I stand here naked before you. Judge me, you bitch.
I can see how John Krasinski’s debut feature can come across as shallow and pretentious to some. It’s ambitious and slightly uneven but it’s also one of the most honest interpretations of the male psyche I’ve seen in a long time. The thing about cinema is that while it can convey emotions, it’s also severely limited by the director’s aesthetic. And that’s why this film works; because technically, it’s a lot like Before Sunset or even, Tape. Frames are sparse and apart from the characters, little else fills the screen.
Julianne Nicholson’s character, reeling from a breakup, decides to study the effect of the feminist movement on men, or so she says. She sets up interviews with various men and they open up about relationships, women and sex. Do men really know what today’s women want? The film is funny, repulsive and mostly, insightful. A friend of mine referred to it as ‘Vagina Monologues for Men – Penis Monologues’, which when you think about it, is quite accurate. One scene that really stood out was that of a college professor reflecting on 21 years of being married. After an awkward pause, he muses, “Is it shallow? Does it sound shallow? Or do you think the truth behind this kind of thing will always sound kind of shallow? Everybody’s real reasons?”
Granted, the film is an exercise in vanity and it does have an inherently convoluted logic but I loved it and intend on seeking out and reading more of David Wallace Foster’s works.
“The loss of religious faith is a slow and fragile process, like the raising of continents,” writes Darwin to his wife. That one line from the film resonates greatly with my personal philosophy and is perhaps one of the few reasons I enjoyed this rather ponderous study of Darwin’s struggle with faith and evidence.
The more I think about the film, the more glaring the flaws seem. The film seems conflicted about what caused Darwin’s inability to complete his treatise, On the Origin of Species – the death of his daughter or his accommodationist views on Christianity.
Creationists have long argued, albeit with no documented evidence that Darwin recanted on his death bed. Creation, based on the book, Annie’s Box by Randal Keynes dispels the myth and portrays Darwin as a man with strong convictions even if he occasionally questioned them.
Face it, Avatar was never really going to live up to the hype.
Granted, James Cameron’s return to screen is every bit a visual spectacle as they say; Pandora is unlike anything we’ve ever been subjected to especially in 3D. The environments are lush and Pandora’s inhabitants are stunningly rendered. Visually, the film is brilliant and deserves every bit of praise it gets.
Sadly, the script is overwrought with cliches bordering on heavy handedness. It would’ve been enough if it were simply an allegory for civilizations and their misplaced sense of entitlement. Turns out, it’s also about the environment. Thankfully, the last 40 minutes made up for all the preachiness.
It’s interesting that Cameron never strays from the basics – there’s the three-act narrative, James Horner’s pounding orchestral score and a voice-over. For all the technical wizardry involved, Avatar is a very conventional film and a very good one at that.
Brilliant article by Salman Rushide on what makes a good literary adaptation.
What are the things we think of as essential in our lives? The answers could be: our children, a daily walk in the park, a good stiff drink, the reading of books, a job, a vacation, a baseball team, a cigarette, or love. And yet life has a way of making us rethink. Our children move away from home, we move away from our favourite park, the doctor forbids us to drink or smoke, we lose our eyesight, we get fired, there’s no time or money to take a vacation, our baseball team sucks, our heart is broken. At such times our picture of the world hangs crookedly on the wall. Then, if we can manage it, we adapt. And what this shows us is that essence is something deeper than any of that, it’s the thing that gets us through.
…
But those who do not know who they are, are doomed too: individuals who sacrifice themselves for the sake of pleasing others, comedians who stop telling jokes because they find themselves in a humourless world, serious people who start trying to tell jokes because they fear being thought humourless, people in a new situation, a new relationship, a new university, who act against their natures because they think that’s the way to make things easy for themselves.
Whole societies can lose their way through a process of bad adaptation. Striving to save themselves, they can oppress others. Hoping to defend themselves, they can damage the very liberties they believed to be under attack. Claiming to defend freedom, they can make themselves and others less free. Or, seeking to calm the violent hotheads in their midst, societies can try to appease them, and so give the violent hotheads the notion that their violence and hotheadedness is effective.
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow.
I remember reading Philip Roth’s Everyman a couple of years ago and then Garcia Marquez’s Memories of My Melancholy Whores more recently; both of which tell rather morbidly, the stories of old men who after living lives of regret and philandering are faced with their imminent mortality and unfulfilled desires. Clint Eastwood’s Gran Torino draws strong parallels to these stories. Walt Kowalski, however, shuts his emotions in and redeems himself in the strangest and, for a film with so much profanity and tongue-in-cheek political incorrectness, most gut wrenching of ways.
Eastwood plays a tired and lonely version of Dirty Harry or even, Blondie, who finds himself as an antique from a bygone era in drastically different times. Like most scowling old people, Walt Kowalski is an irate old man who feels the world truly went under after the 60s. He invariably ends up helping a young Hmong immigrant find his bearings in a gang infested neighbourhood. Unlike the terrible Seven Pounds, Gran Torino lets us empathize with a character who learns how to finally let go of life. I do realize suicide is an ethically sketchy subject, but rarely has a film tackled it with such grace.
And that final scene where Tao drives off in the Grand Torino – such catharsis.
The concept of destiny irks me; that way, I buy into Dostoevsky’s morbid world view. But Danny Boyle (28 Days Later, Millions) has intricately woven magic realism into a modern day fable about survival and love; a film set at the center of India’s commercial hub.
Reaction to this film has been intriguing. Critics seem to be spellbound by the rather straightforward screenplay. The film would have never worked weren’t it for Danny Boyle (and his Indian counterpart, Loveleen Tandan). For one, Boyle infuses the proceedings with an overdose of realism; so much that you can almost smell what goes on. On the other hand, he romanticizes the aspirations of the protagonist. Jamal Malik, cares more for his long-lost sweetheart than the 2 Crore (20 Million in the film) Rupees at stake.
Remarkably, the use of HD (SI-2K Mini Digital Cinema Camera) gives a vibrancy and immediacy to the otherwise appalling backdrop. Boyle employs the frantic pace that he used so well in Trainspotting and achieves a structure that few Indian filmmakers have been capable of. Danny Boyle, much like Richard Linklater belongs to a rare breed of filmmakers – those capable of telling a story both empathetically as well as intellectually.
There is so much to say about the film- the characters, the score, some brilliant sequences; but I shall refrain at the risk of coming across as vapid and dense. To the discerning viewer, there are plenty of flaws but the audience at a limited screening I watched this film with burst into applause towards the end. The film is life-affirming without being overly sentimental, escapist without being ridiculous and most importantly, bloody entertaining. Reminded me why I love cinema so much.
I occasionally have fantasies of Julie Delpy involving sticky summer afternoons, Sartre’s writings, 400 Blows, apple juice and berets. Don’t ask. Face it, the woman is brilliant and beautiful; brilliant enough to be associated with the likes of Kieslowski and Linklater and beautiful enough to make any man weak in the knees. So there – that’s out of the way.
Her directorial venture, 2 Days in Paris is an outstanding film; an achievement in black comedy that I’d go so far as to compare with the best of Woody Allen. Remember that scene in Annie Hall where Allen’s Alvy Singer makes awkward conversation with Annie’s new found friends in showbiz? 2 Days in Paris is a lot like that except the awkward conversation lasts 2 days and includes borderline psychotic parents, mentally unstable siblings and flat out disturbing exes.
Jack, a left wing American (‘A blow job is actually a big political event in the grand scheme of things. After all it was a blow job that destroyed any chance at a healthy democracy.’) who laments the anti-intellectualism rampant in his country accompanies his French girlfriend of two years, Marion to Paris where he meets her parents and a bevy of ex boyfriends, some of whom I feel could very well be just exaggerated caricatures. As people around him converse animatedly in French, he is forced to make up his own meanings from Marion’s body language and revelations of her rather colorful sex life prior to their relationship.
His suspicions slowly give way to hostility and the film ends with a beautifully cathartic moment that never feels too forced. The film is not so much about culture clashes as it is about the false pretense of honesty in relationships; about the little half-truths and ideas that people carry to and from every relationship.
The writing is sharp and crisp and there are some genuine laugh out loud moments especially the one where Jack says he’s more of Val Kilmer fan than a Doors fan while visiting Jim Morrison’s grave. It’s those little pieces of pop culture strewn about, genuine male angst and the presence of the lovely Ms Delpy that made this one of those films I just had to rant about.
Ten minutes into the film and you’re certain you’ve chanced upon something rare; a film that is truly an auteur’s labor of love. The Fall is not so much about imagination as it is about childhood innocence.
In a hospital in early 20th century Los Angeles, Roy Parker (Lee Pace), a depressed and suicidal stunt man paralyzed from the waist down befriends a free spirited young girl, Alexandria (played brilliantly by Catinca Untaru, who at the time was only 6 years old) secretly hoping he can charm her enough to get a bottle of morphine. He proceeds to tell her a story that he makes up along the way and the audience is privy to a sumptuously visual tale calling into action colorful characters ranging from an angry slave to Charles Darwin and his pet monkey.
As Roy becomes progressively more depressed in the real world, his story gets darker and immerses an innocent young girl into the recesses of the mind a man on the brink of suicide. As Alexandria starts getting emotionally involved, she goes to great lengths to keep the story going, to keep Roy going, all the while hoping for a happy ending. The third act was so emotionally engaging that I have to confess, I think I may have shed a tear or two.
Shot in some 25 countries, the film is an eye-popping travelogue and the compositions of a few frames are so ridiculously brilliant that you can’t help but marvel at what goes on inside the head of the director.
The characterizations and the plot itself are deeply flawed mostly because the director pays too much attention to visual detail but you’ll be hardpressed not to overlook that. You have to hand it to Tarsem for his audacity; he shot the film over four years with his own money and never allowed studios to touch a single frame. This is evidenced by the lack of a truly uplifting ending.
For me, the film was an immensely personal experience taking me back to my childhood when bedtime stories played an integral part; perhaps the reason why I tend to go off on tangents so often. Escapism, you see, is a beautiful thing.
