FILM REVIEW: MOTHER OF GEORGE

Adenike (Danai Gurira) in Mother of George.

Mother load

By Don Simpson

During a traditional African wedding ceremony, Adenike (Danai Gurira) is re-named for her yet-to-be-conceived first child, George. Despite living in modern day Brooklyn, the Nigerian-American finds herself entrenched within a patriarchal society, a microcosm of traditional African customs. For a woman, marriage equates solely to fertility and motherhood. It is not only assumed that Adenike will be immediately impregnated by her husband, Ayodele (Isaach De Bankolé), but also that their first child will further the male lineage of the Balogun family. In this culture, bearing a son is a wife's sole purpose; so when Adenike is unable to fulfill her primary obligation to the Balogun family, she is deemed inadequate by her society.

If Adenike does not get pregnant soon, Ayodele will be forced to take another wife. No matter who is to blame for their infertility, Adenike must find some way to produce a baby.

Director Andrew Dosunmu's Mother of George observes the smothering effects of a world in which women are seen as baby incubators who are solely intended to produce a male heir to their husband's family line. With marriage, Adenike has been forced into a warped psychological state of worthlessness. She has become a possession of the Balogun family and has no other options than to abide by their wishes. Written by Darci Picoult, the story is intimately told from a unique female perspective, while Bradford Young's stunning cinematography brilliantly captures the claustrophobic world -- and wardrobe -- in which Adenike finds herself hopelessly trapped.

There is a certain un-realness to Adenike's world, which is captured with methodical camera movements and purposeful framing. Painterly images are boldly presented with a hyper-saturated color palate, functioning in stark opposition to the brutal undertones of the narrative -- just as the luxurious luminosity of the characters' skin distracts from the pervasive darkness that is burrowed underneath. The colorful allure of the opening wedding sequence reveals the precise reasons that women finds themselves attracted like moths to the flame of this demeaning lifestyle. The beauty and elegance of the ritual reconnects this culture to their history in utterly transfixing ways, and is not until we travel beyond the ceremony that the inherent ugliness is revealed.

Several recent films have discussed the feminine experience of modern women living in traditional societies that are still bound to the roots of their ancestors, but none of them present their stories with the visual intoxication of Mother of George. More importantly, the beauty of the images becomes an integral part of Dosunmu's film, constantly commenting upon the onscreen events.

LAFF 2013: IN A WORLD...

Carol (Lake Bell) in In a World...

Hear me roar (sort of)

By Don Simpson

In a world where men — such as Carol’s father, Sam (Fred Melamed) – are worshipped for their booming bass voices that accompany the trailers for Hollywood’s biggest blockbusters, Carol (writer-director Lake Bell) works as a lowly speech and accent coach for actors. Luckily for Carol, a new wave of female-centric blockbusters has begun, thus opening the possibility for Hollywood’s first female voiceover artist.

Bell’s In a World... reveals the chauvinistic and incestuous tendencies of Hollywood, showcasing just how ridiculous it is to have the same male voices attached to every movie trailer. She might not be any better than her male counterparts, but Carol is incredibly unique because she is a woman. Now that Hollywood action films have finally opened their arms to female heroes, it only makes sense that they retain that strong female voice in the trailers to those films. It seems logical, but not necessarily in a man’s world.

In a World also speaks directly about the female voice as Carol works with women to correct the way in which they speak. Often, women are judged by the sound of their voice. If a woman speaks in a high-pitched Valley Girl tone with a lot of filler sounds, she is typically not taken seriously by men. Even Carol conforms as much as possible to the voiceover industry standard by lowering the frequency of her own voice whenever she is on the microphone. In other words, to break into a man’s world, you must play by their rules and abide by their standards with the hope of eventually making changes from the inside.

Female writer-directors are unfortunately a rare breed in Hollywood, so we need women like Bell to bring their voices to the forefront. As In a World... suggests, this is not an easy proposition. It is one met with ridiculous resistance from the old guard of Hollywood. In the end, the decision will have to be made by fans. If films with powerful women sell tickets at the box office and do well in home video sales, then Hollywood will have no choice. In a World... is a worthy crossover comedy that seems independent but has enough star power to hold its own in the box office.

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.