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.