FILM REVIEW: CITY OF LIFE AND DEATH

A scene from City of Life and Death.

Flow our tears the testimonies read

By John Esther

As Hitler and company were busy turning Europe into an abattoir their non-Occidental bootstrapping companions in the land of the rising sun marched into Nanjing, China, December 1937 to conquer, rape, steal and kill their purportedly racial inferiors.

Boiling with racial hatred, the Japanese Imperial Army systematically, randomly, wantonly killed thousands of Chinese civilians and soldiers who had already surrendered. As the Chinese city canvas swirls and whirlpools into a fury of reductive madness, a group of Chinese and Europeans are allowed to create a Safety Zone where the sick, sad and surrendered are safe from the sickness, sadism and spurious violence outside the gates. But that can only last so long.

Based on recorded witness testimony, writer-director Lu Chuan (Missing Gun; Kekexili, Mountain Patrol) plays out the atrocities in smart fashion by portraying the madness of fascism, racism, sexism and war from both the Chinese as well as Japanese perspectives, sympathizing with both sides but damningly indicting the Japanese Imperial Army for its unforgivable behavior. In other words: Yes, I see what you went through; you still royally fucked up and you better know it. Stuff does not just happen.

Superior to the 2009 film somewhat covering the same material, John Rabe, the latest film by one of China's most impressive "newer" directors (City of Life and Death is Chuan's third film), is an anti-war film of a higher order, thanks to Chuan's stellar screenplay and direction uncovering the internal and external realities of unfettered violence, the haunting colors by director of photographer Cao Yu, Lai Qizhen's stunning sound design and a cast of wonderful actors including, Liu Ye, Hideo Nakaizumi, Gao Yuanyuan, Beverly Peckous, Qin Lan and Yao Di.

On the other hand, John Paisley as John Rabe gives a terrible performance but, it is interesting to note, he is much older and nowhere as heroic than Ulrich Tukur in John Rabe. Tukur gave a much better performance, too.

But Tukur's performance is the only thing to recommend John Rabe over City of Life of Death. 

 

THEATER REVIEW: A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE FORUM

Hero (Zack Kaufer) and Philia (Kristin Towers-Rowles) in A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum. Photo Credit: Joy Daunis.

Roman romping

By Ed Rampell

This rollicking “Romanesque” romp inspired by the ancient Roman playwright Plautus, written in the A.D. era by Larry Gelbart (M*A*S*H; Tootsie) and Burt Shevelove, with lyrics and music by the peerless Stephen Sondheim, has a very simple but sweet premise: Pseudolus is a wily slave, who craves to be set free. Travis Dixon acquits himself well, stepping into the sandals originally worn by the inimitable Zero Mostel as the peon tired of being pissed on by higher born Romans in Theatre Palisades’ revival of A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to the Forum, which has roamed from the Apian Way to the Great White Way to Temescal Canyon.

As the opening song promises, there’s comedy aplenty on nights when this farce is performed. Dixon sets the production’s tone with a delightfully daffy rendition of Comedy Tonight, one of at least two showstoppers Sondheim, that Caesar of lyricists, conquered Broadway with in this 1962 musical. (The other is that clever pondering of beauty and self regard called Lovely.) Comedy Tonight starts as a solo song and dance routine, although two Roman centurions (witty Jim Witoszynski and Jose Acain) join Dixon onstage, as eventually – in that irrepressible Jimmy Durante “everyone-wants-to-get-into-the-act” way -- the entire cast of around 15 thespians does.

The plot revolves around Pseudolus’ efforts to use his wits and wile to win that most cherished of all things: Freedom. In order to do so the slave must somehow manage to unite his master’s son, Hero (a rather un-heroic, funny looking Zach Kaufer) with the courtesan Philia (Kristin Towers-Rowles), who resides in the next-door brothel. Alas, Philia, who is still a virgin, has been bought by the warrior Miles Gloriosus (the scene stealing, scenery chewing Luis Ordaz). Aye, theres’ the rub; gloriosky!, complications and hilarity ensue. 

Dixon and Towers-Rowles perform a creditable rendition of the aforementioned narcissistic number Lovely. Other standouts include Frank Weidner as a swishy Hysterium (the role Jack Gilford played in the 1966 film version), head slave of Senex (played with dry aplomb by Bradley Kesden), who, as Hero’s father, has a decidedly Greek Oedipalconflict with his son over Philia’s favors. Senex is also henpecked by the aptly named Domina, who is given glorious voice by Gail Wirth, even as she imparts a sly latter day Gloria Swanson impression from Sunset Boulevard. After all, in the male chauvinist pantheon of figures worthy of ridicule, an “over the hill” woman who stills feel sexual desire is a regular knee-slapper, nothing short of a Zeus-send. (In his playbill notes Kesden points out that the story based on three of Plautus’ plays is set a mere 2,300 years before the Women’s Liberation Movement -- although this bawdy tale of Bacchus and prostitutes may well explain that cause. Holy Aphrodite!)

As the pimp/mamasan of the house of ill repute, Nathaniel Mathis plays Marcus Lycus (Phil Silvers in the Richard Lester movie) with an amusing effeminate touch. (Like a chocolatier allergic to cocoa, that’s one way to ensure one keeps his hands off of the “merchandise.”) The seven or so spritely courtesans are humorously played, but alas, harsh as this is to say, in the looks department most do not live up to their billing as enticing sex workers one would spend their drachmas on. You can criticize your critic as sexist, but I’d point it out if an actor portraying Goliath were only five-foot, three-inches, too. There’s such a thing as truth in advertising, don’tchaknow!

The play itself and this production have lots of slapstick, as well as burlesque; the humor is broad in every respect, with heaps of tomfoolery and physical comedy. There’s also droll dialogue, such as when a character discussing warfare laments: “I arched when I should have slung.” As directed by Scott Martin, the onstage antics are more head spinning than sidesplitting -- it’s a regular Pacific Palisades amusement park.

Anthony Soto’s set with Roman-style architecture is fine, but the fact that there’s a single set throughout the entire two-acter renders this interpretation static. The action and setting could have been opened up more, as Theatre Palisades’ outdoor Topanga neighbors the Will Geer Theatricum Botanicum’s players often do at their amphitheatre. For instance, Erronius (Richard Little) could have trotted out into the audience on his fool’s errand around the roaming empire.

For ticket buyers who expect Ahmanson if not Broadway quality, this Theatre Palisades version does not quite have the comedy’s promised “something for everyone,” as it is more on the community theatre level. But less demanding theatergoers will enjoy a well meaning play about love -- and yes, liberty. Back in 1962, Gelbart and company had their finger on America’s pulse, reflecting not only the Civil Rights Movement, but predicting the sexual revolution, too. And, even though he died in 183 B.C., but of course, we must also applaud Plautus: Author!

A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to the Forum runs through July 10 at Theatre Palisades at the Pierson Playhouse, 941 Temescal Canyon Road, Pacific Palisades, CA 90272. For info: (310) 454-1970; www.theatrepalisades.com

FILM REVIEW: QUEEN OF THE SUN

A scene from Queen of the Sun: What Are the Bees Telling Us?

The buzz on the world bee:

By Don Simpson

"Have you ever been stung by a dead bee?" Well, sometime in the near future you may never have to worry about beestings, dead or alive. Some people probably think that the possibility of a bee-less world is not a bad thing, but they obviously do not eat their fruit, as honey bees are responsible for pollination of approximately one third of the United States’ agricultural crops, including almonds, soybeans, peaches, apples, pears, cherries, raspberries, blackberries, cranberries, strawberries, watermelons, cantaloupes, and cucumbers.

Why are honey bees disappearing? Well, the phenomenon -- which has been blandly dubbed colony collapse disorder (CCD) -- has technically occurred throughout the history of beekeeping, but there has been a drastic rise in the number of disappearances of worker bee colonies recently. (Since 2007, the USDA has estimated a 34 percent loss of honey bees per year.) The exact cause(s) has yet to be determined, but the current list of suspects includes: varroa mites and other insect diseases, climate change-related stresses, agricultural pesticides, migratory beekeeping, inbreeding and artificial insemination of queen bees, the industrialization of beekeeping, as well as malnutrition associated with monoculture (specifically California's almond crop), genetically modified crops, and the practice of feeding high-fructose corn syrup to honey bees.

Taggart Siegel’s (The Real Dirt on Farmer John) documentary Queen of the Sun: What Are the Bees Telling Us? presents an international array of guests -- including Michael Pollan, Gunther Hauk, Vandana Shiva, Hugh Wilson, Michael Thiele, May Berenbaum, Yvon Achard, Carlo Petrini, and Raj Patel -- who reveal a variety of perspectives on beekeeping and colony collapse disorder. Throughout Siegel’s film, beekeeping is represented not as a hobby or a career, but as an art form, an ethical responsibility and even as a form of monasticism. Siegel also humorously fetishes the gooey goodness fingered from the dark recesses of the honeycomb -- which also happens to serve as a womb for baby honey bees. Backyard and rooftop beekeepers, migratory beekeepers, and biodynamic beekeepers all seem to share an obsessive reverence to their work. As it turns out, these beekeepers are trying to save humankind from the agricultural apocalypse that could occur in the wake of a bee-less Earth.

Organic farming and the discontinuance of the practice of monoculture are both cited as crucial parts of the solution -- as is the need for changes in commercial beekeeping techniques (which would result in near-certain bankruptcy for commercial beekeepers) -- but no solution will be guaranteed until a definite cause(s) is discovered. If a workable solution is not unearthed soon, humankind’s knack for playing god with nature may come back to sting us sooner than most of us anticipated. I, for one, cannot even fathom living in a world without almonds, soybeans, peaches, apples, pears, cherries, raspberries, blackberries, cranberries, strawberries, watermelons, cantaloupes, and cucumbers.

Not only does Queen of the Sun: What Are the Bees Telling Us? provide us with profound and colorful discussions on beekeeping and colony collapse disorder, Siegel’s masterful cinematography is also raw and unfiltered eye candy (sweetened by honey, of course). How Siegel captured such magnificent images is almost as mindboggling as how some beekeepers are able to have their bodies completely blanketed by bees without a single flinch.

FILM REVIEW: THE TRIP

Rob Brydon and Steve Coogan in The Trip.

One up falling down

By Don Simpson

Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon's uncanny chemistry was quite evident in Tristam Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story, and it only makes sense that director Michael Winterbottom would do his best to milk their personalities in a reprise performance, albeit without the ins and outs and pomp and circumstance of Laurence Sterne's post-modern-before-there-was-modern novel. This time around, Winterbottom keeps the hyphens to a minimum and opts to ground the narrative on a singular and logical plane of existence; well, other than a few dream sequences -- one featuring a brilliant cameo by Ben Stiller.

Steve (Steve Coogan) is commissioned to go road tripping across Northern England to critique six fancifully unique restaurants for the Observer. Steve's foodie American girlfriend, Mischa (Margo Stilley), was the original impetus behind Steve pitching this story, but she has recently returned to the U.S. to take a break from their relationship. Caught in a lurch -- he does not want to do this trip solo -- Steve phones Rob (Rob Brydon), a fellow thespian with whom Steve bickers and competes with non-stop. The Observer is picking up the tab for the expenses, and Steve is willing to split his wages with Rob 60/40. It is an offer that Rob cannot refuse, even if it means leaving his family behind.

Thus Steve and Rob commence their journey northward on a Monday morning. We quickly learn that Steve enjoys giving his passenger (and us) a verbal overview of all of the roads he will be taking to their next destination. (Steve also points out that he prefers traditional maps over GPS "sat maps".) As soon as they hit the misty moors, Steve turns on his preordained soundtrack of Joy Division's "Atmosphere" -- a music choice that Rob does not think suits their surroundings, but it does serve to bind this film to another in Winterbottom's oeuvre that also featured Coogan and Brydon, 24 Hour Party People. (You did not really expect Winterbottom to completely keep the Meta at bay, did you?)

Together Steve and Rob traverse painterly landscapes that one couldn't paint -- well, one could but it would not be the same -- and visit the homes of renowned poets such as Samuel Coleridge and William Wordsworth as well as other poetically historic landmarks such as Bolton Abbey. The shoddy-at-best cellphone reception in the desolate moors makes Steve's endless tug-o-war with his agents to pave the path towards acting success all that more difficult. At 44-years old (or he has been 41-years old for the last three years), Steve's separation with Mischa, strained relationship with his son, and the declining state of his acting career (he claims that he has lost countless roles to Michael Sheen) weigh heavily on him; so Steve contends with his mid-life existential crises by bedding beautiful women, drinking often, and getting stoned (according to Steve, "most creative people smoke marijuana or hash"). Rob, on the other hand, is a happily devoted husband and father, who seems perfectly content with the state of his career.

Road movies, buddy movies, foodie reality television shows -- as Rob says, "it is 2010, everything has been done before, all you can do is do it again, but better." But what has not been done before (at least not that I know of) is a combination road movie-buddy movie-foodie reality television show, and that is what Winterbottom sets out to do. But that is also somewhat deceiving, because even though Winterbottom shows us fleeting bits of back of the house food preparation, and allows the restaurants to announce each of their beautifully realized dishes to Steve and Rob (and therefore to us), The Trip is not actually about the food. Instead, the gorgeous restaurants and their culinary creations (such as a green alcoholic beverage that Rob compares to a "childhood garden") are utilized as a unique backdrop for some brilliant bits of purely improvised comedy. (Note: no one is credited as the writer of The Trip.) Sometimes a particular food will trigger a tangential conversation for a while, but the talk always seems to return back to Steve and Rob attempting to one-up each other with dueling impressions (of Michael Caine, Richard Burton, Al Pacino, Woody Allen and various James Bonds), reciting poetry, and riffing upon various permutations of made up dialogue (such as an epic pep talk before an epic battle, "To bed, gentlemen, for at daybreak we rise!"). The absurd banter is relentless -- as Steve comments to Rob, "It's really exhausting keeping all of this going, isn't it?" -- and often careens into becoming uncomfortably mean-spirited. It is perfectly clear that these "bumless chums" actually do care for each other; they might even admire each other's work. They just do not want to share a bed -- or even a hotel room -- no matter how large it is.

Steve is a bit too narcissistic and patronizing for my comedic tastes (that is also the only fault I have with the otherwise pitch-perfect Tristam Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story), even though it is often done for ironic effect. For example, Steve does not think well of actors and comedians who rely on impressions beyond the age of 40 -- a position that is purposely patronizing towards Rob, but loses significantly more weight each time Steve does an impression. Steve, who is from Manchester, also takes a few digs at Rob's home country of Wales, repeatedly stating that Northern England has as unique an identity as Wales does.

The Trip originally ran in Britain as a six-episode series for BBC and the theatrical version is a concatenated version of that series. Several critics have already noted that the relentless abrasiveness of Steve and Rob's bickering is better served in small doses, making the six-episode BBC series sound a bit more appetizing. Being that Winterbottom is serving the United States the whole enchilada in one 107 minute sitting is a curiosity to me. Tristam Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story did not do well in the U.S. theaters -- taking in a mere $1.25 million, and I do not see how The Trip will be any more appealing to American theatergoers. I, for one, enjoyed The Trip, but I often find myself in the minority when it comes to Winterbottom.

FILM REVIEW: VIVA RIVA!

Riva (Patsha Bay Mukuna) in Viva Riva.

Shaft-Ed. lives 

By Ed Rampell 

The Black exploitation films that burst upon the screen in the 1970s with flicks such as Shaft and Super Fly have largely faded to black here in America, with the exception of genre spoofs such as Eddie Griffin’s 2002 Undercover Brother, where Afros are sources of ridicule. But judging by writer-director Djo Tunda Wa Munga’s award-winning Viva Riva!, Blaxploitation is alive and well in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, where this high voltage gangsta flick full of sex and violence was shot and set. 

But don’t expect to watch Tarzan and Cheetah swinging from tree to tree in the jungle; there isn’t a rain forest in sight in this African movie. The only thing worse than the West’s modern cities are Third World underdeveloped, overpopulated, impoverished metropolises where basic utilities such as water and electricity often don’t work -- think traffic jams with no power for the stoplights -- as in the DRC’s capital of Kinshasa that is, apparently accurately, called a “shithole” in the film..

The plot of the stylishly shot and edited Viva Riva! is simple enough. Returning from Angola to Kinshasa, a popular, handsome, charming, young man named Riva (the likable Patsha Bay Mukune, a musician making his acting debut) is determined to get rich quick by ripping off his Angolan boss, Cesar (Angolan actor Hoji Fortuna), in order to make what a Shaft movie called his “big score.” A criminal overlord, the sadistic Cesar doesn’t take kindly to his former underling’s theft and is hot on his trail, wreaking mayhem and murder in his wake as he relentlessly tracks Riva down in Kinshasa. 

Along the rollicking way, big spending Riva is smitten by the redheaded Nora, portrayed by the exquisitely beautiful Manie Malone in her feature debut. Unfortunately for Riva, Nora appears to be the kept woman of another thug, Azor (the menacing Diplome Amekindra), although she repeatedly insists she’s “no whore” (apparently because her father was an English teacher). Fortunately, Azor prefers to watch porn featuring unattractive women to sexually satisfying Nora, whom he presumably keeps as an ornament to burnish his gangsta image. 

There’s genuine chemistry between Riva and Nora, and in a pic full of sex, they have extremely erotic scenes. The sequence where Nora tells Riva to give her a “real kiss” is truly arousing, as is their bathtub lovemaking interlude. The latter is clearly a homage to the famously hot aquatic sex scene between Ron O’Neal and Sheila Frazier in Super Fly, and if anything, Viva Riva!’s watery rapture is even steamier. In fact, Viva Riva!’s cinematic references are part of the flick’s good fun appeal for cinephiles. In addition to Blaxploitation pix, Munga, who studied cinema at Belgium’s INSAS (Institut National Superieur des Arts de Spectacle), gives sly nods and winks to 1931’s Little Caesar, starring Edward G. Robinson; Jean-Luc Godard’s 1959 Breathless, starring Jean-Paul Belmondo; and the 1972 Jamaica cult classic, The Harder They Come. 

With its relentless gunplay, torture, etc., and candid sex, Viva Riva! is more of a “dick flick” (to coin a phrase) than a “chick flick.” The frank sexuality includes lesbian trysts between the corrupt female military officer called Commandante (Marlene Longage) and the bar girl, Malou (Angelique Mbumba). Some may consider the film's brutality, nudity and promiscuity to play into stereotypes of blacks in general, and of Africans in particular.

Nevertheless, Viva Riva! swept the African equivalent of the Academy Awards and won the 2011 Pan African Film Festival’s Best Feature Film prize. Beneath the film's shoot-’em-up, hands up, get it up sensibility, a critical eye might just be at work, scouring and skewering the former Belgian Congo, which fell from grace after the assassination of nationalist leader Patrice Lumumba, who was either saintly or just didn’t live long enough to overstay his welcome in power and turn into just another African tin pot strongman, like his despicable despotic successor, Mobutu. 

The film's second most interesting character may well be Anto, a street hustling streetwise kid well-played by Jordan N’Tunga, who befriends the appealing Riva. The final shot of him is rather haunting, and refers to some characters’ back stories, which are not spelled out but indicate that something went wrong with their childhoods, as their innocence was lost and corrupted. Perhaps this is a metaphor for post-colonial Africa? 

This subtitled movie is for fans of gangsta and Blaxploitation pix, as well as for serious cineastes interested in where African cinema is currently at. The realistic Kinshasa setting is a contemporary reflection of 21^st century Africa, just as the musical I wrote the book for, Still Standing, is, with its urban Nairobi background and real life depiction of rapper Gleam Joel living the thug life in Kenya. Instead of Tarzan, Jane (Goodall and the Ape Man’s mate), Dian Fossey, Karen Blixen and other white characters starring in movies made about and in sub-Saharan Africa, it is now the indigenous people starring in movies about their lives. And they are getting behind, as well as in front of the camera more and more now. By some accounts Nigeria’s Nollywood has the world’s third largest movie industry, and Viva Riva! is at the cutting edge of Africa’s cinematic new wave. Call this refreshing if jolting indigenous trend: Get Out of Africa.
 

 

 

 

 

 

FILM REVIEW: BRIDE FLIGHT

Frank (Waldemar Torenstra) and Esther (Anna Drjver) in Bride Flight.

Thresh beholdened

By Ed Rampell

Ben Sombogaart’s Bride Flight is a highly recommended adult movie. By this, I don’t mean that it’s porn – although it does have some eroticism and a glorious nude scene. Rather, I simply mean that this foreign film has mature subject matter and is for grownups who think. Bride Flight also has a fairly complex form that requires a sustained attention span, so it’s definitely not for mall rats intent on mindless action and escapism on multiplex screens. 

As its name implies, Bride Flight is indeed about wives-to-be who fly on the so-called “Last Great Air Race” from Europe to New Zealand back in 1953, when these globe straddling jaunts were very big adventures. The passengers aboard the KLM carrier that participated in and won this real life aerial contest included 40 Dutch immigrants, mostly women seeking to escape post-WWII Holland’s hardships by starting new lives at Christchurch, where their Dutch fiancés awaited them. A pretty offbeat premise, as far as plots are concerned.

The film focuses on three women and a man on this flight that, back in the 1950s, took days to make. Frank touches the lives of the trio, and although the émigrés’ existences become intertwined in their adapted country, they go on to lead very separate lives, yet remain intimately bound. In terms of Bride Flight’s complexity, it effortlessly shifts cinematically from past to present, so the romantic saga goes back and forth from the young to the aged immigrants. The technique requires viewers to focus on the unfolding saga, the way that Alain Resnais’ circa 1960 classics Last Year at Marienbad and Hiroshima, Mon Amour likewise bent time and continuity. 

Bride Flight therefore has two actors playing each major character -- 20-somethings for the new arrivals, seniors for the present day Dutch transplants. American audiences will be most familiar with the rugged Dutch action hero Rutger Hauer (1982’s Blade Runner, 2005’s Batman Begins, this year’s Hobo With a Shotgun) who portrays Frank. Waldemar Torenstra plays young Frank. Ada has married a religious zealot and is portrayed by nubile Karina Smulders, whose smoldering sex scene with Frank lights up the screen. Pleuni Touw depicts the older Ada.

As young Marjorie, Elise Schaap’s character makes the best marriage of the trio, although life tosses her a curveball, causing her to become obsessive and possessive. Petra Laseur plays petulant Marjorie as an older and perhaps wiser lady. Probably the most interesting character is Esther (Anna Drjver), a Jew who, unlike her family members, survived the Holocaust, although its lingering, PTSD-like effects continue, understandably, to haunt Esther. 

Esther retains a strong individualistic streak and along with the jealous Marjorie, shares a “deep dark secret.” Esther is a fashion designer. (Interestingly, Drjver is actually a runway model, so talk about tailor-made casting.) While movies and TV shows heavily favor certain professions -- crime fighters, doctors, journalists, attorneys and the like -- Frank’s career path is fairly unusual for motion picture protagonists, and another sign as to what an outstandingly unusual film Bride Flight is. 

Bride Flight's location shooting in New Zealand enhances the overall production, which is handsome to behold and drink in. Like most movies set and/or shot in the South Seas, the indigenous Islanders and their Islands serve mainly as backdrop for the really important doings of the Caucasoid stars. However, in Bride Flight it’s not even New Zealand’s dominant majority culture of white people or “Pakehas” of English origin who are featured; it’s a Dutch minority.

Nevertheless, this 130-minute, partially subtitled film is an excellent, well-crafted feature for auds who prefer their movies mature. Bride Flight is a realistic slice of life, albeit in an unusual milieu. Director Sombogaart’s Twin Sisters was nominated for the Best Foreign Language Film Oscar in 2004, and gazing into my crystal ball, I predict the same for Bride Flight, which has also earned some richly deserved prizes on the film festival circuit. Bride Flight, like fine wines, shows that films taste better when aged.

 

  

 

DVD REVIEW: IF I WANT TO WHISTLE, I WHISTLE

A scene from If I Want to Whistle, I Whistle.

While a jerk

By Don Simpson

Silviu (George Pistereanu) is an 18-year-old who has spent the last four years of his life in a ramshackle juvenile facility somewhere in the Romanian countryside. He is only a couple weeks away from freedom when his younger brother (Marian Bratu) drops by for a surprise visit with news that their absentee mother (Clara Voda) has reappeared back at home. Their mother intends to whisk Silviu’s brother off to Italy before Silviu’s release date and that plan does not bode well with Silviu. Up until this point, Silviu has built up a good reputation in prison; but a desperate urge to protect his younger brother is triggered, and Silviu begins crossing lines -- literally and figuratively -- that should never be crossed, especially if you are hoping to get out of juvie in two weeks.

Around the same time, an attractive female college student, Ana (Ada Condeescu), arrives at the prison to interview Silviu as part of a sociology research project. Silviu is instantly smitten with Ana -- so much so that he dreams of a future in which he picks up Ana from work and they fuck each other’s brains out in the car. Ah, the mind of a young romantic in love.

We learn very little of Silviu's family back-story -- and that is only during Silviu's brief yet fiery exchanges with his mother. We never learn why his mother left home many years ago or why Silviu is in prison, only that Silviu blames his mother for his current incarceration. We know that Silviu has forged his own moral compass and only abides by rules and logic that he deems worthy. As the title of the film suggests, Silviu will do what he wants when he wants to do it and Silviu throws one hell of a tantrum when things do not go his way. 

All of Silviu's choices supposedly revolve around the safety and well-being of his younger brother, but what good is Silviu's stint in juvie doing his brother? Who has been raising and caring for Silviu's brother during the last four years? And who will care for his younger brother if Silviu's sentence is lengthened for any of the risky choices that he is making? Silviu is willing to throw his own life away in order to keep his brother away from his mother, but what good would it do his younger brother to have no parent or older sibling to care for him? 

First-timewriter-director Florin Serban's adaptation of Andreea Valean's stage play is a taut and lean example of the Romanian social-realist style of filmmaking. If I Want To Whistle, I Whistle is an incredibly simple and unpretentious story, but maybe to a fault. Maybe if we knew a little more about Silviu's past and his younger brother's current situation, it would be easier to understand his motives? As it stands, Silviu comes off as a selfish, tunnel-visioned idiot who is unable to fathom the bigger picture. No matter how hard Serban tries, it will be very difficult to get an audience to sympathize with a character like Silviu.  

If I Want To Whistle, I Whistle won the Silver Bear and the Alfred Bauer Award at the 2010 Berlin Film Festival and was Romania’s official entry for the Academy Award.