Melancholia

This is a lethargic, pretty and frustratingly empty study in ways of living and dying from Danish director Lars Von Trier. He follows ‘Antichrist’ with a more calm and restrained work but also one which feels curiously disengaged from the world and only impressive and powerful on a technical level rather than an intellectual or emotional one.

For all the time spent with the film’s two main characters – two sisters, Justine (Kirsten Dunst) and Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg), whose names and contrasting reactions to the approaching end of the world define the film’s two chapters – it feels that Von Trier is mostly in it for just a handful of striking images set to music from Wagner’s ‘Tristan and Isolde’. Much of the rest of the film feels like wading through glue in beautiful surroundings.

We see the best of those images in an opening, slow-motion montage set to Wagner and reminiscent of the hyper-stylised prologue to ‘Antichrist’: a moon and another planet casting two shadows across a formal garden at night; a horse rearing in a field; Dunst’s character floating in water and weeds in a nod to Millais’s ‘Ophelia’; and a rogue, larger planet moving closer to Earth and swallowing it up entirely.

This last image is the science bit, handily reconfirmed later on when a character looks up the planet Melancholia on Google, but only hazily part of the narrative until the film’s final stages. Apathy or engagement, looking inwards or outwards, are some of the film’s main themes, and Von Trier chooses a hermetic wealthy family, played by actors from both sides of the Atlantic, at a country house in a undefined location to explore these ideas.

The first chapter, ‘Justine’, plays out at that character’s high-society wedding in the grand home of her sister, Claire, and brother-in-law John (Kiefer Sutherland). These scenes are more workaday, ground-level, recognisable Von Trier: they’re shot in a handheld, documentary-style, with jump cuts and loosely-played dialogue. The wedding offers quiet laughs as Justine’s fractured family, especially her mother (Charlotte Rampling) and father (John Hurt) snap at each other and indulge their own eccentricities.

The wedding has a laconic feel, matched by Dunst’s increasingly spaced-out, whacked manner as she reacts to the oncoming planet by becomingly more and more passive and removed and eventually being barely able to walk. Most of the dialogue feels extraordinarily bogus. Maybe it’s meant to, but it’s distracting. This chapter offers one very striking image, similar to some of the more ghostly forest moments in ‘Antichrist’ as Dunst lays naked in the garden at night, soaking up the glow of the enemy planet – Melancholia-bathing, I suppose. It looks like a photo by Gregory Crewdson, both real and artificial, heavily lit and formal but not superficial. Much of the film looks like this and it’s a glorious aesthetic.

It’s the content that’s lacking. In the second chapter, ‘Claire’, the wedding is over, having ended badly and is barely referred to, and we’re left at the house over the next few days with only Justine, Claire, John, their child and their staff. This is where the film feels without a proper script, and Dunst and Gainsbourg are the victims of this, flapping through scenes of false emotion as Claire is terrified, weepy and scared in contrast to Justine’s resigned attitude to the apocalypse, which, when it comes, offers a great final image but one that feels isolated from the tedium of much of what has come before.

‘Melancholia’ isn’t a provocative or confrontational film but it’s too often a dull one. Von Trier takes his title at face value and infuses his film with a laidback, removed air, too free of real ideas, in contrast to the careful working of his imagery. That’s what’s really depressing.

Midnight in Paris

As the old joke says, nostalgia just ain’t what it used to be. And here’s Woody Allen’s latest comedy to prove it.

It wouldn’t be fair or accurate to call Midnight in Paris a comeback for prolific and accomplished Allen, even though his last outing, You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger, was certainly subpar.

That’s because the two films of Allen’s that preceded that one — Vicki Christina Barcelona and Whatever Works — were strong and memorable.
So we shouldn’t be surprised that Midnight in Paris, the writer-director’s 44th film, is a delightful and witty wish-fulfillment fantasy, a tightrope act that impresses us all the way across.
Like Clint Eastwood, Allen keeps delivering, going strong in the twilight of his directorial career.  And no longer anchored in New York, he has now concocted cinematic chronicles in London, Barcelona, and Paris as well.

Midnight in Paris opens with a montage, a tribute that celebrates the City of Light in the same way that the opening of Allen’s Manhattan celebrates the City That Never Sleeps.

Owen Wilson stars as Gil, a successful Hollywood screenwriter who wishes he could be the novelist he has always aspired to be.  He is writing a novel about a guy who owns a nostalgia shop, but he is stuck.
He has come to Paris with his fiancée (a thankless role played by a miscast Rachel MacAdams) and her parents.  They want to see the expected tourist attractions, but Gil — who idealizes and yearns for the Paris of days gone by (the Golden Age of the 1920s, to be precise) when artists would flock to Paris and would turn out important, lasting work in each other’s company, prefers to wander the streets.
Which he does, late at night, and suddenly finds himself in the company of some vaguely familiar writers and artists who couldn’t possibly still be partaking of Paris nightlife.
Because a good deal of the fun of Midnight in Paris is discovering just who Gil runs into and how and by whom they are depicted, let’s drop the narrative description at this point except to say that the literary Paris of the 1920s — of, say, Hemingway and Fitzgerald — is just that, and that Allen’s terrific supporting cast includes such luminaries as Kathy Bates, Adrien Brody, Michael Sheen, and Marion Cotillard.
Amazed, charmed, seduced, excited, and powerless to resist, and on the verge of some sort of romantic involvement of one sort or another, Gil finds reasons to return late each night — to the consternation and disappointment of his fiancée and her parents — eager to re-experience the good old days while the denizens of the 1920s look back longingly at the turn of that century.

The theme of depending on, and retreating into, fantasy beyond the point of reason has been an abiding one throughout Allen’s writing and directing careers, and this film plays as a companion piece to his earlier and similarly wistful comic fantasy, The Purple Rose of Cairo, in which a fictional Jeff Daniels reached out to living and breathing Mia Farrow from the other side of the movie screen.
Allen has addressed the theme in a winning, playful way, finishing off the soufflé with just a dash of magical realism, a pinch of time travel, and a sprinkling of in jokes and one-liners.

The ensemble is in good form, but it should be mentioned that Wilson, who does not come immediately to mind as a Woody Allen alter ego, does a splendid job of capturing the angst and yearning of his character, and getting the intended laughs with his incredulity and surrender, and does so without abandoning his style or persona by imitating the delivery of his director in the way of quite a few actors before him.
So we’ll always have 3 stars out of 4 for Woody Allen’s fine flight of fancy, Midnight in Paris, a lighthearted and clearheaded comedy that also serves as a love letter to Paris.
Play it again, Woody!

The Beaver

A risky bet that pays off solidly, Jodie Foster's The Beaver survives its life/art parallels to deliver a hopeful portrait of mental illness that while quirky is serious and sensitive. Despite obvious hurdles, with smart marketing it could connect with a wide audience.

Those echoes of Mel Gibson's well-publicized breakdowns are impossible to ignore in an opening sequence introducing us to his character Walter Black, who first appears floating in a pool, arms outstretched like Christ's. A few shots later, we see this "hopelessly depressed man," who has tried everything to remedy his condition, flagellating himself like a Catholic penitent.

Whether intentional or not, this front-and-center reminder works almost as an inoculation to viewers for whom controversy might be a distraction from drama: Having put it out there frankly (much as the protagonist will soon do, in more outlandish ways, with his own issues), the movie kills a bit of our morbid curiosity; our awareness that this depressed character is being played by a troubled actor never vanishes, but it is allowed to inform the story at hand.

 

Introducing the film's debut here, Foster warned that it is not a comedy. Yet Beaver starts firmly in that mode, even using upbeat music (Marcelo Zarvos' bouncier version of Astor Piazzola's moody tangonuevo) and slapstick to turn Walter's suicide attempt — on the eve of his being kicked out by a wife (Foster) who can't accept his years-long hopelessness — into an occasion for laughs.

The breakthrough Walter has after that failed attempt is also treated lightly, though it's dead serious for the character: He begins dealing with the world through a beaver puppet he rescued from the garbage, having come to the conclusion that his own psyche is so irreparable he must "blow it up" and start over again.

He returns home and to the workplace, dealing with people not directly but through the Beaver, who speaks with a Cockney accent and shows aplomb with situations that have stymied Walter for years. The readiness with which most people accept this strategy (that Walter presents as a legit psychological therapy, invented to distance himself from his pain) is believable in part because it works so well for him — and Foster stages shots that deftly bring the fuzzy animal to life, jostling with Gibson in the frame and occasionally meeting the camera's gaze to help us see him as Walter does.

Foster and the script (Kyle Killen's first feature) continue to earn non-mocking laughs with the scenario, sometimes simultaneously planting seeds of problems to come — as when husband and wife consummate their reunion with a funny but troubling puppet threesome.

The tone takes a firmly dark turn when Foster's Meredith, impatient with the "therapy," insists on seeing her husband sans Beaver for their anniversary dinner. Exposed and frightened, Walter breaks down. Gibson, hyperventilating and with eyes darting in panic, offers a more affecting, less romantically dramatic collapse than some he has created in earlier film roles — and he continues to underplay this state of mind (darting eyes aside) as the action grows progressively darker.

Walter's suffering is mirrored by that of his older son Porter (Anton Yelchin), who unlike a younger son who embraces Dad's new friend, is ashamed of his father's illness and pained by similarities he sees in himself. A subplot in which Porter is hired to write a speech for the class valedictorian (a seemingly perfect girl, played by Jennifer Lawrence, suffering her own traumas) looks at first like a straightforward romantic thread but proves to be a poignant reiteration of the movie's themes and culminates, a bit surprisingly, in the film's emotional payoff.

 

It's very easy to imagine a less gifted filmmaker producing a train wreck of a film using an identical script — exaggerating the highs, compartmentalizing the lows and casting a mawkish eye on everything from Walter's youngest child to his ever-present suffering. Foster finds the script's subtleties instead, and grounds the film with just enough pain to make it work. Viewers who can shake off tabloid preoccupations as they settle into the film will likely be surprised by a picture that (in a way reminiscent of Lars and the Real Girl) turns a crazy-sounding premise into something moving and sane.

Venue: South by Southwest Film Festival, Headliners section (Summit, Participant)
Production Company: Anonymous Content
Cast: Mel Gibson, Jodie Foster, Anton Yelchin, Jennifer Lawrence, Cherry Jones, Riley Thomas Stewart
Director: Jodie Foster
Screenwriter: Kyle Killen
Producers: Steve Golin, Keith Redmon, Ann Ruark
Executive producers: Jeff Skoll, Mohammed Mubarak Al Mazrouei, Paul Green, Jonathan King
Director of photography: Hagen Bogdanski
Production designer: Mark Friedberg
Music: Marcelo Zarvos
Costume designer: Susan Lyall
Editor: Lynzee Klingman
Rated PG-13,  minutes

Fast and Furious 5

Brian O’Conner (Paul Walker), a former cop on the run, and Mia (Jordana Brewster), a car thief, rescue former con Dominic Toretto (Vin Diesel) from police custody. While Mia is Dominic’s (Dom) sister, Brian is in love with her. Soon, all three are declared wanted by the police. Brian and Mia escape to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, where Mia’s former accomplice, Vince (Matt Schulze), offers them a daring job – robbing expensive cars from a moving train. As they need the money, Brian and Mia agree.

Even as they break into the train compartment carrying the cars, Dom joins Mia and Brian on the daring theft, which also involves Vince and a few local thieves. Dom smells trouble and asks Mia to wait for his call and not go to the designated drop point. After Vince and Mia leave with two cars, Dom and Brian break into a fight with the locals. Soon, federal agents arrive on the scene but are killed by Zizi (Michael Irby), a local. Dom and Brian manage to jump off the train into a moving car but are then captured by the local goons, who owe allegiance to a corrupt businessman, Reyes (Joaquim de Almeida). Reyes controls Rio’s mafia and also the police force. After a brief encounter with Reyes, Dom and Brian manage to escape and join Mia at their hiding place in the slums of Rio. They discover a hidden chip in Mia’s car. The chip contains detailed description of Reyes’ black money, which is stored in various locations across Rio.

Within minutes, Dom, Brian and Mia are attacked by Reyes’ men and also by elite US agents, led by Hobbs (Dwayne Johnson). The trio manages to give both parties a miss by jumping over the sprawling slum rooftops but not before Dom has a close encounter with Elena (Elsa Pataky), a local police aide to Hobbs.

When Dom suggests that they go separate ways to avoid getting caught, Mia announces that she is pregnant. Dom and Brian are happy but decide to do one last job, so that the family can buy its freedom. They decide to steal $100 million of black money from Reyes. They assemble a team including their former accomplices and friends to do the job.

Soon, Dom and the team strike one of Reyes’ secret locations and burn all the money. Immediately, Reyes moves all his money to a vault in a police station in Rio. Dom’s task just gets more difficult but they persist and hatch a plan to sneak the money from right under the police’s nose. In the meantime, they are declared wanted in Rio after Hobbs learns of their plan. Dom and Hobbs have another confrontation.

Chris Morgan’s script, based on characters by Gary Scott Thompson, packs a punch. In spite of the linear narrative, the plot is interesting as it has lots of twists and turns. The highlight of the screenplay is a number of brilliantly-executed action sequences, which keep the audience glued to their seats. The train sequence, the ambush and the climactic chase sequences stand out. Unlike the previous films of the franchise, there are no car races, but that is more than made up for by the amazing stunts.

Most characterizations are interesting but one-dimensional. Also, there is never an emotional connect between the audience and the characters. A few emotional scenes, between the action sequences, do not come through well. The budding relationship between Dom and Elena seems unreal. The redeeming factor here is the element of comedy that has been added through the character of the loud-mouthed Roman (Tyrese Gibson). The camaraderie among members of Dom’s team works well. The rest of the job is done by the racy cars, hot girls and beautiful scenery of Rio. The dialogues are good. Hence, overall, the script succeeds in keeping the audience engaged.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uSDNZeRX_1Y&feature=player_embedded

Noukadubi (Boat Wreck)

Bloggers Two Penny Bits

It is the 150th birth anniversary of Kavi Guru Rabindranath Tagore.

In celebrating his life and work events are being organized globally by the Indian Diaspora. Filmmakers, especially in Bengal are trying to outdo each other in making films based or adapted from his literary works.

It all started last year with Laboratory, directed by Raja Sen. Laboratory was based on a short story by Tagore. Sen played it safe by not tampering with the original story. The film received moderate success.

Now, Noukadubi, directed by Rituparno Ghosh and produced by Subhash Ghai is till date one of the finest movies I have ever seen. Ghosh mention in the credits that the movie is inspired by Tagore. True, as with Noukadubi, Ghosh explores the trauma of a village girl (Riya Sen)who mistakenly believes that the man (Jishu Sengupta) who finds her after the boat wreck is actually her husband.

Noukadubi floats on the brilliant performances by the actors, and director Rituporno Ghosh's beautiful storytelling..Excellent cinematography with some memorable shots, the characters are beautified by the camera at every shot..Riya Sen is the new discovery..an unnoticed talent...with a dose of heart rending Rabindra Sangeet..Noukadubi Keeps itself afloat through a stormy voyage into our hearts.

Professional Review

The film is based on Rabindranath Tagore’s story Noukadubi (Boatwreck). It’s set in 1920s Bengal and brings to us Hemnalini and Ramesh, a young couple in love despite their class differences. He is a lawyer of sparse means. She is from a progressive wealthy family, a music aficionado who is blessed with a lilting singing voice and a loving, liberal father. One day Ramesh is emotionally pressured into marrying another woman. When he leaves his village after the ceremony, a storm washes his boat ashore. He recovers consciousness, to find a young bride out cold beside him. Can he ever find happiness with the new girl? How will Hemnalini salvage her life? How will they resolve the case of mistaken identity that became their undoing?

Ghosh tells this story in precisely the way his characters must have lived their lives: in a quiet, unhurried fashion. The cinematography and music are in perfect harmony with the mood of the film. There’s also a richness of detail in the settings and costumes. Hemnalini’s home is luxurious and well-appointed; Ramesh’s house is almost bare. Hem wears expensive outfits and shelters herself with delicate parasols; Kamla is the bride swathed in ornaments. The other significant character in the film, Dr Nalinaksha from Benaras lives in a palatial house; but Hem’s Calcutta home feels more lived-in, warmed by the affections of its residents for each other. These backdrops provide an ideal playing ground for Ghosh’s cast, all of whom are excellent and well chosen. Raima Sen (Hemnalini) is a fine actress with a beauty and regal bearing that fits well into an early 20^th century story. Her sister Riya, whose work I haven’t liked in the past, is absolutely apt for the semi-literate Kamla. I can’t tell whether this is a result of inspired casting (where the actor’s real-life personality simply happens to match the character she’s playing) or if Ghosh has managed to bring out the actor in her, but either way, it works. The dubbing artiste’s high-pitched, breathy voice is not immediately attractive, but is effective in conveying Kamla’s girlish diffidence and insecurity. With Kashmakash, Hindi film audiences will also get to see the handsome Bengali actor Jisshu Sengupta in a leading role. Sengupta brings to Ramesh’s character a vulnerability and pathos that is heart-wrenching.

Producer Subhash Ghai has chosen well for his first foray into Bengali cinema: Rituparno Ghosh’s (Noukadubi) is a lovely, under-stated work of art and it’s great to see a major Mumbai producer backing a non-Hindi film. Ghai has clearly not taken this project lightly: the Hindi dubbed version even boasts of lyrics by Gulzar. I have no argument against a film being dubbed well into another language, however much some hard-core film buffs may oppose it. Personally though, I’d have preferred to watch the original Bengali film with English subtitles. Unfortunately, no such version is being released in Indian theaters: you can either catch it in Bengali without subtitles in West Bengal or in Hindi outside the state. I’m also extremely uncomfortable with the fact that Ghosh and Ghai were not able to find a meeting ground on the matter, as a result of which this Hindi version has been translated, dubbed and edited down by 30 minutes under Ghai’s guidance, without the director’s involvement at all.

That’s a matter for a long discussion in another space. But right now on this review blog, looking at the Hindi dubbed version as a standalone film, there is much to praise: the Hindi translations by Preeti Sagar have been done in such a manner that there is very little mismatch between the lip movements of the actors and the dialogues being delivered by the Hindi dubbing artistes. That comes as a relief almost two decades after the incongruous Hindi dubbing of Mani Ratnam’s Tamil films Roja and Bombay. The Hindi voices in Kashmakash too are a match for the actors’ personalities. 

Reviewed by Anna M.M. Vetticad