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Film: Children Of God
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 21st March 2011
Distributor: TLA
Certificate: 15
Running time: 104 mins
Director: Kareem Mortimer
Starring: Van Brown, Johnny Ferro, Mark Ford, Margaret Kemp, Stephen Tyrone
Genre: Drama
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Bahamas
Language: English
Review by: Alice Instone-Brewer
Children Of God is the narrative feature film debut from director Kareem Mortimer, whose previous works have either been documentaries or shorts. Like much of Mortimer's work, Children Of God investigates issues of homosexuality, society and acceptance, and expands upon the narrative of Float, a short that Mortimer directed three years ealier. Set in the Caribbean, starting in Mortimer's home of Nassau, this is a very personal work from the director and the first narrative feature out of the Caribbean to ever deal with GBLT themes.
The film follows the interconnecting stories of several Bahamian locals, all leaving their home of Nassau to find peace or answers in calmer, beautiful Eleuthera. The story is set in 2004, when the arrival of a gay family cruise ship stirred up protests and controversy amongst the right-wing population of the Caribbean. Real footage and sound clips are used to give the audience this context and drive home the severity of people's reactions to the ship. The impact is shocking.
Amongst this wave of campaigns to protect their land against "sissies,” a young, white, gay painter called Jonny is told he'll lose his art scholarship if his painting doesn't improve. To inspire him, his teacher lends him her house in Eleuthra, telling him that a journey will help him find himself. What he finds is Romeo, a popular, black, outgoing Bahamian that used to bully him at school. They strike up a secret friendship, as the two of them try to encourage each other, in their own ways, to accept who they are. Meanwhile, the highly religious, conservative couple that speak out on TV against homosexuals, Lena and Ralph Mackey, hit rocky ground when Lena finds out that they have an STD. To regain a sense of control, she heads to Eleuthra to take a petition against gay rights, attempting to stay in denial about her husband's secret life…
Children Of God is a sensitively made piece of work that deals with strong moral issues of religion and acceptance, whilst successfully avoiding the trap of seeming heavy-handed or preachy. Well acted, well scripted and stunningly shot, it is a very strong narrative debut for Mortimer, as well as a successful tool for addressing the equality issues that the director has focused on throughout his career. Born in Nassau and having had his own journey to Eleuthra (documented in Eleutheran Adventure), this piece has a lot of its writer/director in it. It seems as if his catalogue of work up to this point has culminated in this film, and the quality it is executed to reflects this.
Shot in the Bahamas, this really is a beautiful film to look at. Ian Bloom makes the most of the location's sunny weather, both by using and reflecting it creatively, as well as contrasting with it. The film's most iconic scene is shot in the dark; in such a brightly lit location, the use of dark instantly picks the scene out to be noticed. Close-up shots are also frequently used, capturing and framing the conflicts and emotions on every character's face, or drawing in during secret, intimate moments. In the most enchanting scene of the movie, and the DVD cover shot, the two men shyly dance with each other to no music. Close-ups are used artistically and emotively, softly tracing the shapes of the men’s arms and backs, a face resting against a neck, etc., in such a way that makes the audience hold its breath and feel the significance of every slight, shy touch. A soft golden light in the darkness picks out their shapes and achieves something very delicate and easy to get wrong; the scene does not feel invasive, or cheaply erotic, but instead is something meaningful. Though it's the most visually memorable scene, however, it does not leave the rest of the film behind in the dust - this is a consistently aesthetic work.
This drama could not have worked without talented writing and an equally talented cast to carry it out. Though often very separate, the two plotlines run alongside each other without conflict - neither feels like a disruption to our viewing of the other one. They're both equally engaging and thought provoking, and there are some lines in both that hit home hard and stick in the mind. For example, Romeo's disappointed mother lamenting, "I wish it was only a drug problem.” Every member of the cast pulls their weight and gives a strong performance, despite many of them being relatively new or unknown actors. Stephen Tyrone Williams does an excellent job as the charismatic Romeo, bringing a depth to the role, whilst actor Johnny Ferro pushes his silent acting as the pensive Jonny. Margaret Laurena Kemp and Mark Ford are both convincing as the Mackeys, putting a human face on the antagonists, and Van Brown is memorable as the reverend. In fiction, religious figures usually either represent the writers' negative view of the church, or they speak for the writer's voice, a.k.a. they are the voice of reason and wisdom. Rvd Ritchie is the latter, speaking sanity that the characters around him sadly do not listen to. His frustration as he tries to share his ignored message of love represents Mortimer's own frustration growing up in the Caribbean.
Like the cast, and in fact the writer/director, the composer - Nathan Mathew David - has only been working in film for a few years. His tentative, emotive score accompanies the gentle use of shaky handcam to pick up on the fragility of the characters. This very quiet, subdued score plays in contrast with the frequent use of loud, confident Bahamian music; symbolic of the contrast between the characters' private feelings, and the loud, opinionated world in which they live
The only criticism can be directed towards the ending. Without giving any spoilers, the tragic turn seems forced, as though the film felt it needed one last, dramatic blow in order to be serious and significant. After what was already a very powerful film from start to finish, this tragedy for tragedy's sake is both predictable and unnecessary. It does at least result from the behaviour of one of the main characters, following the ancient Greek rule that tragedy should stem from a character's own mistakes, and it does tie in with the wider actions of others. Yet, the connection’s tentative and unsatisfactory. Too bitterly ironic - a Terry Gilliam boot out of the sky. In a way, it sold the rest of the script short by implying it needed this sort of conclusion.
Children Of God is a powerful drama, dealing with human characters that will appeal to more than just the homosexual community and equality activists. It is a strong addition to the TLA Releasing catalogue, and though it's probably not about to change many people's minds on these issues over in the West, it is a moving insight into life in the Caribbean, and will hopefully reach beyond TLA's usual audience. As for the Caribbean itself, who knows; perhaps we will start to see ripples. AIB
Film: Loose Cannons
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 18th April 2011
Distributor: Peccadillo
Certificate: 15
Running time: 110 mins
Director: Ferzan Ozpetek
Starring: Riccardo Scamarcio, Alessandro Preziosi, Nicole Grimaudo, Ennio Fantastichini, Lunetta Savino
Genre: Comedy/Drama/Romance
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Italy
Language: Italian
In Ferzan Ozpetek's latest comedy, gay brothers attempt to come out to their rich conservative family at the centre of a circle of secrets. In a light-hearted look at people's conflict between preserving an image and being true to themselves, Loose Cannons is full of just that - a colourful array of Loose Cannons all craving their own, small rebellions. This return to the genre that made Ozpetek's international name was nominated for the Audience Award at the European Film Awards in 2010, and has received mixed reactions from critics.
Vincenzo Cantone (Ennio Fantastichini) is the head of a conservative Italian household in Puglia, and is the owner of a pasta firm that he inherited from his father and uncle. He knows that he must soon sign the company over to his two sons - Antonio (Alessandro Preziosi), his eldest, who has been running it with him for years, and his younger son Tommaso (Riccardo Scamarcio), who's been absent in Rome. What he doesn't know is that Tommaso doesn't want to run the company - he wants to be a novelist. On top of that, he's also gay, and confides in his brother that he intends to come out to his parents, get disowned, and be free of family burden. What Tommaso doesn't know is that his brother is also gay, and just when he's about to come out over dinner, Antonio beats him to it. Their father has a heart attack, Antonio gets disowned instead, and Tommaso is stuck dealing with the chaos left behind…
Loose Cannons is an easy-going comedy that, like all family based comedies, deals with some big issues whilst never taxing its audience. The brothers at the centre are just one example of people's need to live differently, reflecting the conflicts of the other characters around them. The film opens and closes with another plot, that of Tommaso's grandmother, Crescenza Guarnieri (Ilaria Occhini). Crescenza is a free spirit whose never-the-less lived her life the way others have said she must. We're introduced to her back-story with a lusciously coloured and shot scene of her younger self crying in a wedding dress and attempting to commit suicide, before she is stopped by a young man. As the film continues, we learn through a series of flashbacks that this was her husband's brother, who she was in love with. This sacrifice and compromise underlines those of the other characters as she tries to warn them against making her mistake.
The tone of Loose Cannons changes frequently between the serious, touching and humorous. Scenes such as Crescenza's are filmed and scored like a dramatic Western or historic romance, whereas the modern day uses the bright pallet of a comedy. Both past and present, however, are shot against the golden locations of historical Italian buildings - the heritage that links them together. Visually, this film is beautiful. The score changes with the pallet, abandoning its dramatic feel for stereotypical European comedy - it's like Yann Tiersen hyped up on candy. This bouncy, overtly European music well suits the importance of Italian tradition to the Cantone family, as well as reflecting the ridiculous circumstances.
The cast bring a varied and colourful array of characters to the screen. Most of them are more like caricatures than real people, but their exaggerations are entertaining. The most notable of these oddities is the alcoholic aunt, drawing attention to herself with vivid blue clothing and loud red hair. Every night, she waits in her negligee for the local burglar to break through her window in a very paperback-romance fashion. Amongst this cartoonish family, the two sons (both breathtaking, incidentally - valuable additions to the fictional Italian gay community!) and the mother act their roles very seriously, bringing a gravity to the narrative. However, in a movie focusing on family relationships, having some members permanently serious whilst others are permanently ridiculous makes the dynamics hard to engage with, especially as the father/son relationships are so crucial to this plot - having the father constantly over the top, whilst the mother and sons are sombre, seems a strange directorial decision.
This juxtaposition of tones makes the film hard to interpret, at times. Another key reason for this confusion is the style of comedy. The colours, music and cartoonish characters make us expect big laughs. However, there are few actual laugh-out-loud moments. Granted, there are many amusing scenes that will make an audience smile, but none of it is overly original or side-splitting. In fact, the plot and jokes often feel flat. Most of the humour is derived from dramatic irony; that "oh no!" as we watch Tommaso stand and listen to his family insist that homosexuals are easy to spot, or that he's all they have left. As irony goes, it's pretty major, though we cringe and feel sorry for Tommaso rather than being tickled pink. This sort of humour makes sense for Tommaso and the other serious characters, but doesn't gel with the ridiculous half. Another strange example is a scene where the father sits with baby photos of Antonio, weeping ridiculously over his loss. It may be over the top, but even so, it reflects an upsetting truth, which makes it hard to laugh at. Everything feels slightly disconnected, as though from several different films. Several different films that are all using variations of the "they don't know Tommaso is gay" joke as their one punch line.
Suddenly, as if self conscious that there wasn't enough laughter taking place, Tommaso's gay friends from Rome show up. The humour instantly becomes outright campy - the friends have to pretend they're straight, and end up bitching at each other about who's acting the gayest. Again, the joke is “people don't know they're gay,” but the parents making ironic comments is swapped for the friends saying camp things, realising, gasping and covering their mouth. This isn't to say they're not entertaining - they're very entertaining – but, once again, they're such an abrupt tone change. The Campiest Moment Prize has to go to the friends doing a dance routine in the ocean in all their swimwear glory. If it didn't feel so randomly stuck in, or we got to know the characters better, it'd be brilliant fun, but as it is, it feels a little like pimping their orientation out for laughs, which detracts from the previous reflections on how people view homosexuals. Mostly, their presence on screen is a delight, but the ocean scene verges on tacky.
Another confusing element in this film is Alba Brunetti (the beautiful Nicole Grimaudo). Alba is the only character to proudly flaunt her differences; the outcast who scratches people's cars, carries various changes of shoes, and can't get close to people. She arrives in a bright red car and undertakes the first acts of rebellion on screen, possibly inspiring Tommaso to carry out his plan. Her presence therefore feels as though it should be central and important, but in the end is a little puzzling. She's clearly meant to be quirky and intriguing, a little dangerous even, but her ‘quirks’ are somewhat forced and rather uninteresting. She speaks of herself as if she's a lost child, yet we've all met much stranger people than her in our lives.
What she does contribute is to present Tommaso with a conflict. Early on, she makes her interest in him clear, and as he receives pressure from the rest of his family, he must decide - does he return to his boyfriend, or conform and go with her? Frustratingly, there is a lack of any truly clear resolution to this problem. After watching the pair tensely eat a sandwich for what felt like an eternity, it'd be nice to see Tommaso pick one or the other of his love interests with more fire and certainty, instead of leaving them dancing together and walking away. The tension of the conflict is successfully built up throughout the film, but lingering shots on all parties leaves it feeling open ended long past the point where it felt like a decision had been made. This leaves the audience stuck on their toes. Overall, it seems as if this plot thread should be adding more to the film then it does.
Loose Cannons has a talented cast, looks incredible, and has some very funny moments. Like a Greek tragedy, it loves irony, the biggest irony of all being that a traditional Italian family is worrying over an issue that used to be of little concern to their ancestors (as we're reminded whilst the sons wrestle out their differences amongst Roman ruins). It makes for fun, easy viewing, but would benefit from editing to give it more consistent pace and a more continuous feeling. As it is, it has varying quality - independent moments all have a lot of merit, but do not fit together the way they should have. AIB
Film: Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari
Release date: 18th September 2000
Certificate: U
Running time: 71 mins
Director: Robert Wiene
Starring: Werner Krauss, Conrad Veidt, Friedrich Feher, Lil Dagover, Hans Heinrich von Twardowski
Genre: Horror
Studio: Eureka!
Format: DVD
Country: Germany
A highly influential piece of 1920s German Expressionism, Robert Wiene's Das Cabinetd des Dr. Caligari is heralded by many as one of the definitive early horrors. It's thought to be the first film to use a certain twist ending which is now found frequently in cinema, though this was not the writers‘ original intention. It is also believed that the film's expressionist style helped influence the invention of the film noir genre. Today, the film has a strong cult following in Germany and around the globe.
The narrative is told as a flashback by main protagonist Francis (Friedrich Feher), as he tells his tale to a disturbed, seemingly elderly gentleman.
This was one of the earliest uses of the Frame Story convention in cinema, and was added to the script by the producer after the start of production. Francis tells his story to explain the trauma suffered by his beloved, Jane, who is also present and acting hauntingly. He describes how his friend Alan and he encountered a Dr Caligari (Werner Krauss) at a carnival, flaunting his somnambulist Cesare (Conrad Veidt) as a sideshow. A somnambulist is, literally translated, a sleepwalker, explained in the film as a person who spends most of their life in a state of trance-like sleep. The strange Caligari can bring Cesare out of this sleep and claims that the man can predict the future.
When Cesare’s predictions of death come true, it causes Francis to grow suspicious, and he begins his tragic investigations into Dr Caligari…
It is easy to see why this film has stood the test of time. Instantly, it grips the audience with its opening scene; the misty graveyard in which two traumatised men exchange competing tales of woe, shortly followed by the entrance of a beautiful but disturbed girl. She mutters to herself with troubled, dark-rimmed eyes, dressed in white - the perfect image of Gothic horror. Unlike F. W. Murnau’s Nosferatu, which starts lightly and descends into darkness, this commencement scene reveals the darkness which the characters are headed towards, whilst still keeping the reveal hidden. This draws us in with a sense of foreboding hanging over every following scene - excellent application of a technique, which was new to cinema at the time.
The plot itself, however, is simplistic to a modern audience. It travels from A to B without much in the way of twists and turns – except, of course, for the ending. Interestingly, the end was supposed to be straight forward, but was deemed “too dark” to be released, and so a new ending had to be invented and tacked onto the end. This sudden new ending, fortunately, makes sense with the plot (unlike, say, the proposed alternative sugar-sweet ending for Brazil). It also comes as completely unexpected, as there were, of course, no clues about it seeded throughout the plot. This comes as especially unexpected due to the simplistic, un-subtle nature of the rest of the narrative – if the ending had been intended from the start, it may have been far too obvious. As it is, it shocked audiences who had never seen this happen before, and started a popular trend. There is much debate over the symbolic significance of these additions to the film, and how they affect the original messages; that of mind-washing and corruption in a time when the Nazi party were starting to gain power and favour. Some believe it added to, and others believe it detracted from this message. The only way to form your own opinion is to watch it!
The most notable achievement of the film is the art direction. Hermann Warm’s almost cartoonish sets are creative and expressive; perfect examples of German Expressionist art. Their off-kilter nature reflects that of the film, keeping the audience unsettled with small details, like a crooked door or slanted window. The style has influenced many directors since, such as the personal art and earlier films of American director Tim Burton, as well as many lower-budget cult directors. Richard Elfman’s 1980 cult hit, The Forbidden Zone features very similar sets, and is just one of many. The makeup used can also be seen to have influenced both these men. It is used effectively in the film to exaggerate expressions, particularly in the cases of Caligari and Cesare, where eyes are sometimes painted on top of closed eyelids to emphasize staring.
Whereas the art techniques have only been carried over into more cult or surrealist films, Willy Hameister’s striking use of lighting helped set a bar for later films of many genres. In black-and-white, the use of shadows and light are particularly important, and the bold choice of such drastic contrasts helped set a tone that was adopted by noir as the genre developed. It helps the sets appear surreal, but more importantly keeps the tone edgy and dangerous, which is what made the style so befitting to noir film. Black and white lines were painted on sets to imitate lighting, combining with the actual lighting to warp the images and seemingly bend the laws of physics. One would almost expect the sets to move like a Sally Cruickshank cartoon, fluid and dream-like. In fact, in one moment of distress, animation is used to convey a character’s troubled state of mind, but even without this, the scenes are nightmarish, engaging and memorable, making up for the occasionally slow storytelling.
The camerawork is a weak link in an otherwise strong chain. Stage-like sets and milling marketplace scenes put one in mind of a play more than a movie, and the static camerawork adds to this sensation. Film was still a new art, and it took several decades for moviemakers to fully drop the theatre mentality (later expressed through large musical set pieces), but with such interesting shapes and images on screen, more dynamic and experimental camerawork would have helped bring the potential to life.
Still, this is a product of the time, as is the acting, which, of course, seems over the top to us now. However, it is still highly enjoyable, and we mustn’t forget that there was nothing hammy about it to its original audience. With that considered, some of the acting is very strong, particularly that of Francis, a likable protagonist, and Cesare, a powerful performance from German legend Conrad Veidt. This was one of Veidt’s defining roles, and his presence left a lasting impression on many minds. Again a source of inspiration in the film, his influence can be seen in characters such as Tim Burton’s Edward Scissorhands.
Though not believable by modern standards, Werner Kraus’ performance also left a lasting impression, expressive and deranged. The damsel in distress, Jane (Lil Dagover), is less convincing to us, but her over-the top use of bold poses convey her distress and fear with strength, in the same way Greek actors would project emotions in an amphitheatre.
The film is available from several distributors, with a choice of optional musical soundtracks. The best quality restoration available in the UK seems to be from Eureka Entertainment.
A modern audience may no longer find this film frightening, but it isn’t one you’ll forget. An art show come to life, it’s worth a viewing purely to feast on the visuals. It is a must-see for historical value, as it has greatly influenced cinema in all areas, from scripting to cinematography. Occasionally campy, but ultimately tragic, Caligari entertains as well as plays on your sympathies, and once viewed, it will change your perception of cinema forever, for its fingerprints are everywhere to be found. AIB
Series: The Slayers Evolution-R: Season 4 Part 2
Release date: 7th February 2011
Certificate: 12
Running time: 325 mins
Director: Takashi Watanabe
Starring: N/a
Genre: Anime
Studio: MVM
Format: DVD
Country: Japan
The fifth anime series to evolve from Hajime Kanzaka’s Slayers novels and manga continues into its fourth season, as Slayers Evolution-R attempts to keep the fan-following for the franchise alive two decades after its initial popularity. The last in a long legacy, Evolution-R carries a heavy responsibility to Slayers fans, as it ret-cons Lina Inverse’s earlier adventures through this Dungeons & Dragons inspired universe, where campy comedy and lengthy back-stories travel hand in hand.
Series four, disc two starts in the middle of Lina’s mission to protect gloomy merchant Radok from the threats of Zumma, an assassin out to kill Lina. The true plot focuses on their pursuit of the Hellmaster’s Jar, with which they can resurrect Rezo the Red Priest, as well as finding and destroying one of the scattered segments of Shabranigdo’s soul.
As the characters try to work out how to free Rezo, and bicker over what they want to use his power for, revelations occur that make them question whether they should free him at all...
For a show with such a complicated background, Evolution-R continues to be simplistically written. Though every episode progresses the storyline, it does so in slow baby steps, padding out the events out with stereotypical anime fight scenes and extended comical sequences. Ever notice that only two main, definable events seem to occur per original-trilogy Star Wars movie? Now subtract budget and originality. Most frustrating of these padding sequences on this DVD involved the gang repeatedly fighting monsters to make useless broths under Rezo’s instruction, lament their wasted time, and then repeat the process. This gag gets played far beyond funny, until the fast-forward button is looking extremely tempting. This said, the episodes do, at least, finally deal with the Rezo, a long-awaited development of the show. Now that the moment is finally upon us, the writers seem eager to drag it over as many episodes as possible.
Many back-stories are revealed in these episodes, which provide some insight into the characters, and aid in making them seem less flat and insubstantial. Even the annoying stuffed animal, Pokota, has a painful past, and faces some difficult realisations and choices. However, when the spotlight is not on a particular character and their personal angst, they continue to be two-dimensional stereotypes. The show is, granted, a parody of earlier anime, which explains the unoriginal nature of the cast, but cannot excuse it. From the dialogue to their appearance, there is nothing to recommend them above those in other anime. Lina, in particular, is as loud, annoying and unsympathetic as ever. When the main character is the hardest to tolerate, you have a serious problem. As these episodes strive to give her companions some development, her own un-engaging nature becomes extremely apparent.
Evolution-R cannot, of course, be blamed for the design of the characters, as it is merely continuing a long established story. What it can be held responsible for is the way it portrays and handles them. In the first episode on the disc, a fatal error is instantly made. Radok, the merchant, has a long talk with his son, delving deep into his personal angst. Giving so much time to an apparent side-character shifts our interest from the main cast onto him, which is then made worse by Lina’s immature taunting of him. Her words aren’t clever or even believable in tone – she seems to smile whilst challenging the serious things he just confessed. This is a failure of her acting, scripting and animation, and when Radok and his son are no longer in the show, we’re left with the now unappealing protagonist.
This acquisition and then loss of two characters highlights another issue with the show. It’s thin on plot, yet heavy on characters. Minor characters constantly arrive and leave, adding to the confusion of the already complex back-story. The plus side of this is that fans of the franchise can get nerd-excited every time a figure from previous incarnations shows up. For example, Xellos (the obligatory happily fay character) makes enough cameos to keep his following happy, though his appearances contribute very little to the storyline.
Artistically, some of the episodes have some beautiful backgrounds, and an interesting effect is often used for beams of light; they’re no Studio Ghibli, but they provide something pretty to look at to make up for the less skilfully animated characters. Though smooth enough, their movements are occasionally jerky or un-natural, and more distracting are the instances of expressions not matching the lines spoken. Angry exchanges are far less effective when the characters appear happy about them.
As well as the illustration, there is varying quality in the voice acting. Some of the performances are lacking; for example, once again, Lina’s character is left lacking. Her character is intended to be immature and annoying – her comrades comment on it often – and yet the director has made a bad decision in portraying this to the point where she is intolerable to listen to. It is commendable that FUNimation were able to re-unite most of the Central Park Media dub cast from previous series’; however, this does not mean that all of them were perfect.
These flaws aside, Evolution-R is very simple watching. In these episodes, in particular, where the Hellmaster’s Jar plot continues over several episodes, it is easy to let them wash over you. If you can tolerate cheese and enjoy laughing at bizarre or cliché lines, and you let your guard down, the show can get under your skin. The intended humour is less entertaining then what is, perhaps, the unintended humour, but this campy nature, these quotably naff lines, and its failure to meet its potential all, in a way, provide what is needed to maintain a cult following. Playing the so-bad-it’s-good card, the lack of substance can leave some people wanting more, and therefore, despite themselves, coming back. It’s a fatal, yet highly effective trap.
If you don’t expect much from it, then Slayers Evolution-R can provide some light entertainment to a coach potato session. Part 2 continues the camp, comedic style of the series, whilst finally addressing some of the issues many complained the series took too long to get to. The jokes can feel strained or over-done, flashbacks often feel like substitutes for three-dimensional character scripting, and, of course, Lina continues to irritate. A fan could either forgive or strongly condemn these flaws. For a recent addition to a long line of anime and manga, one would expect higher production value from this show. On the other hand, it stays in line with what came before and frequently references characters from other strands, so, at the end of the day; it comes down to where you place your priorities. Critically, though, it cannot stand as a competitor against the more acclaimed anime. AIB
Film: Hahaha
Running time: 115 mins
Director: Hang Sang-soo
Starring: Kim Sang-kyung, Moon So-ri, Kim Kang-woo, Gi Ju-bong, Kim Gyu-ri
Genre: Drama
Country: South Korea
This film will be screened at the Pan-Asia Film Festival, which begins today in London (7th March 2011). Find out more about this event by clicking here.
The Korean drama HaHaHa won the top prize in the Un Certain Regard section of last year’s Cannes Film Festival. It was also given an honorable mention at the LA AFI Film Festival, and will be a part of the 2011 Pan-Asia Film Festival. Written and directed by Hang Sang-soo, the Wall Street Journal’s Scene Asia named the piece as one of Asia’s most significant films of 2010.
Hong Sang-soo uses the framing device of two young men drinking together and swapping memories to tell two interwoven tales.
They take it in turns to tell a story about one of their visits to the seaside town they’ve met in, agreeing to only tell the good bits and to drink after every memory.
Unbeknownst to the drinkers, each memory they share interconnects with the other man’s story, even though they themselves never crossed paths…
The film is a very touching, honest portrayal of human life, along with all its coincidences and irony. It also takes a satirical look at people’s quests for enlightenment and life philosophies – one group of characters swear to only see the good in the world, blocking out the bad, whilst others seek truth through an adolescent grasp of existentialism. All attempt to express themselves through poetry – again, a philosophical way to deal with the realities of life. These themes run heavily throughout the narrative, and none lead anyone to enlightenment in the end. Instead, life is shown as haphazard, and we see what little sense it can make when you only know half the story.
Despite these themes, Hahaha is sweet and humorous in tone. People are calling it Hong Sang-soo’s most sensitive and sincere work, and for good reason. The acting and filming act hand in hand to create a sense of realism; the lines are all very naturally delivered, and scenes are played out in statically filmed extended shots. Dialogue is also very skillfully written, with no clever cinema lines – instead, the characters have awkward pauses, they repeat themselves, and talk as we do. What they convey, however, is often memorable or amusing, and pulls the audience in to feel deeply involved with these lives. Even the score is extremely sparse, so as not to distract from the authentic tone of the film and what little there is consists of very minimalist piano. The one distraction is that, because the cameras are usually so static, when they do pan or zoom it can come as a surprise. The zoom in particular is too fast and dramatic, standing out vividly from the usual stillness.
Again true to life, the protagonists are far from heroes. They are not terrible men, but they are unsympathetic. One, Jo Moon-kyeong (Kim Sang-kyung), is simultaneously a mother’s boy and yet is often unkind to his mother. The other, Kang Jeong-ho (Kim Kang-woo), is married with a child and having an affair. Because of their rose-tinted philosophy, and their agreement to only tell the good parts of their stories, it is a while after the audience learns about this affair before any of the characters address it. Instead, his wife is mentioned in one scene, and then a girlfriend is mentioned in other. The two men just laugh and drink, not acknowledging anything bad about this. They do this after every story, be it good or bad, making the title very apt. It starts to dawn on the audience that we need to read between the lines of what the narrators are telling each other.
Directly after the affair is first revealed, the script confirms our thoughts with the words of a man on a museum tour, as he points out that historical heroes are often painted as much greater men then they in fact were. The tour guide, Jo Moon-kyeong’s love interest, loses her cool and gives a blindly loyal, emphatic rant at him about how the hero in question, Admiral Yi, was completely perfect. This is a sudden, shocking change to the previously calm and whimsical tone, sharply highlighting the theme that will continue, and instantly painting it as an unhealthy point of view. Wang Seong-ok is usually such a sweet character, which makes her rant all the more shocking. Later on, we witness bad events whilst hearing the men describe them in a positive light. This shows how flawed the philosophy that characters cling to is.
An interesting choice of Sang-soo’s was to separate the framing devise by showing the men drinking together in still black-and-white photographs. This separates the present from the stories they tell, which use a pallet of pale washed out colours, except for frequent splashes of orange and blue. These light and bright colours reflect the optimistic nature of the story-tellers, and remind us that they aren’t the whole truth. Interestingly, the worse the situations get, the more these colours are prominent, whilst the truest, best moments are all in white.
It’s fun to marvel at just how many interconnections between the men’s lives there are, which keeps the audience engaged. One let down is that you never get to see the men realise this themselves. After spending the entire movie awaiting their reaction, it never comes. We also never see the full completion of one of their plot lines. As the men say, “never show the bad things.”
A large part of the narrators’ dismissal of their problems is in their belittlement of women. At first, this only comes across in innocent comments about women’s legs, but as the film progresses, it becomes clear that they give women very little thought, especially Jeong-ho. They both describe their women as “cute” whenever they have a legitimate question or concern.
The women themselves are all very likable characters. Yoon Yeo-jeong gives a highly entertaining performance as the independent old mother who adopts every young person she befriends as an honorary child. Moon So-ri, who plays Wang Seong-ok, also delivers a strong performance as a girl who is both sweet and optimistic, whilst constantly disappointed by men. In a strange and memorable scene, she insists on giving her ex-boyfriend a piggyback in order to break up with him. The symbol doesn’t translate easily to an English audience, but is potentially a reversal of the South Korean wedding tradition where the groom gives piggybacks to his bride and mother-in-law. He does this to symbolize his responsibility towards them, so for the woman to give her man a piggyback, she is taking obligation towards her away from him.
Hahaha is a gentle, slow paced film that is full of ideas and a delight to watch. It is a film that is both charming to watch and will be a lasting point of discussion when it has finished. The film is well deserving of the attention is has been receiving. AIB
Conrad Veidt was an iconic German actor who left his impression on many through several haunting horror and villain roles. However, his current cult following is drawn to him through his defiance in the face of the Nazi regime as much as it is by his career. Unafraid to speak out against the Third Reich at the time of Hitler’s power, his political opinions and loyalty to his Jewish wife got him blacklisted in Germany, and made him the target of Gestapo assignation attempts.
Veidt has had many roles, most memorably his role as the hypnotized somnambulist Cesare in The Cabinet Of Dr Caligari (1920). When speaking about the role years later, he said, “No matter what roles I play, I can't get Caligari out of my system.” Despite being the monster figure of this silent horror, the subtlety in his acting made the character eerily sympathetic, and an image that would last through the years, and inspire the appearance and mannerisms of such characters as Edward Scissorhands (Tim Burton, 1990).
His most famous and highly paid role, however, was ironically as Gestapo Maj. Strasser in Casablanca (1942). Though not the star, he was the highest paid actor on the film. Veidt was often type-cast as Nazis in American and British cinema due to his nationality. Had he lived longer, sadly this probably would have continued. Only twice was he cast in a hero role in American cinema – in Nazi Agent, a b-movie in which he played two brothers, and Above Suspicion, in which he was a supporting actor. He played villains exquisitely, often with a worryingly light, almost comical element that mingled with his sinister tones to create something very twisted. This had made him a legend in Germany. In America, this meant Nazi roles, repeatedly portraying the people that had alienated him from his home. Each negative portrayal of them was a slight revenge, but he craved the variety he’d had in German film and onstage. He got a little bit of this in England, where he eventually got his dream of a heroic action role in Under The Red Robe (1937).
“I was never a villain on the stage. I always played strong, sympathetic types. My first stage role with a speaking part, believe it or not, was as a priest. It wasn't until I began acting in films that the producers and directors saw me primarily as a bizarre villain.”
He had many great roles in German cinema, in films such as Der Kongress Tanzt (1931) or Ich und die Kaiserin (1933), and Germany’s first ‘talkie’, Bride Number 69 (1929). In the 1928 silent, The Man Who Laughs, he played a unique character - Gwynplaine, a child stolen by gypsies who has his face mutilated to be sold to a freak show. He escapes, but must live his life with a horrifying grin forever carved on his face. The role is a testimony to Veidt’s acting, who managed to convey pain, fear, love, uncertainty…all with a manic grin still on his face. To create the grin, he was given tooth caps that would hook back his cheeks. In the genre of silent acting, where expressions were exaggerated in order to communicate, being restricted to acting with his eyes was a dramatic achievement for Veidt.
However, he came to rely on his career in British and American cinema after fleeing Germany in 1933 due to the rise of Hitler, knowing his defense of Jews and hatred of the Nazi party would prove dangerous. He often spoke out against them on the radio, a dangerous undertaking which he felt compelled to do. Despite this, he would eventually return to unsafe Germany to work there again as well, because he felt his English was not good enough to maintain a career in English-speaking ‘talkies’ alone.
Veidt was not highly educated. He attended the Sophiengymnasium in the Schoeneberg district of Berlin, graduating without a diploma in 1912. He came last in his class of 13. But, like many who are less prolific at school, he found a future in his natural talent for acting.
On screen, Veidt’s presence was stunning. Even in horror roles, audiences found there was often something oddly appealing about him. He had an unconventional appearance, but striking eyes and a natural charisma which resulted in the catchphrase “Women Fight for Conrad Veidt" being coined. He was almost cast in the Dracula role that made Bella Lugosi’s name, but lost it when the director for the project was changed.
He made his biggest impact on modern culture, not by playing Dracula, but through his leading role in The Man Who Laughs. If you look at Gwynplaine, you will see a striking resemblance to the original design for one of Batman’s greatest nemeses, the Joker. Bob Kane, the inventor of Batman, based the Joker’s design directly on Veidt’s appearance in this film, a fitting testimony to his prowess at villainy.
Another less likely claim to fame is the song he recorded in 1933, ‘When The Lighthouse Shines Across The Bay’. At the time, the record flopped, but remarkably became a hit in 1980, almost fifty years later, after Terry Wogan received a request to play it on the Radio 2 breakfast show. After this swell in popularity, it found its way onto a now out of print nostalgia album, Move Star Memories. It is also available on Amazon.
Veidt was not one to conform, and often took chances, in both his personal life and career. He always put “Juden” (Jew) as his ethnic identity on his job application forms, to stand by his wife and share in any prejudice she faced. He also took risks to speak out against other prejudices – in 1919 he starred in Anders als die Andern (Different From The Others). This film is sited as the first ever to deal sympathetically with homosexuality. In it, Veidt plays a homosexual concert violinist who falls in love with his male student, but ends up losing everything he has and being disgraced because of the German law at the time forbidding homosexual behavior. The narrative has a tragic ending, as did the film itself; in 1930 Hitler had it burnt, and sadly large chunks of it are now missing as a result. However, fifty minutes of scenes still remain, and are possible to obtain or to view online. It was a surprisingly sensitive and extremely daring work by Richard Oswald, co-written and co-funded by Dr. Magnus Hirschfeld, who was campaigning against the outlawing of homosexual behavior at the time. It was one of a series of educational films made by the doctor, and does not hold back in presenting its bold message.
This outspoken nature of Veidt’s became dangerous when the Nazis took power, hence his decision to flee to the UK. He was blacklisted, and when in Germany, he only escaped assassination attempts by the Gestapo through luck. Though he loved his country, he hated its leaders, which led him to support Britain in its war effort against his own land. He gave them most of his estate, and also gave the British War Relief a large portion of his salary from each film he worked on.
He was divorced twice, but stayed married to Ilona (Lily) Prager for the last decade of his life. He had one child with previous wife Felicitas Radke; Viola Vera Veidt. Despite his dicing with death in the face of Nazi Germany, he died of a heart attack whilst playing golf at the 8th hole of the Riviera Country Club, Los Angeles, California. He was playing with Arthur Field of MGM and his personal doctor, Dr. Bergman. Bergman pronounced him dead at the scene. His daughter Viola also died of a heart attack some years later.
Tragically, because he had been blacklisted, nobody in Germany was informed of Veidt’s death. He was a beloved figure, and yet no-one was allowed to know. His own family only heard the news via his ex-wife and his daughter, who had fled to Switzerland and heard about it on the radio.
Today his fans remember him for the little things; he liked theatre, cinema, fast cars, pastries, thunderstorms, gardening, swimming, and, of course, golfing. He disliked heights, flying, the number 17, wearing ties, pudding, and interviews. They also remember him for his bravery to speak when others didn’t, but mostly it is his performances that will live on and continue to stun audiences for decades. Conrad once said, “I have no illusions about my art. I am what the public made me and, consequently, I am not likely to forget my debt to them." AIB
Film: Police, Adjective
Release date: 14th February 2011
Certificate: 15
Running time: 113 mins
Director: Corneliu Porumboiu
Starring: Dragos Bucur, Vlad Ivanov, Irina Saulescu, Ion Stoica, Marian Ghenea
Genre: Crime/Drama
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD
Country: Romania
The winner of the Jury Prize under the Un Certain Rergard section of the 2009 Cannes Film Festival, this Romanian film has received drastically varied responses from critics and audiences. It is praised by some, hated by others. The piece was written and directed by Corneliu Porumboiu, and investigates the dilemma when morality and the law come into conflict. With such varying reactions to the work, one has to ask; is Poliţist, Adjectiv truly a great piece of art direction, or is it a case of the Emperor's new clothes?
The film follows Cristi, a Romanian policeman who has a moral crisis when he is ordered to arrest a kid for smoking hashish. The narrative follows him as he attempts to investigate the case further and deduce the supplier - his frustration increasing as he tries to pursue leads under the constraints of bureaucracy.
Meanwhile, he is pressured to simply make the arrest and press supplier charges on the teenager. He must choose whether he will obey the law, which he has sworn to uphold, or avoid the guilt of ruining a young person's life over something he deems to be a small offence.
Meanwhile, the monotony and strict nature of his work have a noticeable affect on his life and marriage…
When hearing about it, this interesting concept raises high hopes for Porumboiu's film. In its symbolism and ideas, it is very clever. Grammar is used as a running theme throughout the dialogue, just as it is used in the title. Dialogue is sparse, and the lengthiest conversations are always about grammar - the rules under which expression is controlled. When Cristi makes a grammatical error, he is corrected. Even with his wife, these conversations are the closest they get to intimacy. This is symbolic of how choked he feels by the law that he must follow. In a scene where his wife explains that the spelling of a word has changed due to a ruling by the Romanian Academy, he questions how some people can decide and enforce what is and is not the right way to speak. Likewise, he must follow a law that he has been told is correct, even though he disagrees, and does not know if this will still be the same law they are told in a year's time.
Unfortunately, this potential-filled film is slowly drip-fed to the audience, but never fully delivered. The direction makes some very bold choices; everything is focused to create an experience that conveys how Cristi feels. To put it bluntly - very little happens. There is no score, and there are frequent stretches of near-silence. At the beginning, this quiet nature is typical of the genre; the opening credits roll to background sound effects and nothing more, and it is then a good five minutes before anyone speaks. Before this, we simply watch Cristi follow the teenager walking down wet, empty streets. This opening lets the audience know without a doubt that they are watching an artistic piece of socio-realm. A small font for the credits, a silent start - it has the clear art house trademarks. But unlike most films that begin in such a way, this empty pace continues throughout the entire film. A vast percentage of the footage merely watches Cristi observe the teenagers as they do very little. Only a few times is there a scene with a proper conversation, and plot developments are sparsely spread apart. With a running time of 115, that's a lot of repetitive footage.
Whether or not these were wise or affective choices is personal opinion, and the source of conflict over the film's reception. The silences and slow pace demonstrate how bored, lonely and depressed Cristi is, and how pointless his case feels. However, when the novelty of the symbolism wears off, it is hard going on the viewer. It is definitely art, but art in the Tate Modern sense; a device to make its audience as uncomfortable, restless and frustrated as the character. The director said he did not wish to pander to what audiences want, and he certainly stuck to this, raising the old question of film as a devise to communicate meaning vs. film as entertainment.
On the other hand, these vast portions of slow-paced silence do add to the delicious tension that exists whenever a conversation takes place, and makes the wordy end scene dramatically poignant. Finally, an oasis of sound - but the water in it is bitter, drawing together the themes of law and grammar into a cold, soul-crushing conclusion. Throughout the film, every small exchange feels significant, purely because they are so rare, and yet very often they don't communicate much. Therefore, an awkward moment that could be dismissed in another film instead preys upon the mind. For example, Cristi brings up that he wanted to see Prague; a tiny piece of small talk that turns into a dangerous-feeling conversation of patriotism, as his superior gives hypocritical reasons why Romania is better than Prague at anything Cristi mentions. This scene occurs relatively near the beginning of the film, and enforces just how unthinkable it is for him to even consider a different way of doing things. His thoughts are policed, as are his words. He's living in 1984.
The pallet works hand in hand with the lack of sound and awkward exchanges - almost everywhere is a washed out colour, with only splashes of blue coming through. This makes the world seem empty and cold. Cristi's house, all dull browns, is, in comparison, warmer than elsewhere, and an instant relief to the eye. It feels safe to behold. Yet, his scenes at home are just as long, silent and empty as those outside, showing that even in his sanctuary he can't escape the affect of his work upon his life.
Porumboiu said, in an interview about the film, that he believes what we write affects how we see the world. The film is divided into three acts, each act a day of Cristi's life, each ending with a detailed report of the non-events of the day. Having to strictly and carefully document every tiny, insignificant detail of his investigation underlines again how trapped he feels. Silently, the camera slowly plans down each of these reports; a calligrapher was hired to write them out in various different ways, to find the right handwriting for the character. The reports were an important symbol to the director, and yet this pan continues for too long, and occurs three times (as unwelcome each time). Little consideration seems to have been shown to how others will appreciate these scenes, only that it means something to the director himself.
Yet, the scenes that do contain conversation are memorable and very effective. This is partially due to the excellent acting - every actor in the piece brings utter authenticity to their role. Dragos Bucur carries much of the film on his own, with other key performances including that of Irina Saulescu, who plays Cristi's wife, and Vlad Ivanov, his boss. It seems a shame, with such talented acting and clever exchanges, that there were so few in the film. Scenes with Cristi and his wife are particularly haunting, driving home images of the silent, broken marriage in uncomfortably long shots.
This film, undeniably, has some interesting ideas and clever symbolism - however, the wait between each development is too lengthy, pushing its audience too far and working them too hard. To those who can sit through this, it has some commendable moments, but the execution is such that these shall only be enjoyed by a small, patient few. It must be still acknowledged for its originality, and elements of it will forever stick in the mind, but as it stands, this expressive piece will probably never achieve a wide audience. AIB
Film: Amores Perros
Release date: 24th September 2001
Certificate: 18
Running time: 154 mins
Director: Alejandro González Iñárritu
Starring: Emilio Echevarría, Gael García Bernal, Goya Toledo, Álvaro Guerrero, Vanessa Bauche
Genre: Drama/Thriller
Studio: Optimum
Format: DVD
Country: Mexico
Three un-connected stories collide when a car crash in Mexico City changes the lives of everyone involved. The debut of young director Alejandro González Iñárritu, the film won the BAFTA award for Best Film Not In The English Language, despite originally being labeled “un-releasable” in the UK. In an exploration of human suffering in three different walks of life, Iñárritu uses the protagonists’ relationships with their dogs to symbolize their common struggles and fall from grace.
The first of the three interwoven stories follows young working-class Octavo, played by Gael García Bernal, as he watches his older brother, Ramiro, mistreat his young wife and neglect their baby. All living together in the same house, Octavo’s sense of chivalry takes over and he decides to rescue Susana (Vanessa Bauche) and her child. To do so, he needs money, and gets himself involved with underground dog fighting, whilst secretly pursuing a relationship with Susana behind his brother’s back. Things do not go as planned, however, and a spiraling set of events land him in a car chase which causes the plot-central accident, triggering the other two narratives. This film was Bernal’s big break that led to projects such as Y Tu Mamá También, making him a popular Mexican poster boy. He has now acted in six Oscar-nominated films.
The second story follows Daniel (Alvaro Guerrero) and Valeria (Goya Toledo). Daniel is a successful man who leaves his wife and children to live with Valeria, a supermodel, in a new apartment he’s bought for them. The apartment faces a billboard with Valeria on it, and though at first their love seems genuine, their life is soon broken down and shown as superficial. Valeria is injured in the car accident, putting her in a wheelchair, whilst her dog Richie gets lost down a hole in the apartment floor. Their harmonious life begins to fray apart as these struggles put their relationship to the test.
The final story follows El Chivo (Emilio Echevarría), an ex-guerilla who now works as a hitman. Surrounded by his dogs, El Chivo is bitter and disenchanted with life, having lost his family when he chose to fight for his cause. Now, without the cause, he has nothing. We see him long for redemption in the form of reconciliation with his daughter, whilst meanwhile handling a hit on a powerful businessman. This storyline is very different to the other two, and as El Chivo watches the affects of a violent life upon his dogs, it leads him to search his soul about which life he will chose to lead…
Amores Perros has been dubbed by some as the Mexican Pulp Fiction, both because of its interweaving narratives that take us back and forth in time, and also because of its dark tones and controversial scenes. The dogfight scenes, in particular, raised concerns with censors, and extensive investigations had to be made due to their disturbing realism. However, this concern only raised the film’s notoriety, and after the scenes were deemed lawful, it helped contribute to the film’s success.
This comparison with Pulp Fiction is misleading. Do not expect any of Tarrantino’s sarcasm or tongue-in-cheek violence; Amores Perros is a gritty, challenging film that tests audiences both with its length, as well as it’s bare, up-close portrayal of suffering. The colours are as muted as the story is bleak, with close-up shots drawing the audience in to the claustrophobia of the character’s situations, particularly noticeable in settings such as Octavo’s crowded, tension-filled home. It rarely lets up, but in a film as well-written and well-executed as this, the journey is gripping and well worth the ride.
The film’s strongest points are its authenticity and its symbolism. It manages to be an emotive piece of socio-realism cinema, whilst at the same time delivering a moral to each story, neatly reflected by the fate of that story’s dog. This is a premise that could sound too kitsch to work in such a grim film, but is in fact similar to a classic storytelling technique in Mexican cinema – that of magic realism, where the real world is seen side by side with the fantastical and fairytale like. The use of dogs as a mirror to the corruption of their humans plays off of their innocence, similar to del Torro’s frequent use of a silent, observant child (Pan’s Labyrinth or Cronos). Their innocence is a foil to the protagonists’ flawed behaviour, and as this corruption affects the blank canvas of the dogs, it shocks both their owners and the audience.
The quality of the acting and scripting allow this technique to be used without softening the tone of the movie, by giving such a believable, life-like delivery. The entire cast deliver strong performances, working alongside the grungy mise-en-scène and often hand-held camerawork to give the audience an awkward sense of voyeurism. This makes the violence and suffering all the more harrowing, and twists such as the interesting turns in El Chivo’s story all the more thrilling. Echevarría’s performance is one of the strongest in the film, communicating with very few words, and often holding the screen alone. Subtle, skilled acting was required to evoke sympathy for an easily condemnable character, and being the third segment of the film, it is vital that the audience care for him and are taken in by his conflicts and changes. Vanessa Bauche also tackled an important role, portraying another morally grey character that the audience needs to care for, so that we’re with Octavo in his efforts to save Susana.
Academy Award winning composer Gustavo Santaolalla’s (Babel, Brokeback Mountain) score is beautifully delicate, and often moving, being both edgy yet understated, skillfully picking up on the mournful emotions of the characters. These few, brilliant tracks are intercut with various international artists, many of whom contribute eclectic rap or club music, picked out by former-DJ Iñárritu. This creates a soundtrack of contrasts, communicating the characters’ struggle to succeed in a dangerous world, as well as the quiet hurt secretly felt by all in it, which marries it to the tone of Amores Perros perfectly.
Some criticize the disjointed nature of Amores Perros’ narrative, following three minor plotlines instead of one fully fleshed narrative, but it is in the comparison of these three narratives that we get the sociological statement. Three very different groups of people are shown to be equally vulnerable as well as equally flawed, and essentially equally human – something which connects us all despite how far apart we can seem. This challenging of the class system is a common feature in Mexican cinema. However, touching though this sentiment is, it can feel disjointed to watch - each story is told too much in isolation, in long, separate sections instead of frequently cutting back and forth. Though this does make them easier to follow, the audience gets too settled into one story and can then feel culture shocked each time it changes. This can also make the length of the movie hard for some to digest. Yet, this film shows Iñárritu’s talent through consistent production quality and some creative and innovative direction. For example, the opening car scene instantly draws us into the chaos with its confusing, hectic nature, fading volume and image in and out to disorient us as much as the characters. Though the film could arguably benefit from some editing, no scenes are excess or weak links in the chain (with the possible exception of the slightly too comedic cries of “Richie” when the wheelchair-bound model loses her dog). Overall, this is an experience of consistent quality.
Trapping us from the get-go, Iñárritu takes us on an uncomfortable, but also touching journey. Whether you want characters to care for or getting pumped on action, something you can analyze or just a score to jam to, Amores Perros delivers a strong hand. It’s a stunning debut for a director, and a must-see for students and film enthusiasts. Not something to stick on if you want a nice easy evening in, but definitely a film that will stay with you. If you enjoy the bittersweet over the saccharin, watch it – you won’t be asking for the time back again. AIB
