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dir. and writ. Nina Paley
writ. Valmiki (book - Ramayana)feat. vocals of Annette Henshaw
This inventive animated feature breaks down the Ramayana epic, telling it through three main animation styles including shadow puppet narrators, miniature Mughal paintings, and cartoony music video segments set to the songs of 20s jazz songstress, Annette Henshaw. In another layer, the director, Nina Paley, tells of her own dissolving relationship, animated in what appears to be a cross between the shaky pencils of Bill Plympton and the doughy figures of Cathy Guisewite.
Much of the art is beautiful and compelling, richly colored and inviting, the frequent shifts welcome to break up what otherwise might become monotonous. The three competing narrators make for the most engaging portions of the film. Their overlapping narration, frequent confusion and corrections, and questioning of the motivations of the characters in the epic give the impression of overhearing a real conversation between a group of thoughtful, argumentative and hilarious Indian history students. The sections move remarkably quickly, with facts, cracks and quips occasionally lost in the fray, though not particularly missed given the delightfully entertaining overarching effect. The painted Mughal style imagery is beautifully rendered, combining seamlessly with the simpler shadow play and lending a touch of authenticity to the historical aspect of the story.
The bright, clean vector graphic music videos are lovely and hypnotic, with amusing perfect circles that make up Sita's body and flat bright colors. However, Henshaw isn't especially dynamic as a singer, her music and lyrics often dull and quickly redundant. The film could have used a singer with more range or various voices, a choice that would not have felt inconsistent given the leaps from style to style. Similarly, the portions relating to Paley's own life could use a lift, both in the animation and the character development. It smacks of a creator wishing to use real pain for effect but too shy to reveal anything of substance. She whines and mopes. He is dull and distant. That's it, the whole time. Either they are the most boring people on the planet or something has been kept from the viewer.
Despite these shortcomings, the movie's fluidity exhibits a powerful charm that quickly restores engagement after letting the grip slide in the lesser moments, holding on and coercing a silly grin.
dir. Peter Bogdanovich
writ. Larry McMurtry (novel), Larry McMurtry and Peter Bogdanovich
feat. Timothy Bottoms, Jeff Bridges, Cybill Shepherd, Ben Johnson, Cloris Leachman, Ellen Burstyn, Eileen Brennan, Clu Gulager, Sam Bottoms
Peter Bogdanovich takes the existential Western through Antonioni territory in his chronicle of a post WWII dying Texas town. Dust blasts through the streets of Anarene as though the dinky burg might blow clear off the map. Teen mute, Billy (Sam Bottoms), persistently if ineffectually sweeps the road, perhaps trying to preserve something long since lost, an era when his father, Sam the Lion (Johnson), brought life and love to the area, caring for it, building its economy by offering opportunities to the locals. As Sam's energy fades, so does that of the town.
Shiftless high school seniors, Sonny (Timothy Bottoms) and Duane (Bridges), won't even commit to the football team as they ramble around, going to the movies, and trying to score with the girls. Jacy (Shepherd) looks for the next thrill, testing out sex in a few forms before trying out elopement. Her mother, Lois (Burstyn), already lived that life and dabbles in it still when she isn't dreaming nostalgically of the few beautiful moments she once experienced.
Though the kids grow older and assume the roles of their predecessors, no savior rises from the dusty streets. The best loved citizens fall, the movie house kills the lights, and Ruth (Leachman), after a defiant screaming moment that rages on behalf of the entire town, surrenders with a gentle whimper.
dir. Steven Soderbergh
writ. Kurt Eichenwald (novel), Scott Z. Burns (script)
feat. Matt Damon, Scott Bakula, Tom Papa, Melanie Lynskey
Soderbergh explodes the title of his film and earns the exclamation point with The Informant! In an adaptation that smacks of...well, Adaptation, Eichenwald's procedural novel about price fixing is twisted inside out by presenting the most unlikely turncoat in Mark Whitacre (Damon). Whitacre, while eager to appear as the well-meaning agent of truth and justice, immediately begins tripping over his own lies, clearly embroiled in the entire scam that he is supposedly unearthing. His moral radar, severely damaged or violently askew, keeps him dodging in and out of the hands of the feds, occasionally realizing his predicament before launching back into the relationship that seems to satisfy him on some level.
Punctuating the story are flashy flower power inspired title cards, playfully hinting at an era earlier than the 90s of the film (which really looks like the late 80s in dress and decor), and wonderfully fanciful musings by Whitacre about the workings of the world. These latter diversions, delivered as internal monologue, present minutiae that fascinates and baffles, potentially guiding his delusionally misguided pursuits. The speedy pace of the picture combined with these disruptive yet propulsive thoughtful moments make for a film wholly owned by Damon, in a role that shows off the range and command of an underrated talent.
dir. and writ. Andrew Bujalski
feat. Tilly Hatcher, Maggie Hatcher, Alex Karpovsky
As a dutiful cinephile, I've tried on a couple mumblecore films, curious to see what the minimal hubbub is all about. Bujalski's earlier Mutual Appreciation had a nice slow burn to it, a quiet warmth that defied the almost aggressively grungy black and white cinematography. It also chose a small but sticky subject, the whiff of infidelity by a girlfriend with her beau's close friend. This near-sex experience has the appeal of awkward conversations, drama that can be visceral to the participants but not necessarily to viewers, a difficult complication to illustrate as it barely surfaces verbally and has no physical component. Bujalski commendably engages the viewer, supporting the story with the secondary plot of Alan's (Justin Rice) move to New York City to make it big with his band, a compelling and relatable period of transition that brings more meaning and grounding to the film.
Beeswax offers up another minor drama, this time depicting twin sisters with their own changes coming down the pike. Unfortunately, these changes are so small and unworthy of drama that all the awkward conversations and petty challenges ring false. Jeannie's (Tilly Hatcher) business problems feel overwrought and unjustified, her inability to deal with them a show of childish weakness forcing the question of how she possibly had the backbone and determination to start the business in the first place. Her sister, Lauren (Maggie Hatcher), feels real enough, but her indecision about whether to go have a real life in another country carries no weight. Perhaps the viewer is meant to be wowed by these real twin non-professional actresses, or take for granted the binding connection between twins that makes it hard for Lauren to leave. But instead one seems whiny and irritating and the other sweet but dull.
The bigger problem comes from the desperate push to seem "real." I don't buy that anyone (without notable mental disabilities) speaks so awkwardly and struggles this much to make connections. Sure, most movie dialogue is unrealistic, a deliberate choice to keep stories moving and chatter engaging. Here, instead of disposing of the script, it feels like a push in the other direction, as though the actors were directed to dumb it down, bury all intentions, hopes, and dreams as though not one clear thought ever spun through a character's head. The end result is the sensation that it would be just fine if this Beeswax were none of mine.
dir. Michel Gondry (Interior Design), Leos Carax (Merde), Bong Joon-Ho (Shaking Tokyo)
writ. Gabrielle Bell (graphic novel "Cecil and Jordan in New York" for ID), Michel Gondry, Leos Carax, Bong Joon-Ho
feat. Denis Lavant (ID), see imdb
I can't help going into an anthology film expecting about 5% of worthwhile material, such projects generally the depository for filmmakers' experiments, ideas and methods without the backing of enough confidence to warrant a feature. Tokyo! is therefore a pleasant surprise, a cohesive triptych of uneasy tales by highly inventive directors inspired by that city.
Gondry kicks it off with his adaptation of a story from a graphic novel (the source actually set in NYC) that follows a young couple struggling to survive in an expensive often alienating city. Twists arise unexpectedly, taking a magically surreal turn reminiscent of an Etgar Keret short story. A transformation from human to inanimate object plays more naturally than one could dream and the metaphorical underpinnings of the sad and sweet finale resonate like a short written work at its most effective.
Carax's entry follows with the explosive introduction of Merde (Lavant), a filthy wild man rising up out of a manhole to race through the streets, terrorizing the public by pushing, shoving, kissing and being a general nuisance. It's quickly revealed that he's a known celebrity, renowned and ogled for his madcap, largely harmless if misanthropic behavior. Excited teenagers rejoice for having made contact with the mysterious underworld figure. The tone shifts dramatically as the playful fellow turns violent, launching grenades through the city as casually as he speed-walked previously. He is promptly caught and put on trial, the only person in the world who speaks his moaning, nonsense language brought in as his lawyer.
Up to this moment, the story is riveting, fast and furious, relentlessly engaging and doggedly captivating. Then something dies, the trial and the amusement of the filmmakers by these overwrought exchanges of groans and contortions bogging down the short (and the full film), bringing it to a standstill, with nearly zero progress for 10 to 15 minutes. Yes, it's funny for a couple minutes, but then simply long and painful. A slight recovery comes at the end, promising future adventures, though such damage is done that it's hard to wish for more.
Finally, Bong Joon-Ho (Mother, The Host, Memories of Murder) brings his trademarked blend of humor and ill ease to the city, tracking a man who never leaves the house and his unexpected attraction to a delivery girl who passes out in his pad during an earthquake. The shaking up of lives and the mysteries of other people and outside one's door are explored without suggesting aphorisms or easy solutions, a trembling and satisfying comment on city life as well as an appropriately inconclusive conclusion to the full film.
dir. Jean Renoir
writ. Émile Zola (novel), Pierre Lestringuez, Jean Renoir
feat. Catherine Hessling, Jean Angelo, Werner Krauss, Raymond Guérin-Catalain
Renoir's production of Émile Zola's novel, Nana, rides the line between the silent films that long soured me on the form and the expressionistic masterpieces that reeled me be back into their favor. The stunningly lavish costumes and sets manage to fill the gaps, holding attention when acting and story lag. Nana (Hessling, Renoir's wife at the time) plays that baffling archetype, the untalented actress, prone to overwrought displays of just about everything that demands the money, favors and attention of all the men around her. Other than a general sense of excitement revolving around such characters, I can't see the draw. But thankfully, many other men do, or there wouldn't be much of a story.
The film follows Nana as she connives her way into bigger theatrical productions and deeper pockets, finding a reliable sponsor in the aristocrat, Muffat (Krauss), who puts up with her flings and bad behavior simply to share a little time with her. Much of the entertainment comes in the form of these desperate men, willing to kill themselves to spend a little time at her feet. While Muffat may seem above all that in posture, it doesn't take much to get him to slip money into a candy box to win Nana's audience, then prance and bark like a dog to earn a chocolate. This scene in particularly is wonderfully uncomfortable to watch, a credit to the skillful filmmaking if not to Muffat's honor.
It is such powerfully executed scenes that lift the film above Nana's limitations as a character, whether a raucous, untethered dance hall scene where Nana becomes the center of attention, that prancing dog, or Muffat's final visit to Nana, the sprawling staircase heavy with other suitors and the dread of disease as he marches to certain doom.
dir. Jean Renoir
writ. Georges de La Fouchardière (novel), André Mouézy-Éon (play), André Girard, Jean Renoir
feat. Michel Simon, Janie Marèse, Georges Flamant, Magdeleine Bérubet , Roger Gaillard, Marcel Courmes
In what feels like a warm-up to future works such as Boudu Saved From Drowning and The Rules of the Game, Renoir opens La Chienne with puppets, a show within a show, teasing the audience with the suggestion that the film is a tragedy or perhaps a comic farce about manners, then denying both, insisting it is nothing but a story. Legrand, an aspiring painter and put upon poor schlub, is a joke at the office and a whipping boy to his shrew of a wife (Bérubet). When he stumbles upon Lulu (Marèse) being beaten by her dandy, would-be pimp, Dédé (Flamant),
he takes action and incidentally becomes Lulu's next mark.
I suppose Lulu has a title to live up to in the film, though it always takes a leap of credibility for me to see why a man falls for a cruel, gold-digging woman who seems to shower meager affection in proportion to her needy whimpering. But perhaps sex and a touch of youth are good enough for Legrand and at least moderately better than his wife, always comparing him unfavorably to her deceased former husband, a war hero. As Lulu further deceives Legrand, selling his paintings as her own and continuing to run with Dédé, a fun twist arrives in the guise of the Colonel, the former husband long believed dead, who had apparently decided to stay dead to avoid returning to the hellish wife. The men share a delightfully backward argument, each insisting the other has a right to the wife and the life, neither wanting it. Legrand sees his escape and sets a trap that will free him in the process.
As the story nears its end, the roles of the characters are explored in greater depth. Lulu wishes for a real life with Dédé, something he seems to consider before reverting to his pimp-owner attitude, shattering her hopes. Similarly, Legrand, on the verge of collapse, having caught Lulu with Dédé and ready to dismiss her for good, suddenly changes direction, perhaps seeing her as his last chance for something better, ready to take her away from the temptations of the city to make a life for them somewhere new. Sadly, Lulu has her roles in mind as well and can't live that fantasy with Legrand, unfortunate for her since she winds up dead instead.
Dédé is the likely culprit in the public eye, even if innocent, and so it plays out. One can't help but wait for the last minute confession, the stay of execution, the saved day. But it never comes in this story, a satisfying lack of twist and an acceptance of the sometimes rotten luck of life. A last remark upon life's immeasurable opportunities follows in the final scene when we see Legrand, now a bum, watch one of his paintings get sold and packed into a fancy car at the same moment he is reunited with the Colonel, and a small found bill offers enough for them to celebrate a bright moment in the day.
