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Article by: Michelle Collier
Submarine is the feature-length debut by British filmmaker Richard Ayoade. It is not his first foray into writing or directing - as fans of Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace (2004) may tell you – nor is it a foreign-language film. However, the aesthetic style and narrative themes of Submarine take much influence from the French New Wave school of cinema of the late 1950s to mid 1960s, making it an interesting filmic text for discussion.
Submarine is the film adaptation of the book of the same name by Welsh poet Joe Dunthorne. Set during the 1980s in Wales, the film is an off beat coming of age comedy drama in which eccentric teenager Oliver Tate (Craig Roberts) attempts to lose his virginity whilst simultaneously saving his parents crumbling marriage.
Submarine chronicles a tumultuous period in Oliver’s adolescent life and invites the audience to explore the emotions and (sometimes absurd) circumstances that confront him…
Submarine captures the youthful aura of the French New Wave with an unpretentious ease, and director Richard Ayoade’s love for this era of cinema is clear. Like many of the new wave films, Submarine is an exploration of self through a multitude of existential themes, such as love, lust, death, depression and infidelity. Oliver Tate is presented to the viewer as an intelligent, introverted and somewhat naively romantic individual, whose references to philosophy, literature and dictionary definitions hint a preoccupation with interpretation and meaning. Though he has little control over the major events that unfold during the film, it is the way in which Oliver decides to interpret these events that feels distinctly New Wave.
The film is ultimately a manifestation of the world as seen through Oliver’s adolescent eyes, often romanticised with cinematic techniques deliberately played for effect. The central characters become knowing parodies of the young lovers of the French New Wave. Oliver’s love interest Jordana (Yasmin Paige) is the ambivalent and ambiguous female, whose classic ‘60s short bob hair style evokes Chantal Goya or Anna Karina. Whilst Oliver with his upturned collar and brooding stare invokes the ‘noir hero’ spirit of Jean Paul Belmondo or Alain Delon (take note, for instance, of the Le Samurai film poster that hangs in his bedroom). These narrative ‘types’ are somewhat dictated by Oliver himself, who as narrator/diarist appears in control of the narrative arc and its cinematic interpretation throughout the film.
The visual look of Submarine also has a lot in common with the films of the French New Wave. Much of the film is shot on location, and the settings take on a character of their own. There is a noticeable distinction between the locations that Oliver is bound to and those he chooses to retreat to. The schoolyard, for example, seems restrictive and confining, whereas the wide, gaping coastline gives a romantic sense of freedom and escape. In this sense, the film feels a little like Les quatre cents coups (François Truffaut, 1959), consistently playing up to one’s own nostalgia for those places you go out of school hours and the experiences you encounter there.
The enchantment of these locations and the romance of escape is further emphasised by the beautiful cinematography of the film. Ayoade cites cinematographer Néstor Almendros as a key influence for the look of the film. Almendros was a Spanish born cinematographer, who worked on films with Truffaut and Rohmer during the 1960s, and later on films such as Kramer Versus Kramer (Robert Benton, 1979) and Sophie’s Choice (Alan Pakula, 1982). He is noted for his championing of natural lighting, and his influence is clear to see in the way that the landscapes of Submarine are captured, often using soft natural light to evoke the innate beauty of the scenes.
Another common ground that Submarine shares with films of the French New Wave is its blatant cinephilia and the extent to which the cinema and filmmaking are fore grounded. French director Eric Rohmer is mentioned on more than one occasion and, of course, the quintessential ‘trip to the movies’ dutifully takes place within the film. Submarine echoes the French New Wave in it’s exploration of the cinematic medium as a mode of self expression, and Ayoade’s confident hand explores this effortlessly and with self-aware charm. Techniques that were pioneered during the New Wave era – such as the use of intertitles, rapid jump cuts, freeze frame, disruption of sound and breaking the fourth wall – are engaged effortlessly and the film becomes a rich fabric of cinematic techniques.
To an extent, Submarine employs Alexandre Astruc’s notion of ‘camera stylo’ in the way that these techniques become an audiovisual language employed to ‘write’ Oliver’s story for the viewer. Ayoade, disguised as Oliver, wields these techniques from within the film itself in such a way that Oliver is able to cinematically express his emotional state, or romanticise the otherwise mundane life events that happen to him at will.
Though Ayoade cites directors such as Louis Malle and Claude Chabrol as influences, it would be unfair to posit that Submarine is a direct pastiche of the films of the French New Wave. Instead, he has transposed the essence of the era into a modern film and British context. Moreover, amongst the self-aware nods to the New Wave era, it is also possible to find other filmic references. The tone of Submarine is reminiscent of Hal Ashby’s 1970s classic Harold And Maude (1971), and it also has much in common with the beautifully neurotic romantic comedies of Woody Allen. In addition, Ayoade himself mentions The Graduate (Mike Nichols, 1967) and Taxi Driver (Martin Scorsese, 1976) as further inspiration for certain aspects of his film. In fact, the textural richness of the film and the clarity of its cinematic and cultural influences is itself in keeping with the French New Wave, whose films were often clear products of the culture that bore them and the cinematic taste of their directors. Ayoade’s interpretation of his own stylistic and narrative influences serves to give a clearer image of him as an auteur, infusing the film with his own characteristically off beat vision and style.
Submarine is an impressive feature-length debut and promises to raise anticipation for Ayoade’s next project. In its quaint depiction of the trials of youth and self-aware mode of filmmaking, Submarine recaptures the spirit of the French New Wave without being a crass modernisation of the style. Wholly unpretentious and full of visual flare, Submarine is a real gem and a great contribution to what will hopefully become a new wave of British independent comedy cinema. MC
Film: 14-18: The Noise And The Fury
Year of production: 2008
UK Release date: 4th April 2011
Distributor: Kaleidoscope
Certificate: E
Running time: 100 mins
Director: Jean-François Delassus
Genre: Documentary
Format: DVD
Country of Production: France
Language: French
Review by: Matt Castagna
With its unique first person narrative comes 14-18: The Noise And The Fury, a pastiche of restored and colourised footage which serves to document The Great War (WW1) in refreshing but at times disturbing clarity. Director Jean-Francois Delassus couples archive footage from the war, with clips from one or two other mediums, in order to construct a graphic tale with a raw slant.
The film centres around Protag, a young Frenchman who enlists to fight, fuelled by little more than his own sense of adventure. A common misconception at this time was that life as a soldier was both heroic and glorious, a misconception that feeds his desire further. However, what begins as a naive soldier’s journey into the great unknown soon becomes something much darker as Protag becomes quite literally bogged down in the conflict that would shape Europe for the next century.
In amongst the explanations and general overview of The Great War as a whole, Protag’s plight remains a key feature throughout, with vivid and descriptive dialogue depicting life in the trenches. His experiences of death and destruction remain prominent throughout, as is his struggle to maintain a sense of faith in a war that is remembered less for the lion hearts and more so for the brutality of killing fields and machine-gun warfare.
The English language version features an enticing reading by Paul Bandey, whose frank voiceovers provide a foreboding feel to proceedings…
Engaging its audience via the identification of the reluctant hero Protag, 14-18 invests our interest in his plight whilst giving an overview of the story of the First World War – the players, the pieces, the grand scale game of chess played across what is now Modern Europe. No stone is left unturned in what is, at times. a difficult watch, particularly when the film shifts to the more personal tribulations. The grimy reality of living in trenches, struggling with the biting cold of the weather and the mud, the gnawing of the rats, even the agony of lice, all torturous reminders of a soldier’s daily drama.
The changing visuals of black-and-white stills combined with colour footage from films, some entertaining comedy at the hands of a Mr. Charlie Chaplin, and action on the battlefield create a stimulating aesthetic, but the most poignant tool at Delassus’ disposal is the piercing narration of Paul Bandey. The combination of Bandey’s ominous narration and the sombre musical tones makes its mark on more than one occasion, dictating the mood throughout.
Another area in which the film excels is in illustrating the true paragons of particular emotions. The glory of national pride remains prominent throughout. The scenes in which soldiers write their letters to loved ones, masking their fear with words of hope and bravery, thus maintaining the aforementioned misconceptions of heroic glory, are especially eye-opening. Vengeance is also explored throughout; in the face of such ruthless cruelty, Protag instantly becomes consumed by a thirst for revenge, following one or two terrible injuries.
Of course, 14-18 is not intended as a comfortable watch, merely providing the odd moment of respite, in which we are filled in on more general details, before returning to the first-hand experiences of Protag and his comrades. This acts as a means of identification with the soldiers, who once in a while take a short break from the battlefield and return to their home towns and cities, only to be called back out to fight all too soon. The soldiers’ faith and in turn our own is tested, and in their despair, both soldiers and the townsfolk they have left behind look to the Church for renewed hope.
Protag’s story is gripping to the end, the powerful mix of devastating action scenes combined with the damaging emotional effect on our main protagonist producing a stunning climax as the war reaches its end and Protag learns his final fate.
Many war films fall flat by focusing too much attention on either mindless violence, or one story in amongst a million. 14-18: The Noise And The Fury succeeds in tying in two primary elements almost seamlessly – the arcing story of senseless warmongering and the faithless plight of the walking wounded.
The film at times feels like a throwback to the chalkboards and musty textbooks of history lessons; however, should 14-18: The Noise And The Fury be added to the school syllabus some day, the engaging content might see a sudden uprising of the average pass rate.
Delassus’ innovative and well structured documentary provides an absorbing and, at times, brutal angle to one of the great stories in recent history. 14-18: The Noise And The Fury endeavours to deliver exactly what it says on the tin, and packs quite a punch. MC
Film: How I Ended This Summer
Release date: 22nd April 2011
Running time: 124 mins
Director: Aleksei Popogrebsky
Starring: Grigoriy Dobrygin, Sergei Puskepalis, Igor Chernevich, Ilya Sobolev, Artyom Tsukanov
Genre: Drama/Thriller
Studio: New Wave
Format: Cinema
Country: Russia
Russian director Alexei Popogrebski’s psychological thriller was a surprise winner at the prestigious 2010 London Film Festival, no mean feat when one considers the competition - not only was the Oscar-winning King’s Speech in contention, but also Black Swan and 127 Hours. Despite working its charms at the festival, How I Ended This Summer has divided critics worldwide.
On the Eastern tip of Russia, just a short distance from Alaska, lies Chukotka, one of the most isolated landscapes on Earth, and home to a Russian meteorological station. Manning this station are just two occupants: Sergei, a veteran who has spent many a year in such isolation, thus developing a cold and unapproachable manner, and his young understudy Pavel, a work experience student. Pavel is more preoccupied with listening to heavy rock music and writing his essay, ‘How I Ended This Summer’, than with the task at hand, leading to one or two early face-offs with Sergei, who is exasperated by Pavel’s carelessness and clumsiness.
What begins as artsy film littered with landscape shots but bereft of dialogue soon becomes a more eerie affair when Sergei disappears for a couple of days to fish for trout, leaving Pavel in charge at the base station, a two-way radio his only link to the outside world. When Pavel receives a message that Sergei’s wife and son have been killed in an accident, this triggers a cataclysmic chain of events, as Pavel attempts to figure out a way to break the tragic news to Sergei. With the chilling backdrop of the Arctic elements, paranoia becomes border-line insanity…
Popogrebski leaves no stone unturned in an attempt to create a haunting atmosphere, using the fabled crepuscular half light, when the contrast between dark and light is at its most prominent. The twilight effect of the creeping shadows is something he falls back on time and again, yet it never feels overused. Perhaps the unfamiliarity of the scenery and indeed the diverse wildlife fuel our fascination with the unknown, despite the hint of agoraphobia throughout. In the deathly silence of the snow, the swirling howl of the wind and even in the lumbering menace of a polar bear, Popogrebski is able to conjure unease within the audience. His only questionable inclusion is his use of first-person computer game graphic, which appears misplaced in the extreme.
Samples of heavy rock music in amongst the extensive shots of glorious landscape further accentuate the contrast between the quiet desolation and the overpowering harshness of the elements in the early parts of the film, in which dialogue is limited. Soon enough, however, we are made aware that there is already a growing tension between Sergei and Pavel, even before news of the tragedy reaches them. When the protagonists do converse, there is resentment in their voices, and the bond which one might expect between two men who spend every waking moment in each other’s company does not exist.
Both actors deserve much credit for their performances; Sergei Puskepalis coming across as completely unapproachable with his quiet and brooding manner, and Grigoriy Dobrygin who bubbles with muted menace before it gives way to outrageous insanity in the climactic scenes. They bring a dense reality to proceedings, sharing an intriguing dynamic, whereby we urge them to discover common ground, or even just share a joke.
Rhythmically, the film is relatively slow-paced, but the tension of the narrative and the potential for discovery keeps the audience guessing. Pavel repeatedly stumbles in his attempts to break the news to Sergei, as events become a little far-fetched. It could be argued that the film takes a turn for the worse when Pavel becomes convinced that Sergei is trying to kill him, which triggers an extensive chase scene that feels more like an elongated game of hide and seek. Pavel sits in the shadows for what must be more than a week, as he contends with starvation and mounting paranoia.
The questionable conclusion that follows will be subject to debate for years to come, and perhaps Popogrebski has actually demonstrated restraint by preventing How I Ended This Summer from descending into a farce of utter carnage. However, one cannot help wondering whether Popogrebski really has it in him to tell such a twisted story, or whether it was all just an excuse to shoot nature at its most rugged and beautiful.
Popogrebski’s dark Arctic tale has the raw materials in place for an epic piece of work, which may yet define his career. His understated and confused conclusion may not be to everyone’s taste, but he deserves credit for the ominous atmosphere portrayed throughout, and the stylistics will live long in the memory. MC
Film: Profound Desires Of The Gods
Release date: 21st February 2011
Certificate: 15
Running time: 173 mins
Director: Shôhei Imamura
Starring: Rentarô Mikuni, Choichiro Kawarazaki, Kazuo Kitamura, Hideko Okiyama, Yoshi Katô
Genre: Drama
Studio: Eureka!
Format: DVD
Country: Japan
With the death of the much-celebrated Shohei Imamura in 2006 came the legacy of a man whose career spanned several decades. Unparalleled success in his homeland has failed to transpire abroad, largely due to distribution issues, and in keeping with this, one of his most ambitious projects, Profound Desire Of The Gods, has only recently become available on DVD and Blu-ray. Despite poor box-office performance at the time of its initial release, Imamura’s visionary work has enjoyed belated praise.
Profound Desires Of The Gods investigates a number of societal polar opposites – traditions versus modernity, mythology versus science, man versus machine. When Kariya, an engineer from Tokyo travels to a remote island to supervise the creation of a well, he encounters a mini-society in revolt.
The interbred Futori family maintains a mythical belief that their island was created as a result of the love and sexual union of a brother and sister. Labelled as ‘beasts’, and vilified by the more progressive islanders, the family’s history is both complex and disturbing. Yamamori is one of the oldest members, and his daughter, Toriko, is also his granddaughter, drawing a parallel between the make-up of their family and the origins of the islands founders and creators.
The main shrine on the island is kept hidden from the majority of the islanders, as it contains the only fresh water source, resulting in drought. The god-fearing inhabitants put this down to the Futori family and their violation of taboos, leading to further conflict. Kariya finds himself embroiled in the local conflict, and the wheels are set in motion for an epic story, which has become legendary in Japanese cinema.
Investigating the damaging effects of modernity and globalisation, Imamura sheds light on some of the origins of Japaneseness, exploring the corruption of innocence, and whether or not innocence itself is subject to corruption in its conception...
Imamura’s initial intention was to spend just six months filming. As legend has it, this became eighteen, as he found himself seduced by the natural beauty of the island and adapting to life away from the city. In keeping with this, the film opens with spontaneous shots of nature demonstrating the vitality of the island; full of colour and wonderment, these opening scenes give perhaps further insight into the profound effects the island had on Imamura. As one might expect, the visuals are particularly awe-inspiring, and the film is indeed littered with shots of the various species.
The main character, Kariya, also finds himself encapsulated by the earthly charms of island life, but not before some entertaining episodes as he combats ants and geckos during his first few days. Soon, however, the seductive charms of the female members of the Futori family begin to take effect.
With each scene we are able to unlock the intriguing fundamental truths about Japaneseness, as the film succeeds in dissecting certain traditions and moral codes, albeit with slightly reckless abandon. Imamura’s work, by reputation, is often fuelled by borderline madness, which in the case of Profound Desires, only serves to up the ante, invoking the desired reaction from the audience.
Although, at first, Imamura appears reluctant to choose a side in the battle between primitivism and forward thinking, he does begin to suggest that despite the ignorance that comes with the superstitious ways of the islanders, their culture is not baseless. Peeling away the chaotic layers, he reveals the simplistic shaman-like ways of Toriko to be a source of visionary strength.
The film’s substantial running time should not detract from what is a deeply moving and satisfying monster of a movie. Imamura delivers on several levels, conjuring a powerful and visceral dissection of cultural issues that have been at the forefront of Japanese theorising for several centuries. It is because of this film that Imamura takes his place amongst the legends of Japanese cinema.
Despite its aforementioned failure at the box office, Profound Desires Of The Gods is very much canonised as a cult classic, perhaps due to its unavailability in certain formats until very recently. What could easily feel outdated, merely due to the film’s age, remains refreshing, and the ongoing struggle between god and machine rages on. MC
Film: New York, I Love You
Release date: 7th February 2011
Certificate: 15
Running time: 99 mins
Director: Fatih Akin, Yvan Attal, Randall Balsmeyer, Allen Hughes, Shunji Iwai, Wen Jiang, Shekhar Kapur, Joshua Marston, Mira Nair, Natalie Portman, Brett Ratner
Starring: Bradley Cooper, Justin Bartha, Andy Garcia, Hayden Christensen, Rachel Bilson
Genre: Drama/Romance
Studio: Universal
Format: DVD
Country: France/USA
This is an English-Language release.
With the same template as Paris, Je T’aime, and with an array of directorial talents, comes a true Valentines Day staple. A romantic comedy featuring a number of familiar faces, falling in love in hip bars, on the sidewalks, in taxis – with its A-list clout comes a pastiche of short love stories in New York, I Love You.
Around this time of year come a plethora of date movies. Tinted with ideas of romance and with varying degrees of seriousness. New York, I Love You, follows a similar path to many romantic comedies of years’ past, of the ilk of Love Actually, Valentines Day and He’s Just Not That Into You, in telling a number of inter-linking stories, but with a twist. Each of the eleven stories run for just eight minutes or so, each one overseen by a different director.
The film boasts a starry cast, with the likes of Bradley Cooper, Natalie Portman (who also makes her directorial debut), Hayden Christensen and Orlando Bloom more than capable of articulating every anecdotal tribute to New York City. And, of course, as one might expect, actors who play a major part in one story often criss-cross and turn up in one or two of the others.
Much like its predecessor Paris, Je T’aime, each director is encouraged to focus his or her energy on presenting love blossoming in the big city. From tales of lost love between husband and wife, to the unspoken lust of a Jewish girl for a man of Indian descent, and the seeds of puppy love, comes a montage for the modern romantic, with many more themes explored throughout…
The film begins as it means to go on, with the self-glorifying images of Manhattan Bridge and yellow taxis, and an entertaining exchange between two men who accidentally jump in the same cab. With an engrossing encounter between a thief and a girl whose attention he is trying to attract by stealing from her soon to follow, it is easy to warm to the witty charms of each character.
The writing throughout is particularly praiseworthy, and enables the audience to connect with the characters despite their abbreviated time on screen. Interactions are usually fuelled with witty conversations, and in fact, New York, I Love You functions best when comedy is the prevailing theme. One of the most memorable stories is that involving a pharmacist who convinces a young boy to take his daughter to the prom. As it turns out, the daughter is handicapped, but the film elects to stay on the more humourous side of proceedings, building to a side-splitting twist at the climax of this particular story.
As time goes on, however, certain patterns become apparent. Each anecdote contains enough narrative and back-story to construct an entire film, and the overriding issue the film never quite escapes is that each director has been required to cut and paste each scene so that every aspect is covered in eight minutes. Cutting corners like this means that the director has to rely on certain subtleties to get their message across. Sometimes this is conveyed simply with a look we don’t quite understand, but often a story passes us by without us ever quite grasping its intentions, other than the rather unsubtle suggestion to the audience of, “Look how beautiful New York is, you should come here.”
Whereas its more popular ancestors Paris Je T’aime and Love Actually appeared more well-rounded, New York, I Love You’s style alienates its audience just as we lean forward to watch more. Every intriguing, heart-warming story is immediately followed by something so far-fetched we cannot identify with the themes.
This is not the only area in which the film struggles to satisfy its audience - sadly, in places, the film is guilty of taking itself far too seriously. Very often the stories feel far too short to have conveyed any emotion at all, leaving us with a feeling that the film may only be appreciated by a pretentious critic somewhere.
As one might expect, different stories invoke differing reactions, and although one particular snippet featuring Radiohead’s No Surprises makes for an especially moving scene, it remains difficult to feel like the sum of the parts is greater than than the whole.
New York, I Love You almost feels like a mini film festival unto itself, anthologising several tenuously linked stories. In amongst the odd charming anecdote, it is easy to become lost in what is essentially an introverted work of self-importance. MC
Film: The Valley (Obscured By Clouds)
Release date: 14th February 2011
Certificate: 15
Running time: 105 mins
Director: Barbet Schroeder
Starring: Bulle Ogier, Michael Gothard, Jean-Pierre Kalfon
Genre: Action/Drama
Studio: BFI
Format: DVD & Blu-ray
Country: France
The career of writer and director Barbet Schroeder has so far spanned over forty years. Very much in the primitive stage of his illustrious life behind the camera, The Valley (Obscured By Clouds) represents a glorious stepping stone in Schroeder’s development as a young filmmaker who would later enjoy remarkably consistent Hollywood success.
Set in the mystical jungles of New Guinea, the film follows the story of Viviane, the wife of the French consul in Melbourne, whose quest initially revolves around finding the forbidden feathers of a rare exotic bird. This quest takes an unexpected detour when she meets Gaetan, an intriguingly charismatic stranger travelling in a small group of hippies.
Upon meeting the hippies, Viviane’s inquisitive nature leads her to abandon her previously materialistic existence, and embark on an even more enticing mission, seeking an unmapped valley believed to be the home to one of the world’s most isolated tribes.
As one might expect, Viviane’s plight becomes much more than just a search for earthly enlightenment, as she immerses herself in the hippie world of self-discovery, ending her journey far removed from the person she used to be.
With Pink Floyd providing an ambient soundtrack to proceedings, Schroeder invites us into the mysterious world of bongo-pounding, chanting, and tribal pleasures…
Very much drawn in the art house vein, The Valley is not afraid to push the boundaries, and the unrestrained and relaxed lifestyle of the hippies manifests itself in the use of mind-altering stimulants, and also in scenes of full frontal nudity. Viviane is quick to develop an affinity with the hippies’ love of nature, which plays an integral part in her decision to stay beyond her intended departure date and venture into the unknown.
Schroeder’s priority appears to be that his audience identify with his central characters, and he succeeds admirably. It is easy to develop an emotional attachment to Schroeder’s characters and to the story, and as viewers we share Viviane’s enthusiasm and excitement for what lies ahead. The acting is consistent and never misplaced, and assists in creating an intriguing aesthetic.
Despite, at times, amateurish editing, the cinematography is close to perfect, lending an almost documentary style to The Valley. The film is not afraid to lose itself in panoramic landscapes, or to pay tribute to the natural beauty of New Guinea. With Pink Floyd’s uncomplicated yet engrossing soundtrack in tow, Schroeder’s story is given further meaning, through subtle sweeping chords and melodic twangs.
The interaction with the tribe provide the film’s most breathtaking scenes, and the audience witnesses a number of compelling traditions and rituals. It is in these moments that The Valley finds its true spirit.
Another angle for which Schroeder deserves much credit is for maintaining a cordial atmosphere throughout. Too many action/adventures are guilty of taking the route of menace, where the protagonists reach their desired destination only to find that everything is not as they hoped. Instead, he elects to focus on emotionally fulfilling his central characters, and in turn, his audience. This is not to say that the characters have matching reactions to their experiences - one or two find themselves completely underwhelmed, but the film revels in exploring this further.
The Valley’s mildly understated conclusion and perhaps unoriginal slant does not retract from an overriding satisfaction, which is both thought-provoking and inspiring, and anyone who previously held no aspirations for travelling will have been persuaded otherwise.
The suitably primitive style is fitting considering its placement in Barbet Schroeder’s fine career. The Valley rarely deviates from the simplistic route, which is fully complimented by the ideologies of the main characters. Although the outdated hippie angle grows slightly tiresome, The Valley is thoroughly intriguing to its end. MC
Film: A Blonde In Love
Release date: 24th January 2011
Certificate: 15
Running time: 85 mins
Director: Miloš Forman
Starring: Hana Brejchová, Vladimír Pucholt, Vladimír Mensík, Ivan Kheil, Jirí Hrubý
Genre: Comedy/Romance/Drama
Studio: Second Run
Format: DVD
Country: Czechoslovakia
In 1975 came One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, a groundbreaking film which swept the board at the Academy Awards, taking five Oscars. To this day, it remains the most celebrated moment of Miloš Forman’s career. However, a decade before the film which made Jack Nicholson’s career came a more subtle, yet intriguing work from one of Czechoslovakia’s best-loved exports - a film with such strokes of comedic genius it was itself Oscar-nominated for Best Foreign Language Film.
A Blonde In Love is set in the industrial town of Zruč, which lies to the southwest of Prague. The local shoe industry has prospered to such levels that the female population of the town outnumbers the male by sixteen to one, causing the factory manager to request that an army regiment be stationed there.
Although the news is at first greeted with excitement by the female contingent, this quickly dissipates when the men arrive – ageing, balding, some even married. This makes for some entertaining shenanigans, as the welcome dance early on in the film provides some highly amusing slapstick moments of comedy, the pretty young ladies attempting to avoid the advances of the lecherous soldiers.
Lead character Andula finds herself more interested in Milda, the piano player at the dance, which opens the door to possibility of a new life in Prague. That is, until she meets the parents…
At first, Forman places paramount importance on audience identification with his central characters, creating set pieces in which we empathise and understand the emotions and actions portrayed. Watching the girls trying to escape the attentions of the soldiers, who aren’t completely sure how to co-ordinate their approach, makes for an excruciatingly awkward, yet extraordinarily entertaining opening.
Once the audience has begun to warm to the main protagonists, our focus shifts to one or two more pressing issues, as Forman provides insight into the limitations of the era, both politically and socially. Although many of the film’s messages are presented in the form of satirical comedy, reading between the lines remains relatively straightforward, thanks largely to a script which juggles masterfully with the levels of wit and sarcasm whilst still conveying a more serious theme.
Perhaps the most effective element of the film is the fact that Andula is the only character who is entitled to displays of complex human emotion. Aside from the moments in which she and Milda are getting to know each other, the remainder of the cast are restricted to roles as caricatures – they have one specific role within Forman’s story, and he utilises their unique characteristics to bounce off one another.
The film’s finest moments come when Andula ventures to Prague with suitcase in hand, knocking on the door of Milda’s parents’ house while Milda is out. What follows is comedy gold – Andula is subjected to random quizzing from his mother, who fulfils her role dutifully as the nosy, intrusive housewife. Every once in a while, Milda’s father pipes up and they bicker about Andula, as if she is not there, happily mocking her for her naivety.
The cynicism and utter disdain with which Milda’s mother addresses Andula strips away any previous innocence and tenderness, shifting our focus onto the impossibility and impracticality of love in communist Czechoslovakia. As the film descends into mild farce, certain realities become clear, and there is little choice but to laugh at the hopelessness of Andula’s situation as Milda’s parents poke fun at her.
The only minor criticism would be in its slightly short running time, and although all strands of narrative are concluded in a satisfactory manor, there comes a certain disappointment when the film ends. Perhaps the central messages would have become yet more prominent. Or perhaps the film reaches such levels of humour, we are simply left wanting more.
A Blonde In Love’s charm is in its approach, exploring themes such as the naivety of young love and the political confusion of the era, whilst maintaining a light-hearted frame of mind. A witty script holds together the strands, making for a highly absorbing comedy with plenty of laugh-out-loud moments. MC
Film: The Past Is A Foreign Land
Release date: 4th October 2010
Certificate: 18
Running time: 127 mins
Director: Daniele Vicari
Starring: Elio Germano, Michele Riondino, Chiara Caselli, Valentina Lodovini, Marco Baliani
Genre: Crime/Drama/Thriller
Studio: Vita
Format: DVD
Country: Italy
Although still in the fledgling era of his directorial career, Daniele Vicari takes on a challenging narrative in the form of the classic good-guy-meets-bad-crowd in The Past Is A Foreign Land. Despite a not so original premise, Vicari endeavours to explore the dishonesty of the subterranean gaming world, and the moral abandonment of the players involved.
Set in the southern Italian city of Bari, the film follows the story of Giorgio (played by the compelling Elio Germano), a straight-up law student from a well-off family who support his ambitions to the full, forever throwing money at him, whether he requests it or not. With girlfriend in tow, Giorgio appears readymade for greatness.
Giorgio’s life takes a turn when he meets Francesco (Michele Riondino) at a party. Francesco lives a charmed life as a swindling card-sharp, having learnt various twists and tricks to assist in conning fellow poker players out of vast amounts of cash. “We challenge fate and we beat it,” is Francesco’s retort of rationality when Giorgio becomes aware of his dark intentions.
Like clockwork, and perhaps as expected, a downward spiral is just around the corner, as Giorgio’s priorities switch from the pursuit of academic success to chasing the quick buck. Loved ones fall by the wayside as the new version of Giorgio begins to take hold, but the extent of the havoc Francesco wreaks stretches far deeper than dodgy card games and flash cars, towards an astonishing and disturbing drug-fuelled climax…
Rather commendably, Vicari employs only characters that are paramount in telling the story. From Giorgio’s mother, and her disappointed parent routine, to the tempestuous nature of his indignant father, through Francesco’s multiple-personality disorder, and ultimately, the psychological breakdown of Giorgio - every character; every look; every conversation has a purpose. Nor does Vicari waste any time with unnecessary scenes or dialogue, refusing to pay any homage to Bari as a setting, instead diving unapologetically into the narrative from the first minute to the very last.
Elio Germano and Michele Riondino deserve much credit for bringing the script to life. The two anti-heroes bond like long-lost brothers, with conversations regarding morality of particular focus throughout. As Francesco slowly manipulates Giorgio’s previously honest demeanour into something far more menacing, and, more importantly, into someone he can use for his own financial benefit.
The methods utilised to con fellow poker players at the table, coupled with the constant danger of someone discovering what they are up to, raise the level of intrigue, and make the opening hour of the film slightly more compelling than the second. However, one minor complaint is Vicari’s reluctance to really focus on the card games. Too often Giorgio and Francesco come away from games with several thousand Euros, but we have witnessed only one key hand, and in too many cases we only hear the characters talking about the cards or the winning hand, rather than being shown.
The second half of the film, whilst devoting itself entirely to the psychological and moral breakdown of the two leads, is more than watchable, but it is clear that we are not supposed to be comfortable with what we see. Whereas earlier in the film, Giorgio’s conscience would often pipe up at any sign of trouble, Francesco is able to stretch the boundaries of morality much further, while Giorgio remains worryingly quiet. As Vicari takes the film to the point of no return, it becomes clear that fans will be won and lost in the final shocking twenty minutes.
Atmospherically, Vicari has constructed something impeccably eerie, particularly in the latter stages, as he toils with the darkest aspects of the human psyche. Although it is arguable that The Past Is A Foreign Land ends up in a slightly far-fetched place, the two leads succeed in maintaining our interest in their final fates. MC
Film: Cosmonaut
Release date: 8th November 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 85 mins
Director: Susanna Nicchiarelli
Starring: Claudia Pandolfi, Sergio Rubini, Angelo Orlando, Susanna Nicchiarelli, Miriana Raschillà
Genre: Comedy/Drama
Studio: VITA
Format: DVD
Country: Italy
Susanna Nichiarelli accentuates her growing reputation for eye-opening direction as she delves into the communist-dominated world of the ‘50s and ‘60s, through the coming of age story of central character Luciana, played by Marianna Raschillà, who delivers a suitably hormonal performance, fuelled by her larger-than-life experiences as a teenager.
Having lost her father long before she developed any awareness of the world around her, much of Luciana’s ideology has been shaped by her older brother, Arturo, whose mind has been partially distorted by the drugs he takes to control his epilepsy. Arturo’s universe revolves around the Soviet Union’s exploration of space, and this universe becomes Luciana’s over the course of her childhood.
As her hormones begin to take their hold, Luciana takes a fancy to Vittorio, the leader of the Italian Federation of Young Communists (FIGC), and the dreams she has shared with her brother fully become her own. She endeavours to impress Vittorio by displaying her ambitions of becoming the first woman into space, although whether or not these ambitions are merely a means of impressing a boy is not initially clear.
With her father’s legacy a prominent feature throughout, she struggles for someone to turn to in her times of need, and in her father’s absence, Luciana’s personal life begins to unravel…
The ideals of communism are what unite the film’s central characters, and footage of early Soviet missions help set the scene throughout Cosmonaut. Early on, we witness a number of FIGC meetings, which assist in demonstrating the importance of the communist values not just to Arturo, but also to Vittorio and many of the other members, as they strain to be heard over one another. What is rarely apparent, particularly in the opening stages, is how invested Luciana is. With one lustful look after another at Vittorio, we see little evidence of anything other than the seeds of first love, along with some thinly veiled attempts at displaying this love.
One area in which Nichiarelli excels is in developing empathy with her protagonist. As it is relatively difficult to develop understanding in the outdated values of communism, instead she concentrates much of her attention on Luciana’s woes as a teenager. In giving the audience scenarios they can identify with; fighting over a boy, pining for someone, and watching that person fall into the arms of someone else, Nichiarelli subtly introduces emotional crutches throughout.
It must also be said that the cast does imperious justice to the story. Marianna Raschillà does the simple things well, and contrasts fleeting moments of happiness with Vittorio and her, at times, tempestuous home life to such degree that the characters surrounding her cannot help but follow suit. Never is this more compelling than in the scenes with Sergio Rubini, who portrays the wealthy stepfather to perfection, constantly striving to accomplish the semblance of familial aura that Luciana never quite allows him to.
Despite a slightly short running time, Cosmonaut endeavours to resolve every strand of narrative, and achieves this successfully, drifting away from its communist overtures just in time to conclude the fate of each character. The audience comes away sensing that not only Luciana, but also her friends and family, have come through a personal test in one form or another. These character arcs are ultimately the fulcrum of Nichiarelli’s story.
Another aspect Nichiarelli deserves credit for is developing the mise-en-scène without becoming overbearing. By electing to simply scatter footage of various space missions throughout, Nichiarelli does not see the need to take this any further; we just know the film is set in ‘50s and 1960s Rome. This allows the characters to stay at the focal point of the film, where they can make the utmost impact. Even the soundtrack is moving but never distracting, as Nichiarelli utilises the crisp sound of revamped songs from the era, the emotive twangs of which sit in the background and subtly accentuate the events of the film.
With the help of a tremendous cast, Susanna Nichiarelli conjures a simplistic yet intriguing story which documents teenage melodrama on the subtle background of the Soviet technological advances of the period. By peeling away any potential complications, Nichiarelli allows the audience to concentrate its attention on the complex human emotions portrayed throughout. MC
Film: The Concert
Release date: 8th November 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 122 mins
Director: Radu Mihaileanu
Starring: Aleksei Guskov, Dimitri Nazarov, Melanie Laurent, François Berleand, Miou-Miou
Genre: Drama/Comedy
Studio: Optimum
Format: DVD
Country: France
Four years after the internationally acclaimed Live And Become, Radu Mihaileanu attempts to hit a lighter note with comedy-drama The Concert, staring French actress Mélanie Laurent. A story of redemption, can Mihaileanu’s colourful cast walk the line between the melancholic and the jocular?
The Concert, above all else, is a story of the underdog. Aleksei Guskov stars as Alexei Filipov, who works as a cleaner at the Théâtre du Châtelet in Paris. But he used to be something much more. His turmoil dates back thirty years, when, as the conductor of the legendary Bolshoi, he refused to omit Jewish musicians from his world-famous orchestra. He never conducted again.
In his disgrace, and, at times, spiralling alcoholism, Alexei and wife Irina dream of a house in the country, working with obsessive devotion to attain these far-fetched desires.
The film picks up on the day Alexei discovers a fax on his boss’ computer inviting the Bolshoi to play a concerto in Paris. Destroying any evidence of the fax, Alexei embarks on an ambitious plan to reunite his orchestra, and conduct the concerto himself.
Joined by charismatic sidekick Sacha (Dimitri Nazarov), Alexei finds many of his former musicians are now deadbeat drunks, but nonetheless endeavours to deliver a one-off ground-breaking performance which will finally allow him to let go of his bitter-sweet past…
The film endeavours, at first, to introduce its audience to some familiar stereotypes within the comedy genre. With some sassy screenplay, and intricate script work that swiftly demonstrates the archetypal character traits, we meet Alexei, the regretful but likeable failed conductor, and Irina – devoted, and passionate, someone Alexei can rely on to push him into the background and conduct his rants for him.
In next to no time Sacha, the yang to Alexei’s ying, presents himself as the discerning best friend who ridicules Alexei’s plans but goes along for the ride. Plump, hearty, never far from losing his temper, Sacha, on more than one occasion, steals the show, largely due to the talents of actor Dimitry Nazarov.
It is also not long before we meet Anne-Marie Jacquet (played earnestly by Mélanie Laurent, who recently shot to fame with her role in Inglourious Basterds), a young prodigy with supreme talents on the violin, who brings a fresh face to the marketing behind the concerto. At the helm of the marketing campaign lies Olivier Morne Duplessis, manager of the Théâtre du Châtelet – typically arrogant and self-assured in order to hide the fact the theatre may be going under.
Despite some promising moments of humour, particularly when the film looks for subtler laughs, The Concert is often over-reliant on more chaotic moments of comedy, a number of which are so unfathomable that it prevents the intended reaction. A shootout at a wedding early on in the film borders on the ridiculous, and is only saved by the conversation between events promoter Ivan and world-class cellist Pyotr Tretiakin, as they agree a deal whilst avoiding gunfire.
In terms of cinematography and construction of mise-en-scène, Mihaileanu, with assistance from cinematographer Laurent Dailland, saves the best until last. Although consistent throughout, it is Alexei’s concerto that brings a third dimension to Mihaileanu’s work. In the moments leading up to the main event, with more pace and fluidity than earlier scenes, the audience witnesses the impending chaos backstage and the overriding nerves on stage, creating an air of anticipation as well as dread for what will happen next.
Another area that the film does excel is in its soundtrack. Radu Mihaileanu utilises the works of Mozart, Tchaikovsky and others to convey emotion from his characters and audience alike. Music plays a central role in this film, and Mihaileanu manages to manipulate the soundtrack, building toward crescendos for important scenes, and he even manages to generate slapstick humour without the music’s epic nature ever feeling misplaced. During the concerto itself, a moving piece of music compounds the final revelation, but perhaps fails to conceal the sad truth that the final twist is neither believable nor anything to write home about.
Although everything is left resolved within the film, The Concerto is perhaps guilty of a failure to commit to comedy or drama. What results is a slightly confused atmosphere throughout, where the audience is unsure whether to laugh or cry. What strikes the most, despite characters played with warmth and gusto, is that the funny moments are not scripted to perfection and thus suffer from bad timing, and the dramatic moments fail to evoke the desired emotion. MC
Film: Le Refuge
Release date: 8th November 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 90 mins
Director: Francois Ozon
Starring: Isabelle Carré, Louis-Ronan Choisy, Pierre Louis-Calixte, Melvil Poupaud, Claire Vernet
Genre: Drama
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD
Country: France
French director François Ozon steers away from the satirical roots which often characterise his work and explores a number of more serious themes, namely life after the death of a loved one. Through the subtle use of music, and leaving the most poignant messages unsaid, Ozon conjures a film with a melancholic heart.
Isabelle Carré, who was actually pregnant during filming, stars as Mousse, who lives in the comfort of an apartment in Paris with her boyfriend Louis. They live in something of a drug-fuelled bliss - that is until Louis overdoses and dies, still at the foetal stage of the film. Having discovered in the days that follow that she is pregnant, Mousse suffers the wrath of Louis’ mother who insists that she have an abortion, and, as a result, Mousse decides to leave Paris for a more isolated existence.
The dull greys of the city give way to the brilliant colours of the beach house, where the mournful Mousse has settled down for the last six months. Now very heavily pregnant, Mousse welcomes a visitor in the way of Louis’ homosexual brother Paul.
As both Mousse and Paul attempt to cope with their grief, a number of circumstances present themselves, affecting their respective states of mind and their relationship...
Although Ozon could feasibly have continued as he starts Le Refuge, exploring the drugs theme, he quickly deviates from this path, and it becomes clear that one of the main ideas of the film is dealing with tragedy. The audience is often presented with acts of remembrance that they can identify with, as Paul experiences flashbacks of his dead brother and Mousse sprays her pillow with Louis’ cologne at night. Developing such empathy with its characters is a recurring theme throughout, essential for a film that wears its heart on its sleeve.
The stark contrast of the dark, mundane city and the bright sunshine and colours of the refuge come with their own connotations. Mousse’s pregnancy, along with the beauty and tranquillity of the peaceful countryside, bring hope to her gloomy existence, and there is a feeling that by leaving the city, she has at least broken free from some of her grief. Never is this more prominent than in a scene in which she takes a walk in the surf, Ozon concentrating his camera lens on the glint of the sun’s rays on Mousse’s pregnant belly.
Music also plays a key part in shaping the mood of the film throughout. Early on, Louis’ subdued strumming, a harrowing riff executed with an epic simplicity, assists the film’s aspirations of starting on a darker note. His brother Paul plays the piano (which makes up a substantial portion of the soundtrack), and when he does, the melody takes a sombre shape, filled with thoughtful chords. Much of the emotion contained within Le Refuge transpires through its music, as opposed to the conversations between the characters, and dialogue often takes a back seat.
In its closing stages, the film sadly loses its way slightly, unravelling its narrative and disrupting its flow with a far-fetched twist in proceedings. Not only is this twist quite easy to see coming, but considering the predominant themes, it also feels inappropriate.
With its short running time, not all angles of Le Refuge feel like they are resolved. Although the film does not end unexpectedly, one still feels that perhaps more could have been explored with the characters. Only briefly does Ozon scratch beneath the surface with his lead character, which comes as a disappointment. On the whole, Mousse comes across as having coped very well with Louis’ death, but rarely do we find out how she got there.
Despite a reluctance to develop its narrative furthermore, Le Refuge provides a moving snapshot of the various manifestations of grief. François Ozon prioritises the use of contrasting colours and dictates the ambience throughout, sometimes to devastating effect. However, by utilising music as an emotional crutch, the film is slightly guilty of overusing this method, and although the film demonstrates the great power of things left unsaid, once in a while a change of tactic may have been welcome. MC
Film: Apocalypto
Release date: 11th June 2007
Certificate: 18
Running time: 132 mins
Director: Mel Gibson
Starring: Raoul Trujillo, Rudy Youngblood, Dalia Hernandez, Jonathan Brewer, Morris Birdyellowhead
Genre: Action/Adventure/Drama
Studio: Icon
Format: DVD
Country: USA
The late 16th century brought an end to the enigmatic Mayan civilisation, which dominated Colombia and its neighbouring countries as far back as 2000BC. Their decline remains one of the great archaeological mysteries: the Mayans were fabled for their forward thinking, particularly in their use of mathematics, which enabled them to formulate unrivalled astronomical knowledge. However, they were unable to prepare for the combination of factors which contributed to their demise, which are still debated today. One of the most commonly attributed reasons for their decline is the Spanish colonisation, which spanned many centuries. Apocalypto investigates this theory further, providing a snapshot of Mayan civilisation in its twilight.
The spotlight focuses on the plight of Jaguar Paw and his immediate family. Whilst on their daily hunt they encounter a local tribe drawn in a similar vein, bringing with them tales of impending invasion and capture. Choosing to ignore the warnings, Jaguar Paw and family return home, and in next to no time, find themselves to be the next victims of a violent uprising.
Jaguar Paw hides his pregnant wife and son in the nick of time (his quest to get back to them provides an overriding story arc), but finds himself isolated from them in the scenes which follow, as he is taken to the Mayan city; an agglomeration of evil, the stench of death and disease emanating off the screen. Human sacrifice becomes the order of the day, and a nauseating sadness inevitably accompanies subjecting one’s self to the epic torture scenes, as we briefly bond with one or two secondary characters, but only as a means of accentuating our sorrow at their visceral treatment at the hands of the Shaman-like leader.
The situation appears hopeless, but in a single moment of good fortune in amongst the tumultuous evil (a twisted scene in which Jaguar Paw and his remaining fellow captives are treated as human game), an opportunity of escape presents itself.
What follows for Jaguar Paw is a test of both endurance and guile, as Gibson turns up the heat in a series of pulsating chase scenes, which will have audiences casting their minds back to the archetypal hunter vs. hunted films of old. The dynamic between predator and prey is reversed in several set pieces, in which the chasing pack is subjected to Jaguar Paw’s expansive knowledge of the forest, via a plethora of jungle-inspired booby traps.
Meanwhile, his abandoned wife and son encounter their own complications, who find themselves at the mercy of nature and the elements, which may prove detrimental to the film’s intentions of an emotional reunion at its climax…
One of the things that will strike audiences is the distinct lack of dialogue from minute one. Perhaps the intention here is that the action scenes are allowed to dominate as a result, but there is also another direct result - we are never given an opportunity to understand the enemy. Motive is never made clear, and this helps us to develop disdain for the evil, and empathy with the protagonists.
We are kept guessing throughout, as characters the audience might expect to make the final reel are cast aside, and often in very gruesome ways. No cost is spared when it comes to gore factor, and the harrowing death scenes develop empathy with those left alive. It is also worth noting the lack of a limelight-stealing actor, as this gives the characters a vulnerable human edge.
The absence of A-list personnel within the cast may be as simple as cost-cutting, but one suspects this decision runs deeper. Think Tom Cruise in The Last Samurai, where the larger-than-life actor, though unquestionably popular, inadvertently steals the thunder from the teachings of a mysterious culture. Perhaps in the ilk of 300, in which Gerard Butler does justice to the lead role without detracting from the heroic nature of the narrative, Gibson adopts a subtler approach by electing the little-known Rudy Youngblood to play the central character, Jaguar Paw.
Gibson’s second foreign cinema effort takes a less controversial stance than his first, the both positively and negatively acclaimed The Passion Of The Christ, but packs a similarly raw punch. Apocalypto maintains a break-neck speed throughout, and as a result its running time (140 mins) feels much shorter. The gripping chase scenes, and the imaginative ways in which Jaguar Paw disposes of his assailants will linger most in the memory.
Mel Gibson may have proved to be his own worst enemy when it comes to earning the appreciation of the critical media, however, with Apocalypto he meticulously conjures a lost world the audience can identify with, namely in the timeless staples of human nature: pride, passion and, foremost, familial loyalty. MC
