The Wind that Shakes the Barley (Ireland/UK/Germany/Italy/Spain/France; Ken Loach, 2006)

  Several years ago, I remember watching within the same week Bloody Sunday (Paul Greengrass, 2002), Rabbit-Proof Fence (Philip Noyce, 2002) and A Dry White Season (Euzhan Palcy, 1989). Needless to say, the English weren't my favorite people that week, all three films exposing various examples of English colonilization (exploitation) on three seperate continents. Like Sunday, The Wind that Shakes the Barley deals with the violent relationship between Ireland and England, only this time going back further through time at the dawn of the (limited) Free Irish State-establishing Anglo-Irish Treaty of 1922, the provisions of which divided the country and led to the Irish Civil War. Barley is the story of two brothers (Cillian Murphy and Padraic Delaney) hungry for freedom, the treaty satisfying one's hunger while increasing the other's, pitting the once-united siblings against one another.

  Making complex events clear and accessible to the layman, Barley's beauty is matched only by its brutality, the classic green hills of Ireland often seen tainted with blood. In replaying the early events of Irish independence, the film attempts to solve the timeless feudal conundrum involving the possibility of achieving victory without turning into the enemy yourself.

The King's Speech (UK/Australia/USA; Tom Hooper, 2010)

  If you haven't heard of this movie yet, you're living in a cave. When you hear a lot about a certain picture before viewing it, expectations abound and some satisfaction can be found in the film living up to these expectations. I knew going in that this was a performance-centered picture, Colin Firth's portrayal of the Duke of York/King George VI being praised as the year's best performance for several months now. As the plot is rather straightforward and reliant on historical events, the weight of the picture rests mostly on the script and the acting, both of which are first class. King's speech concentrates on the Duke's fears and responsibilities as he struggles to overcome a stammering speech with the help of ex-actor-turned-speech-therapist Lionel Logue (the incomparable Geoffrey Rush). The death of his father and the inaptitude of his older brother make him next in line for the thrown, the new era of radio making it adamant that he learns to speak properly, a necessity that gets bigger with the beginning of war just around the corner. With the support of his lovely wife (Helena Bonham Carter), his new majesty will have to get over his own demons before he can get rid of those threatening his empire. Not overly tragic or nationalist, King's Speech is often funny in its depiction of human determination in the face of crushing social duty, transforming a king into a faillible human being whose greatness is born as much from perseverance than from supportive surroundings.

To Killl a Mockingbird (USA; Robert Mulligan, 1962) - Revisited

  Watched this today for the upteenth time with someone who has never seen it; something had to be done about that, especially since she had read the book. This film is special in many ways. Produced by Alan J. Pakula, this adaptation of Harper Lee's classic novel shines in beautiful black-and-white and his dominated by Gregory Peck's humble yet authoritative portrayal of Atticus Finch, arguably America's ideal patriarchal symbol. Essentially a coming-of-age story, the events experienced by Scout and Jem are life-changing as they re-mold the world they thought they new, including their view of their own father. Individuals' worth get re-assessed as social conventions get tested, the justice system gets raped and old fears prove themselves unfounded; never a lack of new ones to take their place. A great trip back to the bold innocence of childhood, Mockingbird is not only one of Peck's most memorable performances but also one of the best cinematic demonstration of America's ideals being at odd with its practices.

Performance (UK; Nicolas Roeg and Donald Cammell, 1970)

  Yet another unclassifiable film; unless 'trippy' might be considered a valid category, which considering Roeg's other early pictures is a definite possibility. Produced in 1968 and shelved for two years, this part gangster-picture, part hippy-sexfest is nothing if not original. When Chas (James Fox), the main enforcer for some London criminal kingpin, commits an unsanctioned homicide in self-defense, he must lay low from his boss while he arranges to get out of the country. Painting (literally) his hair red, he heads off to Notting Hill and rents a room in a house owned by Turner (Mick Jagger), a retired rock star living with his two 'girlfriends', Pherber (Anita Pallenberg) and Lucy (Michele Breton). Initially appaled by his new entourage's radical lifestyle, Chas slowly grows fond of their excentricities and experiences a change of perception (helped in part by one hell of a mushroom trip). At times hard to follow, this cinematic identity crisis is unflinching in its portrayal of sex and mental anguish, questioning the various performances one must put on daily in order to survive. Furthermore, this film is a perfect example of form adapting to content, testament to Roeg and Cammell's skills as directors (although credit must be given to the film's editor, Frank Mazzola, whose touch is largely responsible for the film's overall tone). Reflective of Chas' own chaotic state of mind, as well as his line of work, the film starts off with a rapid-fire editing pace, cross-cutting from the main action to non-diegetic material, sometimes transgressing time and space by cutting to parts of subsequent scenes. The editing rythm slows down as Chas gest used to living at Turner's, the quick cuts turning into dissolves and distorting uses of mise-en-scene. While it may be somewhat unclear what this film is trying to say, Chas' journey from criminal conservatism into psychedelic liberalism is a surprisingly creative treat for both the eyes and ears (and it has an original Rolling Stones song too).

I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang (USA; Mervyn LeRoy, 1932)

  It seems fittingly ironic that the star of Scarface (1932) and the director of Little Caesar (1931), two criminally-oriented pictures whose protagonists never serve the hard time they undeniably deserve, would join forces to make a film about a man who is unjustly serving it in their place. Clearly anti-establishment and concerned with social equality, Chain Gang portrays the justice and penal systems as abusive, unreliable and spiteful; responsible for creating criminals rather than rehabilitating them. Left broke and hungry in his search for construction work with hopes of being an engineer, WW I veteran James Allen (Paul Muni) involuntarily gets mixed up in a restaurant hold up that lands him 10 years of hard labour on a roadside chain gang. Less than a year in, Allen successfully escapes, leaving bad food and the guards' abuse behind. While plagued with blackmail and a wanted face, he finally becomes a engineer and a respected citizen, his risk for capture escalating as he increasingly has something to lose. Explicit in its denunciation of government dishonesty, the representation of prison-life in Chain Gang is anything but glamourous, the contrast of dark shadows and bright lights amplifying the feeling of confinement already established by shots obstructed by prison bars. Its suprisingly pessimistic ending clearly supports the film's contention that when it comes to the American dream, crime might just be the result of squashed good intentions.

Knife in the Water (Poland; Roman Polanski, 1962)

   Polanski's directorial debut is an impressive film that examines humanity's secret insecurities by detailing the development of the relationship between a couple and a roaming stranger, which gradually becomes as unstable as the waters they are drifting on. On their way to the marina with plans to take out their sail-boat for the day, Andrzej and Krystyna (Leon Niemczyk & Jolanta Umecka) almost run their car into a nameless young man hitchhiking down a country road. Prompted by arrogance, and eventually the need for physical assistance, Andrzej invites the stranger along for the ride. Their leisurely sea-bound journey gives them time to acclimate themselves with one another, for better or for worse. The stranger's mysteriousness is maintained throughout as the source of danger or conflict seems to originate from Andrzej's jealousy or fear of inadequacy in regards to Krystyna rather than from the young passenger, even if the titular knife belongs to him and is responsible for much of the film's narrative escalation. Filmed almost completely with wide angle lenses, the crisp resolution of both the travellers and the water within same shots creates a dual impression of freedom and imprisonment, the far-away horizon right-there yet inaccessible due to the terrain's limitations. Polanski often mixes close-ups in the foreground with long or medium-long shots in the background, distorting the integrity of the space and emphasizing the notion that something is always going on behind someone's back. Minimal in many ways, including cast and setting, Knife proves that there is nothing small about Polanski's skills as a director, his first foray into filmmaking a clear sign that, while setting the bar high, his best is still yet to come (see The Tenant, 1976).

Vengeance is Mine (Japan; Shohei Imamura, 1979)

 Geez, where to start. This is such a whirlwind of a movie that any attempt to relegate it into one all-emcompassing category would prove itself futile, and would only serve to belittle this cinematic achievement. An adaptation of Ryuzo Saki's novel of the same name, which in turn was based on the life of Japanese serial-killer/fraudster Akira Nishiguchi, Vengeance begins with the interrogation of Nishiguchi-like figure Iwao Enokizu (Ken Ogata), which sets up the film's flashback structure that takes us back into Enokizu's past. While mainly focused on the 75 days before being arrested, beginning with a profit-motivated bloody double-homicide, the film attempts to shed light on Enokizu's character through exposure of his family ties and various relationships. Actually, it is pretty easy to forget that one is watching a film about a serial killer as explicit violence is essentially limited to the double-murder already mentioned, which takes place near the film's beginning. The other victims are kept fairly in the background as Imamura focuses his attention on Enokizu's treatment of people in his entourage, from his two-timing father and wife, to his relationship with a brothel manager before he gets arrested. The juxtaposition of sex and misery is prevalent as the former is never presented in a sensual or erotic way, possessing instead a chore-like quality women must adhere to; a mechanical commodity that is often taken forcefully and seldom pleasantly. Like in Imamura's The Pornographers (1966), beautifully-crafted composition and precise camera work are used to offer a world that seems intent on creating discomfort in the viewer, the result of which is a resounding success.

The Masseurs and a Woman (Japan; Hiroshi Shimizu, 1938)

 Even though I have only seen one other Shimizu picture, Mr. Thank You (1936), it would be safe to say that the director has taken the frontal tracking shot as his own. On numerous occasions, his camera slowly backtracks, keeping the rhythm of the subjects walking towards us on a mountain or forest road while sporadically cutting to a reverse shot from behind them, the camera now moving forward. The former type of shot starts the film off as we see Toku and Fuku, two blind masseurs walking north towards a mountain spa in search of work for the summer. At the spa, Toku gets infatuated with a girl from Tokyo, guessing where she's from by her smell. They both befriend a lonely orphan boy who is staying with his uncle, whom the girl gets better acquainted with. While the spa's residents and masseurs interact with one another, a series of thefts are heard to be taking place in the Inn. The narrative thrust of Masseurs is very minimal and therefore leaves plenty of room to appreciate to sumptuous visuals we are being treated too. The interior shots of the spa are soothingly poetic, often moving laterally as the camera slides from room to room to follow the boy who is looking for someone to play with. Rivers, dirt roads and practically empty rooms all come to life under Shimizu's refined and calm gaze that thends to prioritize people over events.

Rififi (France; Jules Dassin, 1955)

  
  This might just be the ultimate heist film. American-born director Dassin's dark and poetic account of a jewelry store's successful robbery takes us deep into the criminal underworld where old habits die hard and greedy men die harder. Fresh out of jail, Tony le Stephanois has just learned that his old girlfriend (Marie Sabouret) is now shacked-up with a nightclub owner/crime boss (Marcel Lupovici); has been since not long after his incarceration. Having nothing left to lose, he accepts his friend Jo's (Carl Mohner) proposition to rob the store, a decision that leads to trouble as his team is targeted for their loot once the deed is done. Sometimes reminiscent of The Asphalt Jungle and The Killing, Rififi goes beyond the focus of the heist itself and explores its repercussions, weighing the monetary gains against the human losses. That is not to say that the robbery is neglected. On the contrary, the execution of the heist is easily the film's highlight, arguably its most famous and significant scene in which there is no dialogue for over 30 min, the act of thievery being told through powerful visuals alone. The imagery is strongly supported by George Auric's masterful score which is largely responsible for the picture's dangerous yet lively tone. Supposedly filmed on an unbelievably small  budget, there is nothing small about Rififi's cinematic quality as it raises the standards set for the production of violent art.

  

Bullet Ballet (Japan; Shinya Tsukamoto, 1998)

  Nothing quite compares to a Tsukamoto picture. His distaste for tripods is evident, his constantly moving camera always shaking as the people it captures quickly lose their minds and will to live. In fact, death is what gets this movie started as the suicide of Goda's (Tsukamoto) girlfriend prompts him to find out where she got the gun, beginning an obsessive quest to find one at any cost. This leads him to cross paths with a gang of young misfits who knew his girlfriend, their encounter always resulting in him getting his ass kicked. His numerous attempts at revenge make-up the bulk of the film as he constantly escapes death at the hands of Goto (Takahiro Murase), a gang member who lacks the nerve to kill death-seeking Goda. This death wish is mirrored in the gang's fearless female member Chisato (Kirina Mano), a thrill-rider who has more balls than any male character in the film. Goda's trek into Tsukamoto's stroboscopic world is chaotic and violent, presented to the viewer through quick-editing and dark, gritty black-and-white photography that gives the picture a Cassavates-on-crank sort of aesthetic. While perhaps not as graphically demented as Tetsuo (1989), Bullet is still a twisted and brutal exposure of a world whose possibility for change exists only in its exit.

The Searchers (USA; John Ford, 1956)

 Nothing much I can say about The Searchers that hasn't been said before. Essentially, it is one of the best of many things. One of the best Ford pictures; one of the best Duke pictures; and ultimately one of the best westerns ever. While Monument Valley appears in many a Ford films, never has it looked so good, a visual quality not limited to exteriors. The Searchers is the rare kind of film that makes you go "Wow!" after every cut.

  The story is quite simple. After his brother's family gets massacred by Commanche natives, taking with them the youngest daughter, Ethan Edwards (John Wayne) spends years looking for his lost niece. Accompanied by his brother's adopted 1/8-native son Martin (Jeffrey Hunter), Edwards searches far-and-wide for what soon begins to looks like a futile quest. Furthermore, the child's young age enhances the possibility that she may be assimilated by the time she is found. This, coupled with Edwards' increasingly evident homicidal prejudice against the Commanche, raises the question as to what motive exists for Edwards to find her; to save her or kill her.

 Sometimes reminiscent of Red River (Howard Hawks, 1948), especially for the young/old duality and the portrayal of Wayne's darker side, The Searchers is a must-see; for fans of westerns obviously, but also for anybody who is interested in the grey zone also known as human nature.

This Film is Not Yet Rated (USA; Kirby Dick, 2006)

  How does the Motion Pictures Association of America decide what rating it gives a movie? This is what this film sets out to uncover as it also attempts to discover the MPAA's most well-guarded secret: who exactly rates these films? In between interviews of various directors, actors and hard-to-find ex-raters, we follow Dick and his hired team of private investigators as they stakeout the MPAA headquarters (which is excessivley fortified) in hopes of finding out the identity of its rating staff. While the eventual results are satysfying, seeing as we eventually get a list of not only the raters themselves but of the board reviewers as well, the investigation scenes themselves are somewhat laughable, the competence of the detectives easily questionnable until one sees the final results. 
  In addition to bringing up the well-known discrepancy between violence and sex, the latter being four times more likely of requiring a film to cut scenes, Rated emphasizes the close relationship between the MPAA and the Hollywood major studios. Seeing as most of the films focused on for their rating ordeal are independent pictures, the film offers the possibility of prejudice in favor of big studios being partly responsible for unfair rating practices. This point is visually brought home by a side-by-side comparison of NC-17 independent pictures and PG-13 mainstream ones, in which the actions are practically identical. Kevin Smith, John Waters and Matt Stone are amongst those who are interviewed, their sad tales of picky censorship seemingly taking us back to the sad times the Hays era.

A Rain in July (Soviet Union; Marlen Khutsiyev, 1966)

 Made in the same year as Tarkovsky's Andrei Rublev, this unconventional Russian picture seems to be one of the only existing examples of a Russian new wave. The loose narrative focuses on the relationship between university student Lena (Yevgeniya Uralova) and Volodya (Aleksandr Belyavskiy). This simple premise is used to offer scenes of Moscow during the 1960s, often accompanied by classical and popular music as we ride through the city streets, getting a view of its people as they go through their daily motions. Sometimes reminiscent of Antonioni, both in style and characterization, July offers the viewer a rare glimpse of a more liberal Russia as the film's characters gather around in appartments or restaurants, singing songs and talking about social or national issues, all while figuring out what they want to do with their lives. The episodic structure of the film sometimes reminded me of non-fiction films like Chronicles of a Summer (Edgar Morin and Jean Rouch, 1961), of which the film's acting style is also strangely similar, evidence of the film's realist approach. Opportunity to closely observe the world presented to us is made possible by the film's prominent use of long takes and beautiful camera movements that, while sometimes not showing us much in terms of action, always heightens the impact of its black-and-white phography. The film's emphasis on people in general over a specific story is confirmed through the film's concluding montage, depicting strange faces of young men, some angry, some hopeful, all staring directly into the lens as if to confirm their right for individuality.

Hansel & Gretel (South Korea; Pil-Sung Yim, 2007)

 Contrary to what might be expected, this is not a film version of the Grimms' fairy tale. While its title does refer to the classic children's story, it's implications are taken into darker terrain. Beautifully shot, Hansel & Gretel follows Eun-Soo (Jeong-myeong Chen) as he wakes up from a car crash in a thick and very green forest. Bloodied and confused, he follows  the young girl who discovered him back to her cottage-like house, which looks like it belongs on the cover of a christmas card; a quality we soon learn is not restricted to the house's exterior. Inside, we are introduced to the young girl's temperamental older brother, gap-toothed little sister and stressed-out parents. With the phone supposedly cut-off and the forest impossible to break through, Eun-Soo is forced to spend a couple of nights over. When he wakes up one morning to discover that the parents have disappeared, he is left alone to deal with these increasingly freaky children. When another couple gets brought in from the forest, he uses the distraction to find out more about where these kids came from. Eun-Soo's journey of discovery is dark yet enchanting, the true nature of these small beings being a spooky treat to discover. Without being excessively violent, Hansel & Gretel creates a reclusive world where the possibility of violence is however always present; and at the hands of children no less. This magic-filled chills-fest is creatively absorbing as it exposes the viewer to monsters young and old, through a polished lens that reflects the children's unlimited powers of imagination.

The Shootist (USA; Don Siegel, 1976)



 Quite simple in narrative scope, The Shootist finds its strength from what it says about its star and its genre. Opening with a John Wayne montage of a number of his earlier films, including Red River and Rio Bravo, intented to illustrate the past life of Wayne's character J.B. Books, it becomes clear that this is not only a story about a dying gunslinger, but a reflection on the approaching death of an icon and his genre. Being Wayne's last film, it is a fitting tribute to the end of the western's glory days.

  Having just received news that he's rapidly dying of cancer, Books takes residence at a nearby boarding-house managed by Bond Rogers (Lauren Bacall), who lives there with her son Gillom (Ron Howard). As news of his presence and condition spreads around town, Books is hassled by writers, undertakers and old girlfriends who want to cash-in on the death of a legend. With only his dignity left to preserve, at the suggestion of his friend and doctor (James Stewart), Books resolves to die like he has lived: on his own terms.

   More introspective than action-packed, The Shootist is a beautiful picture about the culmination of life and the lasting impressions we leave behind. Practically without violence until the end, the film's final shootout is shocking, as we finally get to see a glimpse of the violence this man was supposed to be all about. When it is passed along but soon rejected, Books can die with satisfaction. Wayne's last picture is a fitting farewell, not only to the Duke, but to the fading out of a spectacular genre.

Enter the Void (France/Germany/Italy; Gaspard Noé, 2009)

 I wasn't a fan of Irreversible (2002) and while I recognize and apprecitate its ingenious technical treatment, I can't say that I'm a big fan of Enter the Void either. It's a shame because I thought the film was off to a good start, shot completely through drug-dealing Oscar's (Nathaniel Brown) p.o.v on the day of his death, the perspective shifting to Oscar's floating spirit after he gets shot by cops in a Tokyo nightclub. Through psychedelic visuals and a high-angled floating camera, Void takes us through Oscar's fragmented past and present after-life as he looks down on his friends and family, especially his little sister, while they try to deal with his sudden demise. Filled with shocking footage typcial of Noé, the film's content seems to be a waste of its ambitious technical merits, the desolate nature of Oscar's world being understood quickly in the film. That said, one of the film's most detrimental qualities is its considerable length, once again demonstrative of the film's content not supporting its form. The redundancy of the film's structure makes it exhausting to look at, even more so when the material we are being subjected to brings forth nothing new. While there is no denying Gaspard Noé's boldness as a director, his orientation skills seem a bit questionable, reminiscent of a dog chasing its own tail.  

Crips and Bloods: Made in America (USA; Stacy Peralta, 2008)

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 Even when consciously aware of the violent conditions under which the inner-city youths of southern California live, it is still shocking to see them conjured up right under your eyes. It is even more rattling to view past events and social conditions, generally race-related, that are responsible for the escalating war that exists between Crips and Bloods, two of the most famous street-gangs in the world. Taking us back to the roots of chaos is what pro-skater-turned-documentary-filmmaker Stacy Peralta does as he emphasizes America's history of restricting or denying opportunity to the black community as being largely responsible for the existence of this red vs. blue feud. Through interviews of past-and-present gang members, stock footage and a dynamic use of still photograhpy, Peralta fruitlessly attempts to shed some light as to the initial conflict that started this deep-rooted animosity, the only certainty being that no one is really quite certain of how it all began. Narrated by Forest Whitaker, Made in America sets-out to humanize the gang member and contextualize the violence associated to his lifestyle without excusing the horror of its practice.

   Perhaps a bit more devastating in subject-matter, Peralta's film keeps in line with his earlier work of exposing California's subcultural lifestyles. Like with Dogtown and Z-boys (2001) and Riding Giants (2004), Peralta is set on exposing the marginal, and in this case deadly, side of the warm California sun.  

Rock All Night (USA; Roger Corman, 1957)

To say that this movie is good would be overstating things a bit. It is, however, an entertaining example of the rock n' roll films of the 1950s and 60s. Plot takes a ride in the backseat as we spend the night in a live-music teen hangout where the Blockbusters are playing and young Julie (Abby Dalton) displays her vocal skills to a less-than-enthusisastic Shorty (Dick Miller). Arguments over her singing talent are cut short when a group of misfits take the place hostage, killing a customer in the process. All of this serves as a kind of time-filler between rock n' roll segments that are really the film's main appeal. It opens with a two-song set by the Platters before we get to the main dive and are treated to several performances by the Blockbusters (whom I've never heard of before but are pretty decent), sometimes accompanied by a struggling Julie (until the last number that is). Comic relief is offered by a jive-talking has-been (Mel Welles) with plans to manage Julie's career, his dialogue coming off as extremely corny, even by hepcat standards. The music is cut a little short, however, as the last 20min of the movie focuses on the hostage-taking fiasco (and at 60min total running time, it's noticeable). Failing as a memorable crime flick, Rock All Night succeeds in reflecting Corman's love for rock n' roll. While more famous for his low-budget horror work, Corman was also attuned to youth culture and, like in his later-produced Ramones-starring Rock n Roll High School (1979), used music to offer teens something different they could relate to.

Baseball: The Tenth Inning (USA; Ken Burns & Lynn Novick, 2010)

 This film gave me goosebumps of joy and had me smiling through it all, even when shaking my head to Barry Bonds' cavalier yet sometimes accurate statements regarding baseball's drug issue, of which this necessary addition to Ken Burns Baseball series makes a serious focus on. But this is just a small part of this beautiful picture as we are transported back in recent time through game footage and still photographs of affirming moments of the game. Spotlights on Pedro Martinez and Ichiro start things up as we are guided through the last decade in baseball, reliving the moments which, high or low, have become legend. Going through the Bambino-curse-breaking World Series of 2004 was especially gratifying; and I'm not even from Boston. The Alou fan-interference missed catch was also poignant, making you wonder when those Cubs fan will finally get satisfaction (as did the late-senior hugging Manny Ramirez during the Red Sox parade did). Essentially, if you love baseball you'll love this movie. I think I'll watch it again... And maybe the rest of the series too.

The Book of Stone (Mexico; Carlos Enrique Toboada, 1969)

Another good film with evil children; and there can't ever to be many of those. This Mexican ghost-story somewhat resembles The Innocents (Jack Clayton, 1961) as newly-employed tutor Julia (Marga Lopez) grows more and more wary of her student Sylvia's (Lucy Buj) imaginary friend Hugo. While the fantastic approach is maintained for the first half of the movie, Julia and the viewers being uncertain of the validity of supernatural presence, metaphysical forces are confirmed when Hugo (whose body has been turned into a stone statue by his black-magic practitioner of a father to keep his book safe until he resurrects in 1000 years) fatally rids himself of those in Julia's entourage who are set on destroying him. Meanwhile Sylvia uses knowledge taken from the book of stone to experience with a little black magic of her own. 

  While not as dark and violent as Kill, Baby, Kill (Mario Bava, 1966) or as visually polished as The Innocents, Book of Stone is fun to watch and interesting to look at, some of the mise-en-scene deftly accentuated by smooth camera work (as the girl-on-the-roof scene would testify) and nice composition. And although Buj is no Patty McCormack (who one simply can't fail to think of when watching homicidal little girls), the idea of having her teamed up with an even more spiteful little boy, a dead one no less, makes the source of the danger more interesting to ponder. 

I Saw the Devil (South Korea; Ji-woon Kim, 2010)

Damn,what a ride! This film is as visually shocking as it is psychologically disturbing, attacking the immunity to violence that has become widespread in today's film audience by purposefully giving Soo-hyeon Kim (Byung-hun Lee), and the viewers, more than than can be handled rationally. A mix between a revenge flick and torture picture, I Saw the Devil is another example of South Korea pushing the limits of morality. Following the brutal murder of his fiancée, secret service-like agent Kim takes time off from work and sets to find her killer on his own, vowing to make him feel 10,000 times the pain he made her go through. His chosen method consists of beating him up and torturing him to the loss of consciousness and then letting him go; only to catch him again later (with an implanted tracking device) to repeat the entire process before letting him go again. All is well (relatively speaking) until the tables turn and Kim loses the upper-hand, realizing that playing with your prey only serves to make it mad. 

  Typical of South Korean cinema, the violence in Devil is brutal and abundant. Presented through elaborate hand-to-hand fighting sequences mixed-in with slow graphic torture scenes, it is essential to the film's contention that one must become inhuman to fight inhumane behavior. The film's protagonist, while perhaps the picture's most violent character action-wise, never finds joy or satisfaction in his practice of violence; unlike the killer and his known associates. His raging violent streak seems more like a duty he feels he must take care of as an obligation to rid the world of these monsters; all while being careful of not turning into a monster himself.   

Winter's Bone (USA; Debra Granik, 2010)

  Interestingly enough, the plot of Winter's Bone closely resembles that of Tobacco Road viewed earlier this week; although the circumstances have changed a little, a bank's threat of eviction being the least of Ree Dolly's (Jennifer Lawrence in an impressively solid performance) problems. When she learns that her house is in danger of foreclosure if her absent meth-cooking dad doesn't show up for his upcoming court date, 17 year-old Dolly sets out to find  him; it's the street for her invalid mother and two younger siblings if she fails. As she goes digging into her father's life she encounters a mountain world isolated by rampant crystal-meth production and addiction, the drug's invasive nature paving the way for Dolly's premature glimpse of the symptoms of desperation. But hope for sporadic comfort is still shown to exist as the strength of blood-ties is strengthened by the entire ordeal. Bones paints a desolate portrait of middle-America with characters who are fully aware of their desolate state yet have lost the will to do anything about it, instead choosing to sink deeper into social exile, even ready to use violence to protect their decomposing little world. In Dolly, Jennifer Lawrence's fierce determination represents opposition to placid acceptance of shitty circumstances; a refreshing sight in a place where resolved self-destruction seems to be the prevailing attitude. Winter's Bones is a brutally honest look at a part of the country not often portrayed on American screens, and this in itself makes it worth the watch. 

The Fighter (USA; David O. Russell, 2010)

 A boxing movie from David O. Russell? Can't miss that. Having been a fan of his since Flirting with Disaster (1996), I was excited to see what he would do the genre. My anticipation was rewarded by this account of "Irish" Micky Ward's (Mark Wahlberg) return to the ring in which personal volition and family obligations are honestly examined agaisnt a decaying landscape of cribs and crackhouses. The film is dominated by Christian Bale's absorbing performance as Ward's older brother Dickie Eklund, an ex-fighter himself, who has traded his gloves in for a crack-pipe. The plot being simple in itself, the film's strenghth lays in its human portrayal of its characters, the ambiguity of right-and-wrong evident through their belief in the righteousness of their own perspective, which is mostly centered on what's best for Ward's carreer. Melissa Leo as the matriarch is especially irritating; in a good way. While perhaps missing the tint of humour usually present in Russell's work, The Fighter is still a very strong portrayal of human determinatinon and the forces working for and against it; it's got a decent ammount of boxing too.   

Tobacco Road (USA; John Ford, 1941)

   

  

 The film opens with a disclaimer stating that the play on which it is based upon is the longest running one in American Theater history; it ends with a deep realization that some stories may best be saved for the stage. It is hard to believe that John Ford directed this failed comedic re-examination of the depression, a theme he had masterfully explored in his adaptation of Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath the year before. Whether his mind was on other matters or focused mainly on Gene Tierney's primal sexuality, it is clear that Ford's preoccupation wasn't on his cast's acting. The entire performances were exaggeratingly over-played, especially that of Dude Lester (William Tracy), the youngest of the Lester clan. Leading man Jeeter Lester (Charley Grapewin) was also very stereotypical in his hillbilly personification, making it hard for any of his antics, or his plight, to be taken seriously. Even Ward Bond, whom I usually like, is whinny and unconvincing as a miserable Lester son-in-law. Tobacco Road is perhaps interesting to the extent that it proves that  even John Ford couldn't win 'em all.

The Town (USA; Ben Affleck, 2010)

  How could you not want to see a picture that has such a poster? The image of a nun with a gun was what got me intrigued in the rape-revenge flick Ms.45 (Abel Ferrara, 1981). Here we have it mixed-in with bank robberies, the title referring to Charlestown, Massachusetts, a city infamous for producing more bank robbers than anywhere in the world. While the nun's attire is used only once, the intensity of the heist and ensuing chase/shootout makes it one of the memorable scenes of the film, the action reminiscent of Mann or Frankenheimer.
   Based on Chuck Hogan's novel Prince of Thieves, Affleck's second effort at directing is a welcome addition to the heist genre, perhaps the best since Spike Lee's Inside Man (2006). Interested in the social condition of the human  element at play in generational criminality, the film aptly explores the relationship between vicitm and criminal through gang-leader Doug MacRay's (Ben Affleck) involvement with Claire (Rebecca Hall), the women he took as a hostage during the film's opening bank robbery. As the FBI closes in on MacRay and his gang, his instinctual urge to slow down is hindered by his childhood friend's (Jeremy Renner) impatience for retirement and executive pressure from the local crime-boss (Pete Postlethwaite in one of his last performance, RIP) to pull one last heist for him; at Fenway Park no less. The legendary ballpark is the setting for the film's final confrontation, whose treatment arguably confirms Affleck as new action-director to look-out for. While I enjoyed his first effort, Gone, Baby, Gone (2007), the subjects dealt-with here, coupled with the crystal-clear intensity of the action sequences, make this picture a much more entertaining one (not to be mistaken with shallow). Even though his acting is decent in this picture, The Town proves beyond a doubt that behind the camera is where Affleck truly belongs.

The Secret in their Eyes (Argentina; Juan José Campanella, 2009)

   From opening frames to rolling credits, Secret keeps the viewer intrigued. While the plot is arguably unnoriginal and quite simple, the themes explored through its unfolding and the way they are visually represented elevates this judicial/crime drama to an exquisite work of art that interrogates the value of human life and the justice that relegates it. Not really a who-done-it, Secret uses the rape-homicide of a young woman as a backdrop to investigate the impact of life-defining regret. Retired prosecutor Benjamin Esposito (Ricardo Darin) regrets two things after all these years: a brutal murderer's freedom and his former boss' unfulfilled love. He revisits them when he decides to write a novel involving both subjects, flashbacks taking us back through time as we join Esposito on a nostalgic trip to redemption. Alcoholic colleagues, spiteful competition and impossible affections come together in the search of a killer whose freedom is made possible by a major loophole known as the law. With an ending that will leave you breathless and shots that will make your jaw drop (including one impressive long take that begins as an aerial view of a football field and ends in a medium shot of Esposito in the stands)  Secret urges the viewer to find their own answer to the film's underlying question: What is worth a life full of nothing?    

Of Time and the City (UK; Terence Davies, 2008)

  This is a special film; a documentary in the purest sense in which each stock image is a document in itself, chronologically put together against director Terence Davies' dominant voice-over to paint a nostalgic portrait of his native city, Liverpool. While worth watching for the powerful visuals alone, Of Time and the City is much more than a simple travelogue. Reminiscent of early 20th century city-symphony films, Davies' goes beyond the city and focuses on the people, his voice-over (sometimes quoting Joyce, Chekhov and the likes) taking on the perspectives of various characters in addition to himself as it contextualizes the living past unfolding before our eyes. At various stages in the film Davies' takes a breather and music flows with the footage, the viewer guided eyes and ears through the dirty old town whose beauty yet can't be denied

Red-Headed Woman (USA; Jack Conway, 1932)

  
    I don't understand what's so hard to resist about Jean Harlow. Her conniving intentions are loud & clear, visible from miles away and she's kinda weird-looking too; and she's more whiny than sutlry. In fact, this pre-code Hollywood classic seems to highlight men's total lack of sexual restraint over that of loose women's wrecking
powers, its ultimate contention being that to fall for a girl like that can eventually be life-threatening, as the flim's climactic attempted murder demonstrates. The thing is, I don't see Jean Harlow as being worthy of self-destruction. As the plot closely resembles that of Babyface (Alfred E. Green, 1933), it was hard not to compare the two; and made me long for Barbara Stanwyck instead. Watchin Woman, I kept hoping for James Cagney to come along and slam a grapefruit in her face, but alas it was the wrong movie. While controversial for the glimpsed nudity in the clothes-swapping scene between Lil (Harlow) and her only friend Sally (Una Merkel), the film is also noteworthy in its distinction between lust and love, at one point having Lil joyfully exclaim that she's so happy to be in love and getting married, just not both with the same man. Furthermore, while her fanatic drive for wealth almost kills the man whose life she's wrecked, she actually gets away with it, ending up in France to bilk foreign rich men instead. The failure of men to stand up to such a woman is even more solidly confirmed when her intented victim spots her without confronting her, leaving her free to continue swinging her masculine wrecking ball. This lack of punishment for her behavior may also be responsible for making this film a prime target for indecency attacks leading up to the production code.

Secuestro Express (Venezuela; Jonathan Jakubowicz, 2005)

It is refreshing to see a Latin American perspective on a Latin American problem. Before watching Secuestro Express, the only film I had seen that dealt with Latin America’s rampant kidnapping epidemic was the American film Man on Fire (Tony Scott, 2004), which is technically in Central America anyway and ultimately becomes more of a revenge-quest film that doesn’t shed much light on the social conditions that have led up to this criminal trend. Contrastingly, Secuestro is fully intent on showing us the entire kidnapping ritual, from victim-selection to eventual release; if still alive that is.

  Set in Caracas, the film details the express-kidnapping (a fast-moving form of kidnapping which aims to go from victim-abduction to ransom-payment in 3 to 4 hours) of Carla (Mia Maestro) and Martin (Jean Paul Leroux), a young and wealthy party-couple who get singled-out as perfect victims because they own a brand-new SUV. As the film frantically progresses, we witness the calls to the victims’ fathers, drug pit-stops, universally corrupt authorities and the eventual execution of one of the victims seen through his/her POV. During various conversations between abductors and abductees, economic inequalities are discussed and blamed for the victims’ ordeal.

    Aesthetically, Secuestro initially resembles that of Man on Fire. While it is shot on digital video, the hand-held shakiness, coupled with the extensive use of wide-angle lenses and quick sweeping movements, gives the film a sense of distorted realism, which is rendered chaotic due to its fast editing pace. This latter characteristic is largely responsible for the film’s seemingly incessant motion, the speed of which hardly ever lets off, even when stuck in a car for 10 minutes; as is the case during the first stage of the kidnapping. Numerous shots taken from inside the vehicle quickly cut over one another, accentuating the claustrophobic yet energy-filled nature of the confined interior. Noteworthy of these includes a shot taken from the floor of the SUV, looking up at the male victim’s face pressed up against it, his captors hovering over him in the background. The film’s rapid shot-succession interestingly makes its long takes more appreciated and noticeable, as they give the viewer a well-deserved breather, including one motionless shot when the gang discovers their car’s been stolen; and perhaps the most impressive shot of the whole film when Carla’s father (Ruben Blades) delivers the ransom money, the camera following him into a daycare, rising up as he goes down the stairs, becoming smaller as the camera pulls back to watch him disappear.

 While its aestheticized violence is at times reminiscent of the Brazilian film City of God (Fernando Mireilles, 2002), it presents a much less polished vision of rampant crime, emphasizing the low-priced prevalence of drugs and its link to police corruption as a major factor in eliminating any chance the vicitms may have of being rescued.  

The Long Riders (USA; Walter Hill, 1980)

  As far as westerns go, The Long Riders has all the elements essential to the genre; and then some. Unique among them are the elaborate dance segment, which has a satisfyingly authentic feel to it, and the knife duel between Cole Younger (David Carradine) and Sam Starr (James Remar, who essentially seems to repeat his role as Ajax in Hill's previous film, The Warriors), which involves keeping the two rivals linked together by a piece of cloth kept in place by the duelists' biting on each end. While I would be speculating in stating that these portrayals are historically accurate, I believe the debate in question to be irrelevant in order to appreciate this picture. Actually, one might enjoy it even more if not looking for any historical enlightenment.

   First of all, the story of Jesse James (coupled with the Younger gang this time) has arguably been recycled more than that of any other personality of the Old West, save perhaps Wyatt Earp. James' mythical appeal (added to his cowardly murder) makes him ripe for speculative reformation.

 Except Riders doesn't attempt to reform anything. Instead of trying to offer a comprehensive portrait of the James and Younger brothers, the film seems content with showing episodic moments that center around the gang's feud with the Pinkerton agency, including a random train-jacking and bloody encounters with some Pinkerton men. However, this approach seems to come from the script rather than the directing. Co-written by the Keach Brothers (also executive producers), the script emphasizes the family aspect of the James-Younger gang over their criminal carreer. In fact, one of the film's most attractive qualities is the use of real-life siblings to portray brothers on screen: Jesse and Frank James (James and Stacy Keach); Cole, Jim and Bob Younger (David, Keith and Robert Carradine); Ed and Clill Miller (Dennis and Randy Quaid) and the two Ford brothers, Charlie and Bob (Christopher and Nicholas Guest), the latter being Jesse's murderer. This little casting arrangement makes the picture a tad more interesting, especially after all these years.

   

    Now we come to the cherry sitting on top of most westerns: the final shootout. While no Wild Bunch, the picture does have an extensively bloody final confrontation which is rendered even more chaotic through its visual treatment. Coming off a failed bank robbery, the gang gets shot-at from all directions as they ride their horses through the town looking for a way out, seeminly running around in circles as every exit seems to have been blocked off, bullets coming from every angle as the town is filled with hidden gunmen that have apparently set a trap for the band of outlaws. While I usually object to gunfights filmed in close-ups, with no follow-up shots as to where the fired bullet ends up (as is the prevalent case in Riders), I still found myself enjoying the hell out of this climactic scene, seeing the excessive ammount of shots fired and the sporadic hits that reach the gang members as reflective of the gang's confusion and panic in being ambushed, as well as their against-all-odds luck at getting out in one piece (although Clill Miller eventually dies of his wounds). The heavy use of slow-motion (especially when the gang decides to exit by breaking through a store window, horses and all) also adds to the scene's heaviness.