United 93

Paul Greengrass' United 93 (2006) is problematic for many reasons. However, there is one point of interest that decides whether the viewer can enjoy the film or not. It is so heavily rooted in the audience's experience of the 911 terrorist attack that it most likely seems alien to those who did not witness the incident. The film is only relevant for a short period of time - after that most of its power will utterly be lost. That's my biggest gripe with the film.

No, I did not come up with this notion before I watched the film. It was the result of witnessing redundant and bloated melodrama that turned me off. At first the film seemed promising: it grabbed my attention, but eventually I lost interest because it is so monotonous and heavy-handed throughout its running time. Greengrass attempts to make the audience identify with the passenger and flight crew by giving us snippets of intimate dialogue and what not, but that is lost soon because none of the characters are established - which in turn leads the film to rely on the viewer's own memories. I do have to admit that the initial slow exposition of the day is rather well done, though. Storytelling works well for a while.

Greengrass employs his usual cinematography that relies on the shakiness of the camera. I'm not against the concept of it, but I can't recall it being implemented sufficiently often (Battlestar Galactica might be the only case). United 93 doesn't change my mind about the approach's weakness. When you have a film that is shaky in almost every shot, the effect is drastically diminished. Combine this with haphazard editing that doesn't even attempt to give the viewer a clue of the current location - even though there are so many different milieus that we are supposed to recognise from each other.

United 93's success is destroyed by its blatantly overdramatic approach which even manages to hide the few gems of the film (such as the absolutely fantastic no-name cast).

Score: 4 out of 10

Café Lumière

It has only been 3 months since I last reviewed Hsiao-hsien's Café Lumière (2003), but I decided to watch it again to see its chronological position in the director's filmography. I recommend reading the older review first because I'm going to cut to the chase in this review. The earlier review approached the film solely as an Ozu tribute, which is something I didn't notice until now. The film is so much more than that - and it gains more resonance through rewatches.

Even though the filmis devoted to its exploration of Japanese culture, it is also a thorough character study. Yoko's journey is captivating in its simplicity and relaxed emotion. 'Relaxed' is a fitting adjective in this case because the emotions are not necessarily "restrained" - though there are a few minor cases of that as well. By exploring her as a character, Hou plunges deep into the Japanese culture beyond the superficial level that most other films remain. It is surprising how much one can realize from repetition (primarily referring to the train rides and long walks) - which is the key word in Café Lumière's writing.

The form is probably as minimalist as it can get in cinema. It gives the film a natural feel (that doesn't simply "mimic reality"). Personally I also love the fact how Hou uses a lot of visual footage of trains that are both vital to the Japanese culture and for my silly obsession with trains. Unfortunately there's one flaw I can't forgive in the film's form. The few brief instrumental pieces of background music are painful due to their distracting misplacement.

Café Lumière is only a bit away from reaching the status of a "true masterpiece" - for which it certainly had the potential.

Score: 9 out of 10

Millennium Mambo

Hsiao-hsien Hou's Millennium Mambo (2001) shows the director exploring yet another directorial dimension. The final result is bewildering but interesting: it combines the experimentation and subject matter of an up-and-coming director with the confidence of an experienced auteur. The film focuses solely on Vicky, a woman in need of a change to her life. The film begins by showing how her relationship to Hao-hao began - an on/off relationship that eventually comes crashing down.

This is the first time Hou sets the entire film in the contemporary Taiwan (and partly Japan). This time the setting doesn't play a role as huge as in his other films - now the focus is completely on the characters. They are intriguing because most of them are trapped and flawed in a tragic way. Hou explores Vicky's life in dense detail (and honestly) which makes the film emotionally tangible.

Even though Hou experiments a lot with the form this time, he hasn't forgotten his long take aesthetic. Most scenes are built around one long take where the camera is in a fixed position (although it turns around a lot). He mostly uses the same angles and positions for every set throughout the film - which gives the viewer a concrete idea of the surroundings. This is especially effective in Vicky's apartment that is mostly shot from a single position. The experimentation with bokeh and slow motion is intriguing and mostly successful. For example, the opening shot of the film is one of the most haunting ones Hou has ever shot. And that says a lot.

Before I forget I have to mention the clever use of sound in the film. There's a faint musical score in the background most of the time and Hou likes to use "authentic" (not sure if it is, but it sure sounds like that) background noise for most scenes (with the exception being the dreamy passages that serve as emotional catharses).

Millennium Mambo is a fascinating film dominated by its towering lead performance by Shu Qi. She carries the film quite effortlessly even when it could have stumbled hard. It is an all-around good film that could have been better. It creates a strong emotional bond to the characters, but doesn't achieve much through its experimentation.

Score: 8 out of 10

Werckmeister Harmonies

Béla Tarr's Werckmeister Harmonies (2000) is a film that puzzles me even after two views. On the first time it put me to sleep because I wasn't ready for it. The second time its screenplay makes me wonder. Essentially the film is about a Hungarian town on the brink of a violent rebellion, but beyond that it is hard to say whether the screenwriting is brilliant or not.

The film attemps to approach the profound and it certainly brings emotions and thoughts forth by giving the viewers time to ponder about what they see. There are only a few moments that gives us a hint about what the director was aiming for. Tarr once said the film is about "civilization and barbarism", but that's a rather weird subject to explore in cinema in the first place. The film's extreme bleakness is almost parodical on a few occasions, but it still manages to work well. The screenplay's biggest strength is the relatable and wonderfully thoughtful main character, János, who is just as confused and helpless as the viewer is. Lars Rudolph's take on him is mesmerizing.

Even if the writing does not completely convince me, its representation is flawless. The menacing lighting, complex and captivating camerawork, terrific black and white photography and the haunting musical score make me utterly love the film. If anything, this film is a great audiovisual experience even when the significance of the symbolism is lost.

Score: 8 out of 10

A History of Violence

A few years ago, I watched David Cronenberg's A History of Violence (2005) and I did not like it. I decided to give it a new chance today, but my opinion didn't change one bit. This time I know exactly why the film is so disappointing for me. Essentially the film is about Tom Stall (Viggo Mortensen), a family man living in a small, comfy town until he kills two criminals and becomes a hero. His sudden fame does not come without a downside: a notorious gangster begins to stalk him. 

The film's writing has a fundamental problem: it doesn't seem to know what it tries to achieve. The film introduces us to a family that is simply too perfect - they live the American dream. This is actually rather alienating instead of involving because the flaws are always more intriguing. The difficulties the family has to face (eventually) become distant due to this alienation. This, in turn, leaves the cold observation as the only solution for the viewer. As a character study, it is devoted but wishy-washy. Beyond that, there isn't much coherency to the film. The final act of the film is even more confusing as it becomes (unintentionally?) comic.

The form is warm and inviting most of the time. Especially the graceful camera movement, luminous lighting and precise compositions make the movie visually marvellous. The soundtrack is a bit generic and occassionally over the top, but in the end it is pleasant. The film's truly redeeming aspect is the acting. Viggo Mortensen's towering performance is almost rivalled by Bello and Harris.

It is sad that the film doesn't achieve anything when its cast is ridiculously talented and spot-on.

Score: 5 out of 10

5 Centimeters per Second

Makoto Shinkai's 5 Centimeters per Second (2007) is the culmination of the director's career. His lyrical storytelling and mouth-watering visuals come together seamlessly in this sad and melancholic love story.

The fragile main characters reach for love, but they face difficulties as alienation, melancholy, distance and longing come in their way. The bittersweet ending montage summarizes the film's idea in a stunning way. The film consists of three short stories that focus around one main character during his youth. Each segment calmly gathers tension that is often subverted to make the melancholic tone more tangible.

Shinkai's breathtaking background art, fascinating compositions and lyrical editing give the film a poignancy that is hard to achieve in cinema - especially with the running time of only a single hour. The voice acting should also be praised because it carries the film so well. The childlike innocence of the first segment is especially tangible through the soft and charming performances.

5 Centimeters per Second is an incredibly touching and gorgeous film that I like to return to once in a while - even if only to watch a few clips from here and there.

Score: 10 out of 10

Dracula

Tod Browning's Dracula (1931) is probably the most famous film adaptation of Bram Stoker's influential novel of the same name. It has affected our views on vampire mythology for a century and the film adaptation's power is still palpable. Even though it made a lot of silly vampire tropes into cliches, the film still manages to make the most out of them (such as the crucifix).

The storytelling moves the film forward at a calm but menacing pace - relying on the its atmosphere. Above all, Dracula is a visual feast. Mise-en-scene is simply stunning in this film. As a great example, I would like to mention Dracula's old castle that serves as the milieu for the beginning. Those glorious, beautiful shots of the wide open space in the filthy, rat-infested castle left me in awe (and made me very tense). The other locations and sets are marvellous as well and the costume design adds a nice, quirky touch to the film.

Bela Lugosi's performance dominates the film and he is able to carry the film's momentum graciously on his own. His intimidating yet intriguing body language and intricate line delivery make his performance truly masterful.

Dracula is a film that relies on a calm buildup and atmosphere instead of shocks. If I had a problem with the film, it would be with the occassionally weird editing, but luckily that wasn't too off-putting for me.

Score: 9 out of 10

Makoto Shinkai's Short Films

I consider Makoto Shinkai one of the most interesting new anime directors. I've reviewed two of his full feature films, 5 Centimeters per Second (2007) and The Place Promised in Our Early Days (2004), on this blog already. Finally I had the chance to watch his earlier work which consists of a bunch of short films he made mostly alone.

The first I saw (and clearly the best one) is called She and Her Cat, a story about a woman and her cat which unfolds in Shinkai's traditional fragmented way. The monochrome animation reaches the levels of beauty of Shinkai's later films even though he animated them all by himself. He manages to bring so much emotion into only 5 minutes and the film's form is almost impeccable in its wild editing (which reminded me of Hideaki Anno). Even though the short film relies on narration, it never feels artificial or off-putting - which happens usually when the narrator dominates the film. In short, it's probably the best animated short film I have ever seen.

The second one was called Other Worlds, a brief (a minute and a half) look at the lives of a couple. There is no sound apart from the use of Erik Satie's Gymnopedie, a composition that has become so clicheic recently, but Shinkai manages to make it really fitting. The sketchy, monochrome animation fits the mood of the short film although it's hardly as great as it is in She and Her Cat.

The third one is actually a music video (for a song called Egao (The Smile), but it is worth noting when you want to watch Shinkai's work. Shinkai's trademarks are hardly visible in this music video, but that might only be so because of the format. Some of the background animation certainly reminds me of his full feature films, but the mood and pacing of the music video are just weird for him - and you can notice that because the effort isn't as good as his other short films.

Scores:

She and Her Cat - 9 out of 10

Other Worlds - 8 out of 10

Egao - 7 out of 10

YouTube uploads of the short films:

She and Her Cat

Other Worlds

Egao

Paris, I Love You

I've never been a big fan of portmanteau films, possibly because I haven't yet found one that could be considered a masterpiece. Paris, I Love You (2006) certainly doesn't change my opinion on them. Even when you have big names like the Coen brothers, Alfonso Cuaron and Christopher Doyle collaborating for one, it still doesn't work well.

Most of the short films are either bad (Oliver Assayas' Quartier des Enfants Rouges), forgettable (Bruno Podalydès' Montmartre) or decent (Wes Craven's Père-Lachaise) at best. There are a few great shorts, such as Alfonso Cuaron's Parc Monceau and Vincenzo Natali's Quartier de la Madeleine, but they are easily forgotten in the mix of the other films. Portmanteau films often rely on their holistic value, but Paris, I Love You does never quite come together because most of its segments are not worthwhile.

The film's mood goes all over the place (in both a good and a bad way) and the cinematography is stunning in each segment, but it lacks coherency and interest for the most part. I would certainly not recommend it even though it is just barely enjoyable.

Score: 5 out of 10

Singin' in the Rain

Stanley Donen's and Gene Kelly's Singin' in the Rain (1952) is generally considered one of the greatest musical films of all time, but I have never watched the film for some reason. I decided to erase this peculiarity from my knowledge on cinema by watching this legendary movie - and I don't regret it. Essentially the film is about actors struggling with new cinematic innovations (most importantly, sound) and love. In the musical tradition, they often break into long and complex song and dance numbers that captivate the audience.

I was surprised by how intricate and deep its exploration of cinema and acting was. Even though most of the songs performed in the film are quite corny, they fit well into the film's context and serve as a great source of entertainment. The narrative is really hyperactive because of the physical acting and vast number of musical bits. There's also a breathtaking, long musical sequence near the end of the film that baffled me a bit because it was almost distracting in its epic scale.

Most of the film's brilliance stems from the manic form, perfect acting (especially the physical acting is stunning) and intricate dance choreographies that left me in awe. It's not a surprise why most of the songs have become so popular - and why the Singin' in the Rain sequence is so famous (because Gene Kelly's performance is GODLY).

Even though I wouldn't consider Singin' in the Rain one of the greatest cinematic achievements of all time, it certainly works very well under its genre's restrictions and it's great for what it is.

Score: 9 out of 10

The Searchers

(image source)

John Ford's The Searchers (1956) is considered one of the most important (and best) films of the western genre. After seeing it for the first time, I agree completely. It is the culmination of the genre tropes and a stunning experience. John Wayne plays Ethan Edwards, a man whose brother and sister-in-law are killed and their children kidnapped by the Comanche. The film's title, The Searchers, refers to his and a young man's (a relative of the family) search for the two daughters who are held by the Indians.

First of all, the characters are so wonderfully flawed and thoroughly developed. It is unbelieveable how Ford creates such a huge cast of colorful characters, all of whom are fascinating and well written. The narrative flows smoothly throughout the film even though it covers a very long period of time. By the end of the film so much has happened that you almost feel like you're a member of the society.

Ford's cinematography is absolutely stunning. The compositions and colors took my breath away on so many occasions that I can't count them with my hands. The film's editing might not be ambitious, but it is brilliant in its precise execution that helps the storytelling a lot. The song used at the beginning and end of the film, Tex Ritter's Searchers, is unforgettable. When the song kicks in at the end of the film and John Wayne is seen walking away in the door frame, my heart melted. It's such a poignant yet simple ending (that revisits an important composition as well) that it's hard not to like it.

The Searchers is a magnificent achievement and certainly makes me more eager to see Ford's other films.

Score: 10 out of 10

Pom Poko

Isao Takahata's Pom Poko (1994) is the most disastrous film Studio Ghibli has ever made. This film made me lose my hope in Takahata (at least for the moment) and instantly prefer Miyazaki of the two Ghibli veterans - because he has never made anything nearly as bad as this one. Pom Poko is about a group of tanuki who try to protect their forest with their magical power of transformation from humans who try to take advantage of it.

The biggest flaw of the film is its writing. The preachy environmental message is lost because the humans are never shown to be bad - instead the tanuki are really, really irritating. We are supposed to sympathize with them, but they are too selfish, irresponsible and absurd to be likable. The narrative's flow is clunky and its reliance on the narrator makes the film feel uneven. Takahata's use of absurdism just goes way over the top in the film and distracts the audience from the film very badly. I've got to give the film credit for its sheer amount of ambition and imagination, but both of them are wasted with such sloppy execution.

Even the form is not constantly up to Ghibli's high standards. While art design is not so bad, but its documentary-like approach makes the absurdism feel even weirder and more off-putting. The compositions, editing and music are still good and they are the only redeeming qualities of the film. And they help quite a lot.

Simply put: Pom Poko is a disaster even though it has a few good things.

Score: 4 out of 10

The Rules of the Game

Jean Renoir's The Rules of the Game (1939) is insane. INSANE. The director introduces us a huge cast of characters so effortlessly and throws them together for an enormous party that spirals out of control quickly. The characters are complex, intriguing and most of all, very captivating. The narrative weaves them together in such a dense and clever way that I'm still baffled even though it was the second time I saw the film. In only 100 minutes, the film covers so much character and plot development that it could fill a 4-hour film.

This time Renoir's form is also very convincing. The camera drives are powerful and brilliantly connect the different storylines all the way from the servants to the rich. The editing never lets the viewer catch their breath once the real action kicks in - and that's only for the better.

The Rules of the Game is one of the most stunning cinematic masterpieces I have ever seen.

Score: 10 out of 10

The Grand Illusion

Jean Renoir's The Grand Illusion (1937) is a film about French soldiers locked up in a German prison during the First World War. The film deals with class issues as soldiers from the poor to the rich have to get along in the same cell. The dense narrative is interesting and its pace is almost lyrical with scenes coming and going. Renoir manages to create and explore a cast of fascinating characters in a surprisingly vivid way even though there is not much time for that.

The film's form is nothing spectacular, but it works very well. It captures the crazy pace of the film in a relatively calm way (which is fitting though). The black and white photography is beautiful to look at and even though the music is a bit over the top, it works quite well.

The Grand Illusion is an intriguing film even though I don't understand why it has received as much praise as it has over the years.

Score: 9 out of 10

Mon oncle

Jacques Tati's Mon oncle (1958) - the title of which has never been officially translated, but it means My Uncle - continues the adventures of Tati's famous character, Mr. Hulot. Even though he wants to do good, he simply won't fit into the crazy society this time either. This time his sister and brother-in-law try to get him a job and a wife, but his adventures pave the way for more chaos. The absurdity of "modern life" (modern as in the 50's) is made fun of consistently: Hulot's sister is a cleaning maniac and a hypocrite - and her house is the culmination of ridiculous design (both exterior and interior) combined with top notch technology.

Tati's physical slapstick is very refreshing and complex. He creates wonderful scenarios seemingly without a lot of effort - which makes the film even more impressive. His use of composition and colors is fascinating. The playful soundtrack is also a delight.

Even though it is significantly weaker in comparison to his later film, Play Time, Tati's Mon oncle is yet another great film from the French comedian.

Score: 9 out of 10

Nostalgia

Andrei Tarkovsky's Nostalgia (1983) was the first film he made outside of the Soviet Union, and the second last film he ever made. It deals with his conflicted feelings of leaving his motherland. The protagonist of the film is a Russian poet who faces nostalgia while staying in Italy with an interpreter. The film's exploration of nostalgia, longing and alienation in a foreign culture is striking and surprisingly tangible.

Tarkovsky's form doesn't fail either. His use of sepia in the dreamlike flashbacks, long take aesthetic and meticulous editing are so captivating and impeccable. His use of classical music is almost incomparable, as well.

Nostalgia is a sadly overlooked work in Tarkovsky's filmography even though it's clearly yet another great masterpiece from the auteur.

Score: 10 out of 10