FILM REVIEW: FILL THE VOID

Shira (Hadas Yaron) in Fill the Void.

Marriage = money and morals

By Don Simpson

Now that Shira (Hadas Yaron) is 18, her family is ready to marry her off. When tragedy steps in to fatefully postpone her engagement, Shira ends up taking care of her newborn nephew, Mordechai, instead. Shira’s unexpectedly widowed brother-in-law, Yochay (Yiftach Klein), has an offer to marry a young woman in Belgium, so he threatens to take Mordechai along with him. Shira's mother (Irit Sheleg) is adamantly opposed to permitting her son-in-law to whisk Mordechai off to Belgium. She can think of only one way to stop him, someone must fill the titular void left by her deceased older daughter (Renana Raz). Unfortunately for Shira, that plan involves an arranged marriage between her and Yochay.

During the course of Fill the Void (Lemale et ha'halal) we witness several arranged marriages. The participants seem quite happy, despite the fact that the agreements are more about social conformity and business transactions rather than romance. Shira is a bit different because she wants some resemblance of romance and excitement with whomever she weds. Thanks to the purely observational approach of the film, the audience is left to decide on their own about the purpose(s) of marriage, the importance of appeasing one's family and abiding by social rules.

Starring a primarily secular cast is a rare glimpse inside Haredi culture by way of writer-director Rama Burshtein, a secular Jew-turned-Haredi. Certain scenes play a bit too melodramatic, and the story a bit too contrived and predictable; regardless, Fill the Void carries a strong message that is accented by high production values and commendable performances.

FILM FEATURE: SIGHTSEERS AT THE ARENA CINEMA

Chris (Steve Oram) and Tina (Alice Lowe) in Sightseers.

The new look

By Ed Rampell

The recent hacking to death of an off-duty English soldier by Islamist zealots in broad daylight in London chips away at that British reserve and the thin veneer of the Brits’ renowned stiff upper lip. Now comes the U.K. indie film, Sightseers, which is a sort of demented On the Road meets Thelma and Louise meets Bonnie and Clyde, with a dash of Manson tribe sprinkled on top for good measure.

Kill List's Alice Lowe and Steve Oram co-star as the thirty-something losers from Losersville, Tina and Chris, in this road trip-cum-black comedy gone horribly wrong, which the actors also co-wrote with Amy Jump.

It's England’s Midlands: Tina lives at home with her ailing, overbearing, over possessive mother and has earned degrees in canine psychology that aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on. (Aidst the gallows humor dogs play a fairly important role.) Tina embarks on an ill-advised week-long jaunt through the Midlands with Chris -- whom Tina seems to barely know -- in his “caravan” (that’s trailer, to we Yanks). We find out along the way that the bearded Chris, who has a bald spot, has been “made redundant."

At first they are hot to trot for one another as the couple drives about the Midlands, which includes some spectacularly dramatic scenery that mirrors the mood of this movie and its gloomy characters who are a sort of Heathcliff and Cathy gone off the rails. A series of seemingly trivial incidents set Chris, and then Tina off, as they embark on an odyssey that becomes a killing spree in this Ben Wheatley-directed movie. The authorities (who, as usual, are clueless -- no Sherlocks they) can’t make heads or tails out of the unfolding mayhem, which may be because it seems to have no rhyme or reason. As their crimes escalate the couple’s sexual ardor for one another inversely perversely cools -- very Freudian (Sigmund ended up in England, by the way).

Making a personal appearance at Arena Cinema, where Sightseers has an exclusive run through May 30, a rather fetching Lowe spoke about the film. In discussing Sightseers, which alternates between the bone chilling and the hilarious, Lowe cast some light on the filmmakers’ intent. Class envy is one of the elements that fuels the rampage of the couple, neither of whom have a full-time job in Tory Prime Minister David Cameron’s austerity-wracked not-so-Great Britain. In lieu of the fulfillment that worthwhile work and a full family and social life could provide them, running amok gives Tina and Chris kicks and thrills. They can’t get no satisfaction, so they turn to senseless crime.

Holding a meat-cleaver dripping with blood, one of the extremist fanatics who sliced and diced that British soldier was ready for his close-up. He melodramatically declared right into a camera lens: "We swear by almighty Allah we will never stop fighting you until you leave us alone." (Bin Laden also said similar things like “if you leave us alone we’ll leave you alone.”) One wonders if the Western imperial powers, which are endlessly sticking their noses where they don’t belong into other people’s business, are listening? Probably not, so the tit-for-tat goes on in a vicious cycle of ceaseless violence.

Tina and Christian are not fundamentalists but, similarly, are the West’s powers-that-be listening to the restiveness of their own rootless  generation spawned by austerity? From the indignados of Spain to the Greek rioters to the 2011 English looters to America’s occupiers and so on, to quote Arthur Miller’s plaintive plea regarding in Death of a Salesman “attention must be paid.”

Like the fading Willy Loman attention must be paid to the Lowe woman and Oram man in Sightseers. This low-budget indie was actually released in the U.K. last November. In a sense, it is a motion picture prophecy of the brutal, senseless street carving of that British drummer, as it taps into the zeitgeist of a troubled nation roiling beneath the surface, as cutbacks, unemployment and more wreaks havoc.


Sightseers runs through May 30 at the Arena Cinema, 1625 N. Las Palmas Ave., Hollywood, CA. For more info see: http://www.arenascreen.com/.

 

 

 

FILM REVIEW: AUGUSTINE

Augustine (Soko) in Augustine.

Let us play master & servant

By Don Simpson

Augustine (Soko) is working as a kitchen servant when she has a convulsive fit that sends her to Paris’ Salpêtrière psychiatric hospital with one eye stuck shut and half of her body paralyzed. Determined to get out of the hospital as soon as possible, Augustine attracts the attention of the chief neurologist -- Dr. Jean-Martin Charcot (Vincent Lindon) -- when she has her next seizure. Charcot almost immediately identifies Augustine as his best chance to convince the Academy to provide him with more funding for Salpêtrière. After diagnosing Augustine with ovarian hysteria -- a catch-all diagnosis in 19th century France for women -- Charcot's best guess is that Augustine's hysteria is rooted in her brain. Augustine quickly becomes Charcot's pet patient because of her susceptibility to hypnosis. While hypnotized, Augustine's seizures can easily be triggered by Charcot...almost too easily. The theatricality of Charcot's presentations draws comparisons to Sarah Bernhardt's performances and evokes questions about the legitimacy of his research.

Strategically avoiding expository dialogue, writer-director Alice Winocour opts to let the audience contemplate the authenticity of Charcot's research and come to their own conclusions. We never know when the performance begins and when it ends, but skeptics of hypnotism will surmise fairly early on that Augustine is merely performing. Augustine is given plenty of motivations to do so. (Freud might suggest that Augustine is unconsciously trying to escape her job.) She is rewarded handsomely for her role as Charcot's prized subject with beautiful new dresses and a private room. Augustine knows that Charcot needs her for the continuance of his career; it is also obvious that Charcot craves Augustine sexually. Charcot is clearly trying to keep Augustine confined in Salpêtrière for as long as possible, and Augustine plays along with the charade for her own benefit. Although Augustine wants to be cured, that would most likely mean returning to a servant's position. It is in Augustine's best interest -- despite the tortuous Cronenbergian medical devices used on her -- to remain at Salpêtrière for as long as possible, but she also needs to maintain Charcot's undivided attention. The possibility that Charcot might discover another star patient is Augustine's greatest fear.

Augustine is able to make the best out of a horrible situation; she does so by identifying key ways to manipulate Charcot and turn the doctor-patient and male-female power dynamics upside-down. Augustine goes from being a servant to being served -- from  puppet to puppeteer; a repressed and tortured woman to becoming a person of power and influence. Most importantly, Augustine does this in 19th century France, when women are either wives or servants. The 19th century was an time when wealthy, old, white men made important decisions about women's health issues behind closed doors -- this is something that would never, ever happen in the 21st century... Right, America?

FILM REVIEW: AN OVERSIMPLIFICATION OF HER BEAUTY

Terence Nance in An Oversimplification of Her Beauty.

Some scenes the reflex does

By Don Simpson

There is nothing overly simple about Terence Nance's visualization of love and beauty; rather, An Oversimplification of Her Beauty is a complex form of poetry that requires images and music to complete it. Using the rhythmic repetition of narration and dialogue, Nance lulls the audience into a deep meditative state. The hope, of course, is that the film will have the same transcendental effect on Nance's love interest, Namik Minter.

While a film about a filmmaker making a film to convince a woman of their love for each other is not necessarily new territory, Nance's cerebral take on the genre is quite unique. Cleverly utilizing a second-person perspective of narration, Nance places "you" in his situation; then replays key events over and over again, continuously deconstructing and reconstructing them, until "you" have most of the pertinent details.

A meta-narrative in the most heady sense of the term, An Oversimplification of Her Beauty deals with the collection of memories and perspectives in an effort to ascertain the truth. By omnipotently manipulating the editing and structure of the film, Nance transports "you" into his headspace and convinces "you" to believe his version of the truth. Nance instantly becomes "your" overly emotional best friend who gushes incessantly about the woman he loves. As cute and energetic as a puppy, Nance sees precisely which toy he wants to play with, but he cannot understand why the answer is always "no." I doubt he will listen to "your" reasoning right now, so it is best to just sit back and let him ramble on.

Other than allowing Minter to have a voice via intertwined footage of her unfinished short film, Subtext, "you" never quite get to know Minter's side of the story. "You" can only guess that Nance is a bit too overbearing or overanxious (like that aforementioned puppy) for her tastes. Guess is the operative word there, since that is all "you" can do -- because as much as Nance replays the footage, the answer is not anywhere to be found.

"You" have probably replayed "your" past relationships over and over again, like fading home movies in "your" head, doing a scene-by-scene analysis to determine the precise reason for the eventual break-up. That is what An Oversimplification of Her Beauty is -- Nance's attempt to discover the real reason that Minter is not interested in him. Of course "you" must realize that the footage in An Oversimplification of Her Beauty is not real. It has all been reconstructed for "your" viewing pleasure. It may not even be based upon real events. "You" may assume that it is, because Nance seems so honest and forthcoming, but maybe that is all just part of the magnificent poetry of this story.

FILM REVIEW: THE GREAT GATSBY

A scene from The Great Gatsby.

Egg on the system

By Don Simpson

Baz Luhrmann’s adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby is manufactured in three dimensions of pure, unfiltered opulence. Taking its narrative cues from Fitzgerald’s novel, Luhrmann’s hyper-real universe is constructed by the storytelling devices of embellishment and exaggeration. Told entirely in flashback, Nick Carraway (Tobey Maguire) is a patient in a sanitarium as he begins to regurgitate his intoxicated recollections of the Summer of 1922. While telling his own story, Nick pieces together the personal history of his mysterious and eccentric neighbor, Jay Gatsby (Leonardo DiCaprio). In conveying Gatsby’s story, Nick delves into the unreliable narrative of a man who created his entire life out of nothing. No one truly knows Gatsby because his history is all just an infinitely elaborate ruse. Luhrmann luxuriates in Gatsby’s knack for re-imagining and re-constructing the past — as Gatsby weaves unreal tales about himself, filtered for our consumption through the flowery verbosity of Nick’s prose, the film soaks in the artifice of the unbridled extravagance.

Showcasing the unreliability of Nick’s memories and Gatsby’s tall tales, Luhrmann interjects easily identifiable untruths into the film, such as mixing pop culture reference points of our present with the cultural counterparts of the 1920s. In doing so, Luhrmann establishes clear associations between the pop culture of the 1920s and the present. Hot jazz is mashed-up with hip hop and electronic music; the sexually provocative dancing of the 1920s is blended with modern dance; even the drunken debauchery of 1920s petting parties is modernized and amped up to near-Spring Breakers proportions.

Of course, Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsbyfunctions as a critique of its characters’ overindulgence and gross decadence. It is a cautionary tale of becoming so engrossed in fantastical parties that reality all but fades away. Luhrmann, however, seems more interested in condemning the 1920s as the birth of the self-made man. Gatsby is very much a product of the capitalist free enterprise system which professes the concept that anyone can become rich. The stock market made it easy to get rich quick; so did bootlegging and other illegal enterprises. Traditionally wealthy families of East Egg such as Tom Buchanan’s (Joel Edgerton), who “earned” their money, looked down upon the new rich of West Egg like Gatsby, who lied and cheated their way into wealth.

The infinite levels of hyperactive falseness do not bode well for the dialogue and plot, which are mere afterthoughts for a man of style-over-substance such as Luhrmann. While most of Nick’s voiceover narrative does retain the literary fortitude of Fitzgerald’s poetic finesse, the dialogue seems overly-simplified and watered-down. The plot may hit most of the primary scenes of Fitzgerald’s novel, but Luhrmann seems much more comfortable conveying the themes of the story with visual allusions rather than words. This might have been a more interesting film if Luhrmann kept his actors silent, since they are often left spouting relatively pointless dialogue while having to rely upon pantomime to convey their character’s real emotions. On that note, DiCaprio and Carey Mulligan (who plays Daisy by way of flawlessly channeling Clara Bow) prove that they would have made fantastic silent film actors.

FILM REVIEW: POST TENEBRAS LUX



Natalia (Nathalia Acevedo) in Post Tenebras Lux.

 Enter the void

By Don Simpson

If there is one reason to watch Carlos Reygadas’ Post Tenebras Lux, it is the opening sequence. Guaranteed to emblazon itself on your mind — this is as unforgettable as cinematic images get — this one sequence reveals so much about Reygadas’ film. Assuming that these images actually belong to Juan (Adolfo Jiménez Castro), not his daughter Rut (Rut Reygadas), then this is the first example of Juan’s cripplingly pervasive guilt. As the safe and familiar rapidly evolve into potential aggressors, this idyllic childish dream dissolves into a horrible nightmare. Not only does Juan feel totally inept as a parent, due to his inability to provide safety and security for Rut, but it also suggests that Juan might be at the root of what frightens her.

The opening sequence establishes the heavily manipulated perspective of the film. The camera’s eye alternates from a first-person perspective to observational vantage points (alluding to the multiplicity of perspectives and realities throughout the film). The framing is purposefully boxed in, with an ever-present tunnel vision focus on the center of the screen (a suggestion that this film has a very specific focus and a purposeful manipulation of perception). Then, as the fisheye lens blurs and distorts the boundaries of the 1.375:1 frame, the surreal duplicity of any objects on the periphery of the screen gives the allusion that we are observing these images through beveled glass. In other words, we are all just Peeping Toms complacently watching as someone else atones for his horrible sins.

Juan is a man with violent tendencies; by his own admittance, he hurts the one’s he loves the most. Juan has relocated with his wife Natalia (Nathalia Acevedo) and their two kids, Rut and Eleazar (Eleazar Reygadas), to a remote region of Mexico. He might believe that his violent tendencies will be considered more “normal” in an economically devastated community that is riddled by violent and neglectful patriarchs, and plagued by alcoholism, thievery, murder and suicide.

Although Juan is a native Mexican, the surrounding population has a much darker skin tone than he does. Assuming that the footage of a rugby match at an English boys’ school refers to Juan’s past, it probably signifies his European education and life of privilege. Though his “white guilt” leads him to believe otherwise, Juan’s wealth, history and skin tone have constructed an impenetrable wall between him and the people native to the region. Juan can try to ingratiate himself all he wants, but in their eyes he will always be a rich gringo with a fancy new house.

Juan seems haunted by a Catholic guilt for being an overtly sexual creature. Feeling as though Natalia doesn’t give him enough sex, Juan confesses that his overindulgence of internet porn for masturbatory purposes is pushing the limits of perversion. In one sequence (which may or may not be a dream), Juan watches Natalia have sex with strangers in a sauna room titled the Duchamp Room (referencing Duchamp’s work “The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even”). A red demon with prominently dangling genitals and arrow-tipped tail makes two appearances — presented to us as Eleazar’s nightmares, this image is most likely derived from Juan’s fears that his own son perceives him to be a devilish sexual predator.

Juan is coming to terms with a guilty conscience that is literally killing him from the inside. As perceived realities, memories and dreams collide in Post Tenebras Lux, the free-flowing stream of seemingly unrelated scenes begin to congeal into what might just be Juan’s final act of penance.

FILM INTERVIEW: OLIVIER ASSAYAS

A scene from Something in the Air.

Enough for Ahead

 

By Ed Rampell

 

Following the Boston Marathon bombing the new rightwing mantra is “radicalization.” French filmmaker Olivier Assayas’ new feature Something in the Airis about the process of radicalization -- but by revolution, not religion. Set shortly after France’s historic worker-student mass strike of May 1968 Something in the Air’s politicized protagonists encounter anarchists, Maoists, Trotskyists and the counterculture as the young militants come of age when, as Assayas says, “everything was political” and many of his generation felt that world revolution was imminent. With this film and his 2010 epic Carlos --about the Venezuelan terrorist known as “Carlo the Jackal” -- Assayas shows he is one of the planet’s top political directors. We interviewed Assayas at, of all places, Beverly Hills after an advance screening of Something in the Air.

 

JEsther Entertainment: Recently we’ve seen huge revolutionary upsurges in the Middle East, North Africa; here in America we had the Occupied movement and the indignant in Spain and Greek general strikes. Does part of you still dream and hope there could be a revolution?

Olivier Assayas: Yes. But as much as I believe in those political movements, as much as they give one hope, because it gives a notion that youth again believes that it can have a collective effect on society, the way they envision politics is very different from whatever the 1970s’ were. Because for good or bad the 1970s were utopian. The 1970s believed in the possibility of turning society upside down, of taking over. It was utopian, but then it had some sort of reality because at least in France we had a model, which was May ’68, which was like three years old, and it comes as close as it gets to being an actual revolution. So, yes, this dream of a revolution, it was utopian, but then it was also grounded into something that had actually happened, that had a solid reality. Today, people don’t think of a revolution. They think of adapting society, of making the hope of more fairness, more justice, more social justice, more generosity, which are old things -- the modern world has become so brutal that of course, you have to recognize and endorse. But in the 1970s it would have been called “reformist,”which was an insult.

JE: What role can cinema play in today’s politics?
OA: Cinema in general plays a very modest role in politics. Politics are connected to real life, to real struggle, to the actual pain of real life people, and movies are very, very minor compared to that in terms of the effect they can have. The only thing movies can do is, eventually, a movie like this is have some sort of dialogue with youths who would be attracted to some kind of involvement into politics. Because often, they idealize the 1970s and movies don’t really represent the 1970s. It’s a way of giving some kind of portrait to that period that can be understandable, can be some sort of reference point and which also could remind that they could be in a generation not so, so, so far from us. The conscience that a specific generation could change the world.

JE: Can you discuss some of the other specific rock songs used in your film and how they express the politics and other inner meaning you were getting cross, as a “layer of illustration,” as you put it?

OA: I wanted to use specifically, protest songs to be present. So I used this Phil Ochs' song ("Ballad of William Worthy") that Johnny Flynn sings, because it’s from another era. But it was still around. Wherever you were, some guy would pop up and he’d be playing a song that came from that history of protest songs. It was very present. The actual song is more a song of the early ’60s, mid-’60s at the latest. And we are six or seven years but still it was just part of, those songs carried in terms of politics, in terms of involvement in politics, and was something that was extremely important in those years, yes, that I needed. In terms of the way I use songs, they all have a specific meaning, so it would be long and tedious to go through every single one of them. Maybe one way of dealing with this would be saying it’s the difference between the party in this film and the party we created in my movie called Cold Water, which I made in the mid-’90s, where I use a completely different soundtrack. Which was also pretty much a soundtrack of the 1970s, but used big names, it used the songs, my whole generation could relate to, like Dylan, Leonard Cohen, Credence Clearwater Revival, so on and so forth. Here, it’s a completely different ambient. For instance, when I’m recreating the similar party scene in Something in the Air we are at this country house, villa, which belongs to this rich family, and they’re having this kind of hip, cool party. You would not have music like Credence Clearwater Revival, it would be just uncool, right? You could have Captain Beefheart -- Captain Beefheart was believable in that context. Or Soft Machine or Incredible String Band, because they were underground, they were this avante garde thing.

JE: What kind of music do you like to listen to today?
OA: I listen to a lot of indie rock. But the thing is now it’s everywhere. It’s in fashion shows, it’s in commercials, when you go to a washroom in a hotel, it’s what you listen to. It’s everywhere and it’s becoming problematic in many ways for me. In the sense that my love of music, was also because the music carries something that’s not exactly revolutionary but it’s about values that are not the values of society. The world I come from is a world that is defined by the relationship between art and politics in a certain way. I think that’s something that’s getting lost now and so I have difficulty adjusting to that…It has do with the innocence of youth which I think the modern means of communication, the obsession with consumption is erasing, is destroying in a certain way. One essential aspect is that there was a belief in the future. People trusted the future. There was this hate, dislike, suspicion of the present, of anything that had to do with the material value of the present in the name of something that would be coming in the history. That’s also why people were so obsessed with political history, because political history of the 20^thcentury told them the lessons that would make them be successful with the revolution that would obviously happen in the very near future. Again, hope means belief in the future, literally. Today it’s something that’s gone. Because this kind of despair or loss of faith because the world is not changing. When you are kids today who grow up listening to politicians on TV or on the radio or in the newspapers, saying how important they are, how they have no grasp on the big issues of the world, how are they going to believe in politics? How are they going to believe that they can do something and change the world for the better? It’s not surprising that they lose faith in that and they lose faith in the future.

JE: Does Gilles sell out at the end of the film?
OA: I don’t think he does. Gilles discovers his true path. He realizes that making movies in the industry is not for him, and eventually there’s an answer in something that has to do with experimental or independent cinema. Maybe I’m deluding myself, but the reason why I ended up making movies is because somehow movies are about some kind of collective utopia, something you do together. It’s collective; it’s art you can share with people from all parts of society. In the context of independent filmmaking, when you are on a film set you’re working with people who are there not because they’re doing a job, it’s because people love what they do, and they want to be part of something bigger than them. I found a way through cinema, through independent cinema, to find a way to pursue the hopes of the utopias of the ’70s.

JE: What’s next?
OA: Next for me is a movie I will be doing with Juliette Binoche. It’s not the ’70s again; it’s today, it’s contemporary. [Laughs.] …It’s about acting, it’s about the relationship between reality and acting. Juliette plays a stage actress.