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Mar 30, 2014

Finding Vivian Maier

Grade: B-

*This review was originally published at The Movie Mezzanine.

There is a conundrum that film critics often face while writing about documentary cinema: although form and content are perhaps more easily separable in documentary films, they are also significantly easier to conflate in criticism. Meaning fiction films are regularly dismissed for unassuming presentation of content, but documentaries get a free pass if their subject matter is moving or important or fascinating as a separate entity from the film itself. Clichéd formal practices are often forgiven if the material piques our interest.

Finding Vivian Maier is the most recent case of a documentary film that coasts purely on the force of its enigmatic subject, rendering it in effect impossible to judge the film on any merit beyond the power of the mysterious woman it tries to solve. The titular artist, a New York-born woman of European heritage, spent nearly four decades of her life as a nanny in Chicago and New York.

To the families she lives with, she was known for her obsessive interest in street photography and the enormous number of boxes she hid in her room. Yet, no one had ever had the opportunity to glance at any of these photographs. Vivian’s massive collection of boxes – in which she kept everything from pawnshop receipts to small earrings to newspapers, was rediscovered when John Maloof, a Chicago historian happened to buy one of them for an art project at an auction.

Mar 29, 2014

The Missing Picture

*This review was originally published on Movie Mezzanine

Grade: A-

In the mid-1970s, the forces of Khmer Rouge, led by Pol Pot, took over Cambodia. Their vicious, autocratic reign initiated a four-year national genocide that exterminated about a quarter of the country’s entire population. In the regime’s Utopia, no Cambodian would be distinguishable from another. Personalities would be eradicated. A human life was either brutally taken away or reduced to a lifetime of hardship spent in anonymity. Famine, mass executions, forced labor camps and withholding of medical supplies in favor of locally produced, natural medicines were only some of the atrocities committed.

Like most other dictatorships, little record remains of the government’s brutalities. The officially sponsored filmmakers would be subjected to torture and execution if their films showed any evidence of poverty or hardship among Cambodians and their negatives would be burned. Hence, what footage remains is either hidden and rusted, if not fully solidified, stock, or official films depicting a unified and hard working but satisfied people. The absence of truthful records of the era means stories like Rithy Panh’s are not easy subjects for a documentary film. Panh, a director whose filmography has dealt extensively with his personal family history in Cambodia, was a child when Phnom Penh was taken over by the Khmer Rouge forces. He was moved away from his hometown and lost his family and community to deaths or otherwise unknown circumstances.

It’s an intensely personal story for Panh, and one he cannot tell with the aid of real life footage for the aforementioned reasons. So, claiming that “it doesn’t take much but will” and hence grossly downplaying the painstaking process of his film’s making, Panh recreates the entirety of the events using hundreds of meticulously rendered clay figurines and their complete natural and architectural landscape.  The digression from the traditional mode of political documentary filmmaking, which is necessitated by historical circumstances, has been seen in recent years in the likes of the animated Waltz with Bashir and Joshua Oppenheimer’s The Act of Killing, which coincidentally also tackles issues of genocide in another country in South East Asia. The production of The Missing Picture is unquestionably more elaborate than both and arguably more emotionally effective.

Enjoying a creative freedom that real footage usually does not afford documentarians, Panh bends the environment of his story to his vision, recreating –  though not dramatizing –  entire narratives in ways impossible in live action storytelling. Hence, the clay creations have a twofold effect: first, they artfully temper the overt, graphic violence of the real events and, in the process, immerse the audience in that world without exhausting their patience; second, the figurines are products of physical labor that inspire a genuine sense of pathos in the audience that intensifies the film’s dramatic beats. The Missing Picture gradually accumulates affection in the audience for these figurines, slowly diminishing any sense of artifice. Subtle shifts in the appearance of the clay figures – from noticeable loss of weight to gut-wrenching, miraculously real changes of facial expressions – imply more than can be suggested on paper. The director has instilled each one of them with personality and the immense weight of his own struggle.

Panh notes in his voiceover narration that thoughts, unlike pictures and documents, can never be taken away. His reimagining of a lost childhood, and a nation’s lost generation, in this artfully rendered form is a testament to the truth of his claim, to the sheer force of memory and to the timelessness of the impact of living under such intense oppression. In his deft hands, the film becomes not just a recreation of a reality long gone, but an indication of ever-present melancholia for an entire people. “I wish to be rid of this picture of hunger and suffering so I show it to you” says Panh. The therapeutic effects of this experience may only be known to him; the pain, however, is immediately palpable to us.

Mar 28, 2014

Salaam Cinema

Grade: B+

*This review was originally published on Hello Cinema.

Mohsen Makhmalbaf’s Hello Cinema (Salaam Cinema, 1995) opens with shots of a crowd of thousands of segregated men and women, impatiently and chaotically waiting as a small car arrives and passes through the labyrinthine, narrow streets of north Tehran. The unsuspecting viewer would be forgiven for mistaking the scene for footage from a political riot, especially when the ensuing mayhem results in the entire crowd pushing through an outmuscled gate. The beginning of Hello Cinema serves multiple purposes: exposing the extent to which cinema enjoys popularity among Iranians of all ages, genders and social strata; cheekily shedding light on a culture that has little respect for social decorum; and establishing the film as a documentary, a distinction that is mysteriously and intriguingly up for debate to this day.

Makhmalbaf’s original idea was to make a film that celebrated the 100th anniversary of cinema, but when the casting call for 100 actors brought in nearly 5,000 contestants to Tehran’s Ferdows Garden, the director began to shape his film around these audition tapes. The final product is an innovative tribute to the possibilities of the cinematic medium and an astute evisceration of both the history and status quo of Iranian cinema. Hello Cinema was made at a time when the national cinema of Iran was at the height of its international popularity. Jafar Panahi was about to release The White Balloon, his first major global success, and Abbas Kiarostami’s Close-up and Through the Olive Trees had just made the festival rounds, with A Taste of Cherry on its way to Cannes, where it would win the Palme d’Or. It was also made at a time when Makhmalbaf was beginning to shift his focus slightly from the patently political likes of Nasuh’s Repentance and Marriage of the Blessed to the structurally challenging, evocative brilliance of A Moment of Innocence. This was a filmmaker transitioning from being an ideologue with a creative spirit to a provocative auteur. There would be no ideologically motivated sounds of dogs barking, no opening a film with a call to all angels to come to the world’s rescue (shorthand for the martyrs of the Iran-Iraq war). This was a film about the cinema itself.

Yet, Makhmalbaf is at the forefront of his film and his engaging, complicated but aggressive personality breathes life into a work of art that could have otherwise been reduced to an academic experiment. Hello Cinema is a frank discussion about the meaning of art, its place in society and the ambitions and challenges of its practitioners. Few directors would take a premise as narrowly straightforward as a series of audition tapes stitched together and turn it on its head to discuss issues as varied as a nation’s justice system, the history of domestic genre filmmaking, and socially entrenched ideas about virginity, motherhood and women’s role in society with equal perceptiveness and humor. Makhmalbaf had the audacity—and enjoyed, at the time, a rare position with the Iranian censorship system—to extend his reach to such far horizons. The resulting film is a timeless rumination on the process of filmmaking and, paradoxically, a time capsule for the director himself, a bewilderingly unique persona caught at his artistic peak, immediately following the end of his religiopolitical sermons and a short while before beginning a process of rebellious emancipation.

Mar 18, 2014

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind


Rest assured that it is not for sheer laziness that my selection for the best shot of Michel Gondry's indelible masterpiece, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, is the film's most famous one. So memorable was this frame that the distributors recognized its brilliance early on and used it as the film's poster. In the years since, it has become one of the most iconic images in film history; but familiarity isn't the only reason I cherish this moment most. Frequently, and paradoxically, the mark of a great film, or a personal favorite, is how much of it I don't remember, not how much I do. Perhaps it is because of the ability to surprise, to create the same genuine sense of wonder that I experience the first time I encounter these films on the screen.

Eternal Sunshine, in its entirety, and this shot specifically, exhibit that quality. They reveal whole new facets and redefine themselves in ways we never thought of before. The experience of watching the film isn't wholly dissimilar to that of Joel as he walks back and forth on a street that disappears on him bit by bit, plunging his memory into darkness. In the end, he and Clementine choose to rebuild the memories and rediscover the spark of the past; and so do I, with a film I have seen countless times, only to let it take over me, fill me with joy, bring me to tears and enchant me all over again.

When the shot above arrived, I was baffled to notice that I had completely forgotten about the cracks on the ice. How delicate and meaningful a touch! And yet, all I remembered was the two lovers wistfully staring at the stars. It is really that fracture though that instills this shot with so much emotion. Is it a sign that the foundation on which their love rests is beginning to crumble? Knowing what we know by the story's end, does its placement signify their past relationship or the future one? Is it a symbol of their doubts as they begin a new chapter or is it an indication to the audience, unbeknownst to them, that things will fall apart again? Did Joel and Clementine know that it was so close to them? Or is the fracture just their broken hearts materialized in physical form? Is it any surprise that a film filled to the brim with magical moments such as this continues to enthrall?


*Other entries for this episode of Hit Me With Your Best Shot can be found here.

Mar 5, 2014

Non-Stop

Grade: B

*This review was originally published on The Film Experience.

In the opening scene of NON-STOP, federal air marshal Bill Marks is sitting in his car in the parking lot of the New York airport before he enters the building to take his flight. As he fidgets with his phone, making one last call before departing, he turns the radio on. The radio voices just happen to be discussing the issue of airport security in the post 9/11 world. Fast forward to ninety minutes later when the mystery of the film is solved and the dead and alive are separated and the television is on. The newscaster, mic in hand, looks us straight in the eyes and, under the guise of national news, explains what we have just witnessed. She clarifies the twists of the film with sincerity and merrily wraps up by tying everything with a bow. As the title suggests, subtlety is not Non-Stop’s strongest suit, but it is precisely the combination of ridiculous and grandiose that makes it such an enthralling experience.

Liam Neeson, in the latest episode of the subtextual franchise which reinvents him as America’s unlikelies action star, stars as Bill Marks (that name!) an air marshal who has been assigned to a New York to London flight. Also on the plane: Jen Summers (Julianne Moore) a seemingly nervous woman intent on finding a window seat – she ends up in the one next to agent Marks, a school teacher named Bowen (Scoot McNairy), an NYPD officer named Austin (Corey Stoll), Michelle Dockery and Lupita Nyong’o as flight attendants, and a seven year old girl called Becca, whose first interaction with Marks screams "Emotional Subplot!" thousands of miles ahead of its destination.

In an introductory conversation between Jen and Bill, it transpires that she is sheepish about revealing her occupation and he suffers from avophobia. Immediately afterwards, Marks receives a message on his secured, government provided cell phone. The message indicates that every 20 minutes, a passenger is going to be killed on the plane unless $150m is transferred to a certain bank account. Though this seems like an improbable plan given the closed environment of the plane, the first victim loses his life before Marks’s timer goes off exactly at 20 minutes. Marks tries to keep this hidden from the passengers, but subsequent accidents make this impossible. Meanwhile, he tries to convince his supervisors that the threats must not be taken lightly, but the only passenger they become suspicious of is the only man who legally carried a gun on the plane: Federal Marshal Marks.

A ludicrously contrived plot, yes, but the twists are perfectly worked out. For a narrative that hinges entirely on how the mystery is solved, rather than where the film ends, the writers avoid every possible pitfall. This isn’t to say that there aren’t any holes in its logic since it's a slice of Swiss cheese throughout. Yet, Non-Stop is successful because it stops just short of taking itself seriously while delivering an edge of your seat whodunit. The trick is in understanding that none of this could happen in the real world, but embracing it wholeheartedly, balls to the wall.

Mar 4, 2014

Omar

Grade: B+
*This review was originally published on Movie Mezzanine.

There is a danger inherent in political cinema that plagues a vast number of films made within the genre: if the filmmaker tempers personal theories and passionate arguments for the subject at hand, the film can become politically insipid and socially irrelevant; if (s)he uses the film as a platform to voice partisan opinions, it can be dismissed as propaganda. This is particularly pertinent in the case of the long-lasting conflict in the Middle East, where every film, Palestinian or Israeli, has to overcome a set of built-in assumptions before it even reaches the global audience. Hany Abu Assad’s Oscar-nominated Omar is no exception, but it is the rare film that walks the tightrope expertly and finds the right tone of political speech.

Omar follows the titular character, a young Palestinian baker, who routinely scales a wall dividing his village from the Israeli town in which his best friend, Tarek, lives with his family. Omar and Tarek’s younger sister, Nadia, have a blossoming romantic relationship that must remain hidden in the face of religious tradition, but one which they are planning to make official when Omar finally asks her family for her hand. Omar and the hotheaded Tarek spend their free time with a third childhood friend, Amjad, whose small stature and jokester persona set him in stark contrast against Omar and the politically ambitious Tarek. But it is Amjad, who steps up to the occasion when the three of them materialize their thoughtless plan to assassinate an Israeli soldier with a gun shot from afar.

At the hands of an Israeli army that swiftly tracks the offenders down, Omar is detained and ruthlessly tortured and beaten, but not before he tells a wired inmate that “he will never confess.” Taking that statement as his confession, his captors give him two options: serve a 90-year sentence in prison, or turn in Tarek, who is believed by the Israelis to be the shooter. Omar, looking for a chance at redemption and a life with Nadia, makes the obvious pick; but when out of prison, he conspires with his friends to ambush the Israeli soldiers that come after them. The personal and political consequences of Omar’s decision intertwine with and cross-impact the complications of his relationship with Nadia. He is forced both to prove to her and the rest of the community that his early release is not a sign of allegiance to Israelis, and to fight off Amjad’s interest in Nadia, which may not be as unrequited as Omar originally believes.

Mar 2, 2014

February Screening Log

Adam Bakri and Leem Lubany in Hany Abu Assad's Omar
Non-Stop (Collet-Serra, 2014, B) (review)
Nothing original or substantial distinguishes Non-Stop from the previous installments in the 'Liam Neeson as Action Hero' franchise, but measuring it against them in terms of the sheer fun value, Non-Stop is at the top of the crop.

Cléo From 5 to 7 (Varda, 1962, A) (review)
An exquisite feat of directorial experimentation and a revolutionary landmark of feminist cinema, Varda's film is as emotionally powerful as it is technically impressive. A provocative success on every level.

Tehran is the Capital of Iran (Shirdel, 1966, A-)
Somewhat more straightforward than his two earlier films, Shirdel's is more noticeably angry and less polished. Still, the emotional punch of his message never allows the audience to slump into a lull.

Fortress/Women's Prison (Shirdel, 1965, A+)
Though not even half an hour long put together, these two short documentaries are among the best films Iranian cinema has ever produced. Socially conscious, emotionally rich and technically innovative, Shirdel's poetic look at the lower rungs of society in pre-revolutionary Tehran still pulses with energy vitality and energy today.

Omar (Abu Assad, 2014, B+) (review)
A tense, twisted and riveting thriller that is politically passionate as it is objective. Abu Assad explores the long term social consequences of the occupation with an assured voice and gets uniformly strong performances from his ensemble.

The Palm (Taghvai, 1969, B-)
A rather straightforward, educational look at the palm fields in Southern Iran, Taghvai's film illuminates the camaraderie that existed between date-farmers in the heat of Khuzestan, but it lacks the poetry of his better known works.

The Sorcerer's Wind (Taghvai, 1969, A)
Exposing the rarely studied, African-inspired, tribal rituals of the Iranian South, Taghvai's soothingly lyrical approach creates an incantatory, is-it-true-is-it-not text in stark contrast with the rugged beauty of the subject of exorcism.

Blue Jasmine (Allen, 2013, B)
In subtle ways that only reveal themselves upon a second screening, Jasmine is one of Allen's most artfully curated films, with an array of knockout performances. Still, it remains more vindictive of its characters than inquisitive.

The Lego Movie* (Lord/Miller, 2014, B+)
Even funnier than the first time around and revealing whole new layers of cleverness. Two screenings have already established this film as an endlessly re-watchable marvel.

For No Eyes Only (Barde, 2014, C+) (thoughts)
A hyper-digitalized retelling of Alfred Hitchcock's Rear Window, this German film lacks the thematic richness of its predecessor and misses an opportunity for any sort of commentary on our current struggle with privacy in the face of easy-access web cameras.

I Learn America (Dissard/Peng, 2014, B-) (thoughts)
Perceptive, moving and occasionally heartbreaking, this documentary about immigrant kids attending an international school in Lafayette explores the difficulties of immigration both for the kids and the system that tries to assimilate and embrace them at once.

Girl on a Bicycle (Leven, 2014, D) (review)
For the most part, this enterprise is charmless, humorless, clichéd and vapid; this is the absolute lowest common denominator of rom-coms, with the added displeasure of national stereotypes.

The Lego Movie (Lord/Miller, 2014, B)
Everything is awesome!

The Savages (Jenkins, 2007, B)
Featuring one of Philip Seymour Hoffman's most subtle and heart-wrenching performances, Tamara Jenkins's film is a quiet gem, slowly building a wealth of emotional and intellectual insight into family dynamics.

Before the Devil Knows You're Dead (Lumet, 2007, A-)
One of Sidney Lumet’s best films, directed in his typically muscular fashion and with a uniformly stellar cast; Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead is a morally complex drama that thrills from start to finish.


Charlie Wilson's War (Nichols, 2007, C-)
Philip Seymour Hoffman’s electric turn as the whip-smart, temperamental intelligence agent almost single-handedly saves Charlie Wilson’s War from its predictable, prosaic and jingoistic self.

Synecdoche, New York (Kauffman, 2008, C)
Burdened by the grandiosity and sheer abundance of its ideas, Kauffman's script boasts as many intellectual challenges as the ones he wrote for Gondry and Jonze, but he doesn't have the directorial ability to make them cohere. Hoffman is the film's thunderously beating human heart though.

Punch-Drunk Love (Anderson, 2002, A-)
"Few directors have enough control over their films to synchronize the score with lens flares," as a friend of mine recently put it. Punch-Drunk Love appears to be Anderson's easiest film. Do not be fooled!

Final 2013 Oscar Predictions

Best Picture
Will Win: Gravity
Could Win: 12 Years a Slave
Should Win: 12 Years a Slave
Should Have Been Here: Museum Hours
My Nomination Prediction Score: 8/9 (Missed: Philomena)

Best Director
Will Win: Alfonso Cuaron (Gravity)
Could Win: Steve McQueen (12 Years a Slave)
Should Win: Steve McQueen (12 Years a Slave)
Should Have Been Here: Rithy Panh (The Missing Picture)
My Nomination Prediction Score: 3/5 (Missed: Nebraska, Wolf of Wall Street)

Best Actor in a Leading Role

Will Win: Matthew McConaughey (Dallas Buyers Club)
Could Win: Leonardo DiCaprio (The Wolf of Wall Street)
Should Win: Leonardo DiCaprio (The Wolf of Wall Street)
Should Have Been Here: Paul Rudd (Prince Avalanche)
My Nomination Prediction Score: 4/5 (Missed: Christian Bale in American Hustle)

Best Actress in a Leading Role
Will Win: Cate Blanchett (Blue Jasmine)
Could Win: -
Should Win: Amy Adams (American Hustle)
Should Have Been Here: Adele Exarchopoulos (Blue Is the Warmest Colour)
My Nomination Prediction Score: 4/5 (Missed: Meryl Streep in August: Osage County)


Mar 1, 2014

Motifs in Cinema (2013): Crime and Punishment

This article belongs to Andrew Kendall’s Motifs in Cinema series. In the following paragraphs, I will discuss the different ways in which Crime and Punishment were portrayed across a number of films released in the previous calendar year. As such and despite my best efforts, mild spoilers regarding the plots of the following films can be expected:
The Wolf of Wall Street, American Hustle, Fruitvale Station, 12 Years a Slave, Dallas Buyers Club, Captain Phillips, A Hijacking, Ernest & Celestine, The Unspeakable Act, Night Moves, Neighboring Sounds


One of the biggest cinematic stories of the year was the controversy surrounding Martin Scorsese’s The Wolf of Wall Street. The detractors of the film bemoaned the absence of clear-cut condemnation for the financial atrocities committed by billionaire Jordan Belfort. The film, a satirical, relentless take on the excesses of Belfort’s rise to Wall Street fortune, does not explicitly denounce his lifestyle; yet, it instills a feeling of discomfort in the audience by thrusting them into Jordan's never-ending cycle of moral, ethical and financial deviance. That the film remains mostly true to the real life story is rather more disturbing than what approach Scorsese takes to this story. That Belfort is roaming the streets free – having spent less than a mere two years in prison – is infinitely more unforgivable than Terrence Winter’s crime of removing didacticism from his screenplay. Nevertheless, the real world tension between institutional crime and punishment, or lack thereof, is at the heart of the debate. That any film would have ability to start such a conversation is worth applauding.

Thanks to the awards-centric mentality that shapes much of the cinematic dialogue near the end of the year, comparisons between The Wolf of Wall Street and David O. Russell’s American Hustle were nearly inescapable. Russell’s film takes inspiration from Scorsese crime (and punishment) classic, Goodfellas, but the ensemble acting and cinematic influences aren’t the only connecting elements between the two films. Though Russell and his team take artistic liberty with the ABSCAM scandal, theirs is effectively also a tale of criminals that enter the system, play with its rules from within, and exit unscathed. The crucial difference between the two films is that in the latter, the system doesn’t applaud or protect the criminals; it simply can’t overcome their shrewdness. The criminals may resume their lives in the end, but not before dragging the corrupt establishment down.

If the institution protects the wealthy criminals in The Wolf of Wall Street and dances to their tune in American Hustle, its role in Ryan Coogler’s Fruitvale Station is rather more alarming, for not only is it a policeman - a public service agent - who commits the crime here, but also that the harrowing true story of Oscar Grant’s murder is so recent and yet, already forgotten. When Michael B. Jordan utters the gut-wrenching “You shot me! I got a daughter” line, it isn’t just the emotional punch of seeing a young father vanish that brings us to tears, but the knowledge that even in the second decade of the 20th century, America’s treatment of the lower rungs of its society, and particularly Black and Hispanic communities, stands at such sharp contrast to the privileges of the rich. Fruitvale Station is a reminder that crimes such as Grant’s death are sadly a more common occurrence that we would like to believe and that the punishment rarely ever arrives. 


Whereas Coogler tackles issues of race and a problematic judicial system in modern America, British filmmaker Steve McQueen looks further back at the history of racial inequality in 12 Years a Slave. To deem slavery a crime that went unpunished for far too long is to grossly understate one of the biggest institutionalized crimes against humanity. McQueen doesn’t compromise in showing us the everyday horrors that millions of men and women faced; he turns his unflinching gaze on the sight of a woman’s brutal flogging or a man left to struggle millimetres away from death on muddy grounds. The offenders never faced reprimand for the despicable abuse they inflicted on their victims, so punishment is unavoidably absent from McQueen’s film. But on the grander scheme of things, the film is a brutally frank lesson in the dark history that has woven racism into the fabric of American culture.