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