The Prestidigitator

Inception was everything I hoped it’d be.  It was sufficiently complex (though nowhere near as complicated as Primer or even, Memento) and despite the 148 minute running time, very very engaging.

(Spoilers)

Then again, like all great films, Inception has its flaws and it’s not just the false narrative or the plot holes. Christopher Nolan has a set of rules for his world – rules that are essential in moving the plot forward; call it cinematic license, but it does feel like Nolan gets away with a little too much. I might be nitpicking but that’s what happens when you go in with great expectations.

Critics who’ve compared it to 2001: ASO or Blade Runner are only kidding themselves. Inception is more than just another great science fiction film – it’s about mathematics and engineering. The narrative is so tightly constructed that when scenes flit across the three (or four) ‘dream levels’, you cannot help but marvel at the genius behind it especially since time is supposed to be relative in all levels. A couple of years ago, the brother suggested I read Douglas R. Hofstadter’s wonderful book, Godel, Escher, Bach and after Inception, I find myself comparing the two. The film’s production design is certainly inspired by M.C. Escher’s art and some of the themes have been explored in other films. In fact, for a much more accurate interpretation of lucid dreams and more specifically, the concept of limbo, I’d recommend Richard Linklater’s underrated Waking Life.

Despite my reservations, I loved Inception. I find it oddly comforting that amidst all the crap that finds its way into cinemas, we can still count on someone to deliver a truly original blockbuster that you don’t have to switch your brain off for. And yes, I’ll be watching it again.

9/10

Caught Tegan and Sara live at The Forum last month. I’ve loved the indie sister duo ever since I was introduced to Sainthood sometime last year.

Thing about a great live performance is that you forget the opening acts. The Jezabels, a relatively new Sydney based band were pretty good and Astronautalis put up an awesome show. I love this brilliantly shot jam session. Thundercats!

(NSFW)

Astronautalis from Coach House Sounds on Vimeo.

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.

© 2009 Punnen Syriac

I counted seven of them; passed out on the floor surrounded by smoking paraphernalia and empty jello cases. The faint strain of a Marvin Gaye song came from somewhere in the decrepit apartment.

“What the hell does your boytoy want, Gwen?”

Gwen motioned me to follow her in.

“This is the guy I told you about Stu. He’s the one who wants….”

“Yeah yeah.”

Stu walked in from the toilet, wiped his hands on his khakis and plopped himself on the stained couch. The room reeked of cannabis and urine. There were copies of High Times, Extreme Golf and back issues of comic books I’d never heard of strewn about. In one corner of the room, there were giant stainless steel boxes that had wires going in and out of them. Temperature controlled vaults. Nonetheless, the place was the antithesis of what I had expected. Weren’t these people supposed to be a bit more, disciplined?

Stu sized me up and let out a condescending chuckle. I took that he wasn’t too impressed. I looked over to Gwen who seemed to be showing no emotion. Enter paranoia.

“I told you I wouldn’t sell to any wannabe latte sipping yuppie after last time Gwen. Why do you bring these little fuckers over?”

I tugged at Gwen’s sleeve but she didn’t seem to notice. I didn’t want to inconvenience the man any further. He probably had vegetative substance to get back to.

“He isn’t like the others Stu. Besides, why do you care for what he does with it?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t care what he does with it Lady Guinevere. You do. We all do.”

“We’re not having that conversation again. Stop being an elitist prick and just give him what he wants.”

Second thoughts now. An unemployed pothead was on the verge of putting me through another bout of existential angst. And from the looks of it, it’d take more than three bottles of vodka and a Dario Argento film to fix it.

Stu seemed to be contemplative all of a sudden. He picked his nose and drifted off for a minute.

“Alright, but I don’t have it sweetheart. You’ll have to see this Chinese kid. Peng.”

He turned to me, “And no asswipe, he doesn’t live with his mother.”

Hours later, I was trying to keep pace with Gwen as we raced through dingy streets and shady alleys. Screw Melbourne, this was Australia’s best kept secret. We waited by the Indian restaurant as instructed over the phone. Peng was a lot more like I’d imagined. He looked the type. Dressed in a Green Lantern t-shirt and jeans, he walked over and we shook hands awkwardly.

He seemed shy and didn’t make much eye contact with Gwen. From what I could make of his broken English, he wanted fifty more than we had agreed on. I shrugged and gave him the money. Too exhausted to haggle.

“You very lucky man. You take care of this, okay?”

I tore open the paper cover like an impatient schoolboy. Two years. Two whole years of tracking people down, forging unlikely friendships and promising unusual favors. It all boiled down to this.

I felt Gwen’s hands on my shoulder.

“Now, about that other thing.”

Having watched quite a few Kiarostami films, I ended up going for  Correspondences. It’s one of those exhibitions wherein audio-visual elements take center stage as museum installations; an experience that sometimes turns out to be grating and very very confusing (case in point being ‘replay christian marclay‘ a couple of months back).

However, Correspondences was a brilliantly rewarding and moving experience. Viktor Erice and Abbas Kiarostami apparently never met in person till the exhibition but they maintained a very unique rapport with each other through a sort of creative dialogue that gave birth to this particular installation. Despite being from vastly different backgrounds, these two auteurs found common ground in their visions of childhood, memory and cinema. There are some very powerful images (photographs by Kiarostami especially) and an excellent black and white short film by Erice titled, Lifeline (video link). Two very interesting pieces by Kiarostami included projections of a sleeping couple (Sleepers) onto the floor and another ten minute projection of a sleeping child.

Occasionally, you do feel like a voyeur but then again, isn’t that what cinema is essentially about?

(Cross-posted on Couch-Critics)

Links:

• Letters to the World
• Erice-Kiarostami: Correspondences (Paperback)

It’s that time of the year again. The Melbourne International Film Festival is back with a lot less fanfare than last year and unlike last year (when I was broke busy), I plan on catching more films. Two films I’m really looking forward to are the indie sensation ‘In Search of a Midnight Kiss‘ and Guy Maddin’s acclaimed ‘My Winnipeg‘.

Good times ensue.

Paranoid as I am, the first few thoughts that rushed through my head after seeing the cordoned off street opposite to the apartment complex I stay in were terrorists, dirty bombs and Britney Spears.

Flinders St is actually being used as a filming backdrop for the upcoming Steven Spielberg/Tom Hanks produced WW II mini series, The Pacific (a sequel of sorts to Band of Brothers). Needless to say I couldn’t contain my excitement. I was secretly hoping that The Pacific was just a working title for the new Indiana Jones film (Indian Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull), but it turned out that The Pacific was actually just, The Pacific. As if it weren’t enough to block traffic to and from one of the busiest streets in Melbourne for 35 hours, they covered up the entire shooting area with…well…giant black drapes.

Hoping to catch a glimpse of the bearded sensei, I rushed home to get my camera; but nada.

After close to 45 minutes of sighing and dodging pangs of envy, I returned to my dreary existence.

Sigh.

Link: Steven Spielberg movie chaos in city (Herald Sun)

New Years back at home/college were usually heralded with drunken musings or solemn reminiscing. This is probably the first time I’ve been part of such a loud and bombastic New Year Celebration. Tens of thousands of convulsing human bodies reeking of alcohol counting down to another year…things don’t get any better do they?

Have a great year ahead!

Since hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, I’ve decided to take the safe route and respond to Ruhi’s tag. This was harder than I thought it would be; so here are 8 random facts about The Prestidigitator.

1. He switches off his laptop once in two weeks for about an hour; he goes cold turkey if away from the internet for more than 4 hours at a stretch.

2. He has a recurring nightmare that he’s broke and homeless and is convinced that this will come to pass some day.

3. Early on, he wanted to be an astrophysicist but upon finding that he wasn’t smart enough, he set his mind on being a writer but soon found out he wasn’t good at that either. Film maker and philosopher were his other ambitions but these days, he sees himself as a  George Costanza for the 21st century.

4.  After Andrew Largeman from Garden State, he identifies most with the character Rob Gordon from High Fidelity.

5.  His Backstreet Boys phase lasted much longer than that of any other self respecting individual.

6.  He has Cheerios three times a day. With milk.

7.  If asked to his face, he will tell you he doesn’t care much for the band, Journey. But he sings (and taps his feet to) Don’t Stop Believing frequently in the shower.

8.  He is truly a child of the 80s; he will sit through any film, cartoon or song that was made in the 80s. If asked, he will tell you it’s simply because they don’t make stuff like that anymore but it’s mostly because he secretly pines for a simpler time.

There. Finito.