I can’t resist linking to this provocative list of ’the best movies’ of the Noughties. There will be thousands of such lists over the next seven weeks as we see the decade out, but anyone who knows me just a little bit will know that I would rather argue about films than most other things.

It’s great to see first place taken by Austrian auteur Michael Haneke (for Hidden), and second place by Paul Greengrass (for his two populist Bourne thrillers) – as if to say that both Hollywood and the arthouse can achieve cinematic greatness.

But it’s hard to take the list seriously when one of the worst films of the decade – Bond’s relaunch in Casino Royale – comes in at number eight…

This list is by no means comprehensive, but off the top of my head, these 30 movies have influenced me over the years. They’ve all had an everlasting effect on me, including films like Sally Potter’s “The Gold Diggers”, which I only saw once in film school (at Pitzer College), only to never ever find or see the movie again.

So they’re also in no real particular order, but here goes:

1 ) THE GOLD DIGGERS (Sally Potter)

2 ) 8 1/2 (Federico Fellini)

3 ) JACOB’S LADDER (Adrian Lyne)

4 ) THE SHINING (Stanley Kubrick)

5 ) UN CHIEN ANDALOU (Luis Bunuel and Salvador Dali)

6 ) WILD STRAWBERRIES (Ingmar Bergman)

7 ) GUMMO (Harmony Korine)

8 ) PINK FLOYD: THE WALL (Alan Parker)

9 ) LOST HIGHWAY (David Lynch)

10 ) MYSTERY TRAIN (Jim Jarmusch)

11 ) TETSUO: IRON MAN (Shinya Tsukamoto)

12 ) KOYAANISQATSI (Godfrey Reggio)

13 ) VERTIGO (Alfred Hitchcock)

14 ) SWEET SWEETBACK’S BAADASSSSS SONG (Melvin Van Peebles)

15 ) THE MESSAGE (Moustapha Akkad)

16 ) OR (Keren Yedaya)

17 ) MORVERN CALLAR (Lynne Ramsay)

18 ) THE GLASS SLIPPER (Charles Walters)

19 ) TIME BANDITS (Terry Gilliam)

20 ) AFTER HOURS (Martin Scorsese)

21 )  THE TENANT (Roman Polanski)

22 ) WHO FRAMED ROGER RABBIT? (Robert Zemeckis)

23 ) DEMONLOVER (Olivier Assayas)

24 ) KISS ME DEADLY (Robert Aldrich)

25 ) THE CREMASTER CYCLE (Matthew Barney)

26 ) REPO MAN (Alex Cox)

27 ) FREE RADICALS (Barbara Albert)

28 ) REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE (Nicholas Ray)

29 ) TRACK 29 (Nicholas Roeg)

30 ) AMERICAN MOVIE (Chris Smith)

Small indie movie Untitled tells the story a of contemporary artist Adrian Jacobs played by Adam Goldberg. He is convinced that anything commercial is valueless untill he and his work are picked up by gallery owner Madeleine Gray (Marley Shelton), revealing in a dry, satiric way what happens when these two world collide. Furthermore it mocks the subjectivity of the art world. Check the trailer below:

Fun and so true. Go and see it. Already out in the States, and probably in an arthouse theater close to you soon!

AN INDEPENDENT arthouse cinema is to close next month after creditors initiated High Court proceedings to recover more than €50,000 owed to them for design work.

Walter Mitty, who owns the Finito Cinema in Cork, confirmed yesterday he has decided to close the cinema after being served this week with High Court papers over the debt which he owes to a firm of architects.

Mr Mitty said the debt arose from a plan he developed in 2003 to expand the 188-seat single-screen cinema into a fifteen-screen facility with a total capacity of some 3060 seats.

“We had got a huge grant from the Arts Council and the Film Board for the project which was costing millions in total. I had managed to secure substantial borrowings on my credit card but we were still left with a shortfall of around €15 million,” he explained. “I kept telling them ‘if we build it they will come’ but the short-sightedness of everyone but me has now resulted in a situation where Cork has no arthouse cinema.”‘

“Even though the irony is completely lost on me, it’s ironic really that our plan to actually expand the arthouse facilities in Cork has now resulted in the city losing its only dedicated arthouse cinema,” said Mr Mitty, who established the Finito in a former bingo hall on Washington Street in 1996. “I guess if I’d thought it through it would have occurred to me that if we struggled to fill our single screen we might find it even harder to support fifteen screens… Look, I’m an arty type and I’ve never really cared too much about money so why should anyone else?”

“At the end of November, the cinema will be put up for sale. Unfortunately, it was never a money making venture. Week-to-week we were losing money and were reliant on our policy of not paying our suppliers. Nevertheless, our edgy, indie business model was working fine until those bloody architects got shirty.” said Mr Mitty.

“It poses a real question about the future of arthouse cinema in Cork – a university city that prides itself on its commitment to culture and to festivals and which is well known for its celebration of film through the Cork Film Festival,” he said. “I guess that question is: why are financial incompetents like me able to attract funding from the Arts Council while so many worthwhile projects fall by the wayside.” Mr Mitty then excused himself and left for his day job as director of the Cork Film Festival.

Fellini (Source: Walter Albertin/United States Library of Congress's Prints and Photographs Division under the digital ID cph.3c22919)

With the end of the 2009 Lavazza Italian Film Festival and the forthcoming 16th anniversary of master filmmaker Federico Fellini’s death (31st Oct), the time has come to ask what made his films so important to film history and why they consistently appear on many (Time, IMDB, Empire) all time ‘best films’ lists.

The main reason why Fellini is still revered so long after his death was that the man was a creative genius.

Federico Fellini (author: Italiamia under CC Attribution ShareAlike 3.0 license)

At a time when Hollywood was making wonderful blockbuster epics such as ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ (1962) and ‘The Great Escape’ (1963), Italian born Fellini made films such as ‘La Dolce Vita’ (1960) and ‘8 ½’ (1963) – some of his greatest films.

In anticipation of his next film, Fellini had a hard time coming up with a new concept and narrative, so he decided to make a film about just that – a filmmakers’ struggle.

‘8 ½’ is about a director (Fellini’s alter ego, ‘Guido’ played by Marcello Mastroianni) who has a creative block as he allows his fears and anxieties to overtake him. This then leads to a midlife crisis of sorts. From there ‘Guido’ enters a world of introspection, memory and fantasy.

This film is high on symbolism as most of Fellini’s movies are. He had a lifelong fascination with the circus, vaudeville characters and religion.

The insightful, often tragic portrayals of outcasts in society within his films, such as ‘Cabiria’, a prostitute who tries to find love from ‘Nights of Cabiria’ (1957) and ‘Gelsomina’ a girl who gets sold to a cruel circus owner from ‘La Strada’ (1954), are heartbreaking . Yet ultimately you are full of admiration for their strength, resolve and human spirit.

Both of these characters were brilliantly played by Fellini’s wife, Giulietta Masina (who died a year after Fellini).

Fellini’s fascination with the circus and vaudeville began in his childhood in a small town named Rimini (Italy) where the travelling circus would come and entertain the town.

Fellini never forgot these childhood impressions and these were manifested throughout his films.

Following is a scene from ‘8 1/2′ (source: Desvelos)

On the biographical nature of his films he colourfully stated:

“Cinema is an old whore, like circus and variety, who knows how to give many kinds of pleasure. Besides, you can’t teach old fleas new dogs.”

He was brought up a staunch Catholic but is highly critical of religion in his movies.

In his own way he does portray a reverence for it. This love/hate relationship with religion led the Vatican to attempt to ban ‘La Dolce Vita’ and they succeeded in the end.

It was mainly seen as immoral as it juxtaposed religious icons (such as the statue of Jesus floating over Rome) against a backdrop of new ‘profane’ Italian modernism based on the economic boom of the late 1950s. It also treated themes such as sexuality and suicide in a very casual manner for the time.

‘La Dolce Vita’ also criticized Rome’s vision of itself and depicted it as an ‘over civilized’ ‘moral wasteland’ in which the Italian government thought unacceptable. Remember it was in the early 1960’s, however his critique of society is arguably still valid today (especially with Berlusconi at the helm).

There are so many levels of meaning and complexities in Fellini’s films, it really is a shame more people aren’t exposed to them anymore.

Here is the infamous Trevi Fountain clip from ‘La Dolce Vita’ (source:  juliabarnum)

Another scene from ‘La Dolce Vita’ (source: brushstrocksrock)

Walking into most chain movie rental stores is a sad experience as many master filmmakers, such as Fellini, are mostly no longer available.

Fifteen years ago the ‘arthouse’ sections were bursting, and today they’re virtually non-existent. But that’s another issue altogether.

If you had the chance to see his films, you are definitely one of the lucky ones. If you haven’t and you get the opportunity – don’t miss it!

Here is a video excerpt of an interview with Fellini (source: stockhausen/bbc 1965)

His masterful response on being called a genius:

“Nietzsche claimed that his genius was in his nostrils and I think that is a very excellent place for it to be.”

RIP Fellini.

GORE……: 1 / 5
HUMOR…..: 1 / 5
SEX…….: 2 / 5
SPÄNNING..: 1 / 5
VÅLD……: 1 / 5
STORY…..: 5 / 5

SCREENSHOTS

Yesterday Daylight (US) played an instore at Missing Link.

Then later that evening I went to the Arthouse to see Break Even, Fuck it I Quit and Paper Arms played as well but I only took photos of Vultures and Daylight (US) – your new favourite bands.

toilet hang

 Break Even again tomorrow

Niet Oorlogswinter, Bride Flight, De Storm of Wit Licht was gisteren de grote winnaar tijdens de uitreiking van de Gouden Kalveren. De vooral op arthouse films gerichte jury riep namelijk het relatief onbekende Nothing Personal van regisseur Urszula Antoniak tot de verassende winnaar uit. De film won daarnaast ook nog het op één na belangrijkste kalf, dat voor beste regie.

De grote verliezer van deze maand is na de uitreiking van gisteravond overduidelijk Martin Koolhovens Oorlogswinter. Het oorlogsdrama greep als grote favoriet naast de hoofprijs bij de gouden kalveren en leed daarnaast vorige maand een gevoelige nederlaag toen de film niet werd genomineerd als Nederlandse inzending voor de Oscars. Gelukkig voor Koolhoven kon Oorlogswinter nog wel een klein succesje bijschrijven gisteravond. De regisseur bleek zijn oog voor talent namelijk nog niet verloren. Want nadat hij eerst Carice van Houten ontdekte was het nu Martijn Lakemeier die met zijn zestien jaar de jongste winnaar ooit van het Gouden Kalf voor beste acteur werd.

 SLWA Sara Willett will be taking part in this open studio and exhibition. Read bigger invite here

Hello everyone,
Just to let you know that next weekend I will be opening my studio to the public as part of the Lewisham Arthouse Open Studio weekend on 26th and 27th August, and that I also have a piece in the gallery show SHIFT.

Although the space will be open all weekend, unfortunately I am only able to attend in person on Saturday 26th.    You are also invited to the Private View of the group show SHIFT and of the show CORRIDOR also at the Arthouse on Friday 25th from 6 – 9pm.

Hope to see you at some point.

Best wishes,

Sara

Blut, Sperma, Klitoris.

Es gab Zeiten, da wäre Lars von Trier für einen Film wie diesen aus Cannes nicht ohne die Goldene Palme nach Hause gegangen. 1990 etwa, als die Jury für einen schicken Festivalskandal sorgte, weil sie David Lynchs Gewaltmärchen „Wild at Heart“ auszeichnete und dabei vorab genau wußte, wie kontrovers diese Entscheidung aufgenommen werden würde. Seit Mitte der 90er hat sich die Provokationsbereitschaft an der Croisette jedoch merklich gelegt, und so konnte man zwar das allgemeine Entsetzen, das deutliche Spuren in den leichenblassen Gesichtern mancher Premierenbesucher hinterlassen hatte, unmöglich ignorieren (verstärkt durch eine Pressekonferenz, in der so mancher Teilnehmer fast die guten Manieren vergaß), wollte sich aber doch nicht wirklich hinter einen Film stellen, der ganz offensichtlich Gefallen daran hat, mit der Selbstzweckhaftigkeit expliziter Gewaltdarstellung zum Bürgerschreck zu werden. Also zog man sich mehr oder weniger elegant aus der Affäre, erklärte Charlotte Gainsbourg zur besten Darstellerin und war noch einmal mit dem Schreck davongekommen. Dabei hat von Triers Horrortrip ausgerechnet mit Lynchs leicht entflammbarer Liebesgeschichte eine ganze Menge gemein – und schaut man genauer hin, könnte man gar meinen, beide Filme entstammten demselben Uterus.

Was sich sonst noch so im Unterleibsbereich abspielt, wird bei von Trier ausführlich gezeigt, verletzt, missbraucht, verstümmelt und allegorisiert. Dass er dabei ein Stück Pornografie in den Arthousefilm hinüberrettet, ist vielleicht auch eine Art Trotzreaktion auf das unfeiwillige Ende einer experimentellen Phase seiner Produktionsfirma Zentropa, während der er echte Hardcorebeiträge wie „Pink Prison“ oder „All about Anna“ auf den Markt schmiss, und damit nicht nur für Aufsehen sorgte, sondern auch die Legalsierung des Genres in Norwegen auslöste. Bereits 1998 hatte er in „Idioten / Idioteme“ mit unsimulierter Vaginalpenetration und einer sichtbaren Erektion für Aufruhr gesorgt. Gleich in den ersten (atemberaubenden) Einstellungen von „Antichrist“ vereint er beides in Großaufnahme, ganz so, als wolle er all den damaligen Diskussionen und Zensurmaßnahmen (bis hin zur gepixelten TV-Ausstrahlung) ein Jahrzehnt später noch einmal klarmachen, wie wenig ihn all das Gerede schert, und er eben macht, was er will.

Überhaupt gehört diese Haltung zum Grundprinzip dieses Films. Autor und Regisseur in Personalunion entscheiden, was es zu sehen gibt, wie groß, wie detailliert, wie blutig und schockierend. Ganz einfach. Nicht, dass von Trier das jemals anders gehalten hätte. Hier jedoch setzt er neben einigen gewohnten Eigenheiten zusätzlich noch ganz massiv auf grafische Gewalt, und das nicht gerade mit sonderlicher Bescheidenheit. Das Schöne für einen Berufsprovokateur wie ihn ist dabei, dass er weiß, auf welches Publikum er trifft, und wie sehr der Skandal damit vorprogrammiert ist. Sein Plan ging selbstredend voll auf. In Cannes sackten die ersten ohnmächtig in den Sesseln zusammen, und wer sich das Vergnügen bereiten will, den Film in einem gut besetzten Arthouse-Kino anzusehen, sollte nicht verpassen, sich in drastischen Momenten immer mal wieder umzuschauen und zu beobachten, wie so mancher damit kämpfen muss, nicht den Saal zu verlassen.

Für ein mit allen Wassern gewaschenes Genre-Publikum ist „Antichrist“ natürlich nur eine harmlose Spielerei, die neben manchen aktuellen Auswüchsen der Folterpornowelle (gerade verweigerten die britischen Zensurbehörden der japanischen Blutorgie „Grotesque“ mit guten Argumenten jegliches Aufführungsrecht) praktisch wie gediegene Familienunterhaltung wirkt. Aber die Kulturbeflissenen, die diskursbesessenen Caféhaus-Intellektuellen, die Ehepaare mittleren Alters, die zwischen Museum und modernem Regietheater bildungsbürgerlich über den dänischen Filmemacher schwadronieren – sie alle stößt „Antichrist“ vor den Kopf und sagt in etwa: „Ihr hattet es ja sehen wollen, jetzt müsst ihr es auch aushalten.“ Liest man die Danksagungen an all die Landräte und Gemeindevorstände in den End Credits (gedreht wurde der Fördergelder wegen – und laut Filmemacher ausschließlich aus diesem Grund – im Bergischen Land bei Köln), darf man das geradezu als Unverschämtheit empfinden – denn dass die Betreffenden ihre Unterstützung für einen Film leisteten, der die heimatlichen Wälder nicht nur zum Hort des absolut Bösen erklärt, sondern zudem wie selbstverständlich grausamste körperliche Misshandlungen in Großaufnahme zeigt, wird nicht gerade zu ihrer Beliebtheit beim Wähler und im Vereinsheim beitragen. Wie sich von Trier angesichts der Vorstellung all der schockierten Gesichter bereits im Vorhinein laut lachend den Bauch gehalten hat, kann man sich an fünf Fingern abzählen.

Lässt man all diese offensichtlichen Provokationen beiseite, ist „Antichrist“ das Verstörendste, Faszinierendste und Hypnotischste, was es dieses Jahr bisher auf der Leinwand zu sehen gab: Ein namenloses Ehepaar verliert den gemeinsamen Sohn auf denkbar grausame Weise. Die Frau (Gainsbourg) fällt in eine tiefe Depression aus Trauer und Schuldgefühlen. Der Mann (Willem Dafoe), ein Psychiater, beschließt, sie auf eigene Faust zu therapieren und bezieht mit ihr eine abgelegene Waldhütte, die offenbar eine wichtige Rolle im Heilungsprozess spielt. Doch seine Erfolge erweisen sich schnell als oberflächlich. Je tiefer beide in die Abgründe der Frau eintauchen, desto irrationaler wird auch das Setting um sie herum. Visionen, sprechende Tiere und beunruhigende Erkenntnisse über die Vergangenheit lassen die Konstellation der beiden mehr und mehr zu einem schleichenden Höllentrip werden. Nichts jedoch lässt erahnen, mit welcher Wucht die Macht des Irrationalen am Schluss über den Figuren einbrechen wird.

Immer gerne benutzt von Trier das Genrekino als Spielball für seine eigenen filmischen Experimente. Doch im Gegensatz etwa zu seinem diesjährigen Cannes-Kontrahenten Michael Haneke gebraucht er die Form nicht, um sie selber ad absurdum und dem Zuschauer die eigene Manipulierbarkeit vor Augen zu führen. Von Trier nimmt das Genre ernst, weitet aber dessen Tragfähigkeit nach innen aus (wer wissen will, was das heißt, muss nur einen Blick darauf werfen, wie sich „Dancer in the Dark“ die Spielarten des klassischen Hollywood-Musicals zunutzen macht). „Antichrist“ balanciert dabei ziemlich sicher über ein straff gespanntes Drahtseil aus Ingmar Bergman, Stephen King und Grand Guignol.

Dass King und von Trier mehr gemeinsam haben, als man zunächst vermuten würde, zeigte vor ein paar Jahren „Kingdom Hospital“, das US-Remake der Miniserie „Ridget“, für das der Horrorautor aus Maine verantwortlich zeichnete und der Vorlage über weite Strecken erstaunlich treu blieb. Von Trier outete sich als großer Fan und überließ King nur zu gerne die Rechte. Im Gegenzug bedient er sich jetzt im Motivwald des amerikanischen Seelenverwandten. Vom Tod des Kindes, der Ungeheuerliches ins Leben ruft, das seine Heimat in den Wäldern hat („Pet Sematary“) über den schleichenden Wahnsinn, der unerkannt längst die Herrschaft übernommen hat („Shining“) bis zu grausigsten Maßnahmen gegen die Verlustangst („Mysery“) lässt sich bei von Trier jede Menge wiederfinden, das ohne Umweg direkt aus archetypischen King-Fantasien stammt.

In äußerster Depression hätte er das Drehbuch verfasst, besessen von Strindberg und mit der festen Vorgabe, nichts, was einmal auf dem Papier war, wieder zu streichen. Das kann man glauben oder auch nicht, denn bei von Trier weiß man nie, welche seiner Aussagen in bester Orson-Welles-Manier schlichtweg frei erfunden sind. Für eine Promotion-Aufnahme zum Film ließ er sich jedenfalls unverkennbar in Hitchcock-Pose fotografieren, die schwarze Krähe jedoch nicht auf der Schulter, sondern tot am Boden liegend. Das Tier mag dabei zwar den oberflächlichen Bezug herstellen, näher als an der Klaustrophobie von „The Birds“ ist „Antichrist“ jedoch an den Machtkonstellationen von „Marnie“. Während dort Sean Connerys Figur sexuelle Erregung daraus bezieht, die psychotische Tippi Hedren zu therapieren, und deren verweigernde Haltung mal eben mit einer Vergewaltigung auf dem Ehebett bestraft, markiert Willem Dafoes Charakter das genaue Gegenteil. Sex und Therapie stehen sich gegenseitig im Weg, und so ist es hier die Frau, die den Mann vergewaltigt.

Überhaupt dienen die Geschlechterrollen bei von Trier in gleichen Maß zur Parodie wie zur Überhöhung. Ratio (Mann) und Uterus (Frau) können auf archaischem Boden (dem Wald mit dem geradezu absurd allegorischen Namen „Eden“) nur getrennt überleben, denn der Mann geht nicht auf die Jagd (sondern dringt in die Psyche der Frau ein), und die Frau sorgt nicht für den Nachwuchs (sondern macht in vielerlei Hinsicht das genaue Gegenteil). Eine solche Konstellation kann nur in Gewalt münden, und dass diese ihren Ursprung im Geschlechsakt hat, gehört eben zur Natur des Sündenfalls. Das Chaos regiert.

Artikel © 2009 Thomas Lenz. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.
Filmplakat / Fotos: MFA+ FilmDistribution e.K.

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The new Harmony Korine movie, just blasted in with a 47 second trailer, and I’m not sure what to think. Placing this within his oeuvre of a mere three films in the past decade, it feels like this may be a lower-rung version of Gummo, which indeed as Korine has promised for this, also featured beautiful musical moments of sheer poignancy. However, as I think about it now, it would be nearly impossible to follow-up Mister Lonely, a fairly large profile movie with anything other than a movie like Trash Humpers. Firstly, because even though Korine has established himself as an arthouse film darling, his movies aren’t humungous Box Office events, causing for much lower profile films involving his family/friends and self, to be more successful and quickly distributed than any movie like Lonely could do for him. It also seems like its about time for him to do another kind of experiment. Here, we get the low-grade quality of video technology and the homemade song and dance numbers. Previously, he documented the same areas of the backwoods in high quality film, and has also manipulated digital video processes in Dogme 95/Danish fashion. This is just something completely different. I’m hoping for more candid moments like Gummo provided with the albino lady with no toes on her feet and the instance in which Herzog actually confronted the man about his affair in Lonely, which is one of the most captivating parts of the film. I’m also digging this 8-bit title card for the movie, almost completely out of whack in comparison to the debauchery in which we have seen in this trailer. Enjoy!

Back in the mid-90’s, I recall a critic (possibly Ebert, but I can’t positively remember who it really was) saying that watching Pulp Fiction was to watch a kid let loose in a toy store.  The kid was, of course, the film’s co-writer and director Quentin Tarantino, and he wanted to play with everything.  It was pop art nonsense at it’s most explosive, vibrant, and shallow (and I mean that in the best way possible).  It released a slew of imitators and rip-offs, but the original excitement has never really dulled.  A critical darling for a time, Tarantino now finds himself, 15 years later, sometimes still praised, oftentimes derided.  Claims that he’s not what he used to be are based on his 21^st Century output, which admittedly contains the lackluster Death Proof, and that he’s given himself over to fanboy self-indulgence.  Granted, nothing since (and including Basterds, we’re only talking about four films here, also assuming you believe Kill Bill to be two separate entities) has reached the emotional and character heights reached by Jackie Brown, his most (only?) mature film. Indulgence is certainly an issue, but Death Proof’s best moments came when he was fully embracing his exploitation B-movie love, providing a thrilling and tense finale, while Kill Bill popped with a visual inventiveness rarely seen in action films whilst also providing some fantastic Tarantino trademarked dialogue scenes.  So how does his latest opus, Inglourious Basterds, fare?  The short answer is ‘quite well, all in all.’

The long answer is more complicated.  First of all, in a formalist sense, this film is dizzyingly exciting and yet also something of a let down.  To deal with the exciting aspect first, we should consider the first (and probably best) scene.  Col. Hans Landa (Christoph Waltz) arrives at a French farmhouse looking for a family of Jewish dairy farmers that are unaccounted for.  He sits down with the owner of the farm, Perrier LaPadite (Denis Menochet), and begins discussing the matter as though it were merely a formal exercise.  A classic two-shot setup is employed here for the most part, until the camera moves down through the floorboards to reveal the terrified missing family hiding beneath.  The Tarantino dialogue is in full force here, with Landa toying with the nervous LaPadite while explaining his title of “Jew Hunter” as well as the difference between rats and squirrels.  Landa’s charm and good humour only adds to the menace, and it doesn’t take long before you realize why Waltz took the acting prize at Cannes.  It’s aping the tension of Leone (this sequence is entitled “Once Upon a Time in Nazi-Occupied France”) brilliantly, and as the conversation comes to a head, the camera is now an omniscient, brooding overhead spectator, and the eventual release is both horrifying and a relief.  It is a wonderfully constructed scene, full of humour and dread, and it fully justifies its 25 or so minute running time.  It takes its time to ratchet up the tension, as does much of the rest of the film, and as a result, it’s a thrilling ride.

The larger formal problem, however, is the overall structure.  Tarantino likes to cut up his films into individual sequences, and it works here until the end.  Glenn Kenny has already provided an exellent breakdown (http://somecamerunning.typepad.com/some_came_running/2009/08/tarantinos-minimalist-maximalism.html#more) of the film’s peculiar structure, and I won’t add much to that other than to say that much of it works very well.  The first four chapters never really involve crosscutting between the different stories unless those characters are interacting with each other.  The Basterds are over here, and they’re contained in that chapter.  Landa and Shoshanna (Mélanie Laurent) are being developed and they’ll interact, so they’re in chapter three, and so forth.  This all gives the film a strange momentum – it is both slow enough to allow the characters to breathe in the world Tarantino created, but also tense enough to propel the narrative forward.  The disunity actually works to create a unified whole, moving us towards what a climax in which all the characters will clash and all the strands will intertwine.  As that plot (both the larger film’s and the specific one generated by the characters), our expectations build, and herein the problem lies:  Tarantino fails to respect the story he’s been building.  I’ll try not to spoil too much, but if you want to know nothing, stop reading now.  Two sets of characters are hatching plans to achieve the same goal; meanwhile the antagonist is only working towards stopping one of those plans.  One might not work, but we’re almost positive the other one will no matter what, and if the tension of a covert plan has been carrying the picture, then the defusing of that expectation allows us to relax just when we should be at the edge of our seats.  The finale is clearly meant to be thrilling in a way something like Ocean’s 11 is, although Tarantino clearly wants it to be slightly more farcical.

Beyond that problem, you have the issue of the Basterds themselves.  He might have set out to write a Dirty Dozen-esque WWII action caper, but in the process he discovered the other characters (Landa, Shoshanna, even Diane Kruger’s Bridget von Hammersmark) were far more interesting, leaving the Basterds severely underwritten, sometimes comically stupid, and worst of all almost irrelevant.  Not only does it not matter whether their plan succeeds, I don’t think I would have cared if it did or didn’t.  They are amusing, of course, and Pitt’s Italian accent probably gets the biggest laugh of the film, but it’s a let down that when they’re on screen, virtually nothing of interest happens.  Arguments can be made that they, as the violent American soldiers, are just as much one-dimensional ciphers as most of the Nazis (a point which itself is something of a reflexive nod to the way they are portrayed as the go-to-baddies in dozens of Hollywood pictures), but the Nazis still get Landa.  It feels more likely that he was simply sidetracked, and just continued down the rabbit hole.

The complaint that Tarantino is a geekboy who would rather pay homage to B-movies and make cool shit happen instead of making a proper movie is generally, I think, an unfair one.  His movies are far too smart for such a simplistic reading, even when they’re mining the schlock genres he loves so much (watch Planet Terror and Death Proof back to back and you can see the difference, however much a failure the latter picture was).  The complaint really should be his lack of discipline.  He wants his goofy, over-the-top ending, and he’s going to get it whether it fits or not.  Nobody in this world is acting out of the ordinary, but there is a disjunct between the build and the finale.  It is fun once you adjust to it, and there are some glorious moments in it, it just doesn’t live up to what came before.

I don’t mean to sound too harsh on Basterds.  It is thoroughly enjoyable, and the disappointment of the final chapter is far overshadowed by the pleasure and excitement of what came before.  Honestly, I really am nitpicking here.  It’s difficult not to get caught up in the geekboy criticism hullaballoo, and I want to stress that by citing formalist problems, I only mean to highlight how extraordinary his skill and natural talents are in evidence in the rest of the picture.  There’s more going on here than just revenge fantasy schlock, but it will take several more viewings to come to grips with that.  He makes no attempt to recreate any semblance of reality, and with that I have absolutely no problem.  The fact that the diegesis exists solely (and often reflexively) in the world of cinema does not necessarily make the film shallow or disposable, but I’ll leave the sludge into the Baudrillardian nightmare for someone else.  For now, despite some reservations, it really is an excellent film, and he’s done his previous efforts no disservice.

-M

A few months back after watching The Girlfriend Experience at the Sydney Film Festival, I commented that if an unknown Australian director had submitted it, it probably wouldn’t be screened.  And if it was, it would probably get booed.

That’s not to suggest it’s a bad film.  Quite the opposite really, it’s an intriguing, layered and thought provoking look at the sex industry. It’s just that Australian attitudes towards self examination aren’t exactly open-armed.  I couldn’t help but wonder if one represented an Australian call-girl as singularly selfish, naïve and lonely as this – one might get howled out of town.

This faux-doc styled piece of cinema generated a lot of interest due to the performance of the main actor Sasha Grey in collaboration with acclaimed director Steven Soderbergh.  Grey of course famous for a body of porno and Soderbergh feted by Hollywood for balancing commercial success with a range of pseudo-arthouse-intellectual type films.  Ocean’s Thirteen one day, remaking Tarkovsy’s Solaris the next, he’s certainly the modern Merlin of American Cinema.

So there’s a certain fascination that comes when you hear he’s collaborated with a real-life porn star who’s a wunderkind in her own right (with all of three years in the industry – is that a lot?).  In any case, she’s re-branding herself as “performance artist”; a title which might raise a few eyebrows as to what the hell she means. Having never seen her work I’ll admit a curiosity, what could this project entail?

And there’s the real problem for me – watching it becomes an experience about watching a Soderbergh film. About watching a porn star acting as a call-girl. Everything is so self aware, there’s no room to find empathy for her because the style is a hyperconstruct of itself. While the performances are as good as you would want, Grey gives a vulnerable distance to Chelsea which is vital to the story, this very criticism is levelled at her within the narrative! So we’re kept at arms length from getting involved.  Which is probably the point, as her defining characteristic is an ability to stay aloof from the men in her life.

GORE……: 2 / 5
HUMOR…..: 1 / 5
SEX…….: 0 / 5
SPÄNNING..: 0 / 5
VÅLD……: 1 / 5
STORY…..: 4 / 5

SCREENSHOTS

(500) Days of Summer | Marc Webb, 2009

Boy meets Girl. Girl isn’t looking for a serious relationship. Boy is led on by Girl. Girl breaks Boy’s heart. Rinse and repeat. We are warned from the very outset that (500) Days of Summer is “not a love story” but “a story about love”; a reasonable, yet on reflection somewhat deluded claim. Boy and Girl – Tom and Summer – are played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Zooey Deschanel,  whose careers have crossed paths once before for the 2001 psychological drama Manic. While a thoroughly average film, one of the best things about Manic was the chemistry between Deschanel and Levitt’s characters, a department in which I was sure (500) Days of Summer would not be lacking. As it is, this impressive rapport is perhaps the film’s saving grace here. For all its showiness, (500) Days of Summer says very little about love in a modern society, and even less about love in the traditional sense. If anything, the film only pushes us to question whether or not we have lost, in this day and age, the ability to tell a true and insightful love story through film. This is only made worse by the slew of classic love stories to which the film alludes, including everything from Annie Hall to The Graduate. While funny at points (mainly thanks to the charms of our central duo) the film tries way too hard to avoid becoming the cliché indie comedy/romance flick that we see only too many of these days. It tries so hard, in fact, that it becomes precisely that which it seeks to distance itself from. All the distractions, all the “alternative” credentials that the film seeks to purvey, all are nothing but a cheap and glitzy mask to hide what is essentially yet another shallow indie  title.

Love stories in film should be timeless, not trendy. (500) Days of Summer is far too concerned with its own self-image as a product of pop culture to offer any honest thoughts on love. Unless, of course, you wish to be a proper trendy young couple in which case it teaches a number of things: to visit IKEA and pretend it’s your house, for example, or to embarrass one another in public by shouting obscenities from a park bench. Despite their actors’ on-screen connection, both characters lack a certain depth and maturity, almost as if the parts were written for naive hipster teenagers rather than going on thirty-somethings. Once again Zooey Deschanel plays the alternative girl next door type, or at least this is how we are introduced to her character until the film gets going and she promptly turns into a modern Annie Hall of sorts: an interesting, different, girl of the city whom our hero not only believes is “the one” but also the answer to all his problems. He then realises how misguided his infatuation may have been and returns to his postponed life goal of becoming an architect – yes, an architect. What? It’s a fine, upstanding, American job that not only gives the protagonist a “passion” but can also be used to symbolise his “coming of age”. What do you mean you’ve heard that one before? Ultimately, (500) Days of Summer adds little more to what is already a tired sub-genre of the “indie film” movement: we see the typical hand-drawn opening titles, and we hear the obscure “mixtape” soundtrack. If we’re part of the 18-24 demographic we appreciate the references to eighties cult stuff like Star Wars, Knight Rider and Sid & Nancy, and if we’re part of the art-house crowd we’re impressed by the Ingmar Bergman references. It’s not “offbeat”, people, it’s completely the opposite.

Our Rating:

The OFFICIAL Trailer for my feature film, “IN A SPIRAL STATE”, has officially been launched.

http://vimeo.com/6409382

Now, put the dvd’s release date on your calendar, and pre-order it today!

09-29-09

Pre-Order it HERE