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Film: Holy Money
Release date: 24th January 2011
Certificate: 15
Running time: 93 mins
Director: Maxime Alexandre
Starring: Aaron Stanford, Ben Gazzara, Karel Roden, Joaquim de Almeida, Valeria Solarin
Genre: Thriller
Studio: High Fliers
Format: DVD
Country: Italy/Belgium
This is a majority English-language release.
Holy Money tackles a story set in Italy touching on themes of immigration, loss of cultural heritage, religion, crime, and greed. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the film is the brainchild of a solicitor and a lawyer; however, unlike in the law courts, fate can play a big hand when miracles are involved.
The two protagonists are Anthony Tregonis (Aaron Stanford) and Dario Barattas (Luca Angeletti), childhood friends from an Italian immigrant community in London. The film starts with a funeral on a rainy day in England; Dario sleeps with the fishes after mysteriously dying in a car accident.
A flashback reveals Anthony writing a love letter for Dario to a woman called Charlotte (Suzanne Bertish), and when Anthony sees her at the funeral, he decides to track her down as things just don’t add up. She reveals that Dario had been playing her for money, and that his will, made only two days before his accident, states that newly bought land in Italy in the form of vineyards have been left to Anthony.
When an Italian stranger bangs on the door at five in the morning, making an offer for the land in cash, Anthony decides to go and see the vineyards for himself. He travels in his red Italian vintage convertible to Sant’Angelo, original hometown of the Tregonis and Barattas families, and where his promised land awaits. As it turns out, the wine made from the grapes on Anthony’s bequeathed vines is undrinkable, which leaves him to ponder why Dario bought the land in the first place.
After a spot of romance with Bianca (Valeria Solarino), caretaker of Anthony’s inn, he decides after all to stay in Sant’Angelo, and hatches a plan to put the town “on the map,” as Dario apparently always wanted. Without prosperous wine from the vines, he decides to construct a miracle in the little church on his land instead. However, the plan backfires, as many dodgy dealers near and far suddenly come out of the woodwork to obtain the land from Anthony, by whatever means possible…
With Holy Money comes the example of too many influences getting in the way of a good story; a story that incidentally comes from award-winning novelist Tonino Benacquista’s book Holy Smoke. When lawyer Gauthier Broze and solicitor Benedikt Van der Vorst read the novel, they thought it a good idea to buy the rights for the film; and it was a good idea – in theory. It has potential to be an entertaining exploit involving romance and intrigue with a twist, or a tongue-in-cheek romp about an Italian/Englishman around estranged Italian countryside; or even a deeper critique on Italian religious and mafia underworlds, but instead the film tries to incorporate all of these films in to one, creating a work of many genres with visible seams.
Nearly all films these days mix genres; it is a necessity to keep making new and entertaining films. We have rom-coms, the comedy-drama, action-adventures, crime-comedies, crime-dramas, etc. However, what is perhaps essential in achieving coherence and stability within genre mixing is the tone that is established and maintained throughout, and what confuses the tone in Holy Money lies in the acting, script and score.
Essentially it is a crime-thriller, but apparently no-one told leading actor Aaron Stanford. It seems his confusion doesn’t come from the plot’s ambiguous twists and turns, but the film itself. One minute he’s a cocky young Englishman denying his Italian roots, the next he’s frolicking around the backwoods of Italy swept off his feet in a romance, and by the end of the film, he’s reaping the just desserts of getting mixed up with criminals, mafia-lords and the Catholic church whilst he lies in a hospital bed with a bullet in his head. If Stanford approached each part of his character’s story as if he were in a crime-thriller, perhaps there wouldn’t be a problem, but instead the acting seems shallow and the tone is not maintained. He doesn’t play a believable character in the film, but an obvious actor in it.
Blame cannot be pinned on Stanford alone - after all, the script barely holds its own. Even Suzanne Bertish only just manages to portray her albeit brief part in the film without embarrassment. It could all lie in the Italian/Belgian production of a predominantly English script, and we have a case of (talent) lost in translation. The music also confuses the audience as to what kind of film they are watching. A thriller needs suspense; fast, slow, teetering music to match the action, but instead there’s a soft, endearing, repetitive guitar melody that wouldn’t be out of place in a light-hearted family caper, and it’s more annoying than charming!
Holy Money proves that although you may have a darn good story on paper, it won’t be enough to plonk a film on top if you haven’t got the matching skill and capacity in production. The potential was lost in this film somewhere between Italy and Belgium, or perhaps just misplaced in the script. What’s for certain is that Benaquista’s book seems a better bet for entertainment value. MI
Film: Equinox Flower
Release date: 17th January 2011
Certificate: U
Running time: 118 mins
Director: Yasujiro Ozu
Starring: Shin Saburi, Kinuyo Tanaka, Ineko Arima, Yoshiko Kuga, Keiji Sada
Genre: Comedy/Drama
Studio: BFI
Format: DVD
Country: Japan
It was only after his death in 1963 that the films of Japanese director Yasujiro Ozu began to be widely appreciated in the west, and he is now held in high esteem by the likes of Mike Leigh, Jim Jarmusch and Wim Wenders. This dual format disc containing two of Ozu’s best loved films shows how important the twin themes of family and the impermanence of life and culture was to the influential director. There Was A Father (1942) and Equinox Flower (1958) both explore shifting family dynamics to quietly powerful effect.
Ozu’s first colour film, 1958’s Equinox Flower, is probably the pick of the two films; a slyly amusing comedy starring Shin Saburi as Wataru Hirayama, an old-fashioned father and businessman who is in for a nasty surprise when he discovers that his eldest daughter has decided to marry a man he and his wife know nothing about.
Mr Hirayama (somehow it seems inappropriate, given his character, to refer to him by his first name) is a likeable but deeply paternalistic man who believes that is his task, with the support of his dutiful wife, to arrange marriages for his daughters.
Mr Hirayama is aware that Japan is changing and that the traditions he holds dear are not as important to the younger generation, but when it his own daughter challenging him he finds it difficult to adapt.
Eventually, however, and partly due to a little deviously amusing trickery on the part of a younger female relative, he begrudgingly accepts that his daughter’s will is her own.
Earlier film There Was A Father (packaged as a bonus feature) is a 1942 wartime drama about the relationship between a similarly straight-laced father, Shuhei Horikawa (Chishu Ryu), and his son Ryohei.
Shuhei is a widower and teacher who decides to quit his profession following a tragic boating accident. This change sets in motion a series of events that will separate Shuhei from his young son, with the tearful youngster carted off to boarding school.
As the years go by, and Ryohei reaches adulthood, he realises that his father made great sacrifices in order to give him the best possible education, but he still yearns to spend more time with him…
In some ways, particularly in terms of its visual style, Equinox Flower appears far ahead of its time. Ozu is known as a director who refused to pander to Hollywood conventions relating to both visual techniques and narrative structure, and Equinox Flower has a highly distinctive look that owes much to the ‘tatami shot’ that Ozu pioneered; a low shot named after the tatami mats used in Japanese homes to sit on, and beautifully composed static or near static shots that linger on the screen, highlighting the visually arresting geometry of domestic and urban spaces.
The use of colour is also important, especially the contrast between the rich, warm colours in the shots of domestic interiors and the more intense colours of commercial signs in the city. This contrast isn’t just a visual device; it draws attention to the shift from traditional to modern values that is central to the film’s story and Mr Hirayama’s dilemma.
For its time, the acting seems wonderfully understated, even in the film’s more comic moments, or when Mr Hirayama is responding with petulant anger to his daughter’s refusal to submit to his will. The humour in Equinox Flower is subtle but pointed; in one particularly enjoyable scene that redefines the notion of toilet humour. Mr Hirayama, unable to continue listening to an annoying woman’s incessant chatter about her attempts to arrange a marriage for her daughter, politely excuses himself by claiming he needs to go the toilet, then heads straight back to his office to escape her babbling.
The performances in There Was A Father are similarly understated, but in place of comedy there is an aching sense of loss, of physical distance between father and son, but also of love and connectedness. In spite of living far from one another for many years, there is a strong bond between father and son that is evident even when they are apart.
There Was A Father does show its age more than Equinox Flower, not simply because it was shot in black-and-white, but because the best print available has deteriorated over time, to the point that the sound quality is sometimes quite poor, and the film scratchy. Even so, it’s interesting to see an earlier example of Ozu’s work; one that shares the underlying thematic focus of his later work.
If you’re interested in Asian cinema of the past and want an introduction to one of Japan’s most influential and respected directors, this double bill is a great place to start. Ozu’s films are clearly rooted in the Japanese experience, but his explorations of family life have a universal appeal that transcends time and place. JG
Series: Blade Of The Immortal - Volume 3
Release date: 10th January 2011
Certificate: 15
Running time: 100 mins
Director: Koichi Mashimo
Starring: N/a
Genre: Anime
Studio: MVM
Format: DVD
Country: Japan
The third volume of Koichi Mashimo’s Blade Of The Immortal anime, an adaptation of the manga series of the same name by Hiroaki Samura, brings the first series to a close with four climatic episodes.
The volume sees the immortal samurai Manji and Rin, the young girl he has vowed to protect, continue on their quest to find and kill the members of the Ittō-ryū to satisfy Rin’s thirst for revenge following the murder of her mother and father at the hands of the rogue dojo’s leaders…
In the first episode of the volume, the tenth of the series, Mask Of Change, our heroes take a welcome break from the action-packed slaughter of the previous few episodes and enjoy the surroundings of a festival. A chance encounter with a mask maker at the festival and his son leads to an unusual confrontation with one of the Ittō-ryū who raped Rin’s mother.
At times the dialogue in Blade Of The Immortal can become clunky in its unremitting attempt to be at all times profoundly exploring the meaning of life and death, revenge and forgiveness, yet the patient discussion over tea between Rin and Araya Kawakami is full of heartfelt truth on both sides and builds to a tense finale.
The viewers patience is paid off, too, as Manji arrives in time to bring his no-nonsense badass stab-first-talk-later attitude to bear in the next episode, and the fight at close quarters with short blades is just as exhilarating and well conceived in terms of animation and direction as any battle in previous episodes.
The animation continues to be solid and engaging, with clever tropes well used and not over-relied on, and the combat scenes imaginatively designed. As one might expect for an anime about an immortal samurai carrying such a vast array of sharp objects as Manji does, the series is no stranger to gushing blood and violence. However, the creative fight sequences, relieved by affecting exchanges of dialogue between the protagonists and those they meet on the road never allow the violence to become mundane.
This is particularly true in the concluding episodes of the volume when, having retreated to the country to train, Rin encounter’s Anotsu, the Ittō-ryū’s ambitious leader and the ruthless architect of her family’s murder. As in the previous encounter with the mask maker, the dialogue delves deeper in to the past and the reasons behind the Ittō-ryū’s rise to power.
One of the triumph’s of Koichi Mashimo’s adaptation of the story is his ability to build the tension to a simmer and keep it there, almost without being noticed, only to surge forth and award meditation with energetic fight scenes; his ability to engage the audience equally in the musings of Anotsu on the philosophy of the sword, as he does in the rampaging combat of Manji. Mashimo combines in Blade Of The Immortal both these stalwarts of samurai anime, and this volume will satisfy any true aficionado of the genre. A particular scene where Anotsu’s mastery of gentle violence, the paradox of fighting philosophy, is deftly demonstrated shows him slicing falling leaves with a colossal axe. The set piece is indicative of the whole volume: it looks cool, but suggests a little something to reveal below the surface. This suggestion comes from the presence of Rin who watches on unnoticed.
Blade Of The Immortal has more to offer beyond sword swinging and an appreciation of martial arts theory, and it is Rin who ties the combat scenes and an abstract admiration of the minutiae of swordplay to something more real. Her quest for revenge, her fluctuating self-doubt and assurance, make her the emotional heart of the story, acting as a foil to Manji’s jaded cynic, and thus driving him and the narrative forward. The interaction of the two gets a little more screen time in this unhurried volume, providing humour and a hint of affection, adding another layer to the slowly more complex characters.
Although the dialogue is suitably mystical and dreamy for the subject matter, it is sometimes overly so, and could do with pairing back slightly. So, too, with Kô Ôtani’s soundtrack; it helps to juxtapose the fighting and the more measured scenes of dialogue, and makes effectively haunting use of traditional shamisen music, yet it can be obtrusive, especially when the traditional makes way for modern driving guitar typical of anime combat.
The slight flaw of sometimes over-egging it is less prevalent in this final volume, which makes it all the more watchable as the charm of its animation, story and characters are allowed to shine the brighter.
Blade Of The Immortal is definitely at its best when embracing this less is more philosophy, and the final volume of the series is testament to that. The measured pace of the series finale is against the grain of concluding episodes generally, denying an explosive cliff-hanger, yet achieves the same aims admirably. The audience are left with a thirst for more; we have been allowed to peek at certain things, shown possible directions the characters may take, and tantalised rather than let down by an anti-climatic final showdown. There has been no word as yet of a second series, which would be a great shame – the third volume is an improvement, but it is not the polished finished article yet, so it would be great to see where it can be taken. GC
Film: Man Hunt
Release date: 31st January 2011
Certificate: PG
Running time: 106 mins
Director: Fritz Lang
Starring: Walter Pidgeon,
Joan Bennett, George Sanders
Genre: Drama/Thriller
Studio: Optimum
Format: DVD
Country: USA
This is an English-Language release.
In June 1941, the United States was still reluctant to be drawn into the conflicts raging in Europe and Asia; it’s hard to imagine, therefore, how their cinema audiences reacted to Austrian born Fritz Lang’s controversial film Man Hunt, based on Geoffrey Household’s novel ‘Rogue Male’, especially as Hollywood’s self-censorship board already strongly objected to the picture’s supposed lack of balance.
Alan Thorndike (Pidgeon), dressed in full hunter garb, clutches a powerful rifle in his hand; he has in his sights a target that needs no introduction: Hitler, relaxing at his mountain retreat. Thorndike pulls the trigger, but no shot rings out, because this is a ‘sporting shoot’ - the thrill is all in the chase.
Loading the gun with a real bullet, Thorndike is discovered by a guard, who beats him unconscious. Awaking in the custody of Major Quive-Smith (Sanders), he is threatened with torture unless he falsely confesses to being an assassin sent by the British government.
Refusing and left for dead, Thorndike escapes with the help of a cabin boy aboard a Danish hauler. Safely back in London, he is still pursued by the adversary, but a chance meeting with prostitute Jerry Stokes (Joan Bennett) gives him the upper hand, and maybe another reason to survive…
It’s certainly worth pointing out that Lang had been Germany’s leading filmmaker (Metropolis, M) before he ditched the country, along with his wife Thea Von Harbou, a party member of the Nazis, in 1934. His views could easily have been forced down the throats of movie-goers (he went on to make four anti-Nazi films), but instead he concentrated on storytelling, and although the resulting film must’ve given him great pleasure, Man Hunt still captivates not because of hindsight, but because of its substance, structure and style.
The opening scene isn’t as powerful as it would’ve been back in the 1940s but it’s still a fascinating trigger, merely because it could’ve taken the script into realms of fantasy Lang wasn’t afraid to explore. That’s not to say it’s a disappointing outcome, even if time gone by suggests Thorndike’s decision-making leaves a lot to be desired.
The slow and deliberate introduction is arguably the film’s finest moment, ruined slightly by the sudden cutaway during Thorndike’s scuffle with the soldier. Starting so well is obviously a problem, because what you’re left with is Pidgeon’s character being hunted and harassed whilst he does everything in his power to avoid confrontation. But, other than an impressively tense scene in the Underground, there’s little here that rivals the thrills of the opening gambit.
Luckily, Joan Bennett manages to solve such a problem with a character that annoys and delights in equal measure – that is, until she finally manages to win the audience over with an innocence that rivals Hepburn. With her infuriating cockney accent long since forgotten, replaced by an impassioned presence difficult to resist (especially for Lang, who would hire her for another three roles), Bennett turns this controversial thriller into a will-they-won’t-they-get-together romantic drama, with an ending more Roman Holiday than Breakfast At Tiffany’s.
Walter Pidgeon, tall, dark and handsome, also excels as the leading man, and although he frustrates at times, with his character’s inability to recognise a gorgeous woman when she’s standing in front of him, misunderstood prostitute or not, he does ooze charm and much comedic Englishness. So much so, a seemingly worthless scene in which Bennett and Pidgeon eat fish and chip has more chemistry dripping off the screen than grease soaking the newspaper it was wrapped in. A shame, then, that Thorndike would rather read the headlines.
As would Lang, who throughout decides to let the audience think the worst rather than show it. A scene involving Thorndike, being grilled post beating, is strange because there is one long static shot of the chief tormentor, while other characters are mere silhouettes, and only a shadow of the chair Thorndike is strapped into protruding the bottom right hand corner of the screen. It’s a bit like having rubbish theatre tickets, with a pillar obstructing half of the stage. Interesting, yes, as is the opening in which a word of dialogue isn’t spoken for almost ten minutes, but the chase scenes are handled in a more user-friendly manner, whether it’s dogs or the ‘walking corpses’ stalking our main protagonist; the latter including an impressively electrifying finale on the tracks.
Why Thorndike suddenly decided to load the gun and take a shot at Hitler is never made clear, and his constant denial throughout the rest of the movie doesn’t sit right, so instead of seeking revenge for what happened to him, he takes it on the chin like a frustrating English gentleman would. It would be nice to see him get a little angry every once in a while, and viewers will also be disappointed with Lang’s decision to discard the romance, even if the couple’s parting is a highlight.
Lang’s London has never looked more creepy, but shadows don’t hide everything, and this engaging thriller is let down by merely passable thrills, an abandoned romance, and a hero more chilled than a pint of Becks on a winter’s day. DW
Film: Peepli [Live]
Release date: 31st January 2011
Certificate: 15
Running time: 107 mins
Director: Anusha Rizvi
Starring: Omkar Das Manikpuri, Raghubir Yadav, Nawazuddin Siddiqui, Shalini Vatsa, Farrukh Jaffer
Genre: Comedy/Drama
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD
Country: India
Suicide; it gets attention. Not least for the hero of Peepli [Live], a directing debut from newcomers Anusha Rizvi and Mahmood Farooqui. In a surprisingly upbeat drama, they build a solid foundation for what may well turn into a lucrative career in film.
Natha and Budhia are a pair of mild-mannered brothers living in rural India; like the rest of their village, they make their living from farming. But when the local authorities threaten to repossess their land, it is left to them to come up with a solution.
With national elections pending, politicians are currying favour. Recognising the hardship of farming, a scheme has been implemented that does offer rural families an aid, but also betrays the materialism of India’s rich and powerful. 100,000 rupees is the price put on any farmer’s life, should he resort to taking his own life. Like countless others, the brothers have realised that it is with this programme that their answer lies. Worth more dead than alive, Natha decides to join the growing trend for suicide and vows to end his life.
Unexpected pressure comes crashing down upon the protagonist when the press, naïve and ignorant of their neighbours’ strife, catch wind of his plight and see dollar signs. Suddenly the unsuspecting farmer, who has never even seen a camera, finds himself in the midst of a savage media frenzy. Overwhelmed, the humble farmer determines to make a getaway...
Modest and unassuming, the directors acknowledge their country’s situation in a pleasingly refreshing way. They are well aware that the world’s woes have been explored in countless other films, books, plays and paintings, and they neatly avoid falling into the trap of exhaustion. Peepli [Live] is simply an admission of India’s tragic poverty and does not seek to make an original statement or find an answer, and for this, viewers will surely be grateful.
Just as Natha becomes the vehicle for the predatory journalists and exploitative politicians amongst India’s cosmopolitan classes, he also provides an outlet for his creators to express their cynicism at the industry into which they are breaking. Again, Rizvi and Farooqui touch upon the ruthless greed of the media without reiterating opinions that we have all heard and probably share. After all, what’s the use in preaching to the converted?
A pleasingly upbeat film, Peepli [Live] is full of the fresh energy that its directors bring. Rather than dwelling on the bleak side, the protagonists and their peers are not victims in this story. India is in fact commemorated: music penetrates the narrative, for example. Whether through its joyful soundtrack or characters mumbling lyrics and humming tunes to themselves, faith is admirably conveyed through music. Verses recognise the country’s poverty and inequality, but also celebrate its vibrant aspirations. Despite the unjust privation experienced by its poor, India’s population is strong and appreciative. For audiences, Peepli [Live] is not only a brief lesson in socio-economics, but also about themselves, for Rizvi and Farooqui even encourage a little personal reflection.
A well-made film, this debut is impressively slick and seamless. There is little to challenge audiences other than their own reaction to the facts presented, and because of this, Peepli [Live] has a liberating sense of freedom about it. Natha’s adventure is carried out almost light-heartedly, and there are undeniable moments of unanticipated comic relief. It is difficult not to enjoy one of India’s latest offerings to cinema, for it is truly accessible to all.
Peepli [Live] is ultimately a tale of tragedy, set against what is really quite a harrowing backdrop. But rather than moping in misery, Rizvi and Farooqui take an unusually optimistic approach - although humour isn’t forced and they don’t fall into the realms of satire. Instead, their collaboration is a gentle taste of the reality faced by thousands. More than a socio-political commentary, though, Peepli [Live] is a story in its own right, which everyone can appreciate. RS
Film: Missing
Release date: 31st January 2011
Certificate: 18
Running time: 99 mins
Director: Kim Sung-hong
Starring: Chu Ja-hyeon, Ha Min-hee, Heo Gi-ho, Hwang Eun-jeong, Jeon Se-hong
Genre: Thriller
Studio: Cine Asia
Format: DVD
Country: South Korea
A staggering statistic reveals that 154,000 people go missing in Korea every year, and of those, only about 1600 live to tell the tale. How they came to this figure is a mystery in itself, but it’s no surprise director Kim Sung-hong (Say Yes, The Hole) decided to use it as a premise for his latest film, imaginatively titled Missing.
A travelling couple decide to stop off at a farm to taste the legendary chicken soup on sale there, only to be attacked by recluse Pan-gon, who ruthlessly murders the man and imprisons the girl in the basement.
It isn’t long before his dark secrets are revealed, along with the arrival of a worried woman concerned over her sister’s disappearance.
A trail of evidence may point toward the farm, but with a local police force unwilling to help, the only way of saving her sister is to confront social outcast Pan-gon alone…
Missing opens with a mawkish sequence in which the male film director, scouting for possible locations and travelling with actress Hyun-ah, gets more than just chicken soup down his neck. But for all the unpleasant scenarios that follow during the first act, this sits out of place and could easily put viewers off with its seen-it-all-before lack of originality. It’s therefore safe to stick with Kim Sung-hong’s slow-paced horror, but only up to a point.
The level of discomfort is certainly set most efficiently during the opening exchanges, in which Hyun-ah is chained like a dog, disturbingly stuffed with birthday cake (notably with three candles), hosed clean and given a box of matches she inevitably wastes through fear of the unknown. Slow-paced and extremely credible, Missing is effectively horrible - and promises much more than it will ultimately deliver.
It’s a shame, because there are still some good moments that follow: Pan-gon taking on more than he, but certainly not his sex slave Hyun-ah, can chew; his hilarious reasoning for returning a pretty dress intended for one of the deceased, wishing to exchange it for another size and another victim because, by his own admittance, “she’s lost some weight;” and a well-orchestrated scene that will make you think twice before purchasing a corn-fed chicken.
Sadly, these rare moments of enjoyment are fleeting to say the least – instead, Sung-hong prefers the method of peppering a film with ridiculous one-liners, characters talking to themselves and frustratingly inept oddballs: “Did he (Pan-gon) really do something?” questions one of the police officers when he’s by himself. Hyun-ah is more guilty than most though, constantly talking to her sister who is nowhere to be seen – a perfect, and extremely lazy excuse to then cut to her sibling’s desperate search each and every time.
The laughable dialogue doesn’t let up. “Where is she? My sister – is she alive?” begins another annoying conversation, this time between the distraught sister and Pan-gon. “Isn’t it a bit cramped for two?” he replies to a protagonist clearly reading a different book let alone the right page. She responds with a confused “So?” before Pan-gon gets just as frustrated as the audience and finally spells it out to her. The best is saved until last, though, when another couple arrives at the farm, hoping to sample some of that famous chicken soup. Pan-gon explains to them that since his mother died nobody has been around to cook it, and the lady responds with, “I’m so sorry – she was well three years ago.”
Other than the drivel being spat out, a police force that are so useless drains any enthusiasm the viewer may have left, summed up by another cracking line delivered to the worried sister when she questions their lack of motivation.“Suspect someone suspicious,” they tell her, defending the misunderstood villager.
A bold twist halfway through proceedings pays off, if only to distract briefly, but all too often characters are introduced for no purpose whatsoever – they aren’t even chickenfeed - while an ending that is supposed to be clever reminds you of what came before, and how annoyingly pointless the entire experience was. It may look grim, and the effects compliment the action with gory satisfaction, but you’ll need more than a strong stomach to negotiate a tiresome script, which is funny for all the wrong reasons.
Out of the 1600 people that go missing but live to tell the tale, you would’ve hoped that someone had a better story than this. Opening well, with some unsettling moments, Missing soon loses any credibility with terrible dialogue, a lack of originality, and characters that move the story forward by talking to themselves - dire. DW
Series: Bamboo Blade: Series 1 - Part 2
Release date: 31st January 2011
Certificate: PG
Running time: 170 mins
Director: Hisashi Saito
Starring: N/a
Genre: Anime
Studio: Manga
Format: DVD
Country: Japan
The second half of Bamboo Blade Series 1 offers more in the way of surreal comedy and outrageous action. After an impressive first half, does the anime adaptation of Masahiro Totsuka’s manga maintain the quality?
Sensei Toraji’s all-girl kendo team are chasing the goal of reaching the national championships. But the road to glory is paved with injuries, treachery, deceit, protective fathers, quiz game shows and threats of disbandment.
Facing conflict on and off the mat, can the Muroe High kendo girls maintain their focus and team unity?
When the doors of Muroe High open up, a viewer feels like he or she has attended there themselves, such is the vividness with which Saito and his writers bring to life their quirky cast of characters, and their equally quirky dramatic precinct. The series balances recognisable teen conflicts and trials with exciting action, and the cast of characters ensures that what could have been a one-joke, rather high concept simply never runs out of steam.
The juxtaposition of sweet looking and sounding teenage girls indulging a love for kendo never gets old. The series maintains a consistent level of fun that makes the episodes breeze by, as well as an impressive balance between action and surrealism. Saito doesn’t just break the fourth wall in this series - he bulldozes right through it, pulling out seemingly every trick from the animation bag. Characters shrink and de-age to reflect inferior status in conversation; comedic asides are almost bewildering non-sequiturs (think Family Guy, or even the classic 1980s British sitcom The Young Ones - only madder); and subtexts of scenes are given visible metaphorical treatment.
While the experience is initially overwhelming, the series settles into a delightful groove, with occasional knowing, deadpan winks to its outrageous happenings (“Did you hear something go boom?”/“There’s something black coming from that direction…” ). The quieter moments are just as, if not more, effective (such as Tamaki’s adorable panic about DVR-ing her favourite TV programmes over the weekend she’ll be at training camp). The filmmakers are clearly having fun, and want to share that fun with their viewer, but the efforts they make to flesh out the characters ensures audience empathy is high.
It is the surrealism that remains the most effective element of the series. ‘It’ girl Miya-miya is perhaps the embodiment of the series’ fascinating contradictions/juxtapositions. In a series that could very easily get by as a classroom comedy about plucky young heroines we can root for, Miya-miya occasionally seems like she’s walked in from another (darker) series entirely - her manipulative acts accompanied by a black aura and asides to a giant snake, the audience is momentarily almost convinced that this schemer has magical powers.
In its high school setting, the series is extremely well observed, and consistently witty. Boy team-members Yuji and Dan-kun are reliable sources of humour. The latter especially, in his odd couple romantic pairing with Miya-miya (the sight of them together is a subtle visual gag that the filmmakers refrain from overplaying), and perennial position on the sidelines, is a delight. The relationships between the girls rings true, and the mixture of high-action and -farce with recognisable teenage/high school problems gives the series its continual momentum, where it could so easily have run out of steam. In addition, the bigness of the characters creates opportunities for the writers to throw out silly lines like “The sliminess is the best part of pool cleaning!” - the fun is infectious for older viewers, and the silliness of the comedy is pitched just right for younger ones. Bamboo Blade has genuine appeal across age-ranges and gender.
These characters are the cornerstone of the whole series. Tamaki, perhaps the closest to an actual heroine, is an endearing character with an intriguing home-life and relationship with her suspicious, overprotective father. Miya-miya strikes an enticing balance between loved-up and calculating. Then there’s the sensei character, Toraji. He is an interesting mentor figure in the sports/high school genre in that he’s a bit of a sad sack, with very little in the way of genuine wisdom or insight. In fact, most memorable about him is his nerdy outlook (such as his abhorrence of 3D gaming - “Long live sprites” being one of the funnier lines in the series). On the surface, the series is a rather simple one, but the filmmakers wisely eschew making caricatures of any of their characters.
And herein lies the key to the success of Bamboo Blade as a series: a cast of characters with lives and backstories gently fleshed out over the course of the series. Episode by episode, we come to care about them all. An audience never has any trouble cheering for the Muroe High kendo team.
Freely mixing styles and tone with characters that are alternately over-the-top and understated, Bamboo Blade should not work, and yet somehow does. Consistently funny, and often touching, it is a delight from start-to-finish. A second series is a highly desirable prospect. JN
Film: Jungle Burger
Release date: 31st January 2011
Certificate: 18
Running time: 79 mins
Director: Picha, Boris Szulzinger
Starring: John Belushi, Billy Murray, Christopher Guest, Johnny Weissmuller Jr.
Genre: Animation
Studio: Lace
Format: DVD
Country: France/Belgium
This is an English-Language release.
As the first foreign-animated film to receive an X-rating and a wide distribution in the United States, Jungle Burger (or Tarzoon: Shame Of The Jungle as it’s known outside of the UK) has quite the reputation. With voice acting by comedy legends John Belushi and Bill Murray, and created by cartoonists Picha and Boris Szulzinger, Jungle Burger is an outrageous play on the Tarzan novels by Edgar Rice Burroughs.
Deep in the heart of the African jungle lives Shame – a timid, weak and sexually impaired ape-man with his mate, the sexually demanding and mostly nude June. But elsewhere, the evil Queen Bazonga is looking to take over the world, if she can get rid of her baldness first!
Her underlings agree that the best course of action is a scalp transplant, and June is chosen as the most suitable match. June is subsequently kidnapped, and it is up to Shame to race to Bazonga’s lair and save the day! Along the way Shame goes must go head to head with hunters, cannibals and a legion of anthropomorphic penises if he is to save his mate and put a stop to the Queen.
In 1976, Tarzoon: Shame Of The Jungle and its French distributor, 20th Century Fox, faced a lawsuit from Tarzan creator Edgar Rice Burroughs for alleged plagiarism. The case was unsuccessful as it was found to be a legitimate parody. The film was subsequently brought over to the United States in 1978 and, following a reedit and dub, released under an R-rating. Once again it faced lawsuits from the Burroughs estate, and the film was forced to drop the ‘Tarzoon’ in its name…
It’s clear almost immediately that Jungle Burger is devoted to delivering visual humour non-stop rather than a witty narrative. Within the first five minutes, the film has already descended into a mosquito raping a fly and racist stereotypes of jungle aborigines – and the film doesn’t get any cleverer from there. From a masturbating chimpanzee to semen-firing penis soldiers, Jungle Burger really scrapes the bottom of the barrel for laughs. Not only that, but several scenes are horrifically drawn out to the point where if the viewer were finding them funny to begin they would have lost all effect by the time they finish. It doesn’t take long for jokes to start being recycled either, which immediately gives the idea that the filmmakers were merely making something for the X-rated factor than something that could be genuinely funny.
Jungle Burger has the potential to be a strong parody of Tarzan. Portraying Shame as a clumsy weakling instead of an athletic, masculine hero, and June as a sexually strong female lead instead of a token damsel in distress are interesting role reversals. Unfortunately, this is about as close to Tarzan as it gets, opting not to create any further parallels in favour of its own brand of toilet humour. With that in mind, Jungle Burger is actually at its funniest when it is parodying other animated features rather than the Tarzan fiction. Moments include a nude Flintstones-esque shower sequence with an elephant and a bizarre cameo by Belgian cartoon superstar Tintin.
The characters are thin and one dimensional, and aside from Shame, June, Queen Bazonga and main henchman Charles of the Pits have an average screen-time of about five to ten minutes. It’s impossible to engage with most of the characters due to the sheer lack of dialogue in the film (and in some cases, the dialogue is almost incomprehensible). The voice talents of comedy legends Murray and Belushi go to complete waste, and if their names weren’t on the film’s credits it would be difficult to identify them in the first place. The only real highlight character-wise is Charles of the Pits – a crazed two headed beautician who seems all too aware that he’s starring in a cartoon.
There’s not a lot to say about the animation either – it’s about as crude and basic as an animated film can get. The characters are simple and the backgrounds mostly amount to simply one colour at a time. However, this actually compliments the film given its simplicity in both structure and intelligence.
Jungle Burger is lewd, crude and vulgar – and it has no shame in being so. Those with the most juvenile sense of humour may find some entertaining factor, but even then, most will be left confused by what on Earth they had just watched. A forgotten relic that’s best left in the past. AJ
Film: Good Morning
Release date: 17th January 2011
Certificate: U
Running time: 205 mins
Director: Yasujiro Ozu
Starring: Keiji Sada, Yoshiko Kuga, Chishû Ryû, Kuniko Miyake, Haruko Sugimura
Genre: Comedy/Drama
Studio: BFI
Format: DVD
Country: Japan
In a world where the mundane hides meaning, it’s what’s left unspoken that is most poignant. Communication and real people is what Yasujirô Ozu listlessly investigates in his recently re-released Good Morning, an engaging snatch of life in a mediocre Japanese community.
How does a filmmaker plot real life? Minimally, if they use Ozu’s approach. The narrative is threadbare, almost to the point on non-existence. Although it is scripted, ‘documentary’ springs to mind.
Whilst schoolboys are busy envying each other and making vows of silence, their mothers are occupied with finger pointing when the Women’s Group’s fees go missing - but more to the point, Mrs Haraguchi has a new washing machine! Her recent acquisition certainly ruffles a few feathers, and gives the women something to cluck about, even incurring accusations between mother and daughter. Gossip and bickering is consistent, but no-one ever really listens to each other, much less take action.
Upon beginning the film, viewers may expect this saga to come to a climactic conclusion after an hour or so of tension. A solution is reached, but not with the drama that other directors would feel obliged to create.
In addition to the money mystery, Ozu inserts a few subplots, which resemble frivolous anecdotes more than narratives. Two young brothers get up to harmless antics and demand a television set from their parents like their friends have. A pensioner is driven back to work to cover the cost of living. A bachelor and a young lady are on the cusp of a relationship, only they’re too scared to admit it. But isn’t it these little things that make life what it is?
That is why Good Morning forms such a strong bond with the viewer; establishing a shared understanding. Ozu presents audiences with a candidly dull account of life, which is thoroughly universal and timeless. To the onlooker who watches from the outside, nothing really happens, but actually an awful lot does go on within. Take the budding couple, for example - who hasn’t felt that silent swell of excitement and affection for another person at some point in their life? Those uneventful family meals that host squabbling siblings and trifling inconveniences have undoubtedly been lived by audience members. Ozu engages on a level seldom seen in the arts for fear of boring the consumer; but in this case, its very monotony is what makes the film memorable.
If the characters’ lack of purpose is most striking within the film, then cinematic style holds the fort without. Over the course of the film, it will dawn on viewers how effectively these two matters work together here, strengthening the laborious pace that is established from the start. Static cameras and an overall omission of movement may initially go undetected - one of those clever techniques which manages to create effect without drawing attention to itself – but when the finger finally lands on what exactly is feeding this atmosphere, it adds to the intentional frustration at lack of progress within the narrative.
Camera angles also feel odd and bizarre. Viewers frequently find themselves on the floor, watching the feet of characters who enter and exit the scene reminding them of Japanese culture. Cinematographer Yûharu Atsuta truly makes his presence known, however, through a peculiar obsession with straight lines and right angles; a visual clue to Ozu’s study of conformity. Interior design, patterns on clothing, and the village layout are dominated by squares and rectangles, and should just one of those lines be broken, it would immediately ruin the entire shot. This is equally the case within Ozu’s community, where change is an alien concept. This highly structured and rather artificial environment is also reflected in characters’ movement. Controlled to the point of choreography, paths rarely meet on the street so that characters are always alone, just missing the chance to interact with others.
Whilst the tedium of life makes Good Morning as applicable today as when it was made, several traits also mark it as a film of its time. That phobia of individuality dates and locates it perfectly, but so do other trivialities. Made at the end of the 1950s, the decade’s leap forward in technology is addressed here with implications of progress and youth; afterall, the other invention that the ‘50s saw was the advent of adolescence. Good Morning bears witness to a generational split, emphasised by the reoccurrence of gadgets. Whilst some are swayed by “idiot boxes” and appliances, others are struggling to resist the wind of change, determined to uphold their traditionally familiar home. But Ozu seems to maintain that technology is the way forward, for that pensioner who returns to work is doing so as an electrical salesman.
Also included on the re-release of Good Morning is one of Ozu’s earlier efforts, I Was Born, But… , a compelling coming-of-age story and a powerful statement on overwhelming capitalism.
I Was Born, But… centres around a middle-class version of the families we see in Good Morning, complete with two inseparable brothers who learn a massive life lesson. This family, however, are driven by what the later family lack: a determination to succeed and become “important.” The father works for a powerful company beneath his manager, whom he makes every effort to charm, for what is ambition and achievement without promotion?
His passion for prominence has inevitably been engrained on the minds of his sons, who evidently feel pressure on their own academic performance. A spanner is thrown into the works, however, by the school bullies. The playground predators make school life intolerable, spurring the miserable brothers to sacrifice their grades and skip classes.
Not only do their grades slip, but they also learn that their father might not practice exactly what he preached. The boys’ blind admiration is cast into doubt when they realise that dad isn’t as respectable as they were led to believe. In this humiliating scene, the boys’ acceptance by their peers, which they have worked - and paid - so hard to win, is also placed under threat; this is no minor problem to a child, nor in a society where approval means everything.
I Was Born, But… is a sceptical reflection of the domineering commercialism of the superficial West. The entire premise of the film is balanced upon the ruthless realities brought on by modern capitalism. Sadly, material achievement takes precedence over happiness and the young brothers’ rather touching introduction to this makes Ozu’s statement all the more brutal.
“Reality TV” is a term that has been thrown around for almost two decades, but Ozu was ahead of the game. Bravely admitting that reality isn’t all excitement, he even pre-dates the British Realism trend of the 1960s. Some may find comfort in his film’s modesty, reassurance that life doesn’t have to be all thrills. Others may choose to take it as a warning. Escapism certainly isn’t one of Good Morning’s allures, but empathy and insight might be. RS
Film: Certified Copy
Release date: 17th January 2010
Certificate: 12
Running time: 106 mins
Director: Abbas Kiarostami
Starring: Juliette Binoche, William Shimell, Jean-Claude Carrière, Agathe Natanson, Gianna Giachetti
Genre: Drama
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD & Blu-ray
Country: France/Italy/Iran
Like the vacant microphones which dominate the first still of Abbas Kiarostami’s Certified Copy, one feels like a lonely figure waiting to be broached; waiting for an unknown address from an unknown addressee. Throughout the film this feeling never really dies, since its two principal characters each take it in turns to validate their case, like barristers squabbling in a courtroom. And yet Certified Copy, as dialogue-heavy and briskly meditative it is as an assessment of what constitutes a committed relationship, is as fluid and engaging a disquisition as Kiarostami has produced since 1997’s Taste Of Cherry.
Those microphones stand for James Miller (Shimell), who is attending a conference to promote, recite, and discuss his book, ‘Copie Conforme’ (Certified Copy). As he charms the Tuscan audience with his ambivalence and dry, pronounced British humour, he also draws apparent enthusiast Elle (Binoche) into his gaze. After she quarrels with her young son about the extent of her feelings for James, they later meet inside the boutique that she owns, and embark on a day trip to a handsome nearby town.
When journeying to get to this town, their conversation in the car extends to intellectual debate based on James’s book, the philosophy of which is framed upon cultural artefacts: what makes one artefact authentic and another false? They appear to have opposing views, his disillusionment with celebrity mirrored with her embracing of the PR world. And as Elle berates her own friend Marie’s simplistic attitude towards realness, he reveals a pedantic, self-righteous streak in endeavouring to fight Marie’s corner, claiming a final, elitist word on the matter.
The increase of tension flaunts a degree of harvested resentment; she’s frustrated, he’s resigned, and we aren’t quite sure until halfway through the film quite why they’re acting in this way...
Kiarostami uses the basis of a book about authenticity to show conflicting views about what a relationship and a marriage means; whether relationships are a product of natural chemistry, or whether we construct them to suit our own needs and plug inherent insecurities. The cavalier (anti?) charm about Certified Copy is that the subjects at the head of it, James and Elle, are either theorising their real feelings to accommodate the context of their exchange, or regressing to idealistic views of romance. Each grows more direct and assertive as they learn how much they can give of themselves without being stung, and the dynamic of their dialogue grows more tumultuous and unpredictable with every passing frame.
Certified Copy becomes a fascinating study of relationships, of how we use different modes of address to assert our point-of-view, and to justify ourselves to each other. Binoche and Shimell’s canny ability to draw you into their interplay makes the film vibrant and stimulating as an intellectual standoff, keenly mysterious in alluding to how emotional connection can devolve into figurative deadness. Even the quaint Tuscan hideaway that they peruse, with its dotted galleries and towering antiquity, becomes more of a weapon to the couple than a distraction - a method of instilling ideological sentiment into an emotional outlet that feels all but extinct. Art becomes the subjective canvas on which they coat their philosophies and belief systems, either through frustration towards the other, or to confirm to themselves that their lives aren’t an exception to a rule.
Binoche gives Elle startling complexity, flirting with the active courage of a teenager, and cunningly baying James to play along in her playground fantasy. She colours her impassioned silent hope with bitter self-realised existential crisis, painfully unable to quash the mentality that keeps her family in a tentatively ephemeral state.
Certified Copy recalls the recently-released Blue Valentine in its display of a disintegrated romance that may have failed through being formed upon impulsivity and false perceptions, but rather than show the car crash, Kiarostami’s film is more about picking up the pieces and confronting one’s own failures. Particularly in Elle’s case, it feels as though she’s trying to find if her grievous loss is genuine: whether she’s mourning for something that ever existed, or if it all began as a result of mismatched agendas.
Gorgeously crafted and expertly played, Certified Copy achieves profound worth at generating back-story through spirited cajoling, even as deeper motives lie underneath the exterior. Such is the depth of each exchange between James and Elle, one can see a single scene of this succeeding as a short film, with enough tiny inflections of hollow affection to allude to years of unspoken contempt. What begins as a resurrection turns into a fatal re-enactment, and finally a sorrowful lament. The film’s title says it all: never has an imitation of a marriage felt so true. CR
Film: Baaría
Release date: 10th January 2011
Certificate: 15
Running time: 144 mins
Director: Giuseppe Tornatore
Starring: Gaetano Aronica, Francesco Scianna, Margareth Madè, Raoul Bova, Giorgio Faletti, Leo Gullotta
Genre: Drama/Comedy/History/War
Studio: E1
Format: DVD
Country: Italy/France
As the opening feature of the 2009 Venice Film Festival and Italy’s official submission to the 82nd Academy Awards, hopes were high that Baaría would provide a much needed shot in the arm for the beleaguered Italian film industry. More than twenty years after Cinema Paradiso first charmed audiences throughout the world, Giuseppe Tornatore has made another film of sun-kissed nostalgia, this time armed with a star-filled cast and a £20 million budget.
Tomatore’s semi-autobiographical story is set in his hometown of Bagheria (known by the locals as Baaría), and depicts the lives of three generations of a family and the development of an entire city.
From the 1930s (Mussolini’s black shirts, financial hardship), the war years (bombers in shadow, liberating American soldiers), and the 1950s (communism, the mafia) up to the 1980s (shopping arcades, traffic everywhere), it follows the lives of Cicco, the shepherd, Peppino, his son the communist activist, and Pietro, his photographer grandson.
Focussing mainly on the charismatic Peppino, from his first romantic entanglements, his connection with the Communist Party and involvement in Italian politics, we see a young man growing old as the city changes. And the city, Tornatore suggests, is as much alive as the main character….
Tornatore's models are clearly Amarcord, Fellini's autobiographical masterwork about his boyhood in pre-war Rimini, Bertolucci's five-hour 1900, and Francesco Rosi's portrait of post-war Italy, and Three Brothers, posters of which dominate the scene in the early 1980s when Pietro leaves home to go to college on the mainland. Everything in Tornatore’s film aspires to the same epic grandeur. The camera pulls back to pan out and soar above the expensively constructed sets, Morricone’s score rises up with it, famous faces from Italian cinema pop up in cameo and lead roles amongst the vast cast of extras - everything is designed to tell us that we are watching a big film. The cumulative effect is more reductive than anything. It looks like a masterpiece, but it’s a superficial resemblance. Disjointed and promising much more than it actually delivers, Baaría feels like a two-and-a-half hour trailer for a movie which never truly comes into view.
In the end, Baaría received the Pasinetti Award from Venice, but missed out on the Golden Lion (usually reserved for more serious, innovative cinema) and came away empty-handed from the same American awards where Cinema Paradiso had won an Oscar in 1989. In trying to please the notoriously auteur-favouring Venice, while maintaining his crowd-pleasing brand of sentimentality, Baaría feels conflicted. There’s a cautionary tale there in trying to be all things to all men, for somewhere along the line Tornatore’s vision may have become lost.
It is a shame as there is much in Baaría that is good. Tornatore has unearthed two stars in the making in his two good looking leads, Francesco Scianna and Margareth Madè. Beautiful photography from cinematographer Enrico Lucidi is complemented by the lovely art direction and production design of Maurizo Sabatini and Cosimo Gomez. There are some nice images, some inventive set-pieces; but, crucially, nothing that really stays with us afterwards. Ultimately, by charting the history of a family and a city, the film feels overstretched. There’s too much history, too many characters, and too many complications.
Though charming and often funny, Baaría is more than anything marked by superficiality. Tornatore attempts to disguise it by alluding to great themes with heavy artistic moments (dreamlike sequences, sweeping shots over vista landscapes, slow motion), but inevitably the superficiality shows up. That Tornatore is a sentimentalist is well known, but here we get sentimental without sentiment. The movie touches upon a number of weighty issues (love and marriage, family, poverty and exploitation, the conflict between communism and Catholicism, the weight of tradition, and slowness of social change) but is content merely to touch the surface; its ideas never brought to fruition, nothing to make us think. It’s filled with paradoxes like this, in the discrepancy between what the film promises and what it delivers. A supposedly personal piece about the director’s hometown which feels like the work of a foreigner, a product catering to a foreigner’s idea of Sicily gleaned second-hand from other movies. The work of an auteur, but curiously commercial and conventional in its execution. A film designed to become lost within, but afterwards difficult to recall anything memorable.
Part of the reason Baaría fails to connect is due to its episodic nature. It’s composed of a series of short vignettes that fade to black, like memories. This is a key theme in the movie, but because this aspect only becomes clear towards the very end of the film, and because the narrative mainly follows a linear chronological path, it just comes across as poorly edited. Alain Resnais and Chris Marker explored similar themes concerning time and memory, but Tornatore lacks their intellectual rigour. The film’s main message seems to be things change over time (cars replace cows on the streets, dusty open roads give way to tarmac and shopping centres); there is no discernible deeper meaning. Despite the lengthy running time, we get little in the way of character development. We watch his characters and Baaría change in physical ways (hair turns grey, old buildings are torn down), but nothing more. Just as the fragmented narrative interrupts the flow, the countless cameos offer another distraction. Monica Bellucci seems particularly poorly served when she appears for about ten seconds in a role where she is required to do little more than get her breasts out as she is pawed by an amorous lover.
The biggest disappointment may be the Morricone score. An Il Maestro soundtrack can often be enough to elevate even lesser works, but something about working with Tornatore brings out his worst tendencies. Lachrymose and almost ever-present, there is not one moment when that score isn’t used to tell us exactly what to feel. It’s symptomatic of the film as a whole. Truly great films change with us, offering up new perspectives and insights as we mature. There is little chance of this in Tornatore’s movie where everything is so clearly signposted and designed to elicit only the emotions its director intends us to feel.
Baaría almost redeems itself in the last fifteen minutes; a wonderful slice of magical realism combined with post-modernism, which shouldn’t work but does, hinting at just what this film could have achieved had it been slightly more focussed. Past and present intersect as the figure of Pietro, as a boy, races past Peppino, transported back to the same age as his son, running in the opposite direction down the streets of modern Bagheria; both coming to find something from their past which they thought had been lost. Seeking to equate a lifetime of memories with a split-second afterthought, Tornatore highlights the fact that time passes too quickly for us to appreciate each moment on its own, of which the medium of cinema can only suggest but not replicate. It’s the closest Baaría comes to presenting an actual idea, to articulating any sort of ideology behind its succession of beautiful images. But by then, it’s a case of too little, too late, and Baaría leaves us feeling let down.
Baaría is not a bad film, and much of it is enjoyable. However, Tornatore was clearly aiming for greatness, and Baaría falls significantly short of being a great film. Like looking at someone’s holiday snaps - it’s all very pretty, but it just doesn’t connect. GJK
