Review: A Respectable Family

Grade: B

One of the greatest perks of living in a cinematic hub like Toronto is the large number of festivals and retrospectives that run all year long. TIFF is, of course, the parent festival and the organization's year-around activities are the prime destination for any cinephile living in this city, but the smaller festivals offer their own share of pleasures. This year saw the inaugural edition of Scarborough Film Festival, founded by Sergei Petrov, whom I've had the pleasure of knowing from a few years back when we crossed paths somewhere along the TIFF hierarchy. The festival, located at the beautiful Fox theatre along the seaside, southeastern edge of Toronto, was a success by all measures and will surely grow into a landmark summer event as years go by, since Scarborough's culturally diverse demographic and the dreamy locale that hosts the festival provide the perfect platform for a rising festival slightly removed from the frenzy of downtown.

The festival's closing film was from Iran, making me doubly excited to be there. It's a film called A Respectable Family, by director Masoud Bakhshi. Bakhshi's first film, Tehran Has No More Pomegranates! has found something of a cult following among Iranian cinephiles so I was quite happy to catch up with his work here. All the more so when the jury announced prior to the screening that the Bakhshi was the runner-up for the festival's best director prize.

A Respectable Family tells the story of Arash (Babak Hamidian), a young Iranian university professor who has spent the last 22 years of his life serving the academia in Europe. Upon receiving an invitation from the University of Shiraz in his native city, Arash heads back home to spend a year as a guest professor; but Iran's many political upheavals have created an entirely different atmosphere from the one he'd left behind. Yet, it isn't his unfamiliarity with the academic system or the city of Shiraz at large that discomforts him the most; it's his dysfunctional family, ravaged by decades of betrayal and war.

Arash's father, an ostensibly pious man who provided people with food during the Iran-Iraq conflict, had actually committed one of the greatest crimes during that war: hoarding. The minimal amount of resources he provided to the people in need paled in comparison with what he hid in his storage to sell for magnified prices. His personal life was no less tainted than his social one - he had been married prior to his communion with Arash's mother (played by two of my favorite Iranian actresses, a young Behnaz Jafari and an older Ahu Kheradmand), though the marriages had been kept secret from both wives. Arash, as a result, had two brothers: a half brother called Jafar (Mehran Ahmadi) from his father's previous marriage and a blood brother who has been killed in the war after his father had persuaded him to join the forces. Arash's mother, blaming her husband not just for cheating, but for losing their son to war, had shunned the man and chosen to live the rest of her life alone and on a very minimal income.

Monday's Words of Wisdom

"Much Ado was shot cheaply and quickly while the director was occupied with the mighty labor of The Avengers, and it is in every way superior to that bloated, busy blockbuster. Also shorter. Do not suppose that this is reflexive literary snobbery or a preposterous apple-and-orange comparison. Shakespeare’s knotty double plot, propelled by friendships, rivalries and a blithe spirit at once romantic and cynical, is a better vehicle for Mr. Whedon’s sensibilities than the glowering revenger’s tale that every superhero movie is forced, these days, to become."

- From A. O. Scott's review of Joss Whedon's charming Much Ado About Nothing

Blind Spots: Groundhog Day

Let me start with a confession – a confession that might sound elitist, though I really don’t intend it as such: I’ve always felt that certain films are too accessible for me to watch. They’re too readily available. Everyone’s seen them and they’re always on TV, so I assume at some point I’ll get around to seeing them eventually. The problem is that I never do. In the same way that a city’s residents don’t visit its historical landmarks with the appetite of a tourist - reasoning that those sights are always going to be there for them to see - I’ve always thought that I can watch Groundhog Day, or Back to the Future, or A Christmas Story some other time. That time has never arrived.

This month's blind spots entry, then, isn't a massive awards winner, or a canonical work from a well-regarded auteur. It's Groundhog Day. A film that played to strong box office and respectable reviews at the time of its release but didn't really rise to perennial TV favorite and Great American Comedy status until a few years later. Now, it is a film everyone knows of, almost everyone has seen and many love quite a bit.

If you have been living under the same rock as me, let me explain things a bit. Groundhog Day stars Bill Murray as Phil, a lovably arrogant Pennsylvania weatherman - he's a lovable in a way only Murray can make intolerable characters lovable. He sees himself above everything and everyone in the way only celebrities and politicians do; and he thinks of himself as a bit of both: the charisma and popularity of a star and the authority of a politician. At the beginning of the film, Phil is invited to Punxsutawney, a small town in Pennsylvania, to report on the annual Groundhog Day for the third year in a row. It’s an event wherein a groundhog, also named Phil, is believed to be predicting the length of the rest of the winter season. It is ceremoniously presented and everyone just has a bit of harmless fun and goes home.

To Phil, the weatherman, this is neither harmless nor fun. He’s utterly disdainful of all the people he believes to be idiots and can’t wait to get back to Pennsylvania. On February 2^nd, the big day, he presents his report with a blasé expression on his face in front of his producer (Rita, played by Andie MacDowell) and his cameraman and gets straight back to his van to head back. Unfortunately for him, a blizzard has shut all the roads down and he’s forced to spend an extra day in Punxsutawney. But that’s not quite bad enough. At 6 o’clock in the morning, Phil wakes up to a curious scene: the exact same scene as Groundhog Day, down to the smallest details. February 2^nd has repeated itself. And then it repeats itself again... and again... and again. On a loop, in a time warp, forever; and the catch is that no one but Phil notices this. He’s the only one who’s reliving February 2^nd. Everyone else is just living it.

It’s a curious concept but one that proves incredibly rewarding, both for Phil and the film that contains him. Phil is originally irritated by the repetition of his days and resorts to sex, booze, punching an old classmate and multiple attempts at suicide to release his tension, but he eventually learns to treat the situation as a tremendous gift. He learns to play the piano, speak French and impress Rita. But beyond that, he comes out of this a changed man. He becomes charitable and giving.

The film comes out triumphant, because it jumps over every single trap that can drag it into saccharine territory. Though it ends on a predictably clichéd and sweet note, it doesn’t leave the audience asking for anything different. It takes a character so completely unlikeable and puts him on an arc that feels neither unbelievable nor unacceptable. In effect, we change with the film. We long for that sweet ending because gradually, Bill Murray has made us root for a character we were so thoroughly annoyed by in the beginning.

Really, the enduring success of Groundhog Day comes down to the brilliance of Murray’s performance. His career doesn’t ask for any more renditions of the bitter, misanthropic funnyman, but this is the cream of the crop. His characterization is enriched with new layers of understanding with every repetition of the day and never fails to make the audience see him in a new light. It’s a work of superb comic ease and incredible dramatic weight that makes it impossible to imagine anyone else as Phil. Often times an actor’s performance in one particular film is so powerful that it influences the rest of his career and casts a shadow over his public persona. Perhaps one could make such a case for Murray’s performance here, and that’s not meant to be reductive. Most other actors could only wish to have such a fine performance as their landmark work.

Review: Expedition to the End of the World

*This review was originally posted at The Film Experience during the Hot Docs International Film Festival. 

I'll have the watch till 11 o'clock. Then I'll go down to the saloon and write the meaning of life.”

As a general rule, I try to avoid all films that deal with the ocean. I'm not averse to action adventures but I suffer from intense thalassophobia and cinema is an experience I'd like to enjoy, not endure. Exceptions have to be made every now and then, of course, and a few experiences have been rewarding enough to justify all the shaking and sneaking through fingers. I made one such exception for Expedition to the End of the World, based on strong word of mouth, and I’m happy to say I came away thoroughly satisfied. 

This Danish film follows a group of explorers – crudely referred to only by their respective professions: the archaeologist, the geochemist, the artist, the other artist, etc. - who sail to the North East of Greenland to a previously untapped fjord in the ocean where access had been denied prior to the partial melting of the North Pole. It’s a small benefit of global warming, as one of the scientists puts it, that these men are able to explore this particular region, but here’s the catch: the inlet is only open for a short while as a result of this melting. In a few weeks, it will trap the group in between the mountains.

Best Shot: The Talented Mr. Ripley

For personal reasons, by which I mean starting a new job this week and a few family commitments, I've had the craziest time imaginable and haven't really had the chance to watch/write anything these past few days. However, I surprised myself by managing to squeeze in a screening of The Talented Mr. Ripley last night so I feel that, despite not having enough time to write a proper article, I should still go ahead and post my favorite shot because...well, I've chosen one, so why not? 

The above shot is of Dickie Greenleaf (Jude Law) playing his instrument by the window of a room in his villa in Italy - what a coincidence, by the way, that we're following up another 'American in Italy' film with this one for the series. The reason I'm choosing this shot - one of many candidates but a clear favorite for me - is two-fold. For one thing, the composition is absolutely beautiful and it fits in nicely with the rest of The Talented Mr. Ripley in producing a subdued, gentle imagery of Italy's beautiful architecture and the interiors of Dickie's villa. Minghella avoids almost every opportunity to magnify the scenery or the opulence of Dickie's possessions. The visual focus of his camera is always the characters and their human interactions. (Think of how he manages to juxtapose objects with people in ways that connects them together thematically, most obviously in the sequence of Miles' murder with the bleeding statue of a male head.)

More importantly, however, this is my favorite shot because it captures the essence of Dickie's character in a single frame. Cast in this silhouette, Dickie is at his most mysterious, hiding secrets and charming at once. With the golden shine of his instrument and the golden flow of his hair, Dickie's image is as enigmatic and alluring as it is cryptic. The shadow tells us nothing about him, while telling us so much at the same time: his elegance, his casual handsomeness, his love of jazz, his cool demeanor. After his death, when his persona is inhabited by Tom, he becomes an increasingly illusory figure for the audience. The boundaries between Dickie and Tom's impression of Dickie get murkier and we become disillusioned with all our knowledge of him; and the more unattainable he becomes, the easier it is for me to recognize that this one splendid mirage represents Dickie in ways a thousands words could not. 

Review: The Great Gatsby

Grade: B+

After months of anticipation and trepidation, Baz Luhrmann’s The Great Gatsby finally reached our screens. As if excitement for a new Luhrmann film and apprehension about another adaptation of one of my favorite books of all time wasn't enough to keep me anxious, Warner Brothers decided to change the release date from December 2012 to May 2013, in a move that made me nervous as much as it relieved me. Nervous, because I wondered whether there were re-edits in store that signaled a lack of confidence on the part of the director or the studio. Relieved, because with the weight of expectation on the film’s shoulders in the awards season, critical reaction would have been vicious. Luhrmann, like many other directors whose styles are strongly pronounced and whose visions are uncompromising, inspires as much reprimand as he does adoration, and with a source novel as popular and as seemingly unsuited to his style, knives were out for his film the very day production started.

In retrospect, the date change proved to be an incredibly smart move. For one thing, in the box office heat of the summer, The Great Gatsby will perform much better than it would have in the glut of December prestige releases. The opening weekend figures suggest it is easily on its way to making a sizable profit. More importantly, the critical reaction, though not exactly favorable, will not be as detrimental to the film’s public acceptance or longevity. Not that it deserves such critical disrespect anyway. Luhrmann’s adaptation is a film that, despite many glaring flaws, cannot be dismissed for its sheer audacity alone.

If you've never read the book – which would be a bit strange for anyone who cares enough to read this review – The Great Gatsby, a timeless classic by F. Scott Fitzgerald of which I have always been an absolute devotee, is narrated by Nick Carraway (Tobey Maguire) who is a failed author and a bondsman living in New York in the 1920s. His cousin, Daisy (Carey Mulligan), is married to the preposterously wealthy, “old-money”, Tom Buchanan (Joel Edgerton), and spends her days wandering around her mansion in the East Egg, chatting about all matters of insignificance with her friend Jordan Baker (Elizabeth Debicki) who is a famous golfer. Nick lives across the bay in the West Egg, where his humble house is located next to the ostentatious castle of a mysterious man name Jay Gatsby (Leonardo DiCaprio). All that is known to the public about Gatsby is that he throws lavish parties frequently, where alcohol and music and debauchery run wild. Gatsby rarely ever introduces himself to the guests, though he does so to Nick, in the hope of getting to meet Daisy, whom he reveals to be a former lover of his before he went to the war, leaving Daisy to marry Tom.

Review: The Manor

*This review was originally posted at The Film Experience during the Hot Docs Film Festival. 

"My friends had parents who were dentists or ran stores. My parents own a strip club." 

So says Shawney Cohen, the director of The Manor, the Canadian film that opens the festival tonight. Advertised with images of the invitingly neon-lit entrance of a strip club and scantily-clad dancers, The Manor seems to have been chosen as the opening night film based on an old adage we know all too well: sex sells. It’s a risky move by the festival’s programmers because anyone going in to buy sex will surely leave the theatre disappointed. Those of us going in not based on the marketing material but on the promise of a great opener had nothing to worry about. The Manor is an intimate family portrait that explores universal themes of familial bonding through a sharp and wryly humorous lens.

Shawney was six years old when his Jewish parents – Roger, a European immigrant, and Brenda, a Torontonian – bought The Manor, a strip club in suburban Ontario with a hotel attached to it. The purchase of the club proved to be a turning point in the life of the Cohen family that, for better or worse, has remained tied to the locale for nearly three decades; and indeed, this tenacious relationship between the Cohens and The Manor forms the core of the film.

Very little of what happens on the stages of the club is captured by Cohen’s camera. The Manor isn’t even passively sexy; it’s actively unsexy. Cohen’s attention is directed at what the audience doesn’t want to see. He’s directed his focus on the all-encompassing impact that the strip club has made on the lives of everyone connected to it. From the concierge of the adjacent hotel – a former stripper at the club – whose overdose throws everyone for a loop to the arrest of one the mainstays at the club – an adopted son figure to Roger Cohen – everyone’s life seems irreversibly affected by their presence at The Manor.