The King of Devil's Island (Norway/France/Sweden/Poland; Marius Holst, 2010)

  Saw this yesterday at the Fantasia Film Festival. Although, as my friend David pointed out, it isn't your typical Fantasia movie, it remains a great festival selection, and a powerful film. In 1915, Erling (Benjamin Helstad) is sent to Balstoy, a Norwegian prison/work camp for boys located on an isolated island. His hard-headedness quickly causes him to clash heads with the camp's various authority figures, including ruling Governor Bestyreren (Stellan Skarsgard), and helps to feed a growing longing for escape. However, his dreams of freedom make a momentary transition to the back burner when the perverted actions of his unit's Headmaster (Kristoffer Joner) lead Erling and his new-found friend Olav (Trond Nilssen) to take a stand in the name of justice. Joyful moments being rare, King of Devil's Island still manages to keep the viewer's hopes up by inserting a number liberating scenes that hint towards an eventual overthrow of the corrupted status quo. While an insurrection does get underway, a stubborn rebellious sprit alone proves insufficient ammunition to keep the army at bay. Ultimately, the film's signature grey-and-blue aura prevails, reflective of the prison's shaky waters and how it rocks the metaphorical boat Bestyreren constantly compares it to.

Savage Streets (USA; Danny Steinmann, 1984)

 There's just something about bad 80s movies I simply can't resist. Just seeing the posters for some of these films makes me go "I gotta see this!" even though I am certain of their ultimate mediocrity. It's as if all of the usual conventions found in mainstream Hollywood films are thrown out the window, the focus being on easily  exploitable material, a.k.a B.T & A (blood, tits & ass). Proving once again that Linda Blair can't act to save her life, this girl-power revenge flick is as trashy as they come. The antagonists are over-the-top disgusting perverts whose decision to rape a  young, deaf high school girl leads her older sister Brenda (Blair) to go on a killing streak, chasing down the perpetrators one by one. While the deaf-victim/revenge angle reminded me of Ms. 45 (1981), Savage Streets possesses none of the startling grittiness of Abel Ferrara's cult classic. It rather feels like a Troma picture gone wrong (which is saying a lot). However, like so many titles of 80s cinema, the reasons that make the film so terrible are the same that make it so enjoyable. Over-acting, bad lighting, shaky out-of-focus camera work and  signature 80s synthesizer music all work together to create one of the best bad movies I've had the luck to see. 

  

Ace in the Hole (USA; Billy Wilder, 1951)

 To what lengths will a reporter go to make a good story great? That's the question Chuck Tatum (Kirk Douglas) attempts to clarify in Ace in the Hole, Billy Wilder's rendition of the newspaper movie. Having been successful in almost every other genre (except perhaps the western), I find it surprsing that Ace is known to be a flop in his illustrious career. Much darker and cynical then Hawks' His Girl Friday (which incidentally Wilder remade himself almost 25 years later as The Front Page, taking back the original title of the play), the film paints a rather bleak picture of the media in which deception, exploitation and self-destruction seem to be the prevailing norm. When big-city-exiled hotshot reporter Tatum lands himself in Alburquerque, NM following a series of job terminations, his enthusiasm for big news is left wanting when big headlines talk of rattle snake hunting festivals. When he accidentally comes across a man trapped in cave (Richard Benedict), he sees the big story he was looking for and his way back into a big-city newspaper. Using his loose-lipped, fast-talking big-city edge, Tatum delays the rescue to stretch the story out, turning this small-town tragedy into a big carnival (the title to which it was changed following poor intitial reception). As he deals with contemptuous editors, the victim's treacherous wife and his own moral dilemna, Tatum soon grows wary of his own profession as his actions ultimately make up the difference between life and death.

   On par with many other films about the media (Sweet Smell of Success; Network), what distinguishes Ace is its setting. As opposed to being set in the urban jungle, as most newspaper films are, we are thrown into the desert, a spot as remote from civilization as it is from viewers consciousness. In doing so, Wilder examines media practices outside of its normal turf of manipulation, dealing with small-town citizens who may not be as used to the tricks of the journalism trade as big-city dwellers. When not taken for granted, the exploitations of the media are seen to cause harm and irreperable damage, serving to destroy the communities they purport to enlighten.     

In Cold Blood (USA; Richard Brooks, 1967)

  Like Truman Capote's book on which it is based, In Cold Blood is a reconstruction of true events presented in fiction form. The gripping result is a testament to the power fiction has in shaping emotions and ironically making us sensitive to real events. Taking the book's two murderers as protagonists, the film follows Dick Hickock (Scott Wilson) and Perry Smith (Robert Blake) before and after committing the crime refered-to in the title. The crime in question, however, is not seen until the end (as opposed to the central position it holds in the book), a cinematic choice in line with the escalating nature of narrative fiction. Shown through flashbacks narrated by Perry as he waits on death row, the mass murder of an innocent Kansas family is still brutally shocking today; one can only imagine how it must have been received in its day.

 Richard Brooks, who always seems fascinated by socially marginal characters (Blackboard Jungle; Elmer Gantry; The Professionals), is at his best here as he captures real-life social angst and aptly projects it on screen in the form of Dick and Perry, whose portrayals are as vulnerable as they are menacing. Fluidly told through alternations following both criminals and investigators, the film's strongest element is its visuals. Gloriously shot by Conrad Hall, the breathtakingly expressive black-and-white photography not only brilliantly conveys the atmosphere of the crime in general but is also quite reflective of the suggested state of mind experienced by the killers. While it is reinforced by edgy dialogue, exquisite mise-en-scene and convincingly strong performances, In Cold Blood could stand on its images alone, being of the few titles I wouldn't mind watching on mute.

The Long Goodbye (USA; Robert Altman, 1973)



    Finally! I had been meaning to watch this for years and never got around to it for reasons that are still unclear to me; I mean I bought it over two years ago and waited until now to watch it in its entirety. So much movies to watch I guess. Although The Long Goodbye is easily one of those that makes you want to slap yourself in the face for waiting this long to see it; especially if you're an Altman fan. And a Chandler fan. Perhaps one of the reasons I waited was to be able to read to book first, which I did a few months ago. This little detail made the film that more enjoyable to watch, always fun to observe the differences that exist between both mediums. Incidentally, no bigger gap existst between source and adaptation then it does for the ending, which inevitably affects the evolution of Philip Marlowe (Elliot Gould) and therefore the narrative's thematic concerns. All of this falls in line with Altman's presumed goal of deconstructing the typical private-eye film. In selecting Chandler's Marlowe, arguably litterature's most famous private dick, as his main protagonist, Altman acknowledges audiences' expectations with a the simple purpose of destroying them. Right from the start, the sharp, quick-talking Marlowe is turned into a smart-ass slob who can't even manage to feed his cat. The investigation in question seems to hover only in the background, the film's essence coming from the relationships between the various characters which are brough to life by a string of memorable performances, including Sterling Hayden's loud and imposing Roger Wade. Mark Rydell is also noteworthy, his funny yet threatening portrayal of persistent crime boss Augustine one of the film's hightlights (and the source of the film's unexpected scene of brutal violence).

 Stylistically, Long Goodbye is emblematic of Altman's strongest trademarks, including the extensive use of overlapping off-screen sound and moving camera that endows the films with its steady, unflinching rythm, something always present to be seen with a wandering eye. As funny as it is reflective, The Long Goodbye is unique, unprecedented and unequaled in the private eye genre.

Lifeforce (UK; Tobe Hooper, 1985)

  Well this was different; by today's standards anyway. As for the 80s, it fits in perfectly. While perhaps a bit dated on the special effects front, Lifeforce is still suprisingly effective in creating discomfort and puzzlement in its viewers, even if it does so between laughing fits instigated by scenes that have become hard to take seriously. Of course, the same could be said of the film as a whole. The discovery of three naked hibernating bodies in the a spaceship idling in the tail of Haley's comet leads to the unleashing of choatic madness in the streets of London. When the hibernators are brough back to earth, it is soon discovered that they are not human but alien beings that feed off the lifeforce of humans, literally sucking them dry and transforming them in to near-dead beings who need to suck life themselves before shatering into petrified dust. Much could be said about the psychological implications of the principal threat coming in the form of a naked woman (Mathilda May) who gets her energy fix through kissing, sucking the life out of her victims' mouths. When the colonel (Steve Railsback) of the original, presumed-dead team that discovered the aliens is found in an escape pod, he soon realizes that he is the only one that can put an end to this whole mess. Joined by a federal cop (Peter Firth), he sets out to find the deadly succubus he has unleashed on the world.

   While the film sometimes slips and falls narrative-wise, Lifeforce is still rather lots of fun, the graphic nature of its horrors still strong enough to induce awe and disgusted giggles. The entire ordeal is greatly aided by Hooper's polished imagery, his welcomed visual sensibility imposing itself on the looseness of the script in what seems like an attempt to make us forget its ficitional discrepancies. While not as career-defining as Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) or Poltergeist (1982), Lifeforce still testifies to Hooper's creative talent and proves itself an emblematic product of its time.

Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga'Hoole (USA/Australia; Zack Snyder, 2010)

   I'm not usually a big fan of animal-starring 3D animation films so I was suprised to have enjoyed this one as much as I did. I was initially sceptical of a movie about owls but my friend's passion for them led me to join him in a screening; and I wasn't disappointed. As funny as it is action-packed, Legend of the Guradians is one of the rare, true examples of a film marketed for children that is equally, if not more, appealing to adults as well. Director Zack Snyder takes his lateral, sporadic slow-motion action style, made famous by 300 and Watchmen, and transposes it not only into the animation realm, but into the air as well, creating free-flowing battles between opposing feathered armies, the spectacle of which is the film's greatest strength. While the characters and narrative are inspired in themselves, where Legend really shines is in its visuals, the flying sequences being some of the most beautiful ones to show up in recent memory. Hard-put to come up with a title that has such convincing textures (the water in Surf's Up does come to mind though), I was blown away by the crispness of the images and (this always fascinates me) the human quality in the facial expressions that endow the owls with recognizably unique personalities. Legend of the Guardians is as majestic as it is engaging, the perfect vehicle for those looking to fly off and temporarily escape the grounded existence of human life.

Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid (USA; Carl Reiner, 1982)

   I had seen numerous clips of this film noir spoof but had never screened it in its entirety until now. Seeing as I've been a long-time fan of both the noir genre and Steve Martin, needless to say I found this intelligently stupid parody greatly enjoyable. The perfect vehicle for Martin's deadpan, casual flakiness, Dead Men is astutely sophisticated in its satirical manipulation of film noir conventions, mocking while simultaneously giving tribute to this post-WWII cinematic movement. The film follows private eye (of course) Rigby Reardon (Martin) as he attempts to uncover some sinister plot that grows more and more absurd as the frames move along. Hired by a mysterious woman (Rachel Ward) who can extract bullets with her teeth, Reardon encounters iconic film noir personalities throughout his investigation, their parts in the plot shown through footage taken from actual noir films of that era. Humphrey Bogart's Philip Marlowe (whose quotes are plastered all over Reardon's office walls like scripture) heads the line-up of stars from the golden age that pop-up incessantly during the picture, including Ava Gardner, Ray Milland, Barbara Stanwyck, Burt Lancaster, Veronica Lake, Lana Turner and many others, the recognition of the films chosen to be inserted into the narrative adding greatly to the picture's appeal, the juxtaposition of old and new being cleverly constructed. Further adding to this is the change in context concerning the dialogue taken from the older scenes, in itself a testament to the formative powers of editing. Making fun of film noir's self-inflicted tendency of being over-complicated (as indicated by its repetitive inclusion of Bogart as Marlowe from The Big Sleep, a film known for its intentional confusion), Dead Men is absurd in the best sense of the word, letting the viewer slip into cinematic nostalgia while simultaneously cracking up to Martin's unique blend of comedy in what is arguably one of his best early titles.

Brooklyn's Finest (USA; Antoine Fuqua, 2009)

   It's a shame that Brooklyn's Finest doesn't really have a point other than establishing violent death as the only solution to law enforcement calamities. Beautifully shot, the film's gritty depiction of a world filled with crime and injustice, while often harrowing, remains but only that: a depiction. It doesn't seem to give the viewer any comment or offer any alternatives to the dysfuntional state of the NYPD that it portrays through the three disparate narratives of its protagonists: Sal (Ethan Hawke), a high-strung detective desperately seeking extra-cash; Eddie (Richard Gere), a suicidal soon-to-be-retiree who's in love with a prostitute; and Tango (Don Cheadle), a decade-long undercover cop looking for a way out. Through the various tribulations we see these characters endure, we are dually exposed to an inexperienced and exhausted police force whose lack of effective structure ultimately lead to the loss of innocent lives (a fact we are reminded of by media inserts throughout the film). While clichés abound and the character's evolution are quite predictable, the film is greatly redeemed by the crisp night-time photography and, most notably, its performances. Never having been a big fan of Gere, I was surprised by his subdued and convincing portrayal of an empty man futilely seeking to fill his void (which of course he eventually achieves through acts of violence). And as usual, Hawke and Cheadle give engagingly strong performances, the latter's Tango arguably being the film's most honorable character. The film is also strengtened by the appearance of Ellen Barkin and Wesley Snipes, refreshing as a multi-targeted crime boss. While it lacks the social awareness and psychologial depth of earlier cop dramas like Narc (Joe Carnahan, 2002) or Dark Blue (Ron Shelton), Brooklyn's Finest remains a fine addition to the cop-film family, another brutal reflection on the hardening times gone through by the boys in blue.

The Sandlot (USA; David M. Evans, 1993) - Revisited

   Me writing about this film, while being a tribute to what I consider to be one of the best films ever made about baseball, also serves to explain why I haven't written much about films lately, my last post strangely coinciding with the start of the new baseball season and the beginning of my addiction to mlb.tv. Having the time and opportunity to watch ballgames this season, that's exactly what I'm doing. Obviously I will also be watching films during the summer and when I hit on one that's worth mentioning I will surely write about it. Interestingly enough, the movies I have been watching lately, due in part to my surroundings, have been children's films and therefore had a chance to re-experience one of my childhood favorites, once again following Smalls, Bennie 'the Jet' Rodriguez and the rest of the baseball ruffians in The Sandlot as they try to get their priceless baseball back from the Beast, a neighborhood watchdog. Focusing primarily on baseball as a unifying enterprise, The Sandlot is part of a small group of children's pictures of the 90s which stand-out amongst its peers as not having any antagonists per say, letting the children's innocence blossom and grow unencumbered without any imminent (usually criminal) threat from the outside (adult) world; an innocence that gets shattered through the normal course of childhood rather than by an imposed adult intrusion. While there are adults in the picture, their understanding of common elements differ widely in perception (the most crucial of which being the Babe Ruth-signed baseball) and the film's central threat turns out to be unfounded and erroneous. The only thing that can be taken at face-value in The Sandlot is baseball, the only reality that remains unchanged and unfazed from beginning to end. In setting the film in the 60's, the film also brings us back to when the game was just a game, before the days of 275 M$ contracts and HGH, reminding us that only kids really know how to play the game.

Geronimo: An American Legend (USA; Walter Hill, 1993)

    I remember this movie being released when I was 11 years-old and so I find it surprising that I had never seen it before, seeing as I used to watch practically any and every film that came out at the time. Furthermore, I've always considered Walter Hill to be an underrated director and was curious to see what else he could do with the western after The Long Riders (1980). Here he deals with the 'true' story of Geronimo (Wes Studi), the last of the Apache rebels to oppose being relocated to a reservation by the United States army. Powerful in its depiction of the brutal treatment of native Americans and the beautiful land that was rightfully theirs, Geronimo is a great exploration of the prejudiced ignorance that lies in the heart of men, unforunately overcome only by a handful of people. Seen through the eyes of narrator Lt. Britton Davis (Matt Damon), the give-and-take nature of the Apache conflict is the cause for many violent battles, the insincere promises of the American government regenerating hatred that had temporarily been subdued. The idea of loyalty is also questioned through the relationship between the fighting Apaches and the assimilated scouts working for the army. While no creative endeavor can totally be considered hisorically accurate, the inclusion of recorded events, such as the photography session of the negotiations between Geronimo and General Crooke (Gene Hackman), adds much weight and credibility to a film that could have easily been just another action film (incidentally the historical accuracy seems to be more emphasized than in The Long Riders). More than engaging horse-back shoot-outs and breathtaking landscapes, Geronimo offers a revealing glimpse into a morally shady period of American history which, unfortunately, most people are too quick to forget.

Asylum (UK; Roy Ward Baker, 1972)

   This episodic(anthology) horror film is emblematic of the 1970's brittish horror films in that upon hindsight, it is far more funnier than it is scary. While this one is not produced by Hammer studios, it could very well be mistaken as such due to its polished visual treatment of exploitative content (although the Hammer pictures I've seen contain more exploitative material such as blood and nutidty). Furthermore, the film's director is responsible for one of Hammer's signature lesbian vampire pictures, Vampire Lovers (1970), a suprisingly good picture whose success can be strongly attributed to Baker's visual treatment. Similarly, the same could be said of Asylum, whose patched-up narratives come from the imagination of Robert Bloch, perhaps best known for writing 'Psycho', the novel that served as the basis for Hitchcock's 1960 film. When a young psychiatrist (Robert Powell) gets summoned to an isolated asylum, his job interview consists of a challenge in identifying, through interviews with four patients, the establishment's head physician who has recently been admitted as a patient himself and has taken on a different personality. The narratives in question are flashbacks into the patients' reasons for internment. With the participation of Peter Cushing, Patrick Magee and Charlotte Rampling, Asylum is good, ridiculous fun, whose ideas behind the horror elements are more frightening than the elements themselves, which by today's standards would be considered dépassé. However, more than a simple document of its time, Asylum is an intriguing exploration into the qualifications of sanity and the risks they ultimately present.

Sucker Punch (USA/Canada; Zack Snyder, 2011)

   Oh boy, what a mess. Granted, it is a beautiful one, but a mess nonetheless. While Snyder's comic-like visual style clearly demonstrates talent and creativity, the script that it is bringing to life clearly does not. Co-written by Snyder, it is a clear indicator that some talents should remain focused on story-telling rather than story-creating, the film's loose and random structure being largely responsible for making it hard to take seriously as the uninspired dialogue doesn't help the already-limited cast to appear any more convincing than the rest of the premise; which, in turn, mistakes complicated for intelligent, and not even that complicated at that. When Baby Doll (Emily Browning) gets sent to an insane asylum to await an upcoming lobotomy, she mentally escapes to a parallel world transforming the hospitlal into a brothel. When she recruits some of the girls/patients to help her escape, the missions to acquire the items needed are turned into elaborate action sequences taking place in a ever-changing fantasy world with characteristics that range from medieval castles to WWI planes. As someone I know appropriately observed, this is like teenage videogame geek's wet dream, except this time disappointment comes before waking up. It's a shame because I usually enjoy Snyder's pictures (even Watchmen), just now realizing he should stick to directing other people's imaginations. While Sucker Punch is easily entertaining, the limbo-like feeling of the action in question, no matter how stylized and polished it may be, leaves one constantly questioning the intended heaviness of the themes explored, making one wonder when exactly will I begin to care.

One Day in September (Switzerland/ Germany/ UK; Kevin Macdonald, 1999)

  
   I wish I could show this movie to the narrow-minded people whom I've heard over the years claiming that documentaries were boring. Watching this constantly engaging documentary recapitulating the 1972 Munich Olympics hostage situation, one understands how its director made such an immediately successful transition into fiction film-making with The Last King of Scotland (2006). Macdonald builds his documentaries like fiction films, using many conventions of the latter even if there are many filmed interviews, which in turn remind us that we are watching the former. In his beautifully shot Touching the Void (2003), most of the films is made-up of completely re-enacted footage depicting actors going through the tribulations detailed by the two protagonists' real-voice narrations, the audience obliged to take their words for truth, having no other record of the actual incident. In September, the situation is completely reversed. The only new footage includes the interviewed segments and inserts of the deceased athlete's families, the bulk of the film consisting of stock news footage covering the incident at the time. The entire event is recreated through a dynamic selection of shots interspersed with news casters and most notably the testimony of the only surviving terrorist speaking for the first time about the horrible ordeal. Whether the film's gripping rhythm is due to its already heated topic and themes or the hand behind its conception is perhaps arguable. What is not, however, is my confidence in daring anybody to find this film boring.

Mary and Max (Australia; Adam Elliot, 2009)

   Apparently based on a true story, this touching tale of unusual friendship is a refreshing alternative to the prevalent 3-D animation we are usually subjected to. Using stop-motion animation, the film recounts pen-pal relationship between Mary, an little neglected Australian girl, and Max, an overweight New Yorker with a tendency for anxiety attacks, their loneliness and mutual lack of physical friends being their main common traits. Using different color hues to represent the differing world of these two unlikely friends, the film flows like an animated storybook, a feeling made stronger by the almost complete lack of spoken dialogue, the telling of the story being shared by an omniscient narrator and the two characters' letters being read in their voices (Toni Collette & Philip Seymour Hoffman) over the images. I also kept thinking of the stories of Roald Dahl when considering how strange the realities projected were, even more so when claiming to be based on real events. Funny, dark and touchingly sad, Mary and Max pulls you in from the start, immersing you in a distorted reality that proves once again the truth can sometimes be far stranger than fiction. 

Genesis (Spain; Nacho Cerda, 1998)

   Watching this short film following Cerda's earlier short Aftermath (1994), I was struck at how much more romantic this one was in comparison to the latter's brutal necrophilia-centered premise, while still retaining the same aesthetic approach that poetically depicts horrifying content, not to mention the lack of dialogue in both films, thus focusing the film's power on its invoking classical score and well-crafted images. Genesis follows a sculptor (Pep Tosar) as he finishes up an exact-replica statue of his wife who recently died in a car crash. Slowly, the statue starts to bleed while it's stone exerior begins to crack. The cost of resurrection is not cheap, however; a reality the sculptor discovers as he begins his own transformation, slowly turning into a statue himself, his progressive 'wounds' mirroring the statue's eclosion process. Beautifully shot and supported by constantly beautiful music, Genesis  is a powerful love story that explores self-sacrifice as the ultimate price for the reversal of nature. While at times it made me think of the Stephen King-starring segment of Creepshow (1982) meets Wilde's Dorian Grey, the film's inherent beauty and universal appeal (greatly aided by its silent treatment) is evident from the opening frames. Additionally, while it may be shocking in certain circumstances, it becomes almost soothing and relieving when it comes directly after the unflinching atrocities depicted in Aftermath, its DVD companion.

Fair Game (USA/UAE; Doug Liman, 2010)

    I haven't been watching enough films lately and I'm starting to feel a few threads of sanity starting to get loose. Actually, I have seen a few movies in the past few days but it's been mostly repeats or else titles that don't warrant much to be written about. Of these, however, Fair Game was probably the best one. The film chronicles the real-life tribulations of exposed CIA agent Valerie Plame (Naomi Watts) and her husband Joe Wilson (Sean Penn), whose editorial piece refuting the Bush administration's contention that Niger was dealing with Iraq sparked the initial exposure of Plame's top-secret identity. Mainly, it deals with Wilson's adamant media-frenzied quest to expose the truth versus Plame's irrevocable silence on the matter, an oppositon that ultimately threatens the integrity of their marriage. Seemlessly blending stock news footage with convincing reenactments of known events, Fair Game is a decent political thriller, even if it doesn't tell anything new. The US lied about Iraq's nuclear condition; much the same message as the same year's Green Zone (Paul Greengrass), marketed more as an action film. In Game, the internal exposure angle aptly reflects the country's internal division at the time and how this, as much as anything else, might be responsible for the unfiltered information that was eventually taken for fact and fed to the public. Furthermore, it is interesting to have Doug Liman ( The Bourne Identity; Mr. and Mrs. Smith) direct a film that is not action-oriented, bringing me back to consider his earlier films (Swingers; Go), realizing how professional and attuned his approach has become, giving a possibly bland script (although some dialogue was well formulated) some engaging rythm (its also trivially interesting to note that Greengrass directed the sequels to Liman's Identity, evidently once again sharing the same thematic interests). Fortunately, the beat is kept in line with perfectly acceptable performances by the headlining stars in a picture that at least brings satisfaction in knowing that events get a bit more uplifting than the last time Penn and Watts played husband and wife (21 Grams, 2003).

I Spit on Your Grave (USA; Steven R. Monroe, 2010)

   I have conflicting feelings concerning the continuing wave of classic-horror remakes that has been hitting American cinema since the turn of the century. While I initially object to modern productions of films whose original versions still stand the test of time, I can't seem to help myself from viewing them if only to compare them with their source of inspiration. Except maybe for Last House on the Left (Dennis Iliadis, 2009), none has even come close, in my opinion, to matching its predecessor; and they're certainly not better. Unfortunately, this trend is not broken with this over-aestheticized re-hash of Meir Zarchi's 1978 picture of the same name (aka Day of the Woman). Following the same premise as the original, Grave details the gang-rape and subsequent revenge of Jennifer Hills, a writer recently settled into a secluded cabin in the woods. Her despicable exposure to southern hospitality abruptly changes her plans, ultimately leading her to shift the focus her creative aptitudes from words to actions in the form of appropriate retributive methods (in other words, sadistic vengeance). While the concept is arguably the same as the 1978 version, the approach taken is much more pretentious and circumventing of the event at-hand, its attempts at buffing up the screenplay by giving more narrative importance to the perpetrators after the assault only serving to fill time that would've been better spent elsewhere. In doing this, the remake seems to lack the pressing and unrelenting quality of the original one, in which events unfold one after the other without waiting for characters to develop, therefore eliminating any chance for sympathy to grow for the rapists. In showing the audience the circumstances of the assailants outside of the film's main event, the new version seemingly attempts to humanize monsters and in doing so loses much of the purely exploitative quality that made the original so memorable.

Melodrama Sacramental (France; Alejandro Jodorowsky, 1965)

   I didn't have time to watch a feature today so I checked out this Jodorowsky short I had stashed somewhere; but even a short Jodorowsky film is quite an experience in itself. In this case, we are privy to parts of a four-hour performance piece that took place at the Paris Festival of Free Expression, arranged by Jodorowsky's Panic Movement, a group led by Jorodowsky, Fernando Arabal and Roland Topor and focused on producing surrealist and abusurdist theatrical performances. Hard to describe in any specific way, this random presentation of various individual performances is simultaneously funny, uncomfortable and disturbing, displaying disparate acts ranging from stripping individuals convulsing to drum-dominated free-jazz and samurais attempting what looks a like an alien autopsy. Intently absurd and meant not to be taken seriously, Melodrama Sacramental is a rare glimpse into the baggage behind the delightfully twisted imagination responsible for such cult classics as El Topo (1970) and Holy Mountain (1973).

Brighton Rock (UK; John Boulting, 1947)

  I screened this under rather specific circumstances, having finished the last pages of the Graham Greene novel from which it is adapted on the bus coming home from work, starting the film as soon as I arrived not 15 minutes later. Needless to say, the book was still pretty fresh on my mind and so it was essentially inevitable to avoid comparison between the original source and the adapatation; a practice I enjoy doing regardless, but made even more interesting by the close proximity between the two. As to be expected, considerable differences exist between the film and the book, but considering that Greene co-wrote the screenplay, the changes still retain the general spirit of the novel and prove that Greene understands the differences between both mediums, adjusting or deleting certains scenes in order to make it a better fit for cinema's faster pace and more limited scope. Cinematically, dark and high-contrast photography is impressively used to convey the hopelessness of this small underworld, the askew angles in composition an extension of teenage murderer Pinkie's (Richard Attemborough) twisted view on the necessities of life. Attenborough's haunting performance goes a long way to illustrate the book's psychological portrait of Pinkie, the essence of which goes beyond mere dialogue. In fact, strong acting is largely responsible for much of the film's success, the roles of Ida Arnold (Hermione Baddeley) and Rose (Carol Marsh) being perfectly cast, as if the characters were taken directly out of the novel and placed onto the screen. While the film  doesn't explore all of the novel's themes with equal depth, the unstability of Pinkie's mind-frame and self-control is genuinely faithful to the source, as well as an uncomfortable joy to sit through.

Don't Look Now (UK/Italy; Nicolas Roeg, 1973)

   Book-ended with unforgettable sequences, Don't Look Now knows how to titillate the viewer. It demonstrates its strong editing qualities from the very beginning, cutting from working-parents inside to playing-children outside, the action of one reflected in those of the other until a tragedy occurs, setting up the rest of the film. Still grieving the death of their little girl, John and Laura Baxter (Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie) are in Venice for John's work as a church renovator when they encounter a couple of elderly sisters, one of whom is blind and convinces Laura that she is a psychic able to communicate with her dead daughter. Very minimal in its fantastic approach, Don't Look Now creates big and lasting chills with what seems like the least amount of material, violence being practically non-existent and supernatural presence being relegated to the apparition of a little person in a blood-red raincoat. Suspense is achieved through crafty editing and uncomfortable mise-en-scene, which uses the alley-like streets and canals of Venice to enhance the dizzying atmosphere that supports the unexpected scenario. The film's sometimes-slow pace only adds to heighten the intrigue and helps to immerse the viewer even further into this strange world that is constantly testing its own validity. 

The Great Silence (Italy/France; Sergio Corbucci, 1968)

   My friend invited me over this afternoon to watch a Corbucci double-bill comprised of Great Silence and Django (1966). Having previously seen the outrageously fun, machismo-infested tribulations of the latter's coffin-pulling protagonist, I was excited to watch another of the director's pictures; having Klaus Kinski and Jean-Louis Trintignant as the rivaling leading men only serving to heighten the level of anticipation. The film tells of a mute roaming gunslinger (Trintignant) who uses men's short fuses against them to assassinate in 'self-defense' until he falls on Tigrero (Kinski), a banker-backed bounty hunter who is in town to rid them of a murderous bunch of rebels taking refuge in the surrounding mountains. When both men are hired to kill the other, hands move quickly and thumbs get blown off as good struggles to keep evil at bay. The paint-red blood and graphic nature of the violence makes one think of Pekinpah and his most probably having seen this picture in preparation for The Wild Bunch (1969). Taking place during a blizzard, Silence often uses snow as backdrop for consistently beautiful shots, contrasting the vividness of the white against the emptiness of the black sky. Taking place in the snow is not the only unconventional element, as the scales of morality constantly sway and are manipulated to create one of the most hopeless westerns I've ever seen. While the film may be initially hard to take seriously, a common occurrence with dubbed films made even more significant here with the change of Kinski's voice into a dandy southern drawl, you quickly get sucked in by the violently tense action sequences, Ennio Morriconne's masterfull yet unconventional score and Kinski's demonically evil facial expressions. Taking unexpected turns at every crossroads, Silence leaves the viewer stunned until its jaw-dropping, merciless finale. 

4 Minutes (Germany; Chris Kraus, 2006)

    This intelligent and nuanced exploration of unconventional friendship is the setting for one of the best films about music that I've seen in a long time. Like the elderly piano teacher Mrs. Kruger (Monica Bleitbreu) who cares only for music, the picture holds it in priority as well as it offers some of the most impressive piano-playing sequences to be seen since The Legend of 1900 (Giuseppe Tornatore, 1998). Due to the incarcerated nature of the film's second protagonist Jenny (Hannah Herzsprung), we are privy to a prison-picture as well, the liberating aspect of music being emphasized as we are constantly shifting between the soothing beauty of its sound and the disturbing ugliness of the walls in which it is practiced. The nature of the relationship between student and teacher is respectfully presented, given more meaning and understanding through momentary flashbacks into Kruger's past that illuminate her life's void which, before meeting Jenny, could only be filled through her music. As it deals with matters of loyalty, family and regrets, 4 Minutes always stays in key and plays with intensity, ultimately creating one memorable cinematic symphony

Klute (USA; Alan J. Pakula, 1971)

  Alan J. Pakula is part of a group of American directors that made 1970's Hollywood look good while spending the rest of their careers fruitlessly trying to top their highlights that were produced during that decade (others including William Friedkin, Mike Nichols, Francis F. Coppola and arguably Robert Altman, who did direct two of his signature pictures, The Player (1992) and Gosford Park (2001), decades later). Coupled with All the President's Men (1976), Klute is easily amongst Pakula's most notable work. Mostly remembered for Jane Fonda's multi-award-winning performance as Bree Daniels, an introspective New York City call-girl who gets mixed up in a missing-person's investigation led by private detective John Klute (Donald Sutherland), the film is also fresh treatment of the private eye genre. The investigation being quickly put aside, the picture is more interested in exploring the objectification and independence of the modern woman as the two seemingly incompatible protagonists grow closer to one another as the case moves forward. Furthermore, the early revelation of the investigation's unknown suspect to the audience serves to draw curiosity and emphasis away from the actual progression of events; an intention confirmed by the anti-climactic threat resolution. In contrast to President's Men, which demanded a much more fact-based journalisitc approach, Pakula's directing here is calm and observant, his camera movements as graceful and enduring as Fonda's Daniels, his framing both expressive and inquisitive, sometimes making the audience uncomfortable through immersion into unknown points-of-view. Unremarkable as a simple detective story, Klute is emblematic of its time as a cinematic re-assessment of multi-faceted conventions linked to social acceptance and generally accepted truths that were being tested during this tumultuous decade.

Animal Kingdom (Australia; David Michod, 2010)

   It's refreshing to see a film that isn't in any hurry to make an impact on the viewer, letting the atmosphere sink in until you reap the rewards of your uncomfortable patience. Like Joshua (James Frecheville), the film's teenage protagonist, we float numb and passive through the events that occur all around, trying to make as much sense as we can out of the brutal lifestyle we are suddenly thrust into. When Joshua casually calls his estranged grandmother (Jacki Weaver) looking for a place to stay following his mother's overdose, he suddenly finds himself immersed in a family teetering on the brink of the law, with all four of his uncles about to lose their balance. When the homicide of two cops points in the family's direction, Joshua discovers that his presence is meaningful after all as his circumstantial implication forces him to take action and re-assess those he can trust. With a cop (Guy Pearce) on one side and his son-adoring grandmother on the other, Joshua is forced to do a lot of growing up fast, suffering many losses in the process. Thematically somber, the film resonates with authenticity as the actors interact fluidly with one another, the expressiveness of their faces filling in for the sporadic mumbling dialogue; which is understandable considering the shady and hidden nature of most of the picture's sequences. Newcomer Frecheville is convincing as a desensitized youth slowly waking up to the realities of his world to finally step in and take charge of the family that lost its way. His calm demeanor is compensated by Weaver's electric performance that spends most of its time hiding in wait, ready to step in if all goes wrong. As far as first features go, Animal Kingdom is a promising glimpse into Michod's capabilities, hoping he won't make us wait too long for another one.

TRON: Legacy (USA; Joseph Kosinski, 2010)

   I have never seen the original Tron (Steven Lisberger, 1982) when I was a kid so I don't have the nostalgic imprint that makes me appreciate it on some emotional level; because it sure isn't easy to do on a technical one. I watched it a few months back, having found an HD version on my brother's PS3 and having seen enough adds for the sequel to remind me that i'd never seen this Disney 'classic'; might as well watch it in HD. It didn't help much. Tron (1982) is one dated movie if I ever saw one, its special effects made even more obsolete in a world where technology becomes so in a matter of months. On that front, Legacy is obviously impressive, the techno-world of the grid transformed into a neon infested cyberpunk-like universe where women programs wear tight one-pieces and the rest try to kill each other off by ramming their helmet-covered heads together while riding aboard bright, swerving motor-bikes that leave a deadly wall in their wake. All of this can be argued to be present in the first one; except this time it looks good. As for how it sounds...well, it depends on what you're listening too. The dialogue is laughable, even (especially) when it's not meant to be. Cheesy one-liners and uninspired drama fail to shed any light on what seems to be a deliberately confusing narrative that includes many existential intricacies irrelevant to the essence or understanding of the quest at-hand. Furthermore, the performances suffer by consequence, even Jeff Bridges failing to bring any credibility to the heaviness the situation is built-up to call for. On a good note however, Legacy has one of the most fun and engaging soundtracks I've heard in a while, the choice of having Daft Punk in charge of the music being a stroke of genius. Powerful yet subtle when they need to be, they add groove to action sequences and make them more exciting, brilliantly setting the mood for this incursion into this strange and bright cyber-world. Its just a shame that shoddy writing constantly threatens to pull us out of it. 

The Edge (Russia; Aleksei Uchitel, 2010)

   For a film that is consistently beautiful in its visual presentation, The Edge is adamantly concerned, among other things, with the ugliness of human nature and the individuals that thrive to move past it. Furthermore, it is a great opportunity to see steam engines in all their imposing glory, symbolically used as elements of freedom in a world filled with hunger and deprivation. More than a train film, however, it aptly explores the impacts of war's end on both the soldiers and those that waited it out, exposing the prejudices that either  hold  or fall depending on which group one belongs to. After World War II, Ignat (Vladimir Mashkov) is a war hero entering a Siberian camp filled with Russians and Germans alike where trains become objects of status and an extension of the characters themselves. Stricken with sporadic seizures caused by several past concussions, Ignat is no longer authorized to be a conductor, his stubornness to continue being one landing him into trouble. When he comes upon an old idle engine rotting in the forest, he encounters a lost soul living within its ruins. As he brings back both entities to the camp, ideas of national identity and social duty are tested, making Ignat re-evaluate all of life's previous certainties. Narratively, The Edge constantly shifts gear as it establishes a balance between tragedy and comedy, love and war, life and death; with steam-rolling engines at the center of it all. Furthermore, it is a frowning look back at a country torn apart by fear at a time when its people's worst enemies were its leaders. Thematically densely packed, this unique vision of humanity's borderless nature advances on the viewer like welcomed freight train, its impact one of great cinematic satisfaction.

Faster (USA; George Tillman Jr., 2010)

  
   I believe Arizona Republic critic Bill Goodykoontz described this picture rather accurately when he called it "a stripped-down affair, from title to characters to plot. It never strives to be more, instead concentrating on making the most of its self-imposed limitations". Interestingly enough, this description seems to fit that of exploitation films that I've talked a bit about, which was what The Rock's (I'm still calling him that) latest action-fest made me think of. Extremely simple in concept, Faster is a revenge-flick much more focused on violent retribution than say Harry Brown (Daniel Barber, 2009). The premise exists solely as pretense for the Rock to flex his guns and practice his mean-looking stare. Silent during most of the movie, Johnson is still convincing as the man hunting down those responsible for his brother's murder, cops Billy Bob Thornton and Carla Gugino hot on his trail. Also chasing him is a hired hit-man (Oliver Jackson-Cohen) who picks the wrong time to stop taking his pills, his control dropping as fast as his target's victims. While I normally excuse poor narrative structure in the name of pure entertainment, the action in Faster seems to lack the 'oomph' necessary to make it work, the run-and-gun sequences being redundant and lacking any unique qualifiers or heightened moments. Even the car chase fails to bring satisfaction beyond the choice of cars involved. Believing 'The Rock' Johnson to be a credible action star since The Rundown (Peter Berg, 2003), I'm still waiting for something to come along that will make as good use of him as that one did; this isn't it.

PTU (Hong Kong; Johnnie To, 2003)

  My comprehension and understanding of PTU may be questionable seeing as the subtitles that were attached to my copy were strangely unnatural and confusing, the wrong verb tenses and technical vocabulary making me believe they were created by someone with a Cantonese/English dictionnary. However, the fact that I was still hooked into the film is a testament to its strong visual appeal and creative approach to the police drama genre. Narratively, PTU (Police Tactical Unit) can essentially be explained as being about revenge, duty and a fool's quest for a missing gun, the title's special unit working behind the scenes to cover all three. While the originality of the narrative escalation is noteworthy in itself, the film's true appeal stems from its fomal treatment, both images and sounds working together to build one of the most unconventional crime films I've ever seen. Taking place almost entirely at night, the picture brings the streets of Hong Kong to life through the prominent use of high-contrast lighting that makes cigarette smoke shine like diamonds in a coal mine. Every frame is carefully crafted, each an important piece responsible for making the whole seem removed and otherworldly. This feeling is strengthened by the characters themselves, caricatural in their representation of specific stereotypes. Furthermore, the unusual choice of musical accompaniment adds to the discrepancy between the actions themselves and how they are meant to be perceived by the audience. As for violence, its practice is much more glamorized and aestheticized than his Election films, slow-motion and shots staring into the barrel of a gun accentuating the climactic nature of its usage. Special in many ways, PTU uniquely stands out amongst HK productions as it refuses to abide by the rules of convention, a quality I've always admired.

[Rec] 2 (Spain; Jaume Balaguero & Paco Plaza, 2009)

   Opening with its predecessor's closing shot, [Rec] 2 feels as if you'd hit pause on the first one and came back later to finish it, the latter being but an episode of the whole story behind this zombie lunacy. Switching perspectives to the technological eyes of S.W.A.T team members entering the building to take charge of the situation, we quickly learn that the mission is not what it seems when the mission leader turns out to be a priest sent to find an antidote by the Vatican to cover-up their involvement in the matter. Locking us inside the dreaded building barely 4 minutes into the movie, [Rec] 2 assumes the viewer has seen the first one as it doesn't waste time with exposition, taking us back into the penthouse to learn more about the background of the situation. In addition to being faster, gorier and more populated than the initial film, the sequel takes the initial concept of hand-held amateur footage to new heights, using the equipment of the agents to explain the use of a screen-within-screen aesthetic that also serves as transitions between the points of view of the soldiers, adding more tension and range to the surrounding terror. However, the mystery angle that was an important factor of the first picture is almost completely lost as the film spends most of its time explaining the roots of this infestation, shedding much light on what went unanswered earlier. As effective to induce fright, [Rec] 2 is as good, if not better, than its source.

Perrier's Bounty (Ireland/UK; Ian Fitzgibbon, 2009)

  I sought this film after seeing its title on a list of the year's ten best picture. I don't remember who made the list but I feel sorry that they didnt' get to see better pictures that year. Not that this one is bad, except you'd have to have seen only a handful of pictures if you would chose to include it in the annual top-ten. Inferior yet somewhat comparable to In Bruges (Martin McDonagh, 2008), Bounty is a crime comedy dealing with dramatic subject matter whose loose script fails to bring balance to the equation; in other words, you get more laughs than emotions. The story of a slacker Dubliner (Cillian Murphy) on the run with his father (Jim Broadbent) and best friend (Jodie Whittaker) because the latter killed a henchman that was about to break his legs in the name of an unpaid loan is arguably uninspired, the weight of the picture meant to rest on the performances of its impresssive cast. In addition to those already mentioned, the casting of Liam Cunningham and Brandan Gleeson as the titular Perrier greatly adds to the film's appreciation, Gleeson's friendly yet threatening portrayal not getting enough screen time, in my opinion. Murphy and Broadbent were also convincing as the quarelling father-and-son team, Broadbent's tough-guy flakiness responsible for much of the film's best moments. However, the film does contain an element that often frustrates me in movies: the voice-over. I find it justifiable when its presence offers introspective insights into various characters, as it does in The Thin Red Line (1998) or other Terrence Malick films, or when it serves to explain contextual information crucial to the film's understanding, such as in Rounders (John Dahl, 1998). In Bounty, however, the voice-over, although thankfully kept to a minimum, brings nothing to light that can't be picked up by either the visuals or the dialogue. Furthermore, the film keeps the source of the omniscient voice (Gabriel Byrne) secret until the end, the discovery of which is rather disappointing.

Tears for Sale (Serbia; Uros Stojanovic, 2008)

   This magical breath of fresh air is a beautiful dark comedy that explores obsession and possessiveness when confronted with deprivation and illusion, not to mention imminent death if unfortunate enough to draw the short stick (you'll see). Establishing a fairy-tale vibe from the beginning, Tears immerses the viewer in an imaginary Serbia in which men have become a rare sight due to the many wars that have taken their lives. Small villages strictly inhabited by women cherish the last of their men, no matter how old and sick they may be. When Ognjenka (Sonja Kolacaric) accidentally kills her town's last male entity, she keeps herself and her sister Boginja (Katarina Radivojevic) from being burnt at the stake by promising to bring back another man for the village. The film follows the sisters' journey through a man-deprived Serbia as their illusions are destroyed, innocence shattered and their lives are changed forever. More enlivening than the previous Serbian films I have seen, the dark nature of the depraved villagers is balanced-out by the wacky and absurd portrayal of the men found along the way, the masculine obsession made laughable by the limited selection available. Incidentally, a world where entire villages throw themselves at your feet simply because you are a man is more scary than it sounds. Filmed in a dream-like sepia aesthetic, the film aptly conveys the birth of desire through absence, the women wanting what is not available, most of them not knowing what to do if they were with one anyway. Original, creative and delightfully twisted, Tears for Sale uniquely re-writes the battle of the sexes with outrageous success.

The Mechanic (USA; Simon West, 2011)

 

   I felt like watching a no-brainer and that's exactly what I got. Not to say that it wasn't an enjoyable ride, only that it was a predictable and familiar one. A remake of the 1972 Charlers Bronson film of the same name, The Mechanic follows professional hitman Arthur Bishop (Jason Statham) as he tryies to get over his guilt at having killed his boss and mentor (Donald Sutherland) by teaching his trade to the latter's son (Ben Foster), the practice of which puts him at odds with his other boss (Tony Goldwyn). A perfect vehicle for Statham's strong, soft and silent persona, Mechanic is ideal for a rainy afternoon, delivering exactly what it promises in the trailer. While the action does take its time to get into gear, the film benefits from wisecracking humor and another convincing performance by Foster, in my opinion one of best young actors working today.

Reminiscent of the 90's action film (of which West directed many), Mechanic will probably not leave the viewer with a long-lasting impression, but it won't be a disappointing one either. 

The American Trap (Canada; Charles Binamé, 2008)

 

  This film is notewothy if only for being a bilangual Canadian film that is not about hockey. Speaking in both English and French, Remy Girard stars as real-life Montreal hoodlum Lucien Rivard, a figure known to have had ties with New Orleans gangster Carlos Marcello. His dealings with the CIA and anti-Castro militias are re-created as the picture brings us back to the Cold War era, exploring Rivard's involvement in JFK's assassination and its aftermath. While the implications sometimes seem far-fetched, Trap still works as a conjurer of times past, adding many 'what-ifs' to a subject that already has plenty. Having recently re-screened Oliver Stone's JFK (1991) and being a long-time fan of James Ellroy's incomparable novel 'American Tabloid', it's interesting to look at both the discrepancies and similarities that exist between each point-of-view, this time bringing the conspiracy closer to home in dealing with Montreal-born Rivard. Beyond historical credibility, Trap is simply gorgeous to look at, special touches like the recreation of some of the McClellan Committee hearings and footage from the Zapruder film keeping the viewer actively involved and wondering about the validity of the allegations presented. As I never tire of this particular piece of American history, I found it a great treat to think about the Canadian implications of it, all of which is made more fun with the bilangual performances of Girard and Colm Feore, two of Canada's best actors.

[Rec] (Spain; Jaume Balaguero & Paco Plaza, 2007)

  Incessantly freaky, [Rec] is one of those films that is refreshingly simple both in concept and practice, making it one of the better examples of the reality-concerned, mockumentary-style horror films such as Cloverfield (Matt Reeves, 2008) and Diary of the Dead (George A. Romero, 2007). In fact, its unique premise was almost literally re-appropriated by Hollywood for the weaker Quarantine (J.E. Dowdle) barely a year later, unable to come up with their own idea to cash-in on the reality-terror craze. Seen through the shaky, hand-held lens of Pablo, cameraman for the late-night TV show "While you Sleep", the film follows Angela (Manuela Velasco), the program's host, as she is doing a report about the night in the life of a fireman. Following them on a call to an appartment building in which an old woman is supposedly locked in a tenement, Angela gets the scoop of a lifetime; if she survives her own story that is. When the old woman in question attacks one of the assisting cops, their quest for assistance is stopped-short when the building's exits are found to have been barricaded from the outside by the authorities, everybody being locked inside. When the injured turn out to be not as lifeless as initially perceived, Angela and Pablo attempt to stay alive long enough to shed some light on this outrageous turn of events. Dealing with themes of autoritarian abuse, freedom of information and mass hysteria, this frenzy-fest is there to scare. The fact that we are frustrated and made uncomforble by the camera work greatly aids the frightening effect, the fast and glimpe-like views that we get of the threatful elements creating more questions than they answer. Mysterious until the very end, [Rec] has no illusions of grandeur as it sets out to scare the wits out of its audience, its straightforward entertainment value making it grand nonetheless.  

Joint Security Area (South Korea; Chan-wook Park, 2000)

   It seems that Park hasn't always held a pessimistic view of the world. Before his signature 'Revenge' trilogy (Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance, 2002; Oldboy, 2003; Lady Vengeance, 2005), he tackled his country's North/South issue with brains, heartbreak and humor, exploring the essence of animosity by questioning the reasons people become enemies; or are labeled as such from the start, free will having nothing to do with the matter. When two North Korean soldiers are killed and one wounded inside their own lines, South Korean soldier Soo-hyeok is pinned for the infraction; he was seen crossing back over from the North side on the night of the murders nursing a bullet hole in his arm. His account of the night in question, however, is different from that of the North Korean survivor (Kang-ho Song), each side accusing the other of instigating the situation. When a Switzerland-born Korean Neutral Countries Officer (Yeong-ae Lee) gets sent to her father's native land to investigate, she attempts to learn what really went down. Told through sporadic flashbacks, this seemingly simple film induces laughs and tears as it portrays war in an habitual and life-defining way, yet whose roots are often trivial and ambiguous; sometimes even forgotten. In the vein of war pictures like Grand Illusion (Jean Renoir, 1937) and A Midnight Clear (Keith Gordon, 1992), JSA looks at soldiers in identity crises, re-evaluating who they thought they were and by extension doing the same for their country.   

Screamin' Jay Hawkins: I Put a Spell on Me (Greece; Nicholas Triandafyllidis, 2001)

  This revealing documentary is a must-see for any fan of Screamin' Jay Hawkins, big or small. Whether it serves to introduce him to new generations or to satisfy the nostalgia of his long-time supporters, Spell on Me paints an honest and uplifting portrait of the deep-voiced, voodoo-inspired soul man, a genuineness much strenghtened by having Hawkins do much of the explaining himself. Following him throughout Greece during his final tour in 1999, the film uses interviews and stock footage to essentially summarize his life and carreer; from his POW days in a Japanese prison camp, through his early Alan Freed-promoted days and his stint with the Fuzztones in the 80's. Interviews with the likes of Bo Didley and Jim Jarmusch help shine some light on this eccentric performer who initially set out to offer something different; and boy did he ever. From the bone in his nose to Henry, the skull resting atop his voodoo stick, Hawkins' image was far from traditional. This is reflected by the live footage included into the picture, comprised of numbers both from the past and the actual tour. However, as much as it is joyfully exhilirating to see him perform his unique brand of showmanship, it seems that many of the musical numbers are cut-short, cross-cutting to testimonials in the middle of a song then cutting back to its conclusion. Apart from the editing choices that sometime break the groove started by Hawkins' performances, the film still feels like a privileged treat, if only for the fortune of spending 90 minutes in the presence of this legend barely months before his untimely death.  

In a Glass Cage (Spain; Agusti Villaronga, 1987)

  It always impresses me how filmmakers, especially those specializing in horror, can manage to create beauty when dealing with the most deplorable subjects, often making the viewer feel almost guilty of enjoying certain films. This is such a picture; although enjoyable may be too strong a word of it. It tells the story of Angelo (David Sust), a disturbed young man who has taken the post of caretaker for exiled ex nazi-doctor Klaus (Gunter Meisner) who is confined to an iron lung after a failed suicide attempt, done in shame of his penchant for killing and sexually assaulting young boys, a taste he picked up during the war. It soon becomes clear that the doctor's past is what Angelo is really interested in, showing his true psychopathic colors when he announces his intention of re-creating some of his war-time atrocities. The title referring both to Klaus' iron lung and the mansion in which he and his family are isolated in, the feeling of entrapment is consistently felt throughout by the viewer as well, being rarely permitted to step outside. The atmosphere of a glass cage is cleverly conveyed through heavy and prominent use of blue color-filtered lighting. This expressive use of color, coupled with sweeping camera movements and advancing POV shots, sometimes made me think of an Argento movie with more sexual deviance than blood. While I don't want to describe any scenes in too much detail so as not to ruin any shockinlgy surprising moments, I can safely say that this is one of the most intriguing pictures to deal with abnormal psychology; not to mention that it is practically without sympathetic characters, even the little girl inspiring more curiosity than sympathy. As the film becomes more and more oneiric, the growing desire to turn away never completely overcomes human nature's instinctual fascination with the horrors of the mind.

for further reading on the film: www.offscreen.com/index.php/phile/essays/glass_cage/

The Man from Nowhere (South Korea; Jeong-beom Lee, 2010)

  Another fresh treatment of an old premise to come out of South Korea, this time giving new panache to the retired-agent-on-a-vendetta action film. At times reminiscent of Man on Fire (2004), this emotionally violent quest for an abducted little girl stars Won Bin as Cha Tae-Sik, a silent, cold-blooded retired government agent with a tragic past now living under the guise of a simple pawnshop owner. His only acquaintance is young Somee (Kim Sae-Ron), the lonely daughter of his junky neighbor who pops in from time to time to take a breather from her heroin-induced convulsing mother. When gangsters come looking for their missing narcotics, they make the mistake of kidnapping Somee and her mother in the process, initially using them to blackmail Tae-Sik into doing their dirty work. When they deliver the mother's corpse with no sign of Somee, finding her becomes his only objective, sparking a hell fire that puts both criminals and law enforcement on his mysterious trail. Supported by solid, vulnerable performances, Nowhere takes the viewer into a dark world whose only hope for redemption comes from the people who taint it in the first place. While there are super-villains with no conscience in this film, being 'bad' is not seen as being unifyingly definitive, as the entire concept of the anti-hero would also seem to support. Far from his portrayal of the confused, slow-witted son in Mother (2009), Bin is highly convincing as a man fighting hard to become emotionally numb, a feat that becomes harder and harder as his quest progresses. Kim is perfect as the orphaned girl, her eyes filled with defiant innocence, simply looking for proof that the world is not all hate. Action-wise, we are treated to hand-to-hand combat sequences a la Jason Bourne, its quickness matched only by its efficiency in handling outnumbered enemies. As entertainment with heart and smarts, Man from Nowhere is refreshing in a creatively familiar way.