at the Wikileaks scandal as seen through the eyes a newsroom; a documentary biopic of an acclaimed writer (David Carr) whose life is much like a film script; an investigation on the dying form known as the hardcopy newspaper and the way technology has both hurt and saved journalism. Unfortunately, instead of simply focusing on one, Rossi chooses a free-flowing structure and never settles. The Wikileaks issue is raised early on and then forgotten, while one scene sees many seasoned journalists being made redundant and either being fired or retiring and yet it never packs much of a punch because we haven't been given enough time to get to know these people. I won't grade it just yet, but will return to it once I've seen the entire film.

Drive

Dir. Nicolas Winding Refn

Running Time: 100mins

I'm going to review this film with a much larger word length sometimes in the future (probably once I've seen it for a second time), but I feel like I need to just say this: Drive is perfect. An excellent choice (however secondary it was after the initial selection, Red Dog, had to be swapped) for a closing night film as it races right to the heart and injects it full of adrenalin and noir-tinged style. It's stylish, cool and gorgeously rendered as it pulsates to that stunning electro synth score by Cliff Martinez and pieces with Los Angeles photography that is the best since Collateral in 2003.



Nicolas Winding Refn is a director that has never particularly been on my radar. Bronson never appealed to me and I wasn't even aware of his Pusher trilogy, but now I think it's an absolute must to catch up with them if they are at all even half as good as Drive. This film is like some wild mix of David Lynch's Mulholland Drive, William Friedkin's To Live and Die in LA (hello Wang Chung!), Ridley Scott's Blade Runner (those night time sequences!) and Martin Scorsese's Taxi Driver. And yet, thankfully, it feels like entirely its own film and never succumbs to mere copycat filmmaking or obvious homage. I'm lucky if I find just one movie a year to make me feel so giddy that I want to dance. And dance I did. A+

Attenberg

Dir. Athina Rachel Tsangari

Running Time: 95mins

You know what? I think I would've been absolutely as perplexed by Athina Rachel Tsangari's Attenberg no matter what the circumstances. That I saw it on a dreary-eyed Sunday morning after the "closing night" festivities of the night before and was battling a debilitating hangover (and brain-draining embarrassment) surely did not help matters. Was I just on the wrong wavelength to the crowd, who seemed the be laughing with startling frequency? Or am I just on the wrong wavelength to Greek cinema altogether? Ever since I saw Dogtooth two years ago at MIFF I haven't come across a Greek I've liked! Hmmm.



Starring Venice Best Actress winner Ariane Labed as a - here are those words again! - socially awkward young adult named Marina. She asks her dad inappropriate questions about sex, imitates animals that she sees on David Attenborough documentaries and does kooky dances with her friend, Bella (played by Evangelia Randou). The idea of quirk for quirk's sake surely went through my mind when thinking about Attenberg, since there are multiple scenes that feel as if they are there simply to be weird, but which I will surely be told actually, in fact, "mean something". Yeah, okay, whatever, but when a character (played by Dogtooth director Giorgos Lanthimos!) tells the lead that she is annoying and that he'd like her to shut up you're kinda bringing this rating on yourself. C-

Clay

Dir. Giorgio Mangiamele

Running Time: 85mins

Recently restored and looking stunning, this is the first film by Mangiamele that I have seen. He was a prolific filmmaker "in his day" and this 1965 drama about a man on the run from the law is certainly "of its day". Filmed in incredible black and white, Clay follows the small number of members of an artist's commune in the Victorian countryside who take in a stranger, knowing nothing of his past. He falls for the girl, she falls for him, but the other pointy end of a love triangle has other plans.



To say Clay is dated in its acting and writing style is be kind. The actors here are certainly a curious bunch, often looking bored or confused. The dialogue they have to speak isn't much better as Jean Lebedew's Margot narrates in excessive and increasingly long-winded platitudes about life and stuff ("life and stuff" is as much as I could gather) and speaks in slow, breathy whimpers when she's not laughing hysterically in the irritating manner that she does. George Dixon and Chris Tsalikis both have the "strong, silent type" routine to a tee, but it could also be confused with "strong, silent, seriously this is my first time acting!" (which it was). Gorgeous to look at, but where other old films' classic filmmaking methods still ring true, Clay's are stilted and hard to push through. C+

Jiro Dreams of Sushi

Dir. David Gelb

Running Time: 81mins

As refreshing, elegant and deceptively simply as the food it so exquisitely documents, Jiro Dreams of Sushi is a delectable and mouthwatering Japanese documentary that explores the life of famed sushi master Jiro Ono and his 10-seat, yet 3 Michelin Star-ed, restaurant. David Gelb's gorgeous film is as much an ode to the Japanese cuisine as it is Jiro Ono, but Ono is such a delightful presence that it's nigh on impossible to not be charmed by the man. Same goes for his several employees and former apprentices who reel off humourous tales of their experiences working alongside this intimidated pint-sized man.



A lot of the film's success must be placed at the feet of editor Brandon Driscoll-Luttringer who keeps the film to a brief running time and superbly placed. Jiro Dreams of Sushi is such a narrow subject that the editing must be fiercely blunt in order to make sure the film doesn't get bogged down in repetitive nothingness. Unnecessary? Get rid of it! As a piece of "food porn" Gelb's documentary certainly passes the grade with the cinematography framing the neatly packaged bite-sized morsels in such a saintly light that everyone viewing the film will crave sushi afterwards.





What really makes Jiro Dreams of Sushi such an exceptional slice of filmmaking, however, is the rather melancholic way it presents the life of Ono's eldest son. Being the older of two means that he is the one to take over the business, but what is he to do with, at 85 years of age, Jiro shows no sign of slowing down? Has his father's success and subsequent shadow prevented Takashi from living the life he wanted to live or are the seemingly still rigid Japanese cultural norms to blame for stunting Takeshi's life from taking a different path that it is hinted Takeshi wishes he had taken? Either way, Jiro Dreams of Sushi is a rather exceptional documentary and one that will make you think twice about how much work went into that California Roll you snack on at lunch. A-



MIFF TALES

The MIFF "closing night" festivities certainly were a roller-coaster. Starting off with meeting the one and only David Stratton - for all you non-antipodeans out there, David Stratton is Australia's answer to Roger Ebert - who, let's face it, didn't particularly care to be talking with a bunch of no-name critics such as myself and fellow blogathon partners. Nevertheless, we got a Lars von Trier rant out of him (he famously hates the man and gave Dancer in the Dark 0 stars whilst his TV show reviewing partner Margaret Pomeranz gave it 5) and that's pretty much the greatest thing ever. For the record, Stratton is a fan of the start and the end of Melancholia, but thinks the rest is rubbish. So that's that then.



After that as well as a brief tasting of truffle-infused popcorn (hint: it tastes just like regular popcorn, but with the aftertaste of money) we were filed into cinema 5 at the Greater Union on Russell Street to watch Nicolas Winding Refn's Drive. As uncomfortable as it is to be in the GU in general, let alone whilst wearing a suit and tie, the film was - as you've surely figured - brilliant and a work of genius. We later found out that the festival's director, Michelle Carey, thanked us bloggers in her speech. I saw "later found out" because, lo and behold, we were not in the much larger cinema 6. Oh sure, I got to sit right in front of Wolf Creek director Greg McLean (obviously a late RSVP or else he'd be over in cinema 6, I'm sure), but I find it somewhat ironic that we got shafted to the lesser cinema whilst people across the way who'd probably barely even seen one or two films got awards and nice speeches and Drive exhibited on a screen double the size. Crikey blogathon member Luke Buckmaster has a much more acid-tongued response the whole situation.





The closing night party was glorious, apart from the rather embarrassing Gosling clones out the front who were wearing the wrong costume and chewing on toothpicks with all the coolness of Kathy Bates. While the night was filled with amazing '80s tunes, fabulous dancing and incredible people, it ended on a truly bizarre note that I shall not go into on here. Honestly, I never could have predicted the direction that night took me on and even though I had a sore head in the morning (and sore ego/bank account) I guess it was all worth it. Yeah? Any night where I get to dance crazy Kate Bush dance moves mere minutes after discussing the inherent sexiness to be found in Timothy Olyphant with a knife (something Jason at My New Plaid Pants certainly agrees with) is a-okay by me!



I will be doing one or two more MIFF pieces to bring this crazy blogathon to a close. I will rank all the films I saw, hand out my own awards and give all the required thank yous. Hopefully we'll be back on regular programming once that's all done and dusted.

Movies Don't Create Psychos, Movies Make Psychos More Creative

An image from I Saw the Devil, to which I couldn't help but think of you know what!

I had heard a lot of buzz about Jee-woon Kim's I Saw the Devil [Akmareul boatda] so I thought I would give it a spin in the DVD player (it went direct-to-DVD here in Australia) despite my general ambivalence towards ultra violent East Asian cinema that isn't Sympathy for Lady Vengeance. Despite an opening that is fantastically staged and scary, a great lead performance by Byung-hun Lee and some truly expert fight choreography, I found the movie to be nothing all too special. It's not as painfully ugly as Oldboy - yes, a contentious opinion to hold - although there's potentially an interesting discussion to be had about Choi Min-sik starring as the wronged man in Oldboy and now, in Devil, the man doing the wrongs and the way a past injustice can turn a man into a "devil". In fact, Choi's sadistic serial killer could have easily been the same character that he played in Oldboy if, you know, he still had a tongue.

Still, all of that would be reaching as I found I Saw the Devil to be like so many others. Nothing particularly new being said here as far as I could tell, but maybe those who like Oldboy can spot the social commentary.

My knowledge of this genre of film is admitted quite limited and I never did complete Chan-wook Park's revenge trilogy with Sympathy for Mr Vengeance; perhaps I figured it was a gender thing and just preferred the nihilism when there's a woman at the front? And before you start going all Freudian on me, I would say that that has more to do with my actressexual leanings than anything else. Anyway, I Saw the Devil? C. The Poster (to the right)? Still an A, even though I liked it more when I thought I Saw the Devil was a horror movie :/

Rubbing the Wrong Way

Quentin Dupieux's telekinetic car tyre movie Rubber was one title I was very eager to see after last year's MIFF. Unfortunately I missed it due to bad scheduling (on behalf of the festival and myself), but having just watched it thanks to Madmen's DVD release I can comfortably say I didn't miss a thing. In fact, after 40 minutes of watching it I went to Twitter and labelled it "unwatchable" before going to bed.

Returning to it today and it was pretty much just as bad as it was last night. It holds no water at all, in one ear out the other, and amounts to noting more than an overly extended Tropfest winner. It probably would have made a very entertaining Tropfest winner, too, but as a feature film it's 80 minutes of blah.


"In the Steven Spielberg movie E.T. why is the alien brown? No reason.
In Love Story why do the two characters fall madly in love with each other? No reason.
In Oliver Stone's JFK why is the President suddenly assassinated by some stranger? No reason.
In The Excellent Chain Saw Massacre [sic] by Tobe Hooper why don't we ever see the characters go to the bathroom? Or wash their hands like people do in real life? Absolutely no reason.
Worse, in The Pianist by Polanski how come this guy has to hide and live like a bum when he plays the piano so well? Once again the answer is no reason.
...
All great films contain some element of no reason."
With this introduction, writer/director Quentin Dupieux waves his magic wand and gives himself carte blanch to do whatever the hell he wants with no rhyme or reason whatsoever. 'It's the point, stupid!' This dialogue sounds like it was written by a 13-year-old who was eager to prove he knew a lot about movies by citing some famous movies and their directors (except, quite tellingly, Arthur Hiller who I guess doesn't have the same arty cache as Roman Polanski or Oliver Stone). Instead, he just comes off looking silly and more than a little childish. It's not like mainstream audiences are going to be watching Rubber anyway, so why not take inspiration from that other directing Quentin and cite some more esoteric titles?

This scene, a prologue of sorts, sets up the film in the wrong manner from the get go, anyway. Without it I may have been able to accept Rubber as just some sort of bizarre, prosaic stoner film, but by deliberately trying to give it a point of not having a point makes the whole thing a rather useless viewing experience. Dupieux is just making a movie with no point, and what's the point of that? There are movies that have free-flowing forms with little to no plot at all that still feel like more vital, energetic and importantly necessary, like they were born out of the directors need to tell that story, than Rubber. There's no need to think "what is he trying to do here?" because he admitted right up front that his movie is about nothing. And not in a humourous "it's a show about nothing" kind of way that is actually about something. It's just... there. A car tyre awakens by itself for some reason, it does some stuff and then the movie ends. Nothing to think about or enjoy here; It's just slow, repetitious and dull


It doesn't even have a deranged edge to it, with Dupieux - acting as cinematographer and editor - choosing to film it in a very chilly, straight-forward manner. It's easy to follow and boring when it should be messy and kinetically insane. It does have great visual effects, make-up and a wonderful pulsating music score by "Mr Oizo" and Gaspard Augé, but they can't save the film from being anything other than a director trying to cynically make a "hip" movie to get himself on the scene - something made all the more obvious by Dupieux's decision to film in English and set it in America, despite being a French filmmaker using French money - without having anything to actually say or anything interesting to show. D-

The A-Z of IDAHO

Today is IDAHO - International Day Against Homophobia and Transphobia, don't ask me why they changed T and O in the acronym, okay? - and it's such a valuable day that will sadly no unrecognised in mainstream media. Tell that gay man or woman in your life, or the transgendered friend or family member, that they're important and valued.

Living in Australia right now can be quite sad for GLBT people since we have a Prime Minister and an opposition leader who seem to be battling each other to make the most homophobic statements possible. Hell, our PM is an athiest who "lives in sin" with her boyfriend, and yet she comes out saying that she doesn't believe in gay marriage because Australia has deep Christian roots. To Prime Minister Gillard I say "fuck off!"

I don't really have much to say on the matter because, well, I talk about gay issues quite a lot. Instead of making you read a whole lot of blather about what it means to be gay, I have collected a bunch of film trailers for films that deal with GLBT issues and that have personally affected me in some way. Some of these movies are tough and tragic, others are sweet and magic. So, just like the real world, I suppose. I recommend all of them and if you haven't sought out much in the way of gay cinema then I suggest you avoid the lame comedies that fill the "specialty interest" section of your local DVD retailer (Another Gay Movie, The Fluffer, Eating Out 7), but instead look at some of the daring, groundbreaking, thrilling, funny, touching and wonderfully made movies that have been made by some fabulous talent. The films below aren't necessarily my favourites, but they are great films, some of which don't get discussed enough in this world where A Single Man is the new go-to movie for gay cinema watchers.


The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert | Bear Cub


The Celluloid Closet | The Deep End


The Edge of Seventeen | Far from Heaven


Gypsy '83 | Heartbeats


I'm the One that I Want | Just a Question of Love


Kaboom! | Last Exit to Brooklyn


My Beautiful Laundrette | Newcastle


Orlando | Paris is Burning


Querelle | The Rocky Horror Picture Show


Shortbus | The Times of Harvey Milk


Urbania | Velvet Goldmine


Welcome to the Dollhouse | X2


Yossi & Jagger | Zus & Zo

Review: 18 Meals

18 Meals
Dir. Jorge Coira
Year: 2011
Aus Rating: N/A
Running Time: 101mins

Food, glorious food! Some of the most sumptuous and involving films revolve around that most common of acts: eating. From Babette’s Feast to Eat Drink Man Woman; from Mostly Martha to Like Water for Chocolate, food has provided the backbone to so many great films from around the globe and now comes 18 Meals (18 comidas) from Spain, an omnibus film of criss-crossing stories divided into three segments; breakfast, lunch and dinner. Like most films of its kind, there are some story strands that rise higher than others, but Jorge Coira’s debut feature, shot over nine days in Santiago de Compostela, surely has enough tasty portions to please audiences.

Read the rest at the Spanish Film Festival Blog

Review: Kidnapped

Horror is perhaps the one genre of cinema that is capable of crossing all borders. What’s funny in Australia won’t necessarily translate to what’s funny in Russia, nor will a Bollywood title necessarily translate to international audiences, either. However, what is scary remains scary no matter what language you speak. Various parts of the world have their very specific niches within the horror genre – think Asia and their “scary ghost girls” – but from The Strangers (America) to Them (France), from Black Christmas (Canada) to Funny Games (Austria), the terror of a late night home invasion by deranged lunatics is a story that hits viewers, pardon the pun, where they live.

Read the rest at the Spanish Film Festival Blog
Yes, I managed to get a Scream 4 reference in there. So proud of myself.

Mother's Heartbeat

I'd meant to write about these films much earlier into their season at ACMI, but life got in the way and I just got around to watching them.

I had heard quite a bit about Xavier Dolan, whose short career - two films within two years is impressive, especially when many newcomer directors in Australia can find lapses of ten years or more between features (and they're made on sub-$1mil budgets, too!) - but I was typically cynical. A 22-year-old who wears thick-rimmed glasses, has hipster hair and makes films inspired by French New Wave? These were just ingredients for a maddeningly precocious filmmaker with a heightened sense of himself.


Mere minutes into his debut feature I Killed My Mother my guard was let down, and eventually eradicated altogether. Furthermore, by the end of Heartbeats I felt positively feverish in my adoration of the man. How is it that this 22-year-old has been able to write, direct, star in and procure financing for two films of such carefully constructed beauty? It's curious though, because each of his two films have similar strengths and weaknesses, and yet they don't feel like the work of a one trick pony filmmaker. I Killed My Mother and Heartbeats have such different rhythms and styles, yet are distinctly similar. Like the work of Pedro Almodovar, whose early work was never this polished (more a sign of the times, I suggest), they are easily seen as the work of the same man, but a man who hopefully has enough tricks up his sleeve to forge a career in this cruel business. That his films are only 90 minutes is the cherry on the cake!

I Killed My Mother is both the weaker and the stronger of the pair. It's perhaps too shrill - the screaming matches between Dolan's "Hubert" and Anne Dorvel's "Chantale" that punctuate the film are it's core, but take some time to adjust to - and travels around in thematic circles, but Dolan shows such strength behind and in front of the camera that it's easy to forget and just watch. He does such interesting things with cinematography and editing, plus I especially adored the specific attention he played to the costuming of his characters. Who can't identity with the embarrassment that Hubert feels whenever his mother parades around in one of her new "sexy" outfits or shows up at his school looking like an extra from Doctor Zhivago?

However, the moment where I thought that this guy was for real was the scene in which Dolan and Niels Schneider kiss in a neon-heavy nightclub, in slow motion, to the soothing guitar plucks and cooing vocals of Crystal Castles' "Tell Me What to Swallow". It's a truly stunning combination of visuals and music that proves to be one of the most heartbreaking moments I've seen for quite some time. Dolan attempts to do this again in Heartbeats as two friends watch their wannabe lover dance at a party, but it doesn't work to quite the same effect.


I Killed My Mother (with Crystal Castles) | Heartbeats (with The Knife)
Heartbeats, Dolan's second film, is a much more typical film - I could see it finding a far wider audience that Mother - but never less than the vision of a filmmaker that knows his craft. Obviously taking inspiration this time from the French New Wave (there is no bicycle seat, however) as well as Wong Kar-Wai, Dolan's second feature is a love triangle except the love isn't actually there. Funnily enough, I thought of that line before discovering that Heartbeats' original title translates as "Love, Imagined". Such a better title than the shrug of an English "translation" it currently has.

Still, Dolan does quite magical things with the craft here. Again, I loved the intricate details he made with the costume design and, this time, the production design. I can feel the time and thought that goes into each and every dud a character wears, but I really loved Heartbeats' choice of sets. Whether it be the cool cafe hang-outs of its young twentysomething characters or the personalised apartments they live in with specific markings on the wall and pain ripped off in telltale parts. It's fascinating to watch and see the thinking behind it all.

I was particularly impressed by the resolution of Heartbeats, since it said something both honestly devastating (the way people almost feel like they're begging for their crush to feel the same away about them as they do) and yet humourously cruel (that final scene!) Much like the circles his first film went in, Dolan curiously inserts footage of interview subjects being asked questions about past relationships that never quite work. While there is some particularly spot on dialogue in these scenes, they feel superfluous and like something telegraphed from a different film altogether. If there's an over-reliance on slow motion then, well, at least it's done better here than in anything Zach Snyder's laid his grubby little hands on in the last few years.

Still, with these two superb films Xavier Dolan (and not Caviar as my autocorrect was trying to tell me) he has instantly become a filmmaker to crave the next outting of. It's particularly nice to see an openly gay filmmaker and actor write very gay-oriented parts that don't call attention to themselves. These two films should very quickly become important and popular films amongst GLBT film watchers. They are cinematic as well as entertaining and thought-provoking with glorious acting (for all the praise I've given him, I haven't even mentioned how great of an actor he is!), technical aspects and truthful dialogue. Dolan kinda gets it; he gets how people talk, react, dress, groom, style themselves, interact and live, and it's nice to have a young filmmaker who is out there who does. Plus, the fact that he acts in his own movies and looks like this? Bonus!

I Killed My Mother and Heartbeats are still screening exclusively at ACMI in Melbourne until May 1.

Review: In a Better World

Danish director Susanne Bier has rightfully claimed a place as one of the best and most important voices of international cinema. She has collaborated with Lars von Trier and Benicio del Toro, had films remade by Hollywood (Brothers), been nomination for two Academy Awards, winning this past February for this sober, but compelling, examination on violence and family. In a Better World may be one of the most old-fashioned pieces of filmmaking you’ll see this year, but that doesn’t make it any less fascinating as it wields a dramatic left-hook to the gut.

Read the rest at Trespass Magazine

The Will to Live?

At first I thought White Irish Drinkers was the tagline that had 2011 all wrapped up for pure dopiness - "Blood is Thicker than Brooklyn"? Really? - but, then I saw this poster for upcoming Oscar-nominee Incendies. It's just so freakin' stupid!


"THE SEARCH BEGAN
AT THE OPENING OF
THEIR MOTHER'S WILL.
Add to that a boring central image and is this poster not just one of the most deathly dull pieces of key art you've seen in ages? "Ooh, a movie about a will! That'll be thrilling cinema, no?"

When the Dogtooth Falls Out

As you may or may not recall - all depending on how long you have been reading this blog - I saw Giorgos Lanthimos' Dogtooth at the Melbourne International Film Festival in 2009. I did not like it and walked out at around the 50-minute mark. I had been battling a particularly deranged variation of the flu (I maintain it was swine!) at the time, so I decided to pack up my belongings, go home and sleep. I've never second-guessed myself or regretted it, but my interest was recently piqued again by the film's Oscar nomination. Dogtooth received a local DVD release at last in mid-February and I decided to place it on my Quickflix queue to give it a re-evaluation and last night I finally watched it.

I can confirm that I made it through all 90 minutes this time. And not just that, but I didn't actively hate it, either! I think we can consider this a win for the film. Alas, I'm not all retroactive "masterpiece" on the beast.


One of major issues with the film beforehand was its almost slavish devotion to arthouse conventions just as much as mainstream films are to their own traditions. Unfortunately, I still think they suffocate the film for large stretches. The long, unmoving camera shots; the flat-toned acting that would be called "Ed Wood-ian" if it were in English; the abrupt end that doesn't give any sort of closure whatsoever; the numerous "look! i'm evocative!" moments that all but call for the film to be retitled Taboo: The Movie. The acting is the one I am most confused by. Were they acting? They all sounded like particularly bad amateur actors reading of cue cards. I could understand this from the children due to their sheltered upbringing, but the adults, too? Maybe someone could fill me in on the reasons for this? And unlike, say, Sofia Coppola's Somewhere, which uses a very similar visual style, I didn't think the static camera was all that interesting here.

Nevertheless, without the blur of disease I found some quite interesting things being said about the natural desires and instincts of young people. No matter how much you shelter them, a teenager (were they teenagers?) will always face certain issues in their life. The boy working out before his meeting with Christina was particularly telling. And, surprisingly, of all the provocative stuff being thrust about, it was the incest that felt most natural and relevant. Go figure.


As an unconventional take on an issue that has being more and more prevalent in recent years, I still can't say Dogtooth entirely worked for me. I can't quite tell whether I a) didn't "get" it at all, or b) I "got" it much earlier than Lanthimos thinks I should and then spent the rest of the movie feeling scenes were unnecessary. "Oh, another scene where the kids do some weird taught behaviour as if it's normal? Sure!" But I feel like I can now at least marginally appreciate what's trying to be said. I will say that no matter how much my opinion may have varied, I can say quite firmly that I didn't find it "hilarious" like this poster quote from Nicolas Rapold in the New York Times would have me think.

If I had to do MIFF2009 over again, however, I wouldn't change a thing. I'll always have Dogtooth as a reminder of how one's state of mind can have an impact on the reader of a film. It's good to be reminded that opinions change over time. I routinely find myself at odds with people who think their opinion is most definitely the right one - honestly, how many times have you read a commenter at a blog say "fact is, you're wrong! the movie is great/terrible" - as I've always held the belief that if films weren't meant to be subjective then what's the point? And it's particularly nice, if a tad confusing, to be subjective with my own self. This could lead to all sorts of doubts and worries about movies that I have no desire or time to watch a second time just to decide whether my initial reaction was right. And even then... I can't erase the fact that I loathed Dogtooth upon initial viewing. What makes this second viewing any more "correct" than the first?

I feel like I'm sending myself down a dangerous warren that I don't have the inclination to dive into.


Funny story: I recently visited my hometown of Geelong for my brother's birthday and whilst sitting around my mother asks if I'd seen Dogtooth (after an initial "dog... dog... something" forgetfulness of the title.) I chuckled and said I'd see half of it. Mum didn't quite know what to think of it, but I was suitable impressed that she'd seen it (it aired on Foxtel). My mum is a curious woman though - our film conversations can routinely swing from discussing Michael Haneke's Hidden to, er, Tom Shadyak's Evan Almighty and our opinions differed wildly on Shutter Island, which she watched multiple times within a few days. Hmmm. As for Dogtooth, she was much in the "I don't quite know what to think of it" camp, which is as understandable a place to be as any other, I suspect. She had to cover her eyes during the infamous feline scene, but didn't every cat lover? :(


So, take away from all of this whatever you choose to. I'm going to mark Dogtooth up to a C+, which is certainly an improvement! I'm going to leave you with my favourite image from the film. I liked it a lot because it the one that felt most like a shot from Invasion of the Body Snatchers, which I think would make an interesting double feature with Lanthimos' film, don't you think?


My dogtooth has fallen out and now I can move on.

The Sorrow from Peru

I sat down to watch Claudio Llosa's The Milk of Sorrow last night and was, to put it mildly, pleasantly surprised. I hadn't expected much from this film about evil breast milk and women stuffing potatoes inside their delicate lady parts, but I obvious underestimated it. The nomination for Best Foreign Language Film at last year's Oscars is even more curious now that I've seen it and can only imagine how the same people can nominate this alongside, for instance, The Secret in Their Eyes.

Thank heavens they did since it's an amazing film that I otherwise probably wouldn't have thought twice about seeing. A delicately put together, deeply affecting movie that offers a portrait of a woman - an entire gender, even - so fractured by the myths of rumours of her past that she can barely function in the present. Magaly Solier's face is so fascinating to watch; my favourite scene was the piano concert sequence and the way her face flickers throughout was beautiful.

Beautiful, too, was the cinematography by Natasha Braier. I particularly loved the way Solier's face was constantly obscured because the character of Fausta is such a hidden present, constantly trying to go unnoticed.





And how about this shot with Fausta all but disappearing before our eyes. It took me a few seconds to even recognise that she was there!


It can be so heartening to see a filmmaker really utilise the widescreen. Watching directors like Brian De Palma and Pedro Almodovar and you really notice when a director knows how to get the most out of their screen. Some of the shots in The Milk of Sorrow really use the screen for some interesting widescreen compositions, don't you think?








One of the real big benefits that The Milk of Sorrow has in its pocket is the fact that Peruvian cinema is hardly the most frequent on the international cinema scene. It feels like a country so rarely even glimpsed on camera and some of the images put on screen feel so unique and wonderful, I'm so glad they were able to be seen. The giant boat? The mass desert wedding? Amazing sights that are immaculately shot.





I found it interesting that Fausta never once looks in a mirror for the entirety of the film – except for the moments she, quite literally, fixes her potato! – and in this scene it’s as if there are now two of one. The one that is sad and introspective and the other that can smile (she never smiles before this sequence) and one who realises she is important. When she realises she has inspired the musician it's like she becomes a new person.



Have you seen The Milk of Sorrow, and if so what did you think?

Review: Enter the Void

Enter the Void
Dir. Gasper Noé
Year: 2010
Aus Rating: R18+
Running Time: 161mins

Where does a film like Enter the Void stand in 2010?

I’m sure it’s a coincidence, but as I read the fabulous Liminal Vision blog today discuss the history of cult cinema, and today’s sad sorry state, I couldn’t help but think of Gasper Noé’s Enter the Void, which I had just seen mere hours earlier. Right now in Melbourne cinemas (well, actually, just the one – Cinema Nova in Carlton) you have the chance to see both Enter the Void and Mega Shark vs Giant Octopus and as fun as I found the latter, its inclusion in the cinema’s “cult craving” sidebar of late night screenings belies its inception as a film with minimal goals and limited resources. Mega Shark may be “cult” in that it’s a bad movie and people enjoy sitting in a crowd, mocking it to tears, but it doesn’t lay any claim to being an actual piece of cult cinema in the traditional sense.

As I sat in the tiny, yet thankfully plush, cinema – barely 20 seats, I swear – I couldn’t help but think that Noe’s hyperactive, neon-infused, heroine-addicted, batshit insane hooladoowacky movie going experience would be the type of film that audiences would have actually embraced in the cult heyday of the 1970s. There’s a big difference between seeing Enter the Void in a small cinema with comfortable seats and a bottle of water in the drink-holder and attending a sticky-floored cinema and watching it through a haze of marijuana smoke, which is certainly how David Lynch’s Eraserhead, John Waters’ Pink Flamingos and Alejandro Jodorowsky’s El Topo - famed cult classics, all of them – were viewed in their time.


It’s like what audiences did with Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, paying their $2 admission fee (or however much it was) to get high and trip out on acid right there in the cinema. Somehow I imagine it’s just not the same in 2010. Today, drug tripping university students are far more likely to download Enter the Void and watch it on the new flatscreen TV that their parents just purchased for them. It’s enough to make me pine for an era I wasn’t even alive for.

I started thinking of all this because, well, there really isn’t much to think about in Gasper Noé’s first film since the shocking Irreversible in 2001. Where that film had a powerful and complex core behind its outer sheen of abhorrent violence, one that lingered long after initial viewing, Enter the Void is an exasperating two and a half hour ponderous excursion through Noé’s over-indulgent, untamed imagination. And a rather unmoving one at that (even as shock cinema I wasn’t particularly shocked.) Why end your film after an hour and a half when you’ve run out of things to say when you can keep going for another hour? It’s art, silly. I may not have seen anything like this before in my life, but I don't think I wanted to see two and a half hours of whatever it actually was. Much like Gulliver’s Travels last week, I suspect one must be on the sort of hardcore drugs that Noé’s lead character is on in order to get through it with any sense of what he was trying to achieve.

The thing is that I believe Noé has something in here worth saying, it’s just hidden far, far beneath the five (or was it ten?) minute visual effect hallucination sequences, frequent rollercoaster orbits over the Tokyo skyline, screeching conversations between uninteresting characters and ever-looping flashbacks filmed from camera angles that give the impression Noé and cinematographer Benoît Debie thought they were being awfully inventive when really they just shoved the camera on a ceiling fan and flipped the dial. Noé is unafraid to show whatever he wants and yet surprisingly in a film filled with uncomfortable scenes of drug use and a 20-minute long sequence in a sex hotel (in which glowing visual effects are emitted out of male and female genitals, naturally) it is the abrupt violence (a shot gun, a car accident) that has the most impact. Drug addicts don’t really surprise me, I guess. Is that flippant? Perhaps, but when even I’m bored by a visual effects inspired neon driven version of Tokyo I know there’s a problem.


The film is a frightful bore and yet is boring whilst encompassing everything that can be fascinating about cinema. I just can’t help but feel this must be what it’s like to be on a drug trip that lasts as long as a hiccup. Enter the Void is visually audacious, it weaves a stunning tapestry of sounds and colour, it’s structurally intriguing and these characters should be rich in pathos (actors like Paz de la Huerta and Olly Alexander put a stop to that), but the final product is empty. There are individual moments of wonder including one of the most flabbergasting, bravura, balls-to-the-wall opening credits sequences that you’re ever likely to see, but it’s all merely a temporary high. The initial effect is eye-opening, but then it’s all downhill and I just wished Noé would inject whatever energy he used for that LFO-soundtracked credits sequence into the rest of the film. Noé is like a drug dealer whose product is disappointing. I’ve sampled and now I’d like my money back. C-


One last think I feel I should mention and that’s the oft poorly used first person view. Enter the Void uses this for its opening act and while he certainly gets some good shots out of it, I always find the tactic an annoying one since nothing can replicate one’s actual field of vision. Especially as we’re watching it on a cinema screen with our own peripheral vision. Am I the only one who thinks this method of looking natural results in the exact opposite and looks incredibly fake?