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Film: Cría Cuervos
Year of production: 1976
UK Release date: 10th June 2011
Distributor: BFI
Certificate: 12A
Running time: 110 mins
Director: Carlos Saura
Starring: Geraldine Chaplin, Mónica Randall, Florinda Chico, Ana Torrent, Héctor Alterio
Genre: Drama
Format: Cinema
Country of Production: Spain
Language: Spanish
Review by: Patrick Gamble
The best years of life are universally regarded to be those of youth; a time filled with unadulterated fun and adventure with the constraints, monotony and rigmaroles of adulthood nothing but a distant enigma. Director Carlos Saura raises a rather compelling counter argument; he believes “it’s only our memory that tells us this period was a wonderful time, but that’s only because we don’t remember things.” Although a rather pessimistic view (Saura is no doubt referring to his own traumatic childhood growing up during the Spanish civil war), there are many that would agree with him. Cria Cuervos is a delightful exploration of one girl’s traumatic journey through childhood, giving us a warts and all portrayal of the true confusion that plagues this phase instead of glorifying it through self imposed misinformed nostalgia. Using a seemingly endless series of unhappy events, Saura throws us into a time of terrible indecision, cloaked in a suffocating atmosphere of fear. Highly regarded as one of the most insightful and politically charged pieces of Spanish filmmaking, this charming journey of child fantasy imbued in reality finally gets the re-release it deserves from the BFI.
It’s still very much Francisco Franco’s Spain when we intrude upon the Madrid household of the recently widowed Anselmo. He dies suddenly amidst the throes of passion with Amelia, the wife of his best friend and fellow army officer, Nicolas. However, it appears this was no natural death - he was poisoned! The apparent culprit of this calculated murder? None other than the second of his three daughters, Ana (Ana Torrent, Spirit Of The Beehive), a wise beyond her years girl who blames her father for the death of her beloved mother. Cria Cuervos literally translates as Raise Ravens, a Spanish proverb that reads “raise ravens and they’ll take your eyes” and is generally used for someone who has bad luck raising children!
Out of a sense of family duty, Anselmo’s sister-in-law, Paulina, soon moves into the large, yet moderately dilapidated house to care for the girls and their mute grandmother, instantly instituting her own domestic regime. The girls remain unfazed and continue with their lives in much the same manner as before, but as their summer holiday unfolds, we become privy not only to the family dynamic of this all woman household, but also the vivid fantasy world of Ana. Through a myriad of daydreams and other forms of escapism, this inquisitive, imaginative and possible deadly young girl comes to terms with the death of her mother, whilst maintaining her staunch hatred for her father and the oppressive regime he represented…
The most captivating element of Cria Cuervos has to be its seamless story, which impressively blurs together fantasy and memory, whilst maintaining a strong foothold in reality. These hauntingly vivid depictions of Anna’s numerous flights of the imagination are beautifully conveyed as a stark contrast to the repressed household she dwells within and the world around her. These flashbacks, dream sequences and daytime mirages could have easily resulted in a confusing and cluttered film, yet, through deceptively simple shooting methods (Ana’s mother wanders into the frame nonchalantly and is completely ignored by all except Ana), the camera work of Teodoro Escamilla manages to capture the intimacy of these fictitious moments between Ana and her deceased mother. This ability to let fantasy and actuality intertwine on screen, combined with the tension created by the tentative yet relentless movement of the camera, perfectly aligns us with Ana’s point of view. It all culminates in not just an enjoyably honest portrayal of childhood confusion, but a unique and exquisitely presented perspective on the gritty reality of bereavement.
Fans of Pan’s Labyrinth’s darkly unsettling, poetic depiction of child fantasy and fairytales, successfully mirrored against the violent backdrop of the Spanish Civil War, will instantly fall in love with Cria Cuervos. Both films undoubtedly share a similar thematic and stylish template, but stand out for the astonishingly professional performances from their young and engaging female leads. This in no way should detract from the enjoyment of both these films, but instead underlines how effective depicting sensitive adult themes through immature eyes can be. However, unlike Pan’s Labyrinth’s heroine, Ofilia, a young girl who radiated with childlike innocence, Ana Torrent’s performance is so frighteningly serious that you can’t help but believe that she’s more than capable of the most malevolent of acts. This, however, is a role which demands a broader range of emotion responses than your usual pedophobia thriller, yet Torrent’s expressive and incredibly watchful face never falters in portraying any of these.
The film was made whilst General Franco was on his deathbed, and was naturally seen as a metaphor for the last dying gasps of fascism and the dictator’s totalitarian regime. The film clearly stresses the disparity between Ana’s fantasy world and the political reality of fascism though numerous symbolic techniques. The house, whilst clearly quite grand, feels incredibly claustrophobic, and it can be no coincidence that the blinds on the windows seem like prison bars containing the girls from the outside world. The empty swimming pool in the garden, which the girls play around, could also represent the lost pleasures of the era or, indeed, their unfulfilled lives. Ana’s father, in his military attire, is evidently here to represent fascism within the family dynamic. His controlling nature over Ana’s mother (a once famed concert pianist) could easily be interpreted as the repression of artists such as Saura, making Ana’s murderous act seem almost revolutionary within this domestic microcosm. Unfortunately, the introduction of Paulina to rule the home, with her strict code of cleanliness and etiquette, seems to act as a warning that Spain’s transition toward democracy may not be as smooth as hoped for.
Paulina’s presence turns the home into an all female household that spans three generations; each is represented with its own distinctive soundtrack. The disparity between the girls’ incredibly catchy pop music and the classical music, which seemingly once filled the house, shows a shift away from tradition, which is equally apparent in their casual clothing - a stark contrast to the elegant dresses of their elders. It has led to many perceiving that Saura uses the female sex and their legacy of repression as a parallel to Spain’s troubled history. It’s a tenuous link, but the fact remains that many feminists still laud Cria Cuervos as a wonderfully subtle account of female socialization, specifically the way in which the girls reject the roles they are expected to fulfill. Ana’s interactions with Rosa, the maid, lead to some humorous and well crafted examples of this, but perhaps the dress up scene, involving the three girls recreating a domestic dispute, is the most obviously symbolic of them all. It’s a scene that we later realise, through one of Ana’s recollections, is an almost exact copy of an argument between her broken down mother and nauseatingly abhorrent father. Yet, in this delightfully charming recreation by the children, Ana’s portrayal of her mother is a far more assured and confrontational one, perhaps signalling a time of hope regarding women’s rights through this new rebellious generation, brought up within a new liberated Spain. It’s a subject matter dealt with cautiously by the director, who despite these countless depictions of youthful empowerment presents the future Ana (though some gently interspersed, straight to camera pieces) under an impartial light. Interestingly, Saura casts the same actress here as plays Ana’s mother, leading us to question whether young Ana is doomed to make the same mistakes.
The term ‘classic’ often gets thrown around too easily, without much regard to the importance and role of the adjective within cinematic history. Cria Cuervos, with its cultivated meditation on history, memory and childhood, combined with an intriguing political undertone, is a film which can be enjoyed on many, many levels. Whether you choose to view it as a reflective parable documenting the fall of fascism, a subtle allegory about the repressed roles of women, or just as a joyous journey into the fantasy world of an imaginative young girl, it rightfully deserves to be heralded as a true classic. PG
Film: Brotherhood
Year of production: 2009
UK Release date: 13th June 2011
Distributor: TLA
Certificate: 18
Running time: 90 mins
Director: Nicolo Donato
Starring: Thure Lindhardt, David Dencik, Morten Holst, Claus Flygare
Genre: Drama
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Denmark
Language: Danish
Review by: Patrick Gamble
Winner of Best Film at the Rome International Film Festival, Brotherhood’s tale of Danish neo-Nazis arrives on DVD conveniently amidst the recent controversy surrounding Denmark’s most famed director, Lars Von Trier, and his Hitler ‘slip up’ at the Cannes Film Festival. Indeed, the issue of fascism is somewhat of a hot topic currently and, as the recession spreads across Europe, there is a genuine concern regarding the movement of disenfranchised voters to the far right and the growing popularity of excessively nationalistic political groups. However, Brotherhood is more than a story about extremist views – it’s a desolate tale about love and identity.
Danish serviceman, Lars is denied the promotion he’s been striving for due to recent allegations about drunken passes he’s allegedly made towards male subordinates. Disgraced, he returns home and moves back in with his parents, who seem curious as to his sudden return and take little time or thought before pressurising him into re-enlisting.
On one seemingly typical evening, whilst catching up with old friends, Lars encounters two members of a local neo-Nazi group. One of these men (Fatty) is a high ranking member of the organisation who takes an instant shine to Lars, despite his eloquently voiced dissent towards their violent tactics. He senses Lars is a promising young man, angry at the world, lost and in need of a new direction – all the ingredients necessary in a potential new recruit, and Lars quickly disregards his previous moral high ground in search of a feeling of belonging.
When Lars provokingly admits to an assault of a local immigrant, carried out as part of his initiation, his parents quickly expel him from the family home, forcing him to find refuge elsewhere. Ultimately, this action submerges Lars further into this dark underworld of violence and ignorance, leaving him little option but to accept the warm hospitality of Fatty.
Lars ends up living with Jimmy, a highly respected member of the crew, complete with numerous swastika tattoos and the stereotypical shaved head and muscular build of a radical racist. The two men’s relationship begins with much hostility but soon moves to grudging admiration, friendship and eventually passion, as they become intimate lovers. Their forbidden romance goes completely against the doctrines of their gang and they must quickly come to terms with what will happen to them once they’re exposed...
This marriage of love and violence is largely achieved through a stirring use of non-diegetic sound and elegant camera work. Scenes of violence or heightened ‘manliness’ are softened with lilting strings and ambient music, which seems to whisk us out of this vile and boorish world. The cleverly angled shots and use of soft lighting create a warm, painterly backdrop from which we can comfortably view these occasionally disturbing events. With the film’s rough edges gently sanded down for us, we’re joyously prevented from feeling too close or too far apart from this gritty, suffocating atmosphere of fear and exacerbated masculinity. Reversely, at the few crucial moments where a clear depiction of these violent scenes is necessary to further advance the plot, the raw energy and anger is freely allowed to pour out of the screen. This harsh contrast in tone, when used sparingly, certainly makes what we witness more effective and poignant than a full blown assault on our senses could’ve achieved.
As previously mentioned, the film acts to mirror the growing concerns about the rise of far right ‘political’ parties throughout Europe. It’s an issue which affects a wide audience; however, the film does little to highlight the true problems of this political shift other than showcase its existence. The underhand techniques and propaganda used to prey on the weak and fragile in an attempt to recruit new members are never really investigated, and the true extent of their calculated crimes against ethnic minorities never properly exposed, other than a couple of beatings shown here and there.
We’re curiously introduced to the upper echelons of this party, but their roles are never really clarified, other than teasingly short glimpses of how this is an operation controlled from a much more respectable and highly regarded position than the underground bars and clubs we’re privy to. Further scrutinising of the worryingly organised administrations running these groups, whom it appears are far more than just random foot soldiers, would have created a much more haunting social warning.
Comparisons with American History X are inevitable, as both films deal with the search for identity within a conformist, right winged, regime. Yet, unfortunately, the most striking similarity between the two is the incredibly unbelievable journey of redemption their central characters take. Jimmy’s story seems far too contrived to resonate effectively with the viewer, and his violent actions further prevent us from feeling any compassion towards him and his new found vulnerability. His character is far too black-and-white - at one time seeming like the archetypal nihilistic skin head (the first to violently attack someone or call them a “faggot”), before instantly transforming into a soft and caring homosexual man who seems to feel compassion for Lars, despite the eight inch Iron cross permanently etched onto his chest. It’s this lack of any emotional middle ground or proper depiction of his transition from ‘bad’ to ‘good’ which prevents us from caring about his character. The few attempts there are to remedy his two dimensional appearance are only ever slightly touched upon; for instance, the back-story concerning his drug addled younger brother, whom he takes under his wing, is never expanded upon and is left to linger in the periphery of the narrative. His overall lack of depth makes these negligible actions seem ever so redundant (as if solely injected into the narrative at the last minute to make Jimmy seem more human and his journey to redemption more believable).
To a lesser extent, the same problems exist when trying to identify with Lars. Although we see most of the events through his eyes, it’s never clearly explained why he would chose to join such an extremist group when his own sexuality and apparent disinterest in their violent methods surely distances himself from their beliefs. He never seems to fit in with this incredibly violent and overtly masculine group and thus always looks like an outsider, making his inevitable outing and the accompanying shock and anger from his newly adopted peers seem mildly ludicrous considering the numerous visually obvious disparities between himself and them.
As a representation of the zeitgeist surrounding European politics, Brotherhood succeeds in portraying the types of groups we fear are currently operating within Europe and the violent methods they use to express their beliefs. However, the film seems to lack a defined audience with the central storyline of sexual confusion and lost identity ultimately feeling artificial and manufactured, looking like little more than a device implemented to represent the political confusion of the times without any real thought as to how plausible this amalgamation of two seemingly polar opposite subjects would come across. Some strong performances and technical nuances prevent this confused film from becoming unwatchable (almost managing to cover up the numerous plot holes), but it’s what’s missing from the film which is ultimately its undoing, making it surprisingly toothless and, in turn, completely forgettable. PG
Film: Senna
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 3rd June 2011
Distributor: Universal
Certificate: 12A
Running time: 106 mins
Director: Asif Kapadia
Starring: Ayrton Senna, Alain Prost, Frank Williams, Ron Dennis, Viviane Senna
Genre: Documentary
Format: DVD
Country of Production: UK/France/USA
Language: English
Review by: Patrick Gamble
On 1st May 1994, the sporting world lost one of its most charismatic and well-loved personalities in an accident which would resonate around the world. Travelling at a perilous 130mph, Ayrton Senna crashed his Williams-Renault Formula One car into the now infamous Tamburello corner of the San Marino Grand Prix. The collision led to a piece of his suspension flying off the nose of the car and making a devastatingly fatal blow to his helmet. It followed a similar incident during the previous days qualifying heats when Austrian driver Rolan Ratzenberger slammed into the same wall and died instantly. Yet there remains something so endearing, so mesmerising about this flamboyant Brazilian that whilst both their bodies may have been regrettably swept of the track on that fateful spring weekend, Senna’s spirit continues to live on amongst the public consciousness.
Director Asif Kapadia’s documentary of this fallen celebrity focuses on Ayrton Senna’s decade competing in Formula One. We follow his journey from lowly debutant driver for Toelman through his rapid rise up the Formula One Ladder, from Lotus to McLaren (winning the world championship an impressive three times) and, finally, with team Williams, where he would abruptly end his racing career.
We witness his struggles on the track against McLaren team mate and fierce rival Alain Prost (a sideshow which undoubtedly created an unparalleled buzz around a sport not normally followed for its personal confrontations), to the off track world of rigid politics, advanced motoring technology and ludicrous financial endorsements that many, including Senna, believe removed any true sense of competitiveness from the sport long ago.
However, Senna isn’t a documentary about Formula One but rather an intimate portrait of a global superstar who staunchly stuck to his views and refused to play by anyone else’s rules. A humble celebrity who remained fiercely patriotic and charitable to his impoverished homeland, and stood not only as a spokesman for his sport, but an ambassador for everything a celebrity should be…
The film’s most significant achievement has to be the vast range of footage that director Kapadia has managed to lay his hands on (impressively convincing Bernie Ecclestone to open the private video vaults of the Formula One archives). From intimate family films to on board driver cameras, the depth of material on show invites us into not just the professional side of Senna’s life but also his private world. Like the most intricate jigsaw puzzle, it’s all wonderfully and lovingly pieced together to create a seamless flow between scenes, making the viewer feel more a part of the story than simply a fly on the wall. We witness the hard work Senna put into helping poor Brazilian children, the close knit, down to earth family unit he would escape to, and his constant professional conflicts regarding the political bureaucracy of his sport.
Unlike your archetypal sporting documentary, Senna has no single narrator, instead using personal testimonies sparingly with the majority of the film’s story being told by Senna himself from archived sound bites, press conferences and interviews. It gives the film a haunting quality, which creates an existential aroma around it, making the viewer feel like they’re on an incredibly personal journey with this fascinating and deeply spiritual man. There’s also none of the clichéd ‘talking head’ segments we’re used to from such documentaries, which often interrupt a film’s flow and inject too many external and often contradictory opinions. Instead, we are very much left to make our own opinions, deciding on our view of this racing car driver purely from witnessing his work and hearing him speak, as opposed to being dictated by what others say about him. This touchingly honest approach is achieved not through the director’s sure-handed guidance, but from Senna himself. Rarely are we presented with such a humble, shy but equally entertaining sports man - a man who clearly loves what he does far more than the fame and money that often accompanies (and corrupts this kind of monumental sporting success). This provides us with an opportunity to witness his contagiously optimistic and passionate personality as it positively radiates out from the screen.
There are many who believe this approach to documentary filmmaking is unnecessarily intrusive and crosses the line of personal privacy. The final twenty-five minutes of the film focuses on the inevitable ending – the incident of the San Marino Grand Prix. It has been argued that we could have been spared the in-car footage of Senna’s final moments, with many seeing this as an invasive, personal intrusion that leans towards gross voyeurism. However, this is a complement to the film’s ability to propel us into Senna’s world, making us susceptible to the full emotive force of this tragic accident - it makes this unfortunate outcome as powerfully upsetting as it was all those years ago.
The second act’s focus on Senna’s fierce rivalry with former team mate Alain Prost adds a whole other dimension to the blue print of this documentary, creating a thrilling tale about professional jealousy and conflict between two highly driven, competitive men at the top of their profession. Prost, however, is not our central antagonist, rather an example of how the political game of Formula One should be played. The main villain depicted here is Jean Marie Balestre, the then chief of Formula One. His constant struggles with Ayrton reveal him to be our classic pantomime baddie and their negatively charged relationship drives the narrative forward. This attention to the dramatic sideshow surrounding Senna’s career turns what could have been a painfully formulaic sports documentary into something more akin to a biopic, which, for a little while, creates a whole new narrative that pulls us deeper into this highly secretive world, successfully capturing the pomp and political circumstances of the sport.
The film’s pace is dictated by two important factors, music and editing, which, throughout the movie, combine harmoniously to catalyse the film’s emotional core. Considering the subject matter, the film had to feel fast, full of adrenaline and most importantly exciting – something modern coverage of the sport has failed to capture. The director’s flawless editing manages to combine these varying pieces of stock footage into a seamless collection of shots that moves so effortlessly that the film never loses momentum, only occasionally taking a pit stop to let us catch our breath. The music ranges from feverish Brazilian bossanova to frantic hand drums and all the way to ambient strings, which culminates in an emotional rollercoaster ride, constantly creating an appropriate mood to accompany the images we’re presented with.
This historical record of possibly the most charismatic sportsmen of modern times manages to not only act as a snapshot documenting the history of Formula One but transcends the sport and creates a highly emotive drama that will speak to a wider audience than those with a vested interest in the sport. It’s an exquisitely enjoyable journey that like Senna’s career, feels all too brief. PG
Film: Heartbeats
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 27th May 2011
Distributor: Network
Certificate: 15
Running time: 97 mins
Director: Xavier Dolan
Starring: Monia Chokri, Niels Schneider, Xavier Dolan, Anne Dorval, Anne-Élisabeth Bossé
Genre: Drama/Romance
Format: Cinema
Country of Production: Canada
Language: French
Review by: Patrick Gamble
French-Canadian writer-director-star, Xavier Dolan took the festival circuit by storm back in 2009 with I Killed My Mother. This promising debut quickly stapled his name onto every ‘up-and-coming’ director list around. Heartbeats was completed only a year later and critics now will get to decide whether Dolan is indeed the new ‘great white hope’ many proclaimed him to be, or simply another case of a young man who peaked to early.
Heartbeats depicts the tale of a doomed ménage à trois. Our two central protagonist are Francis (Xavier), a stylish gay man who longs to be loved, and Marie (Monia Chokri), a young girl with a delightful shabby chic style that aspires for that perfect partner with whom to overcome the sexual trappings of a relationship and find the perfect ‘spoon’ fit, which she believes is the secret to a long and meaningful partnership.
We join these two close friends who, whilst enjoying a leisurely lunch with mutual acquaintances, both land eyes on the same man, Nicolas (Niels Schneider), a young boy fresh from the country who’s newly arrived in town. As soon as they both coyly declare they have no interest in this fresh faced Adonis, we know what we’re in store for.
A series of intimate rendezvous leads the trio into an uncontrollable love triangle as both Francis and Marie fight for the attentions of this new object of their desires. The pair both eventually fall deeper into a pit of obsession and fantasy, and as their feeling escalate, it becomes clear that it won’t just be their emotions that are put to the test but also the resolve of their cast-iron friendship. Indeed, Nicolas become something of a poisoned chalice, and what at first starts out as a story of the poetic craziness of falling in love soon becomes more a study of the humiliation of rejection and the heartfelt pain that loneliness can bring…
The issue of a love triangle is nothing new in cinematic terms. Recent French cinema has already delighted us with Les Chansons d’Amour (a delightful love letter to the musicals of Jacques Demy) and Dreamers (a flawed but no less enjoyable celebration of classic cinema). Heartbeats attempts to shine a different light on the topic by focusing on the destructive element it can inevitably have on the ones it hurts. Whilst it may sound an attractive prospect, a relationship shared three ways generally only heightens the percentage of chance that someone will be cast aside when the novelty expires and the usual traumas and tribulations of a real relationship start to raise their heads. Director Xavier Dolan’s has decided not to shy away from this fact and has instead wallowed within it. However, its many flaws along the way prevent it from being the masterpiece he has set out to make.
The first place to start with this critique would be the seemingly redundant frame narrative that Dolan has wrapped around the story – where individuals give their views on sexual encounters and try to shed their own light on the reasons relationships so often fail. These ‘talking heads’ segments seem like little more than an obvious attempt to fill in the gaps of what is quite a superficial movie, which hasn’t the depth to cover the magnitude of these emotional issues. Unfortunately, Dolan’s attempts to cover all too many bases fails and what actually transpires is nothing more than an irritatingly, self-centered side piece that not only acts to disrupt the film’s pace but also never seems to gel with the incidents that surround it.
Following on with this theme of self-centered storytelling is the obvious issue of Xavier Dolan himself. There is always a hint of arrogance in the air with any director who decides to cast himself in the leading role. Numerous times throughout the film peripheral characters refer to his character as “cute” or “handsome,” and there comes a point when this glorification of one’s self becomes hard to stomach. The decision to take the role of a very self detrimental character also screams of nothing more than preposterous attention seeking and greatly influences the overall enjoyment of a film which ultimately feels like nothing more than a man singlehandedly crying out to be noticed. Dolan is quite obviously a handsome man with a lot of underused talent, so his need to act like this becomes infuriating for the less ‘glamorous’ members of the audience who no doubt aren’t even close to having the looks or artistic talent to rival this seemingly unfulfilled young man. He clearly has the opportunity to do great things if only he focused more on his art than what others think of him.
This try-hard attitude is also apparent within other elements of the film. The soundtrack, for example, is filled with classic ‘calling card’ bands and blares out at an uncomfortable decibel level, forcing you to pay attention regardless of whether or not the gratuitous over use of strobe lighting has already directed your attention away to other less objectionable sights in the cinema – like perhaps the plush velour of the seat in front or the inviting gleam of the exit sign. To be fair, though, there are moments where Dolan does manage to successfully navigate this fine line between high art and obnoxious pomposity (like a glorious use of a classical score to heighten the film’s more intimate moments).
This is certainly a film which falls into the category of style over substance, yet the stylish tricks performed, which don’t come across as overly gratuitous or farcical, all point to a talented filmmaker with an obvious eye for a shot and an ability to make the most from a modest cast list. He may wear his influences firmly on his sleeve (whether it be the slow motion imitation of In The Mood For Love or the obvious comparisons with Jules et Jim) and this ability to re-create such style whilst maintaining the film’s own unique direction is worthy of praise. Unfortunately, these flashes of brilliance only illuminate the numerous flaws of a director who’s clearly underperforming.
Heartbeats is a film you’ll desperately want to fall in love with. Yet Dolan’s attempts to mix high art with deadpan humour in a framework of emotional devastation falls just short, resulting in a somewhat cluttered, arrogant mess of a film that may well excite and titillate at first, but will ultimately leave you disappointed by the end – but like all immature crushes, given time, it’ll become completely forgettable. PG
Film: Love Like Poison
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 13th May 2011
Distributor: Artificial Eye
Certificate: 12A
Running time: 92 mins
Director: Katell Quillévéré
Starring: Clara Augarde, Lio, Michel Galabru, Stefano Cassetti, Thierry Neuvic
Genre: Drama
Format: Cinema
Country of Production: France
Language: French/Italian
Review by: Patrick Gamble
Coming of age dramas are as synonymous with French cinema as socio-economic films about class divides are to the independent British film industry. This long running love affair began with The 400 Blows, which sparked not only this genre but a revolution across cinemas around Europe, all the way to more contemporary fare, such as the lesser heralded, but no less poignant, Blame It On Fidel and Water Lilies. It’s no doubt a well trodden path, but for good reason, as the subject matter has a mysterious ability to continually charm and engage us as an audience. The scenery may change and, as generations fly by, the rules may become more liberal, but despite the constantly evolving transitions of these rites of passage, the confusion and awkwardness of the progression from childhood to adulthood is something that is ever present and instantly recognisable – indeed, it’s something that regardless of sex, race or beliefs we can all identify with in one way or another.
When 14-year-old Anna (Clara Augarde) returns home from her Catholic boarding school for the summer holidays, she discovers that things aren’t quite as they should be in her quiet rural household. Her father has finally flown the family nest, leaving her distraught mother seeking consolation through her faith; specifically from the village’s young priest, Father Francois. Perhaps to escape these external dilemmas, or in an attempt to fill the recent father shaped void in her life, Anna, in no less a charitable action, decides to take on the responsibility of caring for her ill grandfather, who may well be at death’s door but certainly isn’t lacking in youthful verve or spirit.
As the long summer days unwind, she begins to submerge herself in a series of romantic rendezvous with neighbouring altar boy Pierre. This exploration of her budding sexuality only exacerbates her already turbulent inner struggle dealing with adolescence. Combined with the fact that her conformation is just days away, she is torn between advancing herself sexually or spiritually...
The most striking element of this film is undoubtedly the exceptional performance coaxed out of acting debutant Clara Augarde. This young girl has been thrown straight into the deep end with this unconventionally honest role, yet she comes across ever the professional, looking like a well honed actress with the world at her feet. She appears in almost every shot and, perhaps down to her closeness in age with the character, she deals with these awkward pubescent moments with a quality of natural performance rarely seen. Many teenage girls would justifiably run a mile if asked to perform some of the film’s incredibly personal and revealing scenes, yet Augarde commendably takes it in her stride, impressively shifting between the fragility of a child and the staunch defiance of a newly empowered woman.
This slow and subtle drama certainly aims to be more than just a mere coming of age tale, instead evolving into a deceptively slight portrait of natural human behaviour. Most crucially, showcasing our constant struggle against carnal urges through the self-imposed chains we use to restrain ourselves, whether it be through laws, religion or just a sense of common decency. Despite the heavy focus on young Anna, there is definitely a wealth of other well rounded characters from which the film derives its narrative.
As well as Anna’s fragile family dynamic, there’s the rather interesting sub plot involving the young girl’s mother and the priest. Both seem to acknowledge that there’s a mutually reciprocated attraction, but, due to their strong religious values, it is never consummated. Indeed, it is this portrayal of various troubled relationships, by director Katell Quillévéré that separates Love Like Poison from similar, yet more singularly focused tales of such youthful trials. In particular, the divisive use of Pierre, the young boy Anna becomes transfixed with, is of great interest - the similarities with himself and Anna’s father turns an otherwise sweet (if not slightly awkward and fumbling) relationship into a haunting depiction of how fatally flawed we are as human beings, continually repeating the mistakes of our forefathers.
As to be expected, one of the central themes explored here is the bond between mother and daughter. Not only do they share the wealth of the screen time, but theirs is also the most complex and engaging of all the relationships on show here. With one discovering her new found womanhood and the other’s biological clock counting down rapidly, their mirroring physical changes makes for an emotionally charged series of encounters.
Music, too, plays a huge role in Quillevere’s first feature film. Its title literally translates as ‘The Violent Poison’ and come from a Serge Gainsborough song that focuses on the tension love can create, pulling apart families. It’s perhaps the use of traditional folk music, all sang by women, that is the most interesting, acting as a comforting collection of ‘words of wisdom’ to reassure us that Anna’s problems are as old as time.
Anna’s grandfather adds some much needed light relief; however, it’s a role which is underdeveloped and could have a lot more to offer than just the jovial offhand remarks we are privy to. His atheist, and light-hearted beliefs could have lead to a viewpoint on the issues of love and sexual desires unhindered by religious constraints that would have helped engage the film to a wider audience - who may otherwise find the heavy use of Catholicism a little too suffocating and alien to relate with.
There is also a disappointing lack of dramatic conflict considering the heightened anxiety that broods behind each interaction within this quaint Breton parish. Whilst this slow burning build up creates an interesting and initially gripping level of tension, the lack of any final emotive explosion or conclusive scene of redemption leaves an unremarkable taste, which does little to separate it from recent films such as Jessica Hausner’s Lourdes; another beautifully shot film steeped in questionable religious traditions, which equally takes an impartial viewpoint after initially promising to do much more with the subject matter.
This empathetic vision of adolescence, whilst a competent piece of searching filmmaking, ultimately lacks enough confrontation to make its detached mood stay with you any further than the end credits. Whilst this quintessentially introspective coming of age drama certainly holds its own, it could have doubtlessly made more of the existential aroma or religion it shrouds itself in. More is the pity as Quillevere and Augarde are, based on the flashes of brilliance shown in this their debut feature, certainly both names to watch out for. PG
Film: Deep End
Year of production: 1970
UK Release date: 6th May 2011
Distributor: BFI
Certificate: 15
Running time: 88 mins
Director: Jerzy Skolimowski
Starring: Jane Asher, John Moulder-Brown, Karl Michael Vogler, Christopher Sandford, Diana Dors
Genre: Comedy/Drama/Romance/Thriller
Format: Cinema
Country of Production: West Germany/UK
Language: English
Review by: Patrick Gamble
In 2008, Jerzy Skolimowski returned from a self imposed, seventeen year absence from directing (reportedly to concentrate on his true passion – painting) with his much lauded come back, Four Nights With Anna. Last month he followed up that success with Essential Killing, described by many as his most painterly presented film yet. It has also gained high praise for its lead performance by Vincent Gallo – an actor renowned for being difficult to direct. To coincide with its release, and to celebrate this underrated director’s return from the cinematic wilderness, the good people of the BFI have gracefully decided to restore one of Skolimowski’s most revered and respected pieces from the 1970s – his previously unattainable cult hit about adolescent passion, Deep End.
Mike (John Moulder-Brown) is fresh out of school and still very much wet behind the ears when he takes up his first job as a bathroom attendant at a rundown swimming baths in West London. It is here he meets Susan (Jane Asher) and it doesn’t take long before this attractive young redhead, with her breathtaking beauty and teasing demeanour, becomes the object of Mike’s obsessions.
The revelation that not only is Susan engaged, but also having a lurid affair with Mike’s former P.E teacher, is like an arrow through the young boy’s heart. Yet, whilst many of us would begrudgingly surrender defeat, and bottle away our carnal desires, it only strengthens Mike’s resolve to destroy Susan’s wedding plans and expose her adulterous nature in an attempt to make her his own.
What starts as an innocent crush soon manifests itself as something much worse and as Mike’s determination over takes his common sense, the lines of decency and morality begin to diminish and there seems to be no stopping the momentum of this treacherous fixation. He quickly falls steadfast into a series of events which look on course to end in tears…
Released during the height of the French New Wave and the hangover effect of the swinging ‘60s, Skolimowski’s British made tale of obsession and desire is a delightful mix of the type of work that both Godard and Truffaut were creating at the time but with a distinctive underlying English sensibility. This delightful mix of the desolate beauty of London with the sort of subtle nuances and loving attention given to character detail which we’ve come to love from the nouvelle vague truly separates Deep End from a lot of the cinema being produced here at that time. Our unconscious manner for comparing and creating films to the modern Hollywood mould often results in nothing more than a continued conveyor belt of drab, uninspired and, most importantly, unoriginal films. Deep End is a wonderful example of how drawing influence from other cultures can have a strikingly profound effect on a movie without making it completely inaccessible to a wider audience.
John Moulder-Brown does a wonderful job with the character of Mike. Starting off as a picture of innocence, he seamlessly crosses the boundaries of right and wrong without succumbing to a melodramatic about turn, making his performance all the more haunting. Jane Asher, with her ‘60s chic style and piercing stare needs little direction in portraying a temptress; she could quite easily have stood mute on screen for the film’s entirety and still have passed as competent within the role. However, she doesn’t and you’ll soon find yourself sympathising with Mike’s infatuation for her, although perhaps not to the same fatal degree. A fleeting cameo by Doris Dors is also due a mention, as a mildly camp carry-on-esque turn as a steamy, bath house patron. She undoubtedly opens Mike’s eyes to the seedy underside of adulthood and singlehandedly removes the last shreds of his innocence. It’s a pivotal performance that could so easily have undone Skolimowski’s hard work at creating a story of passion without hysteria, yet instead adds some light relief to an otherwise subtly sinister depiction of sexual fixation.
Deep End also garnished its cult status thanks to its eclectic soundtrack by Krautrock heroes Can and the guilty pleasure that is Cat Stevens. The fact that the undiscerning ear could easily miss this whilst watching is in itself a compliment to the film’s production. It’s ever present, yet its unobtrusive nature makes it a perfect companion, never distracting you from the story that unfolds in front of your eyes or the dialogue that wisps along so elegantly.
The only criticism to be levied towards Deep End is the fairly obvious symbolic clues it leaves along the way that perhaps make the ending (which in itself has left many viewers wanting) not as poignant as perhaps it could have been. The final third lacks the ambiguity this film’s rich build up deserves, like those sitcoms which leave you cringing at what’s to follow. Skolimowski dark observation of Mike’s perilous descent into a maddening addiction for Susan, however palpable it may seem, surpasses being unbearable and instead leaves only the question of how this obvious fate will manifest itself into its logical conclusion.
Regarding the film’s digital transfer, the hard working restoration team at the BFI have yet again managed to do justice to another lost classic. The film may have aged noticeably, and the age old problem of poor 1970s dubbing is still apparent, but with regard to the lovingly recreated film print, you’d be hard pressed to criticise what is at heart a marvellous achievement for a film which deserves such a beautiful return to the big screen.
With Deep End, Skolimowski may have dived head first into the deepest part of the male psyche, but by no means does he sink under the pressure. Instead, he has created a film which manages to propel past its self imposed obstacles, which could otherwise have left it stranded in a sea of teenage confusion. PG
Film: Rachel
Year of production: 2009
Running time: 100 mins
Director: Simone Bitton
Genre: Documentary
Country: France/Belgium
Language: English/Arabic/Hebrew
This film was screened at the 2011 London Palestine Film Festival.
On March 16th 2003, Rachel Corrie, a young American woman volunteering as a peaceful activist in the southern Gaza strip town of Rafah, was crushed by an Israeli army bulldozer in an act many witnesses claim was deliberate, but, predictably, the local police and government deemed an accident. Through varied accounts from fellow activists, local towns folk and members of the IDF (Israeli Defense Force), documentary maker Simone Bitton attempts to show but never tell the events that led to this disastrous incident, leaving us, the viewer to take what evidence there is and come to our own conclusion from her hushed, solemn investigation.
For those unfamiliar with the ongoing dispute within the Gaza strip, Corrie’s work for the International Solidarity Movement (ISM) focused on preventing the destruction of innocent civilians’ homes, which are being torn apart by the Israeli government, who are insistent on building a wall to segregate the borders of their country and Palestine. The issue of where these borders actually lie is the main cause of conflict in this region, resulting in a stalemate that looks unlikely to ever be resolved. The ISM believe these demolitions of Palestinian dwellings to be a breach of international human rights laws. As with most activists who see themselves as prospective martyrs, through peaceful demonstrations, they believed their presence as foreign citizens and the resulting media coverage that the killing of a Western bystander would obviously bring worldwide would help prevent any further loss of lives and the rise of homelessness within the area – apparently they were wrong.
Rachel Corrie’s death was the result of one of these demonstrations that went horribly wrong. Whilst the IDF claim the incident in question was a routine operation and that the bulldozer never made any contact with the young girl, there are numerous eye witnesses who claim otherwise – whether these accounts are truthful, or ammunition used to fight a war which each side perceives to be a justifiable battle against an unjust opposition is very much left for us to decide…
It’s difficult not to look at Rachel as a very one-sided argument. It contains numerous elements that ensure it comes across as a conspiracy story rather than an impartial documentary of the ongoing nightmare of Israeli occupation. This may very well be down to the evidence at hand. The Nixonian edits of the military surveillance, and the staunch, unmerciful Israeli government officials interviewed, added to the incredibly emotional testimonies, can only lead you to one particular conclusion. This isn’t to say it’s the wrong conclusion; however, through these retellings, you are being emotionally blackmailed to side with the ISM. It ultimately undermines the director’s use of Rachel Corrie’s death, and instead of fighting for justice over the unfortunate loss of this young girl’s life, they are clearly using it as a tool to fight a much bigger battle, especially as Bitton (and interviewed members of the ISM) seem to insists that the tragedy in Rafah is much greater that the death of one American protester. In fairness, though, we are mercifully denied shots of our courageous Rachel being run-over and Bitton prevents herself from showing subjective shots of carnage. Instead, she only allows us to view equally as horrific signs of gunfire through countless shots of bullet ridden homes and the rubble resulting from numerous demolitions. This, to a point, works equally as well, but without succumbing to any easy, cheap, manipulative devices that she so easily could have chosen to use. Whether the ambiguity of these countless victims resonates with you or not, it’s certainly makes clear why Corrie was here and the ideological battle she was fighting.
Bitton is no stranger to this conflict and with her previous documentary, The Wall, Rachel is very much a sequel in a continuous fight for the freedom of those in occupied Palestine. This documentary is already aimed at a particular audience, who have already decided which side of the fence (or wall) they stand on, and thus may leave newcomers feeling a little uneducated and ultimately susceptible to its weighted message.
Bitton’s decision to include far too many accounts from members of the ISM is also questionable. Despite the heartfelt accounts of the local people who celebrate their presence as something a kin to ‘a gift from god’, the members themselves are the kind of self-righteous charity workers who constantly harass you in town centres in an attempt to make you feel worthless and selfish to help benefit their cause. It’s an initial stumbling block which becomes increasingly difficult to forget.
However, the noticeable coldness of the Israeli officials hardly helps in presenting an impartial documentary, with comments such as: “On the one hand, it’s troubling that a civilian was killed. On the other hand, these soldiers were fighting for their lives whenever they were in this zone.” Perhaps Bitton’s failure to ask slightly more probing questions (although understandable due to the very real threat of further repercussions) when interviewing these officials was a missed opportunity to further uncover the true extent of their inhuman approach, and to garnish a little more information about what they’re withholding .
Rachel is certainly a story that needs to be told, it’s just unfortunate that it comes across a little too one-sided for it to standout as a necessary piece of anti Israeli occupation filmmaking. If you have a vested interest in the subject matter at hand then Rachel, no doubt, will fit comfortably within your other viewing and background research. However, as a standalone piece of work, this softly spoken documentary comes across as a little too opinionated for its message to evoke the same volume of passion as Bitton no doubt desired it to achieve. However, the film’s closing shot of children playing football amongst the domestic rubble does raise the question of how easy is it to politicize the death of Rachel Corrie without first processing the violence which now constitutes normality amongst the citizens of the Gaza Strip. Indeed, previous knowledge of this background information will no doubt dictate your level of appreciation for this well-meaning documentary. PG
Film: The Cranes Are Flying
Release date: 29th January 2007
Certificate: PG
Running time: 97 mins
Director: Mikhail Kalatozov
Starring: Tatyana Samojlova, Aleksey Batalov, Vasili Merkuryev, Aleksandr Shvorin, Svetlana Kharitonova
Genre: Drama/Romance/War
Studio: Nouveaux
Format: DVD
Country: Soviet Union
There has been a lot of press of late regarding the welfare of Iranian directors, especially Jafar Panahi, who was recently imprisoned for making films deemed to have an intention to incite “crimes against the country’s national security and propaganda against the Islamic Republic.” This is nothing new and whilst outrageous behaviour that in no way can be condoned, there are still many who argue that this kind of government repression has actually resulted in some of the most innovative and daring pieces of films we have ever seen. Take, for example, the most popular Soviet film ever made, Battleship Potemkin, a piece of communist propaganda that, whilst heralded by many as one of the greatest movies of all time, still very much maintains a strong Stalinist message. The Cranes Are Flying was made in the old Soviet Union in 1957 (five years after the death of Joseph Stalin) and still remains very much a film created behind the Iron Curtain. Despite all this, it somehow managed to rise above all the restrictions that state governance placed upon it to win the Palme D’Or at The Cannes Film Festival the following year.
The film opens with our central characters, Boris and Veronika, two star-crossed lovers enjoying a romantic rendezvous upon a Moscow river embankment. It isn’t long, though, before the two are separated due to the outbreak of the Second World War, a war Boris feels obligated to volunteer for.
Boris is quickly rushed to the front line on the day before Veronika’s birthday, and is unable to give her the farewell he had planned.
As the war unravels, Veronika finds herself drawn into a downward spiral of events which she could never have previously imagined, yet she remains hopeful that one day she will hear from her true love…
Although The Cranes Are Flying was released in the USSR after the relaxation of the ‘cult of personality’ (an ideal that the enhancement and promotion of Stalinist political doctrines should be educated to the masses through visual propaganda and the censorship of Western media), Soviet cinema still remained property of the state, and thus heavily censored. As with modern day Iran, any film deemed politically offensive was either edited down or removed from distribution. Despite this, The Cranes Are Flying still managed to stir strong emotions from the people of the Soviet Republic.
For us, a story about two lovers separated by war is nothing original; however, for the people of the USSR, it was their first chance to grieve for those lost during the largest war of our modern history. Up until The Cranes Are Flying, no-one had dared show a realistic interpretation of the war, instead focusing on the historic victories of Stalin’s army against the evils of the fascist dictatorship of the Nazi Party. Indeed, as previously mentioned, the cult of personality determined that all films produced during this time must celebrate both Lenin and Stalin. Yet, let us not forget that during the Second World War, the Soviet Union lost more than twice the number of any other participating country (admittedly, most of these casualties were the result of unsanitary accommodation, harsh training regimes and a lack of firepower, which resulted in many solders having to wait for their comrade in front to fall before gaining access to a gun).
But enough of the history lesson, how does the film hold up by itself? First thing to mention would be the stellar cinematography. The film’s use of, at the time, groundbreaking hand-held camera work is to this day still a joy to behold. There is one pivotal scene which will stay in the memories of anyone who watches this film. It uses a montage of shots, including a spiral staircase that makes Hitchcock’s famous scene from Vertigo look like child’s play. It certainly wouldn’t be out of place in the most modern and stylish of art house films. Cinematographer Sergei Uruseveky learnt this technique of shooting without using a tripod whilst doing his national service, and obviously combined his knowledge of war with his exceptional eye for a shot and immaculate use of ambient lighting. This combination of bold shots and strong performances, especially from Tatyana Samojlova, help emphasize all the feelings of destruction, separation and hopelessness that we have all come to recognize in our war films.
Director Mikhaol Kalatozov must also be commended, if only for his daring decision to include such topics as war profiteering and draft dodging. Although issues well known to the Soviet people at the time, they had been greatly ignored in the history archives of Russian cinema.
The only criticism to aim at this film, which truly deserves to be heralded as one of the greatest pieces of Soviet Cinema, is the fact that it is still very much a piece of Soviet cinema - there is still a strong underlying current of communist propaganda throughout. The film continues to portray Russia as a great superpower, with no recognition of any of its national problems. Many issues are avoided like the spread of famine throughout the country during, and very much after the war. But could you honestly say that a film like Saving Private Ryan isn’t slightly pro capitalism and pro America?
The Cranes Are Flying is indeed a prime example of how state controlled cinema, through its abundance of government funding, can sometimes result in truly amazing and innovative filmmaking. All this whilst keeping at bay the loss of identity that mass globalization can sometimes bring. Perhaps this is an element of our flourishing relationship with America that we should not ignore. PG
Film: Little White Lies
Release date: 15th April 2011
Certificate: TBC
Running time: 154 mins
Director: Guillaume Canet
Starring: Marion Cotillard, François Cluzet, Benoit Magimel, Gilles Lellouche, Laurent Lafitte
Genre: Comedy/Drama
Studio: Lionsgate
Format: Cinema
Country: France
In 2006, Guillaume Canet took the world by storm with his astoundingly successful thriller Tell No One. This sophomore film by the young director introduced not only himself but modern French cinema to a much wider audience. As such the film’s popularity (both critically and financially) led many critics to predict a ‘new wave’ of the French Nouvelle Vague to resurge upon our shores – which to an extent it did with films such as, Diving Bell & the Butterfly, Mesrine and I’ve Loved You So Long all faring relatively well. Canet’s much anticipated follow up, Little White Lies was the second highest grossing film in France last year (only just behind Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows). Yet with its tremendously inward looking and nationalistic blend of comedy and drama, will this charming expose of the laboured friendship of eight wealthy friends resonate with the same widespread success over here or remain one strictly for British Francophiles?
We join these carefree socialites just days before departing on one of their ritual summer vacations. But when a sudden horrific traffic accident lands one of their party in intensive care (Ludo) they find their plans have to be reassessed. As he fights for his life, his friends have a seemingly difficult decision to make. Do they stay and watch over their seriously ill friend, or instead leave him, and go ahead with their original plans anyway? They soon convince themselves that by cutting short their break by a couple of weeks, they’ll be able to get the much needed rest they feel they deserve, whilst being back in time to tend to Ludo once he regains consciousness. It’s a choice that many would frown upon, and as events unfold, it would appear they’d be correct. This decision soon becomes a classic example of ‘an elephant in the room’ as it slowly starts to over-shadow any enjoyment that is to be had, gradually illuminating the Little White Lies that threaten to tear apart the fragile fibres holding the group together.
The holiday is funded by Max (Francois Cluzet), something of an older brother figure to the group, who allows his younger acquaintances to gallivant around his opulent beach house, eat from his bountiful fridge, and take trips into town on his lavish power boat. It all sounds rather generous, until you realise he seizes any opportunity to make this fact abundantly clear to the eternal teenagers he chooses to mingle with. It’s at these strikingly charmless moments that we begin to realise that this high strung restaurant owner is purely obsessed with material wealth, and masks his egotistical desire to be respected with hand-outs and charity.
Also amongst this selection of the crème-de-la-crème of French acting talent we have Marie (played by recent Hollywood leading lady, and Guillaume Canet’s wife, Marion Cotillard), a pot smoking, heavy drinking, self-proclaimed ethnologist, whose penchant to study others is no more than an attempt to prevent studying herself. She’s a perfect example of the emotional damage which can be caused by continually putting off tomorrow.
Next there’s Eric (Gilles Lellouche), a failing actor who softens the crippling effects of his faltering career by pursuing a life of infidelity. Yet, when his girlfriend breaks up with him after her attempts to garnish a little more commitment from him fail, he struggles to truly convey his heartbreak, instead hiding behind the same persona he has created to mask his other numerous shortcomings...
What unravels is a thoughtful, unashamedly sentimental and genuine film about friendships and family ties. This seemingly cluttered cast, at first, look like nothing more than superficial, pretentious clichés of the modern French bourgeoisie society. An example of those who have disregarded their traditional family values in favour of a lifestyle fuelled solely by desires of the flesh and an apparent need to escape the hardships of life through a state of constant inebriation. Yet, somehow, despite the apparent detached moods of each character, director Guillaume Canet manages to shine a light on the inner beauty inside all of them. This is achieved through a subtle use of elegantly framed and perfectly timed close ups, combined with some incredibly evocative and sincere dialogue.
The pivotal and shrewd role of Jean-Louis (the oyster farmer) should also not be forgotten. He is more than just a periphery character, but instead an important voice of reason and statue of moral purity with which to both judge, and then lead the group to redemption. He is our window into this world of opulence, like an ambassador for many of us viewing who fail to feel sorry for these spoilt, immature and quite abhorrently melodramatic characters. It’s partly down to the inclusion of this divisive role that makes Canet sprawling character drama a successful searching piece of film, which, regardless of class or age, takes you on a journey to the extremes of human emotions.
There’s an obvious nod towards films such as The Big Chill, Mes Meilleurs Copains and Un Elephant ca Tromp Enormement, but Canet openly admits these sources of inspiration, and has stated that he was always attempting to make a “friends movie.” His achievement in creating some of the most magnificently realistic looking friendships to ever grace the big screen is worthy of the highest praise. Apparently this feat was produced by insisting that all cast members spend two weeks prior to filming at the cabin the film was to be shot. He wanted them to learn each other’s mannerisms, as well as seemingly minute details, like where the knives and forks were kept. It clearly works, and at no point should you ever feel like you’re watching actors ‘pretending’ to get along. It’s this natural feeling atmosphere which ensures that the emotive traps set throughout the course of the film are truly effective.
With a runtime of 154 minutes, Little White Lies is perhaps guilty of being a little too self-indulgent. Some of the scenes are strung out far too long, giving the impression that the cast were having far too much fun filming to take into consideration the dwindling attention span of the audience. However, a film with such an extensive list of high profile stars was always going to be accused of either being too long, or guilty of under developing characters. The closing third, unfortunately, does suffer mildly because of this, and as tempers begin to flare and lessons start to be learnt, the impact is slightly diluted - Canet’s lofty ambition to tie up the high volume of loose ends results in an ever so slightly clumsy, and toothless final act.
As with his previous directorial work, Canet also still seems determined to show off his expansive record collection, through a heavy-handed use of non-diegetic sound. It’s used in an attempt to help amplify the feeling of certain scenes, and evoke a stronger emotional reaction than perhaps he feels comfortable achieving through simple dialogue and framing alone. It’s a negative viewpoint that’s incredibly subjective. Depending on your musical tastes, it’ll either come across as ingenious or momentarily cringe worthy. Yet a film built on a strong foundation of meticulous character development, viscerally beautiful cinematography and such rich ideas, as are present here, shouldn’t need such un-subtle devices to enhance the mood of key moments.
Like a modern day sitcom, but without the furious pace and mainstream sensibilities, Little White Lies may lack the thrill a minute, breakneck action of Tell No One, but is certainly no worse a film for it. What could have been a cluttered, pompous mess of a drama is instead an accomplished and immersive (if perhaps overly long) subtle blend of genuinely, laugh out loud comedy and effectively moving tragedy. Little White Lies will ultimately leave you feeling emotionally exhausted by the end - regardless of whether you’re an auteur of French cinema or not. PG
