REVIEW: Cinema Release: Incendies

Film: Incendies
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 24th June 2011
Distributor: Trinity
Certificate: 15
Running time: 132 mins
Director: Denis Villeneuve
Starring: Lubna Azabal, Mélissa Désormeaux-Poulin, Maxim Gaudette, Rémy Girard, Abdelghafour Elaaziz
Genre: Drama/Mystery/War
Format: Cinema
Country of Production: Canada/France
Language: French/Arabic/English

Review by: Natalie Meziani

Adapted from the play ‘Scorched’ by Wajdi Mouawad, Incendies has been brought to the screen by Québécoise director Denis Villeneuve in this harrowing full-length feature. The film battles its way through a powerful shower of revelations in order to explore the fruitful life of Nawal Marwan, as her twin children return to their Arabic homeland to fulfil her dying wish.

Incendies begins with Canadian twins Simon and Jeanne receiving the will of their mother, Nawal, providing them with some bizarre burial instructions and a pair of unopened envelopes for them to deliver. Nawal asks the twins to return to her native soil in search of a father they had believed to be dead and a brother they didn’t know existed in order to deliver one letter to each. It is only then that she may be buried properly, for without this final act she claims that she is not worthy of the privilege of a grave.

In order to carry out their search, the twins are obliged to learn the facts of their mother’s past by exploring the place where she was brought up. Simon is initially reluctant to participate, but Jeanne immediately finds herself in the Middle East in search of her mother’s truth. This facilitates the revelation of crucial moments in Nawal’s life which they could never have even dreamt, painting a detailed and painful picture in order to gradually understand how to find their father and brother.

The twins soon realise that they do not know their mother at all. The events which she has endured have been completely buried during her time in Canada. We progressively construct her life through largely horrific chronological flashbacks, including Nawal giving birth after being raped during her 15-year imprisonment for shooting a political leader. The final scene surpasses the many shocking events witnessed during Nawal’s life, taking the audience miles past the point of comfortable fiction, but definitely into the territory of a masterpiece...


It is increasingly rare that visual art can have such a large part in the creation of emotion, and cinematographer André Turpin plays a brilliant role in executing this. The muted colour used in the depiction of Nawal’s life adds a subtle beauty to her horrendous past; creating a tone of sadness in the fact that such courage could ever exist. The transitions from present activity to flashbacks of Nawal’s life are allocated chapter headings, slammed onto the screen in a stark red lettering which further adds to the film’s strong character.

The political content implies that Nawal’s experiences occur in Lebanon, although no country is ever named. This suggests that the film is making a sweeping statement about the difficulties of war-infused life rather than making a point about Lebanese history, allowing Incendies the ability to uphold a widespread poignancy. This universal appeal undoubtedly places Villeneuve amongst the best of world-class film directors.

Villeneuve regularly uses still shots filled with crushing silence, which are almost necessary in allowing the viewer to digest each morsel of devastation before the next scene takes place. The use of Radiohead in the soundtrack haunts the screen and enhances the story’s distress, which is particularly well-placed in the opening scene. Such a huge contemporary band also links Incendies to the present era, giving us a larger capacity to be empathetically shocked.

The shattering pain of Nawal is spoken through the eyes of Lubna Azabal in some of the most moving acting to grace Canadian cinema; her manipulation of each individual trauma is exquisite. Maxim Gaudette plays the lesser tolerant twin Simon, while Mélissa Désormeaux-Poulin is the more determined Jeanne. The two create a delicately believable onscreen sibling chemistry, allowing the story to strike a chord in the audience’s hearts. Even minor characters in Incendies are incredibly apt at building emotion within scenes; there is such raw and realistic passion present in all the performances that one could easily assume they are acting out a true story based on themselves. The film’s biggest punch is based on an outlandish coincidence, and yet its creditability is not tainted thanks to the perfection presented by the script and acting.


Incendies has an abundance of awards under its belt and a Best Foreign Language Oscar nomination. This comes as no surprise. The film follows an explosive path of grandeur; it is dramatic, it is overstated, and it is drawn out. But the entire package is of such a high standard that it is necessary in all its excess – the austere visual and emotional content is of the highest calibre. NM 

REVIEW: DVD Release: Men On The Bridge

Film: Men On The Bridge
Year of production: 2009
UK Release date: 13th June 2011
Distributor: Drakes Avenue
Certificate: 15
Running time: 90 mins
Director: Asli Özge
Starring: Cemile Ilker, Umut Ilker, Fikret Portakal, Murat Tokgöz
Genre: Drama
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Germany/Turkey/Netherlands
Language: Turkish

Review by: Natalie Meziani

Men On The Bridge does exactly what it says on the cover – it follows the tall dreams and futile lives of three men who work along the Bosphorous bridge joining the east and west halves of Istanbul. After winning the Golden Tulip Award for Best National Film at the Istanbul International Film Festival, the film stands out as a talented export from the lesser known field that is Turkish cinema. Director Asli Ozge produces a collective portrait of her three protagonists, briefly detailing their mundane lives without any requirement for an extensive plot.

Men On The Bridge has three central characters: Umut Ilker, Fikret Portakal and Murat Tokgoz. Umut is a taxi driver whose wife, Cemile, persistently worries about finding the perfect apartment despite their financial difficulties. His tedious job leaves him constantly stuck in traffic, but with the scare employment opportunities in Turkey, he cannot afford to quit.

Fikret spends his days walking past drivers in traffic jams, attempting to sell beautiful roses, but, seemingly, without success. His flower business is in fact illegal, and so he attempts to get a job in a café, but his lethargic manner and nonchalant approach result in him being fired. He is 17; we see him hanging out with his friends and singing out-of-key Turkish hits, we see him smoking and being generally unproductive, and we see him rummaging in dustbins for useful objects to sell or consume.

Murat is an easygoing traffic policeman who likes to explore the world of internet dating in his spare time. Using online messaging to find girls, he is awkwardly persistent; sometimes he meets them in real life but never achieves relationship status. He finds the city intimidating and misses his cosy village and family.

The three men remain oblivious to the interconnection of their lives, barely overlapping or merging the film’s three separate dialogues, and yet they unknowingly cross paths every day on the same bridge. The film spends 87 minutes detailing the lives of these characters, and presenting their daily struggle, with little money and few prospects…


The film makes use of a handheld camera and avoids including an accompanying soundtrack, portraying Men On The Bridge as more of a documentary than a fictional drama. The real-life Umut, Cemile and Fikret play themselves and Murat’s brother plays him due to a Turkish law which prevents police from appearing in films. Having never acted before, the use of the authentic characters facilitates the realism already implied through the camera techniques. There is not much to say for the performances; they are neither good nor bad, they are just very real.

The dialogue is loosely scripted, but is often improvised and natural; there is little visual aid in terms of stylistic effects – thus it is unclear whether the compassionate subtlety of the finished product is due to the director’s talent or simply because of the humbly honest settings. The barely fabricated script is unlike the majority of films, leaving Men On The Bridge somewhat in the hands of the viewer’s response to real life.

The unobtrusive and fruitless lives of the three protagonists give the film a depressing outlook, as nothing is embellished and gaps of conversational pause or directionless actions are left un-edited. The characters, therefore, appear constantly apathetic due to Ozge’s reluctance to tamper with the truth, which leaves the viewer lacking in emotional participation. The characters’ working-class efforts to survive in a frantic city environment can be universally empathised with, but the fusion of authenticity and simplicity also invites an element of alienation. Luckily, her directorial intuition chooses the appropriate moment to change scene in order to deter the intervention of boredom.

There is an interesting parallel between the gridlocked cars on the bridge and the socially halted lives of Ozge’s characters. Nobody is progressing and Ozge has captured this overtly and metaphorically, whether intentional or not. Her empathetically attentive eye has liberated the unknown and modest lifestyles of real people, thus resulting in a rewarding snapshot of life. She presents the characters in an unbiased manner, allowing their prejudices and difficulties to be exposed without being exploited: the accepted sexism of a Turkish man, the pointless focus on consumerism in a place where money and work are equally sparse.


Turkish cinema doesn’t often have the chance to showcase films outside its border, so it is interesting to catch a glimpse of this lifelike docu-drama, which is a true representation of regular citizens and the artificial promises of their country. There is an undeniable force present in the starkness of Men On The Bridge, but its detached plot and slow pace means that it just falls short of being labelled profound. NM

REVIEW: Cinema Release: Le Quattro Volte

Film: Le Quattro Volte
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 30th May 2011
Distributor: New Wave
Certificate: U
Running time: 88 mins
Director: Michelangelo Frammartino
Starring: Giuseppe Fuda, Bruno Timpano, Nazareno Timpano
Genre: Drama
Format: Cinema
Country of Production: Italy/Germany/Switzerland
Language: Italian

Review by: Natalie Meziani

Le Quattro Volte is almost certainly not what you will expect to see. It is a film that manages to bypass even the most defiant of art house cinema; it takes all the rules and folds them into a happily drifting paper aeroplane. Director Michelangelo Frammartino has set his second full-length feature in the south Italian region of Calabria, where he uses goats, a tree, some charcoal and an old man to explore Pythagoras’ theory of transmigration – the idea that existence of the soul is dispersed amongst human, animal, vegetable and mineral. There is an absence of dialogue and music and human interaction, therefore its entire meaning depends upon the amount of work the viewer is willing to put in themselves.

Le Quattro Volte begins with a very brief glimpse into the life of an old goat herder, afflicted with a chesty cough, which he attempts to combat daily by taking a shot of water mixed with dusty scrapings from the local church floor. Superstition it may be, but one missed “medication” ends up as a fatal mistake. His imminent death leads to the second chapter in Pythagoras’ idea of a four-fold soul, as we traverse towards the animal stage: meet the chaotic goats. While the film’s single human character is on the verge of making a plodding exit, the herd of goats are left without control and thus run riot across the town.

There are goats everywhere: they are in the deceased herder’s house and they are on his kitchen table. After his body is carried away in a coffin, the screen turns black and re-opens upon the unrefined birth of a goat. The birth of said goat provides us with our next protagonist, as we follow the kid in its early stages of life, until one day it becomes separated from the herd. The goat comes across a tree, which is cut down and used in the town’s festivities the following year. Having finished their celebration, the tree is sold to coalmen who burn the wood into charcoal, metaphorically releasing the herder’s soul back to where it began…


The cinematography’s resemblance to real life gives the film a documentary-like feel, with no overt enhancement of colour and a consistent use of natural lighting. There is a relentless sound of bells as the goats traverse around the town, but there is otherwise very little background noise. There is most certainly no music or speech. But although this may initially sound dreary and far too pretentious, Le Quattro Volte has a certain indistinct charm in its diversity.

With no dialogue, the story is facilitated through the use of expression and scene composition. While the film’s content is essentially ominous and slow-paced, there is also something comical about watching the oblivious existence of the goats. The brilliant thing about Le Quattro Volte is its ability to run for 88 minutes without the audience craving dialogue. The metaphorical richness and the peaceful scenarios allow it to progress painlessly, which also permits the viewer to interpret the film entirely as they wish due to a lack of verbal direction.

The shepherd is portrayed as a quirky and traditional fellow: more pans than one man should require are hung on his kitchen wall; his stark bedroom consists primarily of a shabby bed and some chairs; and he spends a lot of time contemplating. Giuseppe Fuda plays the role of this slow-paced old man, sporting a constant vacant stare and moving with the deliberation of a hopeless soul. His behaviour appears entirely natural, leading you to forget that he is in fact an actor.

Vast colourless buildings complete what appears to be a relatively motionless town, with frequent landscape shots of an area where nature is a ruling force of calmness. There are regular extreme long shots which focus on still constructions, and so any human or animal activity is highlighted. The stillness of the camera also means that close-up shots hold a subtle poignancy - there is an early scene transition which fixates purely on falling dust particles, which Frammartino manages to pull off due to its sheer hypnotic simplicity.

Le Quattro Volte calmly captures the viewer in a bated gasp, with each breath slowly held back by the unknown course of the next scene. There are no sudden actions or miraculous surprises, but this in turn allows the richness of life to shine through. It gives the viewer a chance to run wild with their own existential thoughts, and escapes the fabricated fantasy world of predictable cinema.


For those unwilling to dedicate their attention to something so abstract and unconventional, Le Quattro Volte should be avoided at all costs. It requires 88 minutes of uninterrupted attention, but, as Frammartino whispers hopeful words into your subconscious, he allows all the doubts of man to dissolve into a wisp of charcoal smoke, giving the soul an immortality which most other films can only dream of. NM

SPECIAL FEATURE: DVD Review: Get Low

Film: Get Low
Year of production: 2009
UK Release date: 23rd May 2011
Distributor: Sony
Certificate: PG
Running time: 100 mins
Director: Aaron Schneider
Starring: Bill Murray, Robert Duvall, Sissy Spacek, Lucas Black, Gerald McRaney
Genre: Drama/Mystery
Format: DVD
Country of Production: USA/Germany/Poland
Language: English

Review by: Natalie Meziani

Having gained sufficient film experience as the director of photography in Titanic and Kiss The Girls, Aaron Schneider steps up to direct his first full-length feature with Get Low. And with Bill Murray and Robert Duvall amongst the leading cast members, Schneider has landed himself with a very fortunate advantage. Get Low is loosely based on the true story of Felix "Bush" Breazeale, a hermit living in Tennessee who planned his own funeral party in 1938 to see what stories the locals would reveal about him.

Felix Bush is a recluse, adamantly living a solitary existence in his minimalistic backwoods shack; the only agreeable communication he experiences is with his horse. Happily shooting at visitors and terrifying children, Felix’s lonesome activity has crafted him into a local legend surrounded by ominous rumours.

Upon hearing of the bereavement of a fellow hermit, Felix has the sudden realisation that he is coming towards the end of his life. A dream about death sparks him into formulating a rather eccentric plan to hold his own funeral – while he’s still alive. The owner of the town’s funeral parlour, Frank Quinn, is experiencing some business difficulties due to a frustrating lack of death, and so, out of financial desperation, he willingly agrees to Felix’s strange request of holding a pre-mortem funeral party. The townsfolk are asked to attend and divulge stories they have heard about Felix, using the chance to win his land in a raffle as incentive to participate.

We see a major publicity campaign erupt to promote such a grand occasion in what appears to be a rather uneventful town. During Felix’s unexpected return to the social periphery, a couple of characters appear who remember the warm and public man that he used to be, painting the way for the cleansing of his reputation – including Sissy Spacek as the character of Mattie, a local widow and an old love interest of Felix’s. The plot hints at a major turning point in Felix’s past, a reason why he has kept himself secluded for forty years, but nothing is embellished or revealed until the final climax…


David Boyd’s cinematography gives the film the final ingredient it needs to become a completed success; a warm colour palette and soft lighting accentuate the idea of nostalgic folklore, painting a dream-like and romantic equivalent of real life. The contrast between Felix’s dark wooden hideout and the town’s bright, idyllic scenery is handsomely executed, which is almost a shame for Schneider as he is no longer responsible for the film’s visuals. The 1930s backdrop and costumes are all perfectly considered, making Get Low an effortlessly pleasing aesthetic experience.

You may be forgiven for thinking that a film focusing entirely on one funeral party could be an arduous task, but, under the direction of Schneider, Get Low is allowed to excel by a team of radiant actors led by a great script. The film manages to perfectly balance the rather challenging combination of emotional psychology and comedy, giving it the powerful boost it needs to compensate for the absence of plot complexity or suspense.

The casting of Bill Murray as the undertaker and Robert Duvall as Felix are contributing factors to the quality of the screenplay, with Murray’s deadpan sarcasm delivering an ideal amount of humour to compliment Duvall’s exceptional standard of sombre acting. Spacek and Duvall both exhibit the fine talent of being able to communicate using just expression, which is wonderfully functional during Duvall’s long and moving funeral speech.

The predictability of the story’s clichés mean that characters are theoretically two-dimensional, however, the timing and intonation of the actors allow the entire piece to excel. There are also some nice subtle touches to make Felix’s underlying goodness believable, such as the horse which he welcomes as a companion and the introduction of characters who fondly remember him before he retreated to a lonely existence.

The fundamental error in Get Low is that, while Felix’s secrets may have been taboo in the 1930s, to a contemporary audience there is no meat to the bones of the story. 100 minutes of funeral planning could have been an unbearable watch had it not been brought together so well, supported by watertight acting and beautiful cinematography.


The brilliant construction of the film allows us to step into 1930s Tennessee, with authentic settings and great dialogue combining to depict a realistic snapshot of the era. While there are moments where the film’s slow pace feels exposed, it is always rescued by a hilarious and flawlessly timed line or an irritable grunt from Duvall which has the power to express a thousand words. NM

REVIEW: Book Release: Lars von Trier

Book: Lars von Trier
Release date: 25th April 2011
Author: Linda Badley
Publisher: University Of Illinois Press

With his visually uncomfortable and often disturbing movies, it is evident that Danish director Lars von Trier is certainly an influential character in the current artistic climate. But behind his overtly constructed media persona, and his willingly risqué presentations, it is difficult to pinpoint who exactly the real Lars von Trier is. In this short overview of his works, Linda Badley analyses his more recent films, and explores the fundamental question: is Lars von Trier a genius or a fraud?

Lars von Trier is one of the latest releases in the Contemporary Film Directors series published by the University of Illinois Press. Beginning in 2003, the series has featured critical analyses on the likes of Pedro Almodóvar, Joel and Ethan Coen and Roman Polanski. Lars von Trier explores Trier’s films in their chronological order of production, giving the reader a progressive insight into the development of an internationally acclaimed filmmaker. Badley briefly introduces his earlier short films and his conception into the art world, subsequently focusing on his more modern productions via the use of literary criticism and her own theories and analysis.

Beginning with Trier’s ascension into the role of auteur, Badley explains his desire to shape his character before he had even found a creative outlet - he assumed the ‘von’ in his name whilst studying at the Danish Film School in the early 1980s, thus aiming to construct a particular image of himself in conjunction with his work. Badley uses Trier’s own words to explain how, as a David Bowie fan, he wanted to use the same technique of creating an “entire myth” around his persona and fuse this extension of himself with his elaborate art.

Badley addresses Trier’s childhood uncertainties about his believed Jewish heritage (which was disproved on his mother’s deathbed as she revealed that she’d had an affair), his notorious tendency to abuse his female actresses into disturbingly intense performances, and the influence of early horror like The Exorcist and, more recently, Japanese horror. These various insights into the mind of the filmmaker are used to develop a legitimate and three-dimensional impression of Lars von Trier whilst also highlighting the intention behind his films…


Badley does not merely skip over details; this is a direct but abundant walkthrough of Trier’s life and artistic motives. Out of the book’s 214 pages, only 151 are allocated to Badley’s critique of Trier - the remainder is filled with notes, indexes and two interviews with the director himself. In such a small space, Badley manages to intricately investigate his films, touching on the development of Trier himself as a person and as a performance. There are endless opportunities for thorough discussions on such a distinctive character, and yet Lars von Trier is wonderfully concise. Badley seems to pick out the absolutely necessary ideas and build them into an invaluable outline of his entire career; you can open the book at any page and instantly land upon a fascinating perspective or debate.

Each chapter is freighted with plenty of valuable quotes; there is a constant connection to Trier’s own viewpoint and ideas. Films are discussed within allocated sections, marking a clear path through the director’s professional journey. Badley highlights areas where Trier’s style and ethics both overlap and develop: from his transition to focusing on the female in Breaking The Waves (1996) up to his now expected inducement of actress distress by the time of Antichrist (2009), and his regular adoption of a perpetually bleak and stark visual palette.

Literary criticism is used to analyse the theoretical aspects of Trier’s work; such as discussions in the fields of gender relations and religion, the psychoanalytical approach to assessing the role of the suffering female, and the influence of Nietzsche on Trier (particularly the title choice of Trier’s Antichrist, having kept a copy of Nietzsche’s The Antichrist with him since the age of 12). As Trier is intrinsically linked to repression and exploitation of the female role, it is uplifting to see his choices explained through his own words. He is not the sadist he is socially understood to be; Trier is in fact projecting these women as metaphorical self-portraits, not as real people. The informality and openness of the included interviews with Trier are useful in questioning the rumours of brutality in his creativity.

Trier’s prolific supply of emotional distress is observed rather than attacked, presenting an unbiased critique of his style. Chapters are organised with clarity, followed by a useful filmography and a clearly presented index. The book is aimed at scholars; it is not a light read, and it is linguistically sophisticated. However, the content itself is extremely interesting and informative, rendering it appropriate for an audience outside media students and other authors.


Linda Badley provides a succinct exploration of the Lars von Trier catalogue, omitting a ‘conclusion’ chapter in order to let the individual film analyses speak for themselves. ‘Genius or fraud?’ becomes irrelevant after reading of Trier’s ambitious ideas and challenging persona, not to mention his various awards. Anybody wanting to see deeper into the eyes of a modern cinema icon will definitely have something to gain from reading Lars von Trier. NM

SPECIAL FEATURE: DVD Review: And Soon The Darkness

Film: And Soon The Darkness
Release date: 7th March 2011
Certificate: 15
Running time: 87 mins
Director: Marcos Efron
Starring: Amber Heard, Odette Yustman, Gia Mantegna, Adriana Barraza, Karl Urban
Genre: Horror/Thriller
Studio: Optimum
Format: DVD & Blu-ray
Country: USA/Argentina/France

This is an English-Language release.

Director Marcos Efron’s first full-length feature, And Soon The Darkness is a remake of a 1970s British thriller, keeping the original title and concept but replacing the French setting with a very sunny and dry Argentinean backdrop. The film is a predictable tale focusing on a pair of naive female travellers as they experience a nightmare vacation due to some local psycho kidnapper, facilitated by a very unhelpful or oblivious neighbourhood.

And Soon The Darkness is set in the majestic but deserted landscape of Argentina, where American best friends Stephanie and Ellie are on a biking holiday.

Having intentionally and unwisely strayed from their travel group, the two girls book a night in a local hotel and prepare for a 6am start to catch the once-a-day bus to their next location. Nevertheless, diplomat Stephanie watches as her reckless counterpart Ellie spends the evening flirting her way round the hotel bar into the early hours of the morning, irresponsibly leaving Stephanie to return to their room alone while Ellie wraps her legs and lips around newfound male friend Chuchos.

Having sufficiently teased this Argentinean stranger, Ellie decides it’s bed time, which provokes Chuchos to lose his temper until American next-door neighbour Michael comes to the girls’ aid. The duo predictably oversleep and miss the only bus out of the place, resulting in some solitary sunbathing in an area they don’t know, until they suddenly find themselves bickering unnecessarily over boyfriend issues. And so begins their ordeal: Stephanie storms off, leaving an unaccompanied Ellie as the perfect candidate for any nearby kidnappers.

After restlessly waiting for Ellie to emerge, Stephanie receives an apologetic text message from her which suggests lunch at a nearby cafe. However, when Ellie fails to show up, Stephanie assumes that something bad has happened and returns to the scene of their petty disagreement. Stephanie dubiously accepts the help of Michael and Argentinian policeman Calvo, with understandable doubt as to who she can trust. However, sporadic glimpses of Ellie’s whereabouts mean that there isn’t much room for imagination or concern for the viewer.

Nearby inhabitants are also ridiculously ignorant and refuse to help a distressed Stephanie; and, despite the hotel receptionist Rosamaria’s polite demeanour, there are sinister glances exchanged between her and her husband. Is Stephanie in the middle of some sort of corrupt conspiracy? Is the entire town involved? Aided by Michael, Stephanie eventually finds Ellie - unsurprisingly in the captivity of Chuchos. A chase ensues, guns are fired...


The actors try their best, but cheesy scripting and implausible plot choices mean that their efforts are in vain. Amber Heard (Ellie) and Odette Yustman (Stephanie) are commendably fruitful in their attempts to perform the script, but the characters are just too frustrating in their stupidity. None of the characters feel deep enough to be real, and Karl Urban appears to be playing the role of a bored and pointless piece of narrative furniture as the part of Michael. The one-dimensional, bikini-clad American girls don’t really induce the sympathy required, and so the film isn’t quite able to generate any sense of dread.

Aside from the undernourished narrative, Gabriel Beristain’s cinematography and Tomandandy’s sporadic atmospheric noise rescue this movie from being a complete disaster. A warm colour palette completes the beautiful Argentinean landscape, and there are some striking shots of nearby derelict locations - an abandoned luxury hotel fitted with a remaining lavish chandelier, and a nearby rubbish dump complete with eerie broken dolls.

And Soon The Darkness doesn’t help itself, as it seems unsure of what it’s actually meant to be. The opening scene indicates that the next 91 minutes are going to be overflowing with terror porn and torture scenes, but this first 6 minutes of film is about as horrific as it gets. It miscarries the genre of horror because there is never enough tension to create fear; nothing is developed into anything challenging. The laughable behaviour of the girls means that its role as a thriller is also diminished, but it doesn’t really stand strong as anything else due to its lack of humour or quirkiness.

The serious issue of South America’s sex slave trade is basically sidestepped; no serious points are made because Efron has somehow managed to nullify any prospective emotional response. The story is too inconsistent to be moving, the girls are too foolish to be appreciated, the mild peak at the end is too late to create drama and too placid to provoke shock… But, ignoring this tirade of organisational flaws, it is both admirable and refreshing to see that, despite having two aesthetically flawless lead actresses, Efron refrained from turning his film into another notch on the bedpost for the typical sexed up and gory American B-movie.


And Soon The Darkness has all the ingredients necessary to make a brilliant horror film, but the lack of character development and its painfully tame behaviour means that the audience is left significantly disappointed. Rather than building the film up for a series of climactic twists, every hint at plot diversity is ruined by early spoilers with regards to where the victim is and the identity of the kidnapper. NM

REVIEW: DVD Release: Adrift

Film: Adrift
Release date: 7th February 2011
Certificate: 15
Running time: 97 mins
Director: Heitor Dhalia
Starring: Camilla Belle, Vincent Cassel, Caua Reymond, Debora Bloch, Laura Neiva
Genre: Drama
Studio: Revolver
Format: DVD
Country: Brazil

Brazilian director Heitor Dhalia’s third full-length film, Adrift, was shown in the Un Certain Regard section of the 2009 Cannes Film Festival, immediately rendering it worthy of international credit. Set against a summer backdrop of incessant sunshine in Dhalia’s homeland of Brazil, this is a poignant coming-of-age story about 14-year-old Filipa, taking us through her journey of self-discovery amidst her parents’ clandestine acts of infidelity.

Filipa and her teenage friends are on the threshold of sexual discovery, experiencing first kisses and tiptoeing across ideas of romance and relationships. Her father Mathias is in the process of writing a book, and so the family take a vacation at their beach house in Buzios to allow him time to work on his latest creation. His wife, Clarice, cultivates an underlying alcohol problem whilst dismissing the artistic purpose of her husband’s work, and so, when a producer offers to buy the TV rights to his latest book, their differences in mentality begin to emerge. From Mathias’ creative dedication to Clarice’s logical bill-paying manner, it is clear that there is tension mounting within their marriage.

Filipa’s growing suspicions regarding the stability of her parents’ relationship are exacerbated when she discovers photos of an attractive woman in her father’s office drawer. And thus ignites Filipa’s determination to reveal the truth, resulting in her catching glimpses of her father and his American lover Angela as they pursue a hidden affair. The youngsters in Adrift discover a grown-up world of jealousy and betrayal, supplemented by a local shooting his wife for infidelity. The presence of a gun sparks fear in Filipa’s mind regarding her own troubled parents, thus introducing her to the darker aspects of adulthood.

The family’s routine breakfast gathering becomes increasingly more uncomfortable. Filipa spends the time glowering at her father, and her parents’ attempts at maintaining a normal atmosphere begin to deteriorate until eventually Mathias is absent at the table. Cracks become deeper as relationships are formed and broken, and we watch through Filipa’s eyes as her speculative questions are finally answered with unconcealed honesty…


Adrift opens with the camera tracing its gaze along the bodies of father and daughter as they float in tranquil blue sea. There is instantly a powerful sense of love between the two, which is made all the more striking by the accompanying piano soundtrack of Antonio Pinto.

Dhalia uses small finishing touches to portray the film’s 1980s setting, such as Mathias’ typewriter, his large studious spectacles, and The Ronettes’ ‘Be My Baby’ being played at a party. The film is shot under a constant golden glow of sunshine, making Brazilian skin and the summer backdrop combine in an almost surreal perfection. Dhalia’s cinematography is often visually profound, enhanced by the photography of Ricardo Della Rosa; beautifully delicate scenery and body language become essential dialogues to the plot.

Plenty of directors have attempted the tale of a teenager ascending to the role of adult, but Dhalia does it with such integrity and dexterity that it is impossible for the film to collapse into a cliché. The narrative unravels carefully; each character’s vulnerability gives them a third dimension which turns them from fiction into friend. The film develops enigmatically, placing the viewer with Filipa as we catch glimpses of unrevealed plot, and come to the same conclusions that she does - only to have things slightly pushed off balance as the entire story is unveiled, making a credible and satisfying ending which would undoubtedly have been sugar-coated if it were made in Hollywood.

Filipa’s strength of character results in her often answering back to her parents, storming off mid-conversation if something displeases her, and abusing the male attention which she receives. Her relentless youthful obstinacy is performed with a superb authenticity by Laura Neiva in her only acting role to date. While her attitude eventually brushes on being irritating, Neiva’s glaring eyes maintain the communication of her confused distress. Her female presence develops through the film, beginning with the endearing naivety of a child and blooming into the beginnings of a flirtatious young lady.

The chemistry between characters is electric, with unspoken desires depicted wonderfully between the enthusiastic adolescents, and also between Vincent Cassel as Mathias and Camilla Belle as Angela. Cassel effortlessly exudes charisma as loving father, passionate writer and adulterer, displaying his endless talents as he speaks in fluent Portuguese despite being natively French.


Adrift is not your average dysfunctional family drama. It flirts with desire without becoming notorious; it sails through a series of problems without going overboard. Dhalia directs convincing characters, and his work is embellished by the emotional luminosity of his cast. On the surface it seems as though nothing great has been achieved due to the film’s slow pace and scattered sub-plots, but Dhalia has discreetly depicted a substantial life transition in a very short space of time. NM

REVIEW: Cinema Release: The Portuguese Nun

Film: The Portuguese Nun
Release date: 21st January 2011
Certificate: TBC
Running time: 127 mins
Director: Eugène Green
Starring: Leonor Baldaque, Francisco Mozos, Diogo Dória, Ana Moreira, Eugène Green
Genre: Drama
Studio: ICA
Format: Cinema
Country: Portugal/France

The Portuguese Nun pursues the emotional journey of Julie de Hauranne, a French actress shooting a Portuguese film in Lisbon. Beginning as a character with unsteady feet, Julie is the subject of a progressive epiphany as she realises that she has the capacity to embrace life. Despite having three previous feature films, this is director Eugene Green’s first to be distributed in the UK – and he does not disappoint. Instead, he smothers viewers with his peculiar approach to cinema, playing with unconventionality and casting actors who have a blinding capacity to project emotion through their facial expression. It is with such experimentation that the film basks in an unconcealed pretention, allowing itself to exhibit a sardonic atmosphere rather than a solemn one.

The Portuguese Nun follows Julie around a picturesque Lisbon setting as she frivolously befriends anyone she meets, unfalteringly jumping into romantic exchanges and an assortment of acquaintances. We meet a 6-year-old orphan named Vasco, a suicidal local, the supposed reincarnation of dead Portuguese king Dom Sebastião, a co-star in search of a brief love affair, and a moustached disco-dancing film director. Julie is French, but her Portuguese mother has given her the gift of language necessary for fully experiencing her brief encounter with the country’s capital.

Julie is filming a bizarre movie based on a 17th century text about a Portuguese nun who falls in love with a French sailor, starring just two actors – Julie as the nun, and Martin as the sailor. The slack filming schedule facilitates her various meetings, starting with a momentary romance between Julie and Henrique. It is intentionally stiff and deliberate; their kiss is choreographed by procedure rather than passion. Julie soon becomes intrigued by a real local nun who appears to be forever knelt in front of the altar, and, in a bold directorial move, Julie and the nun spend almost fifteen minutes discussing spiritual versus secular love, religious philosophy and the presence of God.

The film within a film becomes almost a mirror image of the narrative: Eugene Green embellishes his talents at writing and directing by also playing the part of the film’s director Dennis Verde; Julie’s role as a nun is paralleled by the presence of the authentic nun; Julie and Martin’s on-screen love scene is later re-enacted in her hotel bedroom. And then suddenly Julie is surpassing this fabricated bubble of fiction as she undergoes a long-awaited revelation, narrated over a view of calm, open sea: “my passion increases with each moment…”


The Portuguese Nun opens before the soundtrack is introduced, painting an untainted image of Lisbon’s architectural personality before romanticising the view with the sound of mournful fado guitars. The same track is later allowed within the walls of the film’s narrative in a full-length performance of ‘Esquina de Rua’ by Camané. Julie watches, mesmerised by its haunting melancholy, while the camera plays upon the intensity of emotion projected between the music and the characters. It lingers on a section of grey wall, there are leaves dancing in a circle of wind in the background - it is an early indication of the director’s abstract style.

The film is constantly silhouetted by its dedication to the awareness of acting. Dialogue is intentionally rigid and movements are conscious - everybody knows that this is a staged work of fiction. And so Green’s creative choices are in fact brilliant, displaying his refreshingly eccentric skill of highlighting everything which would normally remain hidden in conventional filmmaking. Green liberates the principles of cinematography with his idiosyncratic techniques: focusing on characters’ feet rather than their heads; using as much silence between characters as there is speech; allowing the shot to linger on the backdrop, even after all the actors have left the scene; and shooting conversations with the actors speaking directly into the camera, surpassing the boundaries of the screen and reaching into our own world.

Leonor Baldaque is adequately likeable as Julie, but the director’s obviously stylised approach eventually mutates her great performance into something tiresome and simulated. Baldaque’s sparse dialogue is compensated for by her unflinching and vast eyes, which somehow have a consistent ability to communicate everything which the director requires. But while being forced into an unnerving face-to-face intimacy with every character is initially fascinating, its novelty eventually wears off due to its frequent rather than poignant use.

In a comical attempt at reading the minds of many cynical viewers, the opening scene features the hotel concierge declaring:“I never see French films, they’re for intellectuals.” Perhaps Eugene Green is encouraging the world to give abstract French cinema a second chance. Or perhaps he is simply paving the way for the rest of his mocking script. Green himself is subtly hilarious as he plays the part of Denis Verde, laboriously articulating his vocabulary in an attempt to maintain the non-acting which makes the film so intriguingly artificial.


The Portuguese Nun spends over two hours detailing Julie’s short journey of spiritual and social progression, using understated dramatics to belittle the elite world of French cinema whilst still endorsing the idea of obscurity. What it lacks in plot development, it makes up for in quirkiness. Green allows his film to laugh at itself without smiling - there is some humour concealed within his serious French walls. Sadly the static nature of the film hinders it from having an enormous psychological impact, but its visual quality remains a romantic ode to Lisbon. NM

REVIEW: DVD Release: J’ai Horreur De L’amour

Film: J’ai Horreur De L’amour
Release date: 21st June 2006
Certificate: 15
Running time: 130 mins
Director: Laurence Ferreira Barbosa
Starring: Jeanne Balibar, Jean-Quentin Châtelain, Laurent Lucas, Bruno Lochet, Patrick Catalifo
Genre: Comedy/Drama
Studio: Gaumont
Format: DVD
Country: France

J’ai Horreur de L’amour is an entanglement of genres and ideas. It dances over crossed paths of comedy and tragedy; it casts a shadow over its ironic humour with a touch of death and homicidal madness. Director Laurence Ferreira Barbosa introduces us to her talents at portraying the eccentricities of people in this obscure take on a skewed love triangle, with protagonist Annie becoming involved in various relationships which all have sinister undertones.

Jeanne Balibar is cast as 34-year-old divorcee Annie Simonin, a mildly unorthodox doctor who smokes and is fond of the odd leisurely liquor. We are introduced to Annie’s social context early on, where we meet her ex-husband at a dinner party as he unsuccessfully attempts to seduce Annie in the host’s bathroom. It is at this dinner party where we also encounter Richard Piotr (Jean-Quentin Châtelain), a hypochondriac actor who reveals that he is terrified of passionate love due to a previous traumatic experience.

Annie’s practice is in the middle of a quiet August season, and so when Richard begins to turn up at her surgery without an appointment, she is happy to attend to his constant medical-based anxieties. With her love life paralleling her empty office, Annie is keen to engage in playful flirtation in response to Richard’s advances. They kiss over a flu jab, which sparks from Richard an unwelcome tirade of distress as he irrationally convinces himself that Annie has infected him with AIDS.

Alongside Richard, Annie is visited regularly by ex-junkie Laurent, played by Laurent Lucas. Laurent has AIDS, but he adamantly refuses to consider treatment as he continues to endure his own defeatist existence.

The dismal atmosphere in Annie’s surgery is brightened by her decision to employ Bruno, an ex-convict who once tried to sell her paintings on a door-to-door money-raising scheme. Bruno’s dutiful attempt at following his receptionist role creates light-hearted amusement inside a sombre setting, but Annie’s patients soon begin to drag her life into a whirlwind of emotional turmoil that twists itself into a rather extraordinary ending…


The film’s opening scene features Annie blithely driving through Paris on a Vespa, with the Sacre Coeur in the background and accompanied by a charming French song. This seductive move is not at all a symbolic introduction to J’ai Horreur de L’amour; on the contrary, it is a carefree calm before the revelation of the film’s darkly humorous storm. Barbosa does not use overt stylistic choices in order to embellish her movie; instead, she allows settings to remain simply background areas upon which to place her characters. There are no picturesque Parisian backdrops, there are no arty photographic shots, and there are no visual trimmings.

To compliment the minimal cinematography, music is sparse and used simply as an enhancement. The soundtrack is comprised primarily of Joe Dassin’s ‘Salut Les Amoureux’, which opens and closes the film, and is also played sardonically over the scene where Richard threatens to hang himself in Annie’s living room. The record is recurrent in Annie’s apartment, and is used figuratively as it sticks on the word ‘tomorrow’ while Laurent is present – a subtle indication that his future has been tainted with the uncertainty of a terminal illness.

Jeanne Balibar has since become an established French actress, with subsequent work including a lead role in the 2009 Cesar-nominated animation A Town Called Panic. She brilliantly plays the part of Annie, exuding a classy ambience and an impeccable method of delivering understated humour. Balibar is skilfully present amidst Lucas and Châtelain, conveying an appropriate level of on-screen chemistry, particularly in the implicit development of romance between the characters of Annie and Laurent. Even interactions with supporting roles glide into place seamlessly - Laurent’s chain-smoking, heroin-addicted companion Marie and Annie’s assistant Bruno are equally charismatic in their performances.

Laurent Lucas is remarkably fascinating in this debut role, which has sparked off a career involving countless titles since. His performance as a downbeat AIDS sufferer is raw and sincere; he flawlessly maintains a distant expression of sorrow and speaks with monotony in a wonderful display of pessimism. His character allows the director to pepper the dialogue with profound contemplations about the concept of death, which could not have been acted out better. In an exquisite moral contrast, Jean-Quentin Châtelain succeeds in portraying Richard, the polar opposite of Laurent. He is overstated, he is creepy, he pulls constant expressions of disdain – an insatiable maniac.

The humour in J’ai Horreur de L’amour is ironic and modest - perfect for lifting the subject of death to a bearable level. The script just manages to execute the film’s wit without mocking its sincerity; however, while the acting is superb, there remains at times a slight difficulty in the severe mix of genres. The absurdity of Richard’s accusations renders his character laughable, which dampens the actual severity of his ruthless behaviour. While Barbosa is undoubtedly gifted in scripting comedy and drama, their amalgamation limits the development of both until the performances are occasionally uncomfortable to watch. And although it may be useful for thorough character development, a running time of over two hours dilutes the film’s momentum, thus diminishing the potential for impact.


J’ai Horreur de L’amour is an intriguing and honest exploration of death, madness and relationships. The subject of AIDS underpins the entire film, and yet it is not the focal point, allowing room to show off Barbosa’s excellence at writing dry comedy. However, the film’s potential as a serious statement remains hindered by its fantastic humour, and vice versa. J’ai Horreur de L’amour is by no means a failure; but the film as a whole doesn’t quite have the power to become a masterpiece. NM

REVIEW: DVD Release: Gainsbourg

Film: Gainsbourg
Release date: 10th January 2011
Certificate: 15
Running time: 122 mins
Director: Joann Sfar
Starring: Eric Elmosnino, Lucy Gordon, Laetitia Casta, Doug Jones, Anna Mouglalis
Genre: Drama/Biography/Musical
Studio: Optimum
Format: DVD & Blu-ray
Country: France/USA

The life and death of a musical legend is always a good excuse to make a film of grandeur. Even better if the deceased is as bizarre and sensual as the French social rebel Serge Gainsbourg. Serge Gainsbourg: Vie Heroique is the directorial debut from Franco-Belgian comic book writer Joann Sfar, slipping excessive imagination and the odd animation into the already overflowing glass of Gainsbourg’s life story.

Serge Gainsbourg: part-time jazz soloist, part-time pianist, part-time kitsch pop vocalist, part-time Brigitte Bardot duettist, part-time reggae experimentalist…full-time ladies’ man. With his ambitious female-based pastimes, his love of alcohol and his imperfect, alluring vocals, Gainsbourg is the perfect rock‘n’roll cliché. But before all that, Sfar introduces Serge before he was even ‘Serge’ – mischievous Jewish boy Lucien Ginsberg flits his way over French cobblestones and dances with imaginary anti-Semitic puppets. Intrigued yet?

The screen follows Lucien as he nonchalantly smokes cigarettes and steals from sweet shops, whilst caricaturing his childhood terrors within Nazi occupied Paris. Then as Lucien swaps sweets and piano practise for art and sex, the film gives an overview of his episodic wives and mistresses, detailing his ascension to cult provocateur and multi-faceted artist. He is persuaded to re-fashion himself as ‘Serge Gainsbourg’, as he grows into a complex performer with a somewhat grotesque beauty and unfaltering charisma…


The film focuses on Gainsbourg’s attraction to beautiful yet vulnerable women, allocating prominence to Brigitte Bardot, Jane Birkin and Juliette Greco. His whirlwind affair with Bardot implements a dirty fairytale at the start of his career, and her disappearance can only accentuate the elements of noir and notoriety in Gainsbourg’s character. His irrevocable despair is subsequently tamed by British darling Jane Birkin, with her childlike outfits, endless legs and fragile vocals that work so well alongside his songs. Gainsbourg cannot seem to avoid exposed skin, he cannot suppress his indisputable talent, and between him and his ladies more cigarettes are smoked than notes sung.

Eric Elmosino takes the lead as Gainsbourg himself, expertly cast with a remarkable resemblance to the real thing (including the trademark nasal silhouette). He expertly projects the insecurity of our ‘hero’, screaming at his inner ghouls and internal voices, whispering seductive nothings to teenage girls, and allowing his face to speak a thousand words without so much as parting his lips. Elmosino lifts Gainsbourg off the 35mm celluloid film and lets him fly above the audience in an intoxicating gust of disobedience and charm. Not forgetting young Serge either, played by Kacey Mottet Klein, who effortlessly opens his little mouth and lets flawless, authentic acting fall out.

Gainsbourg’s girls are striking. A surplus of legs and derrieres and unfussy sexuality are interpreted by each actress in a way that allows the audience to fall in love with each of them in a different way. Laetitia Casta plays Brigitte Bardot, a mirror of Gainsbourg’s animated and seductive persona. The blonde mane, the thigh skimming boots, the frivolous giggle – Casta has got it perfect, right down to the partially absent stare of elation mixed with a drop of bashfulness.

The film itself is dedicated to the deeply saddening death of the actress Lucy Gordon, who committed suicide during the final stages of filming. Gordon plays Jane Birkin, the girl of unthinkable beauty who rescues Gainsbourg from his post-Bardot emotional misery. Birkin speaks in endearing British-tinted French, and holds herself with clumsy elegance, but there is an unspoken reservation in either the scripting or the acting that force the audience to lament Bardot at the start. However, Gainsbourg’s gradual increase in taboo behaviour and disregard for morals override Birkin’s somewhat cold sensibility, and a brilliantly executed outburst from Gordon plants her safely inside our hearts.

Gainsbourg’s internal demons are represented by a reoccurring papier-mâché alter-ego with which other characters can converse. It is referred to as Gainsbourg’s “mug,” and is a very sly way of including the unsavoury side of Gainsbourg without contaminating the amorous side of the tale. The selection of Gainsbourg tracks teamed with his surreal ‘mug’ underpins the entire movie with a sinister passion. He argues with himself, he talks to invisible voices; he lets his dark psychology get in the way of his raw ability. And yet the romantic tortured artist triumphs in his usual cinematic way, generating an atmosphere of electrical quality which make the 2 hours and 10 minutes moments well spent.


The risqué lyrics of ‘Je T’aime...Moi Non Plus’, Brigitte Bardot enigmatically singing “SHEBAM! POW! BLOP! WIZZ!” in ‘Comic Trip’, Gainsbourg dancing with his fingers across pianos and guitars, and, of course, the comic viewing of old alcoholic Serge slurring in clubs beside young hipsters... What the film lacks in biographical detail it makes up for in the precocious glamour of Gainsbourg. It’s probable that nobody could ever quite retell his life with the splendour that it deserves, but Sfar has certainly painted a video in a language that we can all understand. NM

REVIEW: DVD Release: My Night With Maud

Film: My Night With Maud
Release date: 11th October 2010
Certificate: PG
Running time: 105 mins
Director: Eric Rohmer
Starring: Jean-Louis Trintignant, Françoise Fabian, Marie-Christine Barrault, Antoine Vitez, Léonide Kogan
Genre: Drama
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD
Country: France

My Night With Maud is the third of Eric Rohmer’s ‘six moral tales’, a series of films which all revolve around the same concept – a man who is drawn or dedicated to one woman, but over the course of the film meets another woman who acts as a temptation which he eventually is able to resist. Released in 1969, My Night With Maud is a New Wave showcase of intellectual contemplations projected in a most charming manner.

We follow our Catholic protagonist Jean-Louis around the city of Claremont-Ferond, a picturesque town just north of Paris.

Having established his aspirations for the future, Jean-Louis is convinced that his fate is to marry an attractive young blonde girl who he notices at mass. He then bumps into Vidal, a Marxist school-friend that he hasn’t seen for years, who takes him round to Maud’s for an evening of dinner and thoughtful debate. Jean-Louis engages in a succession of philosophical conversations with Vidal and free-spirited temptress Maud, causing him to query his religious nature, and the likelihood of marriage with the blonde girl. Maud later convinces Jean-Louis to stay the night due to the weather conditions, where there are definite hints of seduction. The film revolves around these conversations between Jean-Louis and friends, covering the usual – sex, religion, philosophy – and then shifting the plot slightly into the territory of ‘story’ as we witness the subsequent steps in Jean-Louis’ life.

Jean-Louis follows the concept of the moral tales, consequently hooking up with the blonde girl from church and leaving Maud to become nothing more than part of his past. Enter Francoise: future wife. There are elements of romance intertwined with this intellectual production, and yet nothing is overtly passionate about My Night At Maud’s. Jean-Louis marries his destiny, but not without a hint of foreboding – Maud re-enters at the end of the film during Jean-Louis and Francoise’s fifth year of marriage, which results in a cleverly implied revelation about Jean-Louis’ seemingly innocent wife…


My Night At Maud’s makes use of the French New Wave style, with hand-held cameras and a plot that grazes upon issues of importance without actually becoming bitter. It is incredibly realistic to be in the driver’s seat of Jean-Louis’ car; the camera allowing the viewer to bump along the tarmac and change gears, watch the houses pass beside the road and beep the horn. We see everything as if it is real life, nothing is omitted in order to produce a slick and idealistic narrative. My Night At Maud’s is undeniably stylish, shot in black-and-white and with its own personal rules of cinematography that allow us to be drawn into the footsteps and heartbeat of Jean-Louis.

Rohmer distracts us with his compelling discussions, whilst simultaneously investigating basic human behaviour without making his explorations apparent. Jean-Louis’ night with Maud tiptoes about rules of attraction, with the entire evening playing out like a non-fictional scenario – their body language and interactions are developed over the course of the evening; we are shown the entirety of their time together, and so we understand how each character’s emotions are shaped.

Jean-Louis Trintignant is undeniably ideal as Jean-Louis, somehow making scripted speech seem natural. His on-screen chemistry with Francoise Fabian as Maud is markedly exquisite - as she chain-smokes and prances around in a short sailor’s shirt, we can feel some unspoken emotion begin to flourish. There is a well articulated difference between Fabian and Marie-Christine Barrault who plays the blonde Francoise; Fabian’s dark features contrast strikingly with Barrault’s fairness on a physical level, but then the two females are equally distinct in their individual personas. While Fabian perfectly exhibits a sultry thinker, Barrault is able to flawlessly play the card of charming naivety.

Rohmer has produced an understated masterpiece, skilfully using references to Pascal’s wager to facilitate the questioning of life which underpins the entire dialogue. It is rare that a director is talented enough to execute an engaging script which is essentially without direction and yet which foregrounds the whole film. We watch the characters in conversation for the majority of the 110 minutes, but the entire scenario is accomplished in an outstandingly convincing fashion thanks to a combination of high quality writing and effortlessly believable acting.


My Night With Maud is like watching your own friends converse for an hour; it is not always the most captivating subject matter but you are happy to watch, boredom is out of the question because you are part of the scene, too. NM