Vérité - July 2013

ISSUE #5

V é r i t é JULY 2013 EDITION

FILM CRITICISM & CINEMATIC DISCUSSION

O N LY G O D FORGIVES Refn and Gosling together again

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Wadjda / Jodorowsky / Joachim Trier / De Palma / Le Pont Du Nord / reviews / and more...

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Editor’s Letter

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ou’ll notice this month’s Vérité is bigger than usual (truly super-sized) but quality takes precedence over quantity and we are confident this issue is all killer and absolutely no filler.

Our lead feature is an exclusive interview with Nicolas Winding Refn. The outspoken director experienced a less than smooth reception at Cannes with his latest, Only God Forgives, but in conversation with James Marsh he radiates a fearless confidence in his vision. And already the critical tide seems to be turning somewhat in his favour since the film’s divisive world premiere.

Fearlessness is a bit of a theme this month (see our top 5 on page 34) and perhaps the person who best exemplifies that trait in this issue is writer/director Haifaa Al-Mansour, whose ground-breaking Saudi film Wadjda has been causing a stir on the festival circuit since its debut last year.

Our festival coverage is also given a boost this month. We have a roundup of the hits and misses from this year’s

Edinburgh festival and there are picks from two smaller scale but exciting London events. And following on from last month’s Cannes coverage we have a feature on one of the most anticipated returns in world cinema as Alejandro Jodorowsky unveiled his first film in more than a quarter of a century.

Finally, we’ve taken the decision to go free after a brief (and well-intentioned) flirtation with a pay wall. We want to sustain the magazine’s future and have decided – in the best interest of increasing the readership and being visible to the widest possible audience – that sponsorship is the way to go.

All our issues are available at http://issuu. com/veritefilmmagazine Five issues in and we feel we are building a platform for some of the most exciting and diverse film writing around. In what is a challenging and constantly changing publishing market we are committed to making sure Vérité continues to deliver dynamic, lively and exciting comment and content for a long time to come.

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Thanks for reading, Jordan McGrath & David Hall

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“Movies are so rarely great art that if we cannot appreciate great trash we have very little reason to be interested in them.�

Pauline Kael

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Contents Features

Columns

Reviews

The Art of Violence - p8

Genre in Disguise - p60

Blackfish - p70

James Marsh chats with cult favourite and visionary director, Nicolas Winding Refn. Find out what he has to say.

Evrim Ersoy continues his stellar insight into the filmmakers that exist off the mainstream radar. This month’s subject - Kelvin Tong.

Frances Ha - p71 A Field in England - p72

The Saudi Girl & The Bike- p14

Joseph Fahim turns his gaze onto festival favourite and Saudi export,Wadjda. He also talks to the director.

Call Girl - p73 Masters of Cinema - p64

Robert Makin discusses the new Masters of Cinema release of Jacques Rivette’s much loved Le Pont du Nord.

Breathe In - p74 Kuma - p75 The Kings of Summer - p76

The Last Circus - p24

In Defence... - p68

After tackling Kiarostami’s latest last month, James Rocarols finds himself in the very strange but wonderful world of Jodorowsky.

Robert Makin tells you all about 60s counter culture as he lays down his love for The Monkees’, Head.

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You’re Next - p77 Easy Money - p78

Join the Conversation

@veritefilmmag

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THE ART OF VIOLENCE In an exclusive and revealing interview, Nicolas Winding Refn opens up to James Marsh about myth-making, misogyny, madness and Miss Marple

words and interview by James Marsh

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icolas Winding Refn was just 26 years old when his debut, Pusher, caused a stir both in his native Denmark and further afield. Refn’s grim portrayal of Copenhagen’s criminal underworld and the bottom feeders who eke out a living peddling drugs was hailed as the first Danish gangster film and set Refn on an upward, albeit wavering trajectory that would soon see him working in Hollywood. However, numerous obstacles stood between Refn and unmitigated success – not least the young director’s own inflated ego – and the next decade proved a bumpy ride that saw him retreat to his homeland, languish in British television, before hitting his stride with 2008’s Bronson and finally glimpsing genuine success with 2011’s Drive.

Along the way, Refn introduced the world to Mads Mikkelsen (Casino Royale, The Hunt), shaped the career of little-known British actor Tom Hardy, and transformed all-American pretty boy Ryan Gosling into one of the decade’s most hardboiled antiheroes. In his latest film, Only God Forgives, Refn reunites with his Drive leading man and heads for the sweltering heat of Thailand, descending into a neon and blood-drenched hell, where he proves as controversial and provocative a force as ever. Verite’s James Marsh was gifted a rare opportunity to talk at length with the director about Only God Forgives, his career-to-date and the tumultuous road from Copenhagen to Bangkok.

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Nicolas Winding Refn interview: Were you familiar with Thai Cinema before you began Only God Forgives?

Not really, but I was a huge fan of Tears of the Black Tiger, so much that I hired the same costume designer. She didn’t speak English but was absolutely terrific and a huge influence on the style of the movie. Because of my limited budget I decided to get more shooting days by trading off production design and camera equipment. So (cinematographer) Larry Smith’s lighting equipment went down to essentials and Beth (Mickle)’s production design budget dropped to basically just wallpaper.

We would just use locations as they were, but Bangkok is extremely visual, almost like a science fiction environment.

What were the unique challenges of working in Thailand?

I quickly realised that the crew was absolutely terrific, they exhibited a very professional standard, so there were no obstacles there. But right before we started shooting, The Hangover Part II had been in town and prices had skyrocketed. Warner Bros would just pay for everything and here we were, saying “No, we’re not Thai but we need to make movies at Thai price.”

That took a lot of persuasion. What really messed with my mind was the insane heat. I shot the whole movie at night,

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and everywhere had air conditioning. But because of the noise we had to turn them off when we were shooting so we would all end up in this intense furnace. For a guy from Scandinavia who’s used to the cold and rain, that was pretty hectic.

But otherwise it’s always about time. We had eight weeks prep and seven weeks shooting. But because we were only shooting at night we were probably about 50 per cent slower, so it was tight. One thing that definitely didn’t help that was the traffic, it drove me absolutely insane.

As far as make-up and practical effects, you certainly go further than ever before in Only God Forgives.

We were just more creative with what we could do. It’s finding that balance between being explicit and being subliminal, and if you tip over in either direction it loses its effect. But as with pornography, you’ve got to have the payoffs.

You often talk about violence as pornography and the femininity of violence. What do you mean?

There’s certainly something very pornographic about violence, it’s the flip side of sexuality. You can say drama is based on two emotions, sex and violence; everything leads back to a

“It’s finding that balance between being explicit and being subliminal, and if you tip over in either direction it loses its effect.

But as with pornography, you’ve got to have the payoffs.” combination of both. They are very different outlets but they’re essentially the same emotion. Art is an act of violence. The act of creating is a violent expression. In real life, violence annihilates everything. Violence in art can be a way of expressing an emotion that penetrates the audience very profoundly and provokes a reaction. And it’s through our reaction that we use our minds and engage with art, rather than just consume it. So the act of penetration is essentially the purpose of art.

Does it bother you that Only God Forgives has been criticised as being misogynistic?

No, on the contrary. It keeps it alive. They call me misogynistic because the antagonist in Only God Forgives is a woman. If you really want to analyse it you can say I’m the exact opposite, because most of my male characters end up self-destructing, so I’m obviously not interested in worshipping masculinity. Art is all about your own fetish. I love women, they are very rarely victims in my films, and if they are it’s quick and relatively painless, whereas the men suffer a long, slow death. Julian’s girlfriend, Mai, is the only one who stands up to his mother, and for that he threatens her. So it’s a very strange label to put on my films. I think people are so desperate to define everything they will say things they may not really understand. The need to define is stronger than the willingness to accept what my films really are.

There are certainly no easy answers in your work. Almost all of them end ambiguously.

That’s the only way art can travel with you. If you as an audience take it with you, you have to add the conclusion yourself.

It always reminds me of the ending of The Holy Mountain.

Jodorowsky has led his disciples up the mountain, and then turns to the camera and speaks directly to the audience. The camera zooms out and we see that it’s all an illusion. That certainly made a big impression on me.

Only God Forgives is dedicated to Jodorowsky. What does he mean to you as a filmmaker?

There’s a strong personal friendship between us. We’ve known each other for years. He christened me his spiritual son, he gives me tarot readings. I’ve been using that a lot, when I’ve gone to the dark side or I’m at a creative crossroads, so for that of course I wanted to thank him. On a professional level I think his influence in pop cinema is still very unappreciated.

I think it’s because his inspiration is so deep, you can’t just go to a specific type of film or style or piece of music. It’s more a state of mind. You can say that without El Topo there would be no modern pop cinema. Everything leads back to that.

I suppose the closest you have come to surreal cinema would be Fear X, which I understand was a very troubled production. Have any happy memories survived from that experience?

It was a fucking disaster, financially and creatively. I completely self-combusted. The happy memories were working with Hubert Selby Jr., Larry Smith, Brian Eno, but everything else is just painful. But it had a lot to do with myself, I needed to go through that experience. There was almost something cathartic about it. I needed to crash and burn in order to reinvent and actually become who I became.

I think I was very eager, maybe too eager in my younger career to figure out what kind of films I should make. I would make something like Pusher, to catch the handheld street vibe of a gangster story. Bleeder became more autobiographical and more episodic, but then Fear X was all about surreal cinema and subliminal images and endless interpretations. So in four years I went through those three films like a machine gun and crashed and burned, owing my bank $1 million. But like Bergman said: it takes 3 movies and then 1 movie, so when I went back and did Pusher 2 and 3, I made them a lot better.

Most people are probably unaware you directed a Miss Marple TV movie, Nemesis, but it’s where you met one of your key collaborators, isn’t it? How did that gig come about?

Yes, it’s where I met my editor, Mat Newman, who has been probably my most essential creative partner on anything I do.

When they first called me, I was about to start Fear X and I said no. I was very arrogant about it. But after that failure they called again. I was penniless, flat broke, and said yes right away. They shoot four of these TV movies in a row, and they had fired the director of the first movie, so I took over that one as well. So I actually directed two Miss Marples back to

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back, but I didn’t want to be credited on the first one because I didn’t want to do the reshoots. Because I was just doing it for the money I didn’t care what anyone thought of me. I basically did whatever I wanted to do because they were so afraid of me.

I thought I might as well just indulge myself.

It’s where you got the title for Only God Forgives as well, isn’t it? At the end of the film the killer begs for forgiveness, to which Miss Marple responds, “It’s God who forgives.”

That is true. I had forgotten about that. Maybe that planted the seed, subconsciously. You’ve found the missing link that maybe even I was unaware of ! That’s very interesting.

Stylistically, your work from that point on is very different from your Danish films. How conscious was that shift?

Very. From Bronson onwards I started to make what I call heightened reality. In a way, I began using the language of fairy tales in my movies. You can categorise them: Bronson, Valhalla Rising and Drive were all about reality that is almost futuristic or artificial. Where my Danish films were very much about reality and authenticity, and the whole sense that art has to reflect life, my other films are very much about getting as far away as possible from any sense of authenticity, by creating its own artificial world.

In a way, it was good for me to experience Pusher, Bleeder and Fear X in such a short time period, because it taught me what doesn’t work. I’ve always had this fear of formula, whenever there is a formula that works commercially and creatively it frightens me, so I do everything I can to self-combust when I make my next movie. It’s like going from Pusher 2 to Pusher 3. You have Pusher 2, which is much more mechanical in its

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function, but it also resonates on a much larger scope. My Fear of repeating myself is what made Pusher 3 go in a much more extreme direction. I can see why Pusher 2 is more successful, but I think Pusher 3 is a much more interesting film.

After Miss Marple you then made Bronson, which remains to-date your only ‘true story’.

Bronson was very autobiographical. I don’t care about Charles Bronson, I’ve never met the guy, but I saw a way to do a movie about me, and I really needed to self-analyse my life and career in order to go on. I had exploded onto the world stage at the age of 24 with Pusher and now I was directing British television at 31. I felt like a complete burnout, but really needed the money. So when I got to make Bronson, it wasn’t because I cared about Charlie Bronson, but I had to reflect on this life I had.

That’s why Bronson starts off with the line “My name is Charlie Bronson and all my life I’ve wanted to be famous” because that’s what I was like when I was making my first movies.

Forget being famous, I wanted to be a myth, I wanted to be an icon before I was 30. I wanted to be Christ. My first three movies were all based on my own vanity rather than about making good movies. It was all about feeding my ego and me thinking I could walk on water, because I had success when I was very young and I made film with the arrogance of youth.

Bronson is about a man searching for his stage to perform on, which he finds in prison, through violence. My early films were

very nihilistic and self-destructive in a way. When Bronson’s in prison he realises that his hunger for fame is bottomless but it also has no purpose. His art teacher told him that through his art he could achieve the same goal as he did through physical violence, and that started my second wave of filmmaking.

That’s when I did Pusher 2 and 3, where I said I’m just gonna make films based on what’s happening in my own life or what speaks to me, and not think about what people would expect a great movie from me to be.

Especially with Fear X, I was making movies for all the wrong reasons and so Bronson became my autobiography, but the difference between me and the real Bronson was that when he realised he could actually exorcise his demons through Art and not through violence, it was too late. He got what he wanted, he became his own myth, but he would be locked away for the rest of his life. I was able to avoid ending my life like that.

I had a family, I had obligations, and I had to man up. So I always thought that God gave me a second chance and that’s why Bronson became a biography of my own life.

until Cannes it was being written off as a financial failure.

It’s the same thing with Only God Forgives at Cannes. That was probably the most extreme polarisation I have achieved so far with any of my movies. But because I was able to make it very cheaply, it’s already my most financially successful film, and it’s only been released in a few territories. We all want success, personal success, financial success, the acceptance of our peers, the awards, and the glamour, everything that comes with this parody of art. If people give you two hours of their lives, you have the obligation to give them something back, not just a good time, but also an experience. That’s what I would want and that’s what I feel I should contribute. But it’s important that you erase the recipe of success every time you have it. Look at music, when Lou Reed did Transformer, one of the great rock albums of all time, his next album was a vinyl containing distortions from a guitar, Metal Machine Music.

It must be frustrating then to see audiences approaching Only God Forgives as “Drive in Thailand”?

Well I can never change that perspective; I can only give them something completely, utterly different. When somebody in It was a great therapy for me. It made me very focused and just say, “I’m a pornographer. I’m gonna make movies based on Austin asked me to define the difference, I said “Drive was like doing really good cocaine; Only God Forgives is like what arouses me and that’s all I can do.” And that led to Valhalla Rising, Drive and Only God Forgives, which in a way are old-school acid.” So they needed to change drug. They need to travel to outer space. three different versions of the same movie. They are all about the Cinema of Silence, and all about the same character. In Valhalla Rising, Mads Mikkelsen plays One Eye, a man with Have you found the reception in the US has been differa mysterious background who is a heightened construction, ent to the Cannes reception? a made-up character. Drive is the same thing, Ryan Gosling plays a man with a mythical background, but with a heightWhat’s different is that now people have had time to think ened construction, and in Only God Forgives you have the about it, it’s almost like there’s a revival or rediscovery. I just Thai police lieutenant. They’re fetish characters, they’re basical- came from the UK, and it’s interesting to see how people react ly unreal constructions. They are people of myth, because they when they have seen it again, or have had time to think about can be whatever you want them to be. what they saw, rather than what they wanted to see. Their reactions become very different and only for the better. The most Valhalla Rising seems to stand apart from the rest of important thing you can do with any kind of art is not ask what it is. You have to approach it in the opposite direction, which is your later films and it appears the film’s backers didn’t to ask it what it’s not, because each time you ask that question really know what to do with it. it reveals a new definition, a new shade of itself. Otherwise you are not being fair to the experience.

I sold Valhalla Rising as “a Viking movie with Mads Mikkelsen”, so it was very easy to finance, but when it was done a So the one thing you would say is that Only God Forlot of people felt it was going to be the final nail in my coffin because it was deemed extremely uncommercial. But then it gives is not Drive? became more commercially successful than all of my previous films combined when it was released. I was told the same thing Hallelujah! And thank God for that, because that would be on Drive too, that the film was never going to work. Right up really disappointing.

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T H E S AU D I G I R L & THE BIKE Wadjda – the first full-length feature film shot entirely inside Saudi Arabia – has garnered much international acclaim since its Venice debut in 2012. Ahead of the UK release, Joseph Fahim takes a closer look at the film and talks to its director Haifaa Al-Mansour words by Joseph Fahim

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o other Arab film has generated the kind of hype, excitement and acclaim that greeted Haifaa Al-Mansour’s debut feature Wadjda upon its premiere last September at the Venice Film Festival. The very first Saudi full-length feature shot in Riyadh and directed by a female filmmaker was bound to make headlines. Although certainly advantageous for a small first feature, supporters of Wadjda feared the publicity would direct the attention away from the quality and artistry of the film and towards its charismatic star director and the sheer novelty of the project.

The hype may have overshadowed the actual film in sporadic corners of the world, but it certainly did not harm its commercial prospects. With multiple awards under its sleeve and distribution deals in Europe, the Middle East and North America, Wadjda could become one of the rare Arab hits to breakout internationally.

The eponymous heroine of the story (formidable newcomer Waad Mohammed in her first screen performance) is a 10-year-old playful but determined middle-class girl whose sole dream of her young life is to buy a bicycle.

Wadjda manipulates an existence informed by senseless rules, religious hypocrisies and unchecked powers men continue to enjoy.

Anchored by Max Richter’s perceptive, heart-tugging score, this unknown world unravels not only in the minute details of daily life, but in the characters’ relationship with one another. After failing to bear him a boy, Wadjda’s mother (Reem Abdullah) vainly attempts to prevent her frequently absent husband from having a second wife, valiantly fighting against an inevitable fate.

In spite of its ordinary extraneous appearance and signs of technological advancement, Riyadh appears as a place situated in the outskirts of civilization; an eccentric culture that feels alien yet familiar at the same time.

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The adult characters take the Islamic Sharia law at face value; they don’t question the centuries-old traditions or rebel against them; the entire foundation of this society is based on the people’s conformity to the system. A lone, unruly voice like Wadjda’s is therefore seen as a threat to this construction, a threat all agents of control tirelessly strive to terminate.

Wadjda’s school headmistress, Ms. Hussa (Ahd), represents a form of a watchdog installed to preserve the status quo. Ms. Hussa constantly tries to coerce Wadjda into submission, even though she might not be as virtuous as she pretends to be. She tells the girls that “women’s voices are their nakedness,” forbids them from touching the Quran when they’re having their periods and ultimately dashes Wadjda’s dreams in a cruel act of punishment for her resilience and headstrongness.

Al-Mansour exposes those realities with uttermost subtlety, steering away from ostentatious imagery or off-putting shock value. She’s audacious enough to push the envelope, yet she doesn’t do it in manner that would disrespect or disaffect her conservative Saudi audience.

Wadjda is a simple story, delicate and angry in equal measures; a deeply moving, often funny, adroitly-directed tale that stands as one of the most remarkable Arab debuts of the new century.

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I spoke to Ms. Al-Mansour about the long journey of bringing Wadjda to the big screen a day before she would pick up the best Arab feature award at the Dubai International Film Festival where Wadjda had its Middle East premiere.

The origin of the story was born out of one single image inside Al-Mansour’s head: a girl with a bike. “Everything else was missing,” she said. “I knew I wanted to do a story about modernity Vs tradition. I was watching plenty of Iranian movies at the time and I realized that if I wanted to discuss such subjects in Saudi-Arabia, I had to do it the Iranian way.

“But I didn’t want to be too artistic, because Iranians can be too artistic sometimes; I wanted to have a story and a structure. I wanted the film to be entertaining.”

Wadjda underwent major changes at the early writing stages. The first draft was “very bleak and dark,” according to Al-Mansour. The fund she received from Rotterdam was a big push, giving the film substantial exposure and creating buzz around the project. Shortly afterwards, she won a coveted slot at Berlinale’s talent campus where she met her first script editor who told her the film is “too sad.” She rejected his comments, refusing to compromise her vision at the time.

“And then I saw an Iranian movie that was exactly like

it, and I hated it. It was deeply offensive,” she said. “The main character was too passive, similar to my little girl in the first draft, and I realized I had to change her. I had to make her more proactive and feistier.”

The modified draft landed her more spots in various script-development workshops around the world, including the Rawi Screenwriters’ Lab of The Royal Film Commission Jordan and the Sundance lab. She singles out the Sundance Institute for the “immense support and generous funding” they granted her and for “nurturing the project, even after the workshop had ended.”

Dubai was also another stepping stone for Wajda’s development, having won a production grant at the Dubai Film Connection and another one from the Injaz fund for post-production.

Assembling the full budget wasn’t as easy task. Several Middle Eastern companies and producers Al-Mansour approached turned her down. “They didn’t know what to do with it. Non-Saudis didn’t know where to place the film in terms of politics. They didn’t know what it meant. It was very difficult to raise money from the Middle-East.” [Giant Saudi entertainment enterprise] Rotana came on board before shooting, providing the rest of the budget.

“Did you intend to shoot the film in Riyadh from the very start?” I asked her. “Yes,” she responded. “I always wanted to shoot a film in Saudi-Arabia but I wasn’t sure if I’d find the right producer who’d be brave enough to do this with me. I was very lucky to have the backing of [German production company] Razor because they were really passionate about the project. Razor were adamant on making the film as authentic and real as possible.”

“Was it difficult shooting in Riyadh, especially since no other filmmaker has filmed there before?”

“The experience was very rewarding, but difficult indeed, Saudis don’t produce films. Some neighborhoods are very conservative; we were kicked out a number of times from some places. People were not used to seeing a woman in the street shouting and ordering around, so I constantly had to be hiding in a van. The schools we initially approached pulled out. The reluctance of some people to participate in the film was more on a smaller individual level; people who might have believed that it was immoral to have something to do with a film, but it wasn’t on an official one.

“Saudi does produce TV dramas though and thus, they already have some shooting locations operated and run by various producers and TV personnel. It’s important to build on systems that already exist. Functioning like a TV productions, we submitted our script to get shooting

“Women have now more opportunities than we did.

We’ve witnessed lots of progress in recent years.

The mere fact that we were able to shoot there says a lot about the status of present society.” permission and we paired the German production crew with Saudi professionals from the TV industry. It worked, and ended up being a great culture exchange.”

The search for Wadjda was long and laborious; young actress Waad Mohammed was cast only one week before principal shooting. “Waad was recommended to us by one of the production companies who hire kids for Eid (Muslim feast) singing and stuff like that,” Al-Mansour said. “She came in sporting jeans and Jack Taylors and listening to Justin Bieber. She didn’t speak a word of English. She was amazing; she had the spirit I was looking for. She also could sing, which was necessary for the Quran recitation scenes; her voice was very vulnerable and sweet, which perfectly matched the character.”

In many ways, Wadjda’s bike quest — which sees her selling armbands and enrolling in a Quran reciting competition — is a pursuit for independence; the young girl fighting for the right to ride a bike, for equal rights with her male compatriots, would certainly grow up to fight for the right to ride cars and fight the system at large.

I asked Al-Mansour if she’s optimistic about women’s conditions in the Muslim kingdom.

“Saudai-Arabia is opening up,” she said. “Women have now more opportunities than we did. We’ve witnessed lots of progress in recent years. The mere fact that we were able to shoot there says a lot about the status of present society. Politically, I believe women will gain plenty of ground in the next few years. In 2014, women will start voting and I’m pretty sure it’s matter of time before they’re assigned to hold positions in the government. We also had two female athletes competing at the Olympics for the first time. I think this is all very empowering for other Saudi women.”

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The perception of religion and its role in the Saudi society is also changing, according to Al-Mansour.

“Growing up, religion played a central role in our lives.

I took five classes of religion in school. My niece, I believe, still does. I think it’s a bit excessive.” she said. “For more than 30 years, we were exposed to a very conservative interpretation of religion, but now we’re moving away from it. We are in a transitional period; there’s been a shift towards the right direction for the past seven or eight years. I think people are more relaxed and tolerant now about religion. Many of the issues that used be unapproachable are now being discussed on TV.” Al-Mansour — who lives in Bahrain with her American husband and two children — was adamant to push hot-button issues such as religious tyranny and patriarchal ascendancy without instigating a clash that would alienate her Saudi audience. “I’m well aware of the nature of my culture and I respect that culture and the people I’m representing,” she said. “I want Saudis to see the film and love it. I don’t want anyone to be offended. I don’t think you should be confrontational when you make a film about your culture regardless of how difficult conditions are in there; you should do it with lots of love. For me, cinema is fun, and I want people to have fun with my

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movie even if it’s dealing with serious issues. You cannot induce change if you adopt a confrontational attitude in this part of the world. I want to open up a dialogue that could lead to small changes, because that’s we need in the Middle-East: to change the fundamentals.”

Although Saudi-Arabia continues to have no film theatres, some Saudis managed to see the film and their reaction has been very positive. “They were very happy with it. They were happy to see themselves. It’s an intimate portrayal of their lives. They never experienced anything like it before; TV dramas are always artificial and distant.

This is the first time they see a work very close to home.

“I think the film will open up the door for more co-productions and it will hopefully encourage more producers to fund Saudi films. Most producers believe it’s not profitable to invest in movies in this part of the world because distribution is still a problem.

The Gulf is still a small market while Saudi-Arabia, the biggest consumer of entertainment, still has no cinemas.

But our film proved that there are other means to make profit; that grosses are not dependent on the local market.

Wadjda has traveled everywhere and it was sold all over the world. We proved that are certainly good opportunities for filmmaking in the Middle-East.”

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Check out the teaser issue of CultTV Times... covering everything from NCIS to anime!

Broadcast the news – the first full issue of Cult TV Times will be available to buy soon at Culttvtimes.com Follow us on : (@CultTVTimes) for the latest news and issue updates For subscription enquiries contact: subscriptions@culttvtimes.com VERITE JULY 2013

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Up There... in Black &

With three monochrome films hitting UK cinemas in July, Ben Nicholson asks what exactly seduces filmmakers away from colour – aesthetic affectation, a search for realism or something else

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words by Ben Nicholson

ife is in colour, but black and white is more realistic,” remarks Joe (Samuel Fuller) in Wim Wenders’ 1982 drama The State of Things. It’s a peculiar notion and one at once utterly counterintuitive and strangely appropriate. When Dorothy hurtled into Oz in 1939, she entered a wondrous and magical land that was distinct from her home; awash, as it was, with ruby slippers, yellow brick roads, and emerald cities. At that time, colour was still gaining a foothold in the cinema and so it made perfect allegorical sense for the real – normal – world to be portrayed in traditional monochrome and the enchantingly new Oz in astonishing Technicolor. Where it was once the only available option, shooting a film in blackand-white in the modern day is a risky prospect and is always due to artistic considerations.

Audiences wowed by early polychrome had naturally become familiar with the various shades of grey projected onto the silver screen. Modern cinemagoers, of course, are in the opposite

position and instead get a heady sense of nostalgia when seeing a movie in black-and-white. Noah Baumbach cited such a sensation as one of his reasons for using monochrome for his latest film – the French New Wave inflected Frances Ha. A deadpan love letter to New York through the rambling misadventures of the eponymous heroine (a delightful Greta Gerwig), it’s a quirky tale of arrested development enhanced exponentially by its colouring, or lack thereof. Frances struggles to find her way after lifelong best friend Sophie (Mickey Sumner) moves out, and her endearingly awkward romanticism and naiveté are perfectly encapsulated through a sentimental visual portrait of the city she calls home.

Frances Ha holds Woody Allen’s Manhattan close to its heart, a film also doffing a hat to earlier classics but captured in black-and-white largely due to the suggestion of memory. When Allen was asked about his reasons for eschewing colour, he stated that his perception of Manhattan was formed by old photographs and, as such, he

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thought of it in black-and-white. Similarly, when George Clooney devised the cinematography of Good Night, and Good Luck he was guided by the fact his only knowledge of Edward R. Murrow and Joseph McCarthy was in black-and-white via television. Martin Scorsese and his cinematographer, Michael Chapman, have both mentioned comparable considerations in their approach to shooting Oscar-winning boxing drama, Raging Bull. Over the years, the director has intimated that the desire to differentiate the film from others of its ilk played a part in his aesthetic decision, as well as using the movie to make a statement regarding the degradation of colour film stock. Amongst these other elements, though, was the fact that their recollection of Jake La Motta, and his entire profession, was in monochrome and it seemed appropriate to stay true to that when recreating his story. Whether it was in magazines or on the television, boxing, they said, was ‘always in black-and-white.’

This notion of shared memories being employed to manipulate an audience’s subconscious perception of a film through its palette was used to startling effect

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by Steven Spielberg’s WW2-era drama, Schindler’s List. When determining his now famous filming style for that picture, Spielberg turned to holocaust documentaries for inspiration and saw the use of monochrome as lending his story a gut-wrenching realism that a colour film would have been unable provided. The effective use of red in a few key scenes clearly serves to highlight this artifice to the audience, but only heightens the resonance rather than dampening it. Director of photography, Janusz Kaminski, has himself spoken of the horrifying intimacy lent by the ‘newsreel’ feel and the effect was made all the more literal in Matthieu Kassovitz’s La Haine. Opening on black-and-white documentary footage, the film then dived directly into his story with a similar visual tone thus creating an implicit authenticity. Woody Allen, alternatively, aped the newsreel style throughout his wonderful Zelig, to lend the film the feel of a genuine documentary despite being entirely comical fiction.

Realism is not always the aim of the filmmaker employing monochrome, of course. One of this month’s relevant releases is a re-imagining of Snow

White as a silent era film set in the 1920s, Blancanieves. Director of that film, Pablo Berger, refers to black-and-white as the colour of dreams, providing a more abstract experience for an audience; ultimately, leaving more to the imagination. This is echoed by Hungarian auteur Béla Tarr who considers such a style to be the exact antidote to authenticity. Having employed black-and-white visuals for the majority of his career, he posits the notion that colour in film is naturalistic, and that a lack of it creates an important distance between the fiction on screen and the actual world outside.

Tarr is also one of several exponents of the pragmatic conclusion that shooting in colour means a lot more work with painting sets in order to maintain absolute control of what is appearing on screen.

Two films released this summer have also seen their filmmakers mention the practical advantages of monochrome. A Field in England is the new psychedelic trip from director Ben Wheatley following the enormous successes of Kill List and Sightseers. It follows a group of deserters during the English Civil War who stumble into a world of hallucinogenic trouble when they cross paths with an alchemist (regular collaborator Michael Smiley). The greens and blues of the British countryside were deemed somewhat distracting when taking in the action in this film. Draining it of colour, it was agreed, would focus viewer’s attention on the faces of the men.

Wheatley has also mentioned that the changeable weather makes matching shots together for consistent light can be problematic, but is easier to remedy in black-and-white.

Joss Whedon also cited such practical considerations for his recent Shakespeare adaptation Much Ado About Nothing. Shot in his own home, with a cast of friends, during a short break from editing the box-office-busting Avengers Assemble, sticking to shades of grey meant that the director could avoid having to paint his house for the project. When discussing the visuals with his director of photography, however, Whedon also intimated his desire to lend the piece a film noir aesthetic. In re-setting the tale as a detective story, the idea was to use cultural touchstones that the audience would share to accentuate aspects of his own piece. Even though this is, like Béla Tarr, going for style over realism, it still utilises a mutual recognition; that of the medium of film and one of its most visually identifiable genres.

“With roots in German expressionism, noir always attempted to utilise the contrast of its monochrome amidst tales of vice and humanity’s darker impulses.”

A rumour has long circulated that Darren Aronofsky’s feature debut, Pi, was shot on black-and-white reversal film due to budgetary constraints. This was actually an aesthetic choice in which the director sought to achieve a unique cinematic style inspired

by Frank Miller’s chiaroscuro comic Sin City which also borrowed its noirish style. With roots in German expressionism, noir always attempted to utilise the contrast of its monochrome amidst tales of vice and humanity’s darker impulses. Whether tending toward pastiche or homage, many films utilise monochrome to present a film suggestive of former filmic glories. This may be evocation of noir, or be looking further back the silent era with films like Michel Hazanavicius’ award-laden The Artist, or Miguel Gomes’ Tabu. It may be harkening back to classic Universal monster movies of the 30’s in the case of Tim Burton’s stop-motion animation, Frankenweenie, or a more general horror heritage behind Frank Darabont’s alternative monochrome version of ‘creature feature’ The Mist.

Although it is not uniformly the case, the employment of monochrome seems intrinsically linked to a sense of a shared cultural memory taking in creator and audience. There is undoubtedly a wealth of considerations when directors broach the possibility of shunning colour, but those that do are ultimately calling upon a subconscious affinity with cinemagoers. At times the technique is used to evoke newsreels, photographs, and documentaries; injecting their fiction with an air of realism, historic or otherwise. On some occasions the method forms a direct gateway to cinema’s own past, providing an affirmation of, or shorthand for, genre. While for some instances Samuel Fuller’s Joe is on the money, it would seem that in a wider variety of cases, it is our collective memories that filmmakers are shooting for when they go for black-and-white up there.

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The

LAST Circus

Alejandro Jodorowsky, perhaps the greatest living surrealist of cinema, finally emerged from exile to unleash a new remarkable and very personal film at Cannes – La Danza de la Realidad

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words by James Rocarols

he return of a lost director is always something to be cherished. But the ending of Alejandro Jodorowsky’s twenty four year exile is more significant than most, because this is a director who seemed to revel in his own alienation from cinematic conformity.

The Chilean polymath had been away from filmmaking so long, trailing a long list of abandoned projects, he’d become something of an esteemed enigma of non-compliance. Through his prolonged absence he could project the aura of an uncompromisingly cult film director; one who’d rather retreat to the fully controllable outlet of graphic novels than risk any possible dilution of his singular artistry.

It was apt then that he was also the subject of a second film at Cannes, Frank Pavich’s documentary Jodorowsky’s Dune, which focuses on the director’s steadfast adherence to his outlandish

visions (even if it meant ditching two years of exhausting preparations for his eventually aborted adaptation of Frank Herbert’s sci-fi novel). Pavich’s chronicle makes clear that Jodorowsky’s long absences and ‘unrealised dreams’ are just as pivotal to his reputation and journey as a filmmaker as his modest number of completed films.

The key to Jodorowsky’s return seems to have been a reacquaintance with producer and fellow Dune traveler Michel Seydoux, following their interviews for Pavich’s documentary. In the intervening years Seydoux had great success with Cyrano de Bergerac and Burnt by the Sun, and he obviously felt he could take a chance on being able to marshal the spirited octogenarian without jeopardising his career. Seydoux further minimised risk by keeping the film manageable in scale and adapting from a clearly structured, predefined source novel.

But this begs the question, if Jodorowsky really

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was a determined filmmaker surely he could have mounted a modest movie like this sometime over the last 20 years, instead of clinging doggedly to the expansive and expensive phantasmagoria of proposed projects like King Shot and Abelcain?

So why now for Jodorowsky? Watching the film it becomes clear that La Danza isn’t just a deeply personal film, but a profoundly important component of what Jodorowsky sees as his spiritual journey, and one’s that’s therefore particularly essential to the artist at this specific time, as he enters his (supposed) twilight years.

When it was initially announced as an adaptation of Jodorowsky’s semi-autobiographical novel (sadly untranslated into English), in which the director returns to his Chilean hometown and upbringing, the immediate cinematic precedents that came to mind were films like Federico Fellini’s Amarcord and Ingmar Bergman’s Fanny and Alexander.

Jodorowsky’s own particular take on this kind of late-career, cathartic self-examination goes further than these. He directly revisits images,

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motifs, themes and occurrences from his previous works and prompts the knowledgeable viewer to make connections and comparisons between their symbolic and metaphoric portrayals in prior films and their more realistic and readable interpretations here.

The film follows the young Alejandro growing up as an effeminate, artistic and experimental boy amid the strange harshness of a Chilean mining town called Tocopilla. With both Marxism and fascism bubbling beneath the surface of its industrialised populace, the town comes across as a restive melting pot; its drab aesthetics even infecting its uninvitingly black-sanded beach (recalling the Cadaques shorelines on the other side of the world that would also inspire fellow surrealist Salvador Dalí in the 1930s.)

Young Alejandro’s inquisitive and experimental persona contrasts markedly with his father Jaime (played with Freudian flair by the director’s son - and the character’s grandson -Brontis Jodorowsky), whose tough demeanor derives from a background as a Russian Jew exiled to Chile

following the pogroms. However, it’s implied from the off that Jaime’s unusual career background encompassing both circus strongman and lingerie salesman is indicative of a certain duality and repressive tendencies, played out in a struggle to instill his sensitive son with some masculinity through a series of harsh exercises and punishments.

This theme of a father figure willfully enforcing masculinity crops up repeatedly in Jodorowsky’s films, most notably in the more poetic form of the unforgettable opening scene of El Topo, in which the eponymous gunman’s naked son is made to bury his mother’s picture and favourite toy in the sand. It’s also echoed in Santa Sangre when young Fenix is told that the completion of the enormous tattoo on his chest will signify his transition to manhood.

One of the ways Jaime tries to encourage machismo is by trimming Alejandro’s flowing, golden hair, an admittedly absurd mane which Jaime believes his son has inherited directly from his late father-in-law, and upon which he lays the blame for the boy’s rebellious spirit. This scene evokes another common Jodorowsky theme – the idea of people inheriting the characteristics, psychic baggage and sins of past generations. But this isn’t just a theme recognisable from his filmography; it also forms a key concept in Psychomagic, Jodorowsky’s very own psychotherapeutic school which emphasises the use of symbols and metaphors to heal and release ourselves from centuries of inherited disorder.

As Jodorowsky puts it: “I realised that we had a family unconscious... there were at least 15 people thinking through me; my parents, my uncles and aunts, my grandparents, my great-grandparents… I am a thinking family. My illnesses are created by my family.”

What these early scenes make clear is not only that La Danza itself exists an act of Psychomagic for the director – the use of a creative ‘magic’ and autobiographic symbols to exorcise past and inherited demons - but that Jodorowsky’s entire previous oeuvre can be read as a series of psychomagic excerises, albeit in much more coded form. Much of the surreal and singular images from films like El Topo aren’t just the results of a self-consciously wacky director trying to expand our minds, or of an artist mining the random realms of his subconscious without forethought;

they are in fact deeply personal interpretations of key events from his childhood, which have been intentionally reinterpreted in metaphorical terms so as to reduce their psychic stranglehold.

Once we’re primed to notice them, it’s easy to spot the recurring concerns, themes, images and symbols from his few previous films cropping up at every turn.

Young Alejandro takes comfort in the company of the town’s ‘theosophist’, a tattooed, multipierced, semi-vagrant shaman (played by another of the director’s sons, Cristóbal) whose unconventional kindness and otherworldliness contrasts strikingly with his father’s brute conformity. From here we’re expected to imagine that Alejandro’s enduring fascination with religion, philosophy, the esoteric and occult were all in part inspired by this early relationship, not to mention a proliferation of tattooed characters in his films.

The continuing reappearance of circuses in all Jodorowsky’s films is easily explained by his father’s personal performance history. But a less obvious recurring motif is Jodorowsky’s seeming fascination with disabled and deformed people, whom also appear is every one of his films. They’re explained by the prominence of Tocopilla’s copper mine, controlled with all the brute capitalist instincts one would expect of pre-revolutionary Latin America, and which has divested the town with a band of wandering, amputated ex-employees. When the inquisitive, non-judgmental Alejandro tries to befriend one of them he’s angrily berated by his father, conceivably contributing to his increased empathy for such benighted people.

The fact that his father attempted to deny him access to both the Theosophist and the amputees accounts for the allure of these mysteriously different beings, and also explains why Jodorowsky seems to use his art as a platform to champion the individualism and non-conformity which his father tried to turn him against. This intent is given its most literal interpretation in El Topo, in which Jodorowsky himself plays the God-like figure who leads a community of subterranean outcasts out of the caves and into the light. It also explains why Jodorowsky’s early films were so popular during the distinctly individualist and non-conformist climate of post-1960s counterculture (and perhaps also explains why Marilyn Manson is such a big fan of his work).

This brings us on to the film’s political content,

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which is something of a novelty for Jodorowsky, despite the odd allusion to colonialism and oppression in his previous films. Jaime is shown to be a committed Marxist, a Staling-worshipping hardliner who’s a key figure in the local communist party. He gets a chance to put his political beliefs into action when the President Ibáñez del Campo visits the town, and his faltering failure to carry out an assassination has a profound effect on his ego, leading to a catatonic episode, estrangement from his family, and psychosomatic paralysis of his hands. This episode of somatoform malfunction readily brings to mind the plight of Fenix, the oedipally disturbed knife-thrower from Santa Sangre who has similarly relinquished control of his hands, only for their agency to return at the film’s cathartic conclusion.

Running through the film is an almost absurdist view of any meaningful attempts to affect change or influence history. Whenever young Alejandro tries to be altruistic it backfires on him at every turn, and whenever his father also attempts to follow through on his idealistic beliefs it also leads to disaster. The only political act that’s shown to work in the film is that of personal resistance and staying true to

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oneself. Only through such an act is Jaime able to regain use of his hands and his self-determination.

How much truth lies in this recounting of his father as a failed revolutionary is open to debate ( Jodorowsky has previously stated in interviews that he lost contact with his family after emigrating to Europe), and the same can be said about much of the film’s content: just because it’s ostensibly autobiographical doesn’t preclude Jodorowsky from making the same wild imaginative leaps he’s done throughout his career. So it’s worth bearing in mind that many of these supposedly more realistic remembrances may be filtered through layers of fantasy, exaggeration and artistic licence. But it’s also clear that many fixations and issues that have haunted the man for decades are being cathartically exhumed.

As well as this rare instance of politics the film also marks the first time in which Jodorowsky details and describes his own Jewishness. Jodorowsky’s Jewish background isn’t an issue that’s significant enough to bear too much analysis on its own, but it forms part of a general theme emphasising the idea of Alejandro’s outsider status. In fact he posits himself as an outsider in a world of outsiders: not only a

Russian Jew in Chile, but also a sensitive and artistic Russian Jew within that community.

Less regular Jodorowsky watchers may mistakenly ascribe a Judaistic reading to the scene in which Alejandro’s classmates make fun of the shape of his penis. In fact this childhood incident was one that deeply scarred Jodorowsky and he’s previously refuted suggestions that it had anything to do with circumcision: according to Jodorowsky his penis really is shaped like a mushroom. Jodorowsky has also previously admitted that the prominent phallic symbols in his films, such as the stumpy (yet fertile) penis-rock in El Topo, are modeled after his misshapen manhood and constitute symbolic attempts to rewrite this historical wrong.

The motivations of such cathartic reinterpretations become clearer when one is familiar with Jodorowsky’s personal pronouncements from his many candid interviews over the years. But there are some examples of sober reverberations of the more freakish imagery from his previous films that are less obvious and seemingly less personal. Perhaps these are nothing more than imagistic echoes which Jodorowsky himself is less certain about? Perhaps. But I’m sure

there’s something significant about the way that the carpenter who befriends Jaime during his wilderness period has his workshop stacked high with chairs to resemble the piled-up plaster Jesus statues in The Holy Mountain. And that the novelty dog competition that occurs shortly afterwards seems also to mirror the frogs-as-conquistadors show from the same earlier film.

Despite the director’s forthcoming nature, perhaps we’ll never really know exactly how much of his favoured images and concerns are deeply, psychologically significant, and how many are just personal predilections that appeal for less fathomable reasons.

But it’s clear that La Danza marks a watershed in Jodorowsky’s filmography. Having returned once more to the scene of many of his personal demons and successfully exorcised them, one has to wonder whether any subsequent film of his would mark the start of a new phase. Of course the more dispiriting alternative would be that, having only just returned after 24 years, the film really did mark the literal autobiographical swan song of Jodorowsky’s career.

We have to hope that isn’t the case.

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Joachim Trier

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Freedom to Breathe

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words by Kelsey Eichhorn

’ve got this thing about Scandinavia, Norway in particular. It might be the exquisite scenery, the divine chocolate or possibly the shockingly-attractive men, who knows? Consequently, friends were not surprised when the 2011 London Film Festival schedule was released at the top of my ticket wish list was Joachim Trier’s “Oslo, August 31st”. An under-the-radar, skateboarder-turned-filmmaker, Trier’s return to London with Oslo, August 31st after graduating from the National Film and Television School proved the spark of ignition for a career smouldering with potential.

Almost two years since that initial viewing, Oslo, August 31st still resonates. The characters invade my wandering imagination; the images creep their way into my dreams. Jean Luc-Godard said, “I don’t think you should feel about a film. You should feel about a woman, not a movie. You can’t kiss a movie.”

And he’s right – I don’t feel about this film, I feel of this film. It engulfed me. It devoured me. And it returned me to a world I don’t quite recognize anymore, a life I can never view in the same way.

“I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again, because it’s important to me”, Trier explains over lunch in Manhattan’s Union Square, where he is temporarily working on pre-production for his next film. “I came to cinema through the experience of a viewer – through watching and loving films.”

Filmmaking is in Trier’s family and even as he pursued other interests throughout adolescence he credits his experiences going to the cinema as a teen with fueling his desire to make films. Even now, he and his long-time collaborator Eskil Vogt will sit down to work and start discussing what types of films they would like to see – a process Trier likens to procrastination, yet I’m more inclined to call inspiration.

So it’s no wonder, with such a fervent appreciation for the audience experience, Trier strives for what he calls “expressivity” in his films. Citing Terrence Malick and Andrei Tarkovsky, Trier praises the visual power of cinema. “These [Malick’s and Tarkovsky’s] are films with incredibly strong imagery that pushes you as a viewer to a place where you can’t quite

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describe what you are experiencing with words.”

As both a writer and director, Trier has the advantage of influencing his films throughout the process, while maintaining a creative edge with collaborations.

He’s co-written all three features, including Louder Than Bombs, currently in pre-production, with Eskil, and their creative process is refreshingly organic. “We go through millions of bad ideas before we cling onto something that might have value. Sometimes it’s an idea for a shot – people biking down the hill at night with a fire extinguisher – which is specific as an image but strange as a narrative, or an idea about a character which is not visual necessarily but is more about the human experience, or is the idea even bigger, like when we talk of themes. For instance, Oslo August 31st gives itself to discussing themes like identity in present day middle class life, or how addiction plays into an existential discourse. We can start out with that but you have to immediately connect with something narrative, something visual. Like, ‘oh, that kind of guy reminds us of someone or wouldn’t it be interesting how that theme could show our city, or could mirror visually how light works in the morning in Oslo or, to come full circle, it inspires a visual like biking down the hill with the fire extinguisher.’ We work a lot from the outside in, that’s the opposite of what all good screenwriting teachers

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teach, and it’s hard work, trying to linear-ise it, or shape it into a thought narrative.”

It may be unconventional and it may be hard work, but the result is a dynamic style that is innately cinematic. The images work in the service of the narrative to create mood and atmosphere and add texture to the story. Trier deals, like Malick and Tarkovsky, with the entirety of the cinematic space, an approach which allows the films freedom to breathe: shots make use of the concept of off-screening space, and framing and mise-en-scene are always intuitive, never clichéd. The humanness of the process is essential, as Trier acknowledges the sad truth that today it is possible to fake one’s way through as a director: “I think you can get by letting the actors do their thing, covering it in the full shot and two close-ups and then letting the editor cut it together.

And that, to me, is not necessarily what creates the most exciting movies – you need to be the brain that says ‘cut, wait a second, this isn’t doing it’. You need to say ‘here’s a different way of looking at, of shooting this scene that reveals something more complex, more experiential and expressive.’ ” While this concept of the space and texture of cinema may sound like the highbrow, theoretical jargon of an intellectual art film, it is exactly the opposite. The most important thing about Trier’s unpredictable narrative

fundamental “expressivity” of Trier as a director, the intuitive “X factor” that he brings to his films. Even as he acknowledges the need to push boundaries, Trier asserts, “I think there’s an important distinction between something that is cool and something that is expressive. So I’m trying to go for expressivity. A lot of people mention Nouvelle Vague in relation to my work, and I can understand that, especially with the parody at the beginning of Reprise. But honestly I could mention many filmmakers that have been a huge influence on my style that have nothing to do with French New Wave.

What I do like about FNW is that intellectual cinema was cool, it was sexy and sensual, it was entertaining, and that’s important. A lot of independent films today are exciting and relevant. That’s something that FNW managed and hopefully festivals are causing a resurgence in that intelligent style of film.”

It is ironic that the cultural allure of Norway first led me to Trier, because Trier’s own films treat the question of culture in the same way he wants cinema as a whole to engage culture: as a broader, contemporary entity.

Initially, following the release of Reprise, opinion in structures is that they consistently and unrelentingly make the viewing experience active rather than passive. Norway regarded Trier’s film as un-Norwegian in conEach viewer must be engaged with the film, must expe- tent and style. Yet, with the release of Oslo, August 31st it became evident that the Norway Trier presented was rience and interpret the progressive layers of the narraa specific and personal experience of culture: “I feel that tive. It is the process of interpreting clues and bridging gaps that Trier assigns to us, his audience, which shapes I’m representing a lot of where I come from, so it’s absolutely specific of Norwegian culture that way, but more the story - it’s meaning and implications slightly difthe cultural experiences and curiosity of me and my ferent for each of us. While Trier’s films may not be for the lazy viewer, the reward outweighs the effort tenfold. friends. I’d like to use the word milieu instead of class, but it really is a cultural class thing: people with cultural Each of his films is, in some way, about your life. And leanings and specific choices in life who also have an ancinema simply doesn’t get much more relevant, accessiti-bourgeoisie attitude and are ambivalent about being ble or exciting. part of a society they are critical of, but at the same time Trier’s current project, his first English-language feature, Louder Than Bombs, is a family drama, but Trier is can’t break out of. And I think that’s maybe beyond a quick to temper this categorization. “We started writing national culture.”

The importance of this attitude is obvious – Trier’s something and it was an incredibly ambitious family first two films, although set in the very identifiable endrama, I’m saying that in brackets, you know ‘Family Drama’? (laughs) But actually what we’ve done is try to vironment of Oslo, are stories told through specifics yet with universal application. They speak of curiosity and create an experimental story-telling format that loops between different characters revisiting some of the same the search for the future, of self-discovery and poignant realizations. Most importantly of the idea that imaginamoments, using different time layers, describing their tion, reflection, dreams and the pull of the unknown are relationships and experiences of each other. The film important. Trier laughs, “I often jokingly say, particustars Isabelle Huppert, Jesse Eisenberg and larly if I’m doing Q & A’s at places like Lincoln Center, Gabriel Byrne, members of a still-developing cast who Trier is excited to work with: “It’s an ensemble cast, ‘Well, here’s another tale from the suburbs of Europe’ or something. Some of the most creative people and ideas so it’s a departure for us because there are people from many different age groups in our story. But it’s our same seem to come out of the suburbs of the world. Because it’s the journey, the distance, the yearning, the dream of crew involved and we’re still going to do our style and this large, grand future that captures all of us that can be hopefully, continue to develop.”

Clearly the question of narrative structure, of pushing very productive creatively. That’s where my stories come from and also, honestly, what I feel that my stories the aesthetics of visual storytelling, is one that drives are about.”

Trier’s technique. The aesthetics of his films prove the

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Vérité’s Top 5 Fearless Females

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5.

Isabelle Adjani French cinema is hardly found wanting when it comes to fabulous femmes; think of Dalles, Deneuve, Kinski and Rampling. Adjani is not by any standards a prolific actress, although she started out early, but her varied, intriguing career has seen her betray Bond and record with Gainsbourg. She made a magnifique La Reine Margot, but one performance stands out above all for sheer fearlessness – as Anna in Polish director Andrzej Żuławski’s unclassifiable, unique Possession (1981).

A disintegrating marriage drama that involves political espionage and gloopy visceral horror; acted with frenzied, kabuki-like intensity, Possession is not a film that deals in half measures and boasts whacked-out performances from its male leads (including Sam Neil). But is Adjani who gives the most intense, fearless and committed of all. Possession requires her to not only miscarry violently in a public subway, oozing fluid and freaking out to the point of hysteria but also to then make love to the subsequent, tentacled alien creature she has birthed. Adjani throughout simply astounds, electrifying this tale of (extra) ordinary madness with an egoless performance that hurtles over the precipice of sanity. DH

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4.

Ida Lupino Born in Camberwell, Lupino – a prodigious young talent and RADA student – moved to Hollywood in the 30s and quickly racked up the roles. Avid movie fans of the time would’ve known her as Bogart’s onscreen sparring partner in They Drive

By Night (1940) and High Sierra (1941) but the feisty Lupino was a tough cookie who shunned most of the dreck thrown her way.

This no-nonsense attitude earned her a suspension from Warner Bros; during which time she acquainted herself with the other side of the camera – going on to form an indie production company with her first husband and becoming the first actress to produce, direct and write her own studio movies.

That body of work is a series of little-seen but fascinating 1950s genre pics dealing with male and female power play, dominance, control and sexuality – from controversial rape drama Outrage (1950) through to tennis movie Hard Fast and Beautiful (1951) and the hardboiled noir of The Hitch Hiker (1953).

A pioneer and a savvy lady, Lupino went on to direct many TV series and helmed one of the creepiest ever episodes of the Twilight Zone; Masks. Salute Lupino, the Bigelow of her day. DH

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3.

Gena Rowlands Rowlands; the cool, tough, laconic and funny Grande Dame of US indie and a woman with the explosive combination of smouldering Hollywood star looks coupled with fierce intelligence; qualities that were given full artistic license in her work with collaborator partner and lover John Cassavetes. In a Woman Under The Influence (1974) she gave what is generally regarded as her best performance; a devastating and draining portrayal of a middle aged woman unravelling psychologically while her agonised husband tries – and fails – to save her and their marriage.

Yet for me, the performance I will always remember is the one I saw first; as Gloria (1980) in the Cassavetes for-hire flick of the same name. As a middle-aged moll saddled with a precocious kid after his dad is shot by mobsters, Rowland’s delivers the ultimate combo of trough and tender, trying so hard to not get emotionally involved but when push comes to shove wielding a pistol with intensity, protectiveness and female strength.

Gloria was remade with another fearless female in the lead – Sharon Stone – but despite game work from Stone the gulf is all too visible. DH

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2.

Theresa Russell Watching Nicolas Roeg’s Bad Timing (1980) again recently, I quickly checked IMDB to see how old the actress was at the time; twenty three. It got me thinking about how so many of the great actresses of the 80s – Debra Winger (who costarred with Russell in Bob Rafelson’s flakily sensual noir Black Widow), Kathleen Turner, Ellen Barkin – seemed like grown women, even when they were young; tough but vulnerable and complex, not little girls lost or looking for love.

A film largely despised upon release and for years supressed, Bad Timing is, even

by Roeg standards, a fairly demanding proposition. Russell’s performance is nothing short of astonishing. She came into the business as a teenager with no formal training and it is that very rawness and unpredictability that makes her so compelling and so right in this role. Roeg’s film is an erotic puzzle; a dizzying conundrum involving two people who come together out of sensual and sexual obsession and end up incrementally mind fucking each other into oblivion.

If the film is Roeg’s Dionysian Last Tango in Paris, Russell is its Brando and Maria Schneider combined – for good as Art Garfunkel s is as her obsessed paramour, Russell’s magnetism simply blows him off the screen. DH

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1.

Louise Brooks The image of Brooks, and that of Lulu in Pandora’s Box (1929), is timelessly provocative; potently sexual and fiercely, powerfully female. In that film and in G.W Pabst’s intense, feverish follow up Diary of a Lost Girl (1929), Brooks essays characters that are frank and seem way ahead of their time. Given that the key films from her time in Europe were not widely seen in their day – as well as heavily suppressed and censored – it’s remarkable how her image has not just survived but gained in allure and mystery; inspiring many playful homages such as Jonathan Demme’s Something Wild (1987). Plus everyone knows and recognises Brooks, even if they’ve never seen a single frame of her films.

By all accounts Brooks herself had an incredibly tough life – she was abused as a child and struggled with booze and pills addiction. She spent hard, lived hard and drank hard and yet, unlike many who were swallowed up by the dream machine, she survived. Her memoirs ’ Lulu in Hollywood’ show a woman was nobody’s fool; a shrewd manipulator of her own image, sexually liberated and experimental, who played up her own sapphic curiosity for a salacious, rumour driven press . Hollywood may have won the battle but Brooks won the war. DH

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T H FESTIVAL G E E N D A words by Evrim Ersoy & Stuart Barr

ven within the vibrant festival scene of London, the Open City Documentary Film Festival holds a special place: a lovingly-curated, accessible festival which aims to brings the best of documentary films to the capital; it has been a treasure trove of discoveries since its inception in 2011.

Using the UCL Campus as a base, the festival creates an atmosphere unlike any other festival in London: attending film screenings in lecture theatres, with introductions and lengthy discourses on the subjects – the whole enterprise is an intellectual delight. Add in to the mix the frankly ridiculously low ticket prices and there seems to be no reason why Open City should not be inundated with audiences.

Here’s our pick of two titles from this year:

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I AM BREATHING directors Emma Davie, Morag McKinnon Neil Platt was a young husband, father and a successful architect when he was diagnosed with Motor Neurone disease. Within a year he was unable to breathe unaided. Platt regularly blogged to publicise the disease even as it ravaged his body. He also collaborated with filmmakers Davie and MacKinnon on a documentary that would be completed after his death.

I Am Breathing is an intimate depiction of the end of life showing Platt’s struggle to retain his dignity, but also the effect on his family and friends. In particular his wife Louise who gives up her own personal and professional life as Neil requires 24 hour care.

It is impossible not to feel like a voyeur watching Platt writing a letter to his infant son that will only be read after his death. However it is also a privilege to be brought into this story. A sobering documentary but one filled with warmth and compassion.

OUR NIXON director Penny Lane A complex, intimate portrait of one of the most turbulent points in American political history, ‘Our Nixon’ is entirely comprised of Super-8 footage shot by Nixon’s three aides during his presidency: H.R. Haldeman, John Ehrlichman and Dwight Chapin.

Not knowing what fate that was to befall them, the trio created a personal picture of the White House the like of which has never and will never be seen again.

As well as being a fascinating time-tunnel, the film also offers us a deeper understanding of the workings of power – the optimism behind Nixon’s early days is slowly replaced with a dark cynicism until Watergate breaks all hell loose.

The film is a monumental achievement which should been seen by anyone with even the remotest interest in politics or history.

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S

ince starting in 2000, this festival has been steadily growing – bringing together a varied programme of film and other parallel events including screenings in unusual locations and concerts.

2013 represented a milestone year for the festival as its duration was increased over the previous editions as well as the addition of ‘East End Live’: a one day music event running straight after the end of the main festival.

East End Film Festival brings a cornucopia of films to venues dotted all around the East End: as well as some of the hottest titles from across the world, the programme also promotes the work of local filmmakers as well as acting as a launching pad for young talent.

Here’s our pick of two titles:

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CALL GIRL director Mikael Marcimain One of the standout titles from 2012, Call Girl is a brutal exploration of power, corruption and politics within Swedish society in the 1970’s.

Based on a true scandal that occurred in Sweden which uncovered an underage prostitution ring which serviced powerful names within Swedish society, the film explores the dark journey of Iris – an orphan who finds herself slowly initiated into the aforementioned ring.

However, far from being a simplistic tear-jerker, the film covers the story from all angles: from the corrupt cops covering for the politicians to those who run the business, it’s a multi-layered thriller which brings to mind the best of 1970’s American cinema.

Blessed with a killer soundtrack from Mattias Barjed, Call Girl is one of the most breath-taking and incredible films of this year and should not be missed by any self-respecting cinema-goer.

MISS LOVELY director Ashim Ahluwalia An honest, uncomfortable look at Indian Society through the lens of Z- Grade filmmakers, Miss Lovely is one of the most difficult films anyone’s likely to see at the cinema. Suffocating, unpleasant and brilliant, the film tells the story of Sonu (Nawazuddin Sidiqui,) and Vicky (Anil George), who earn a living working on the fringes of Indian cinema industry – a million miles from glamorous Bollywood – making cheap, trashy pulp films for an audience starving for flesh.

Enter Pinky – an innocent, enigmatic beauty who Sonu falls for and who signals the beginning of the end for not only the brothers’ partnership but of the sleazy world they inhabit overall.

Clearly working from a low budget, director Ashim Ahluwalia still manages to capture 1980’s Bombay in a way we never see in modern cinema: a grubby graveyard of ambitions and passion where all dreams go to die. Although some will find the film too still for their liking, it is a testament to the acting (especially from Sidiqui) and the script that, as the tragedy of the lives of these would-be dreamers begins to build, the audience becomes as devastated as the figures on screen. A bona-fide masterpiece and one of the finest films to emerge from Indian in the last century.

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Postcard From Edinburgh Michael Pattison uncovers Scandinavian salaciousness, enjoys the retrospective of a French master and questions the relentless seriousness of Malick’s young disciples

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words by Michael Pattison

he image I took away from this year’s Edinburgh International Film Festival (EIFF) – perhaps because it appeared in the last film I saw there – was that of Wikileaks founder Julian Assange dancing under the flashing strobe of a nightclub. The moment occurs in Alex Gibney’s latest documentary, We Steal Secrets: The Story of WikiLeaks, which provides a fairly comprehensive overview of the part WikiLeaks played in US soldier Bradley Manning’s unprecedented disclosure of classified military information in 2010, which saw Manning incarcerated and Assange rendered a wanted man. Just as pressures are mounting and the full implications of Manning’s leaks are coming into focus, we cut to this indelibly absurd clip of the WikiLeaks founder seemingly in his element as he busts shapes on an empty dance floor. Whether he’s a genius hacktivist, a blasé fame-seeker or both, the Australian comes across increasingly in

Gibney’s film as a bit of an ass. He is currently wanted by the Swedish government due to allegations of sexual assault, made against him by two Swedish women just as the WikiLeaks debacle was taking off. The film leaves him under the diplomatic asylum of the Ecuadorian Embassy in London.

That ending seemed to chime in some way with EIFF 2013’s focus on Swedish cinema, at least three films of which displayed to varying degrees an interest in judicial pursuits. Roland Hassel is a curiously lo-fi deadpan comedy that resurrects a fictional detective, last seen on television screens in 2000, to investigate the still-unsolved 1986 assassination of Swedish Prime Minister Olof Palme, during his second stint as premier. A fictionalised version of Palme has a small part in Call Girl, a period drama-cum-policier based on the real-life 1970s Geijer Scandal, which exposed a prostitution ring that served members of the country’s political establishment. The film’s period

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detail is effective. Its focus on historical sex abuse and the socio-political institutions that provide it cover should hold particular relevance for British audiences in the wake of the Savile Scandal and Operation Yewtree, and it should do well upon its upcoming UK theatrical release. Sanctuary, meanwhile, like its father and daughter protagonists, retreats into an idyllic forest to dwell on morality for as long as it can before the cops catch up with murderous if dedicated daddy.

Sanctuary was also part of a larger, transnational trend at this year’s EIFF, to which I have referred elsewhere as “purgatorial misery porn”. Elegantly shot but vacuous in content, these experimental works included Cuban film The Swimming Pool and Argentine film Noche. Both films present to us a hotchpotch of rootless teenage ciphers who do little and say less, and evince an apparent wish for film school graduates to escape more pressing anxieties. Such an artistic approach found precedent in the winner of last year’s Best International Feature Award, the similarly vacant Chinese film Here, Then. That said, though Noche for this year’s award, it lost out to autobiographical documentary A World Not Ours, Danish-born and London-based Mahdi Fleifel’s account of three generations of exile in the Palestinian refugee camp Ein el-Helweh.

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In fictional terms, an oblique approach to the world’s injustices is not inherently bankrupt, of course. For evidence that experimentation can indeed be fruitful, look no further than Longing for the Rain and When Night Falls. The first frames life amidst Beijing’s casually patriarchal nouveau riche through an erotic ghost story, while the second fictionalises the tragedy that befell a real-life Shanghai woman when her son was unjustly tried and executed for killing several police officers, following a beating he received from them after being arrested for riding an unlicensed bicycle. Both films demonstrate an awareness of and willingness to engage with real-world problems in inventive ways. More straightforwardly was A.C.A.B. All Cats Are Brilliant, a suitably low-key Greek drama about life as a young female adult in Athens.

If that film managed to find optimism despite increasing financial woes, too many other filmmakers seem to be mistaking all-out humourlessness for artistic seriousness. At EIFF this year, among the biggest culprits in this regard were My Dog Killer, which takes a persistently grim view of neo-Nazism on the Slovak-Moravian border, and The Sea, a toothless adaptation of John Banville’s novel – which also contained the most unintentionally hilarious

scene at the festival, involving a punch-up over a television set that gets switched off in an empty bar.

Welcome relief came from the likes of The Colour of the Chameleon, a semi-satirical Bulgarian espionage film, and Oh Boy, a black-and-white Allenesque comedy set in Berlin, whose many laughs suggest there might be fuel in old-fashioned comedy just yet.

But the grim/comical binary was encapsulated best

by Historic Centre, a typically uneven portmanteau film for which Aki Kaurismäki, Pedro Costa, Victor Erice and Manoel de Oliveira were all commissioned to celebrate Portugal’s first city, Guimarães. While Kaurismäki and de Oliveira demonstrate a light touch as well as an awareness of the limitations of this kind of project, Erice overreaches with a stiff history lesson and Costa disappears up his own ass with a somnambulant allegory – though I did hear that he emerged to give a generous Q&A after at least one of the film’s public screenings.

For all their formal flash, though, a large number of the more experimental features at EIFF forgot to be funny. Upstream Color and For Those in Peril are cases in point. While each film aspires to Malickian poetry, it’s difficult to shirk the mental image of the directors – Shane Carruth and Paul Wright respectively – stroking their chins all the way through pro-

duction, convinced of their own po-faced aesthetic. On the other hand, you have The Bling Ring, Sofia Coppola’s uninteresting would-be comedy about uninteresting would-be people, and We Are the Freaks, which seeks to transfer the more debased trends of British television to a the big screen – and about which the less is said the better. These films and others made me wonder if there are filmmakers today who can pull off a more classical tonal nuance, who can inject seriousness into their laughs and who can elicit comedy from tragedy. That, perhaps, is one dynamic missing from today’s acclaimed auteurs.

One documentary that did manage to be poignant and amusing at once was Lunarcy!, about a bunch of social pariahs dedicated to moving to the Moon.

Clearly, for some, the world is a cruel place better left behind. All the better, then, to rehabilitate Bernard Natan, French cinema’s forgotten man and the subject of Paul Duane and David Cairns’ carefully considered documentary Natan. Romanian-born, Natan fought for France in the First World War and became the head of Pathé at the end of the 1920s, playing a significant role in forming a vertically-integrated French national cinema – before falling victim to wider anti-Semitism and wicked rumours concerning a past career in pornographic pictures. Stripped of his French citizenship,

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Natan met his death in a Nazi concentration camp.

To their credit, Duane and Cairns correct myth with history in an engaging and concise manner.

If the exposure given to Natan and his films is wholly welcome, so too was EIFF’s retrospective of French filmmaker Jean Grémillon, whose works are at the time of writing also due a stint at the BFI. I managed to catch three such works. Summer Light (1943) is a sophisticated picture of class tensions and tricky emotional terrain set in close proximity to a major worksite, while The Strange Monsieur Victor (1938) contains what might be the best performance of the 1930s in that of mononymous star Raimu. Stormy Waters (1941), though, was possible the finest film I saw in Edinburgh, combining rocky relationships with convincingly-rendered, studio-shot sea storms, held together by a powerful performance from Jean Gabin.

In terms of contemporary productions, though – and continuing nautical themes – the best film I saw at EIFF was Leviathan, an access-all-areas documentary about life aboard a trawler, which demystifies the seafood industry with a brutal depiction of the human toil found at its base. A French-UKUSA co-production, the film deservedly took the

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Michael Powell Award for Best British Feature. And it is perhaps telling in general that the films that took the major awards from the 67th EIFF were all documentaries: joining domestic winner Leviathan and international winner A World Not Ours was Fire in the Night, a documentary on the Piper Alpha oilrig disaster, which won the Audience Award as decided by Edinburgh’s paying public.

Finally, a word on two more impressive documentaries, neither of which screened in competition.

The first of these is Jeanie Finlay’s The Great Hip Hop Hoax, which looks at two rappers straight out of Arbroath, Scotland, who when rejected in 2004 from a talent contest in London, adopted Californian personas to deceive and take an oblivious image-based music industry temporarily by storm. And the second is Before You Know It, a sensitive and refreshingly straightforward account of three over60 gay men in the USA. The film is full of simple joys in celebrating and arguing for its subjects’ social and legal acceptance. It began life as a campaign film before growing into something much more touching: a portrait not only of three individuals, but of the communities that embrace them.

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Anthing but Love As the BFI releases a restored version of John Cassavetes’ The Killing of a Chinese Bookie, Paul Martinovic reflects on the films enduring warmth and tragic fatalism

words by Paul Martinovic

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Can’t Give You Anything But Love, Baby’ is the theme song for The Killing of a Chinese Bookie, and in many ways it’s an appropriate one: protagonist Cosmo Vitelli is a true romantic, an affable nightclub impresario who dreams of turning his beloved Crazy Horse West, a shabby dive of a venue, into the hottest nightspot on the West Coast.

It’s somewhat ironic therefore that the film itself, particularly in its original 138-minute cut, is so defiantly anti-commercial in its pacing, staging and structure, choosing to dance around genre conventions and confound expectations at every juncture. Critically savaged upon release for its general elusiveness and leisurely running time, cinema has since caught up to the film. Cassavetes’ oeuvre is essentially the Old Testament of American Independent film and Bookie has come to be appreciated as a landmark work of 70s cinema, from a remarkably idiosyncratic talent working at the peak of his abilities.

It begins with Vitelli, brilliantly portrayed

by Cassavetes regular Ben Gazzara, seemingly at a moment of triumph, finally paying off a long-standing gambling debt to a sleazy loanshark (played, in a characteristically sly piece of Cassavetes casting, by the film’s producer). To celebrate, he takes the De-Lovelies, his harem of dancing girls from the Crazy Horse West, out to a poker night at another club run by a thuggish group of mobsters, and racks up a $25,000 debt.

Realising that he won’t be able to pay it off, and that he would never willingly give up the club, his creditors offer him another way out: the killing of a Chinese bookie. Vitelli struggles with the prospect of crossing a moral event horizon, and attempts to stave off his violent opponents while trying to manage his jealous lover, the De-Lovelies, and the highly-strung master of ceremonies Mr. Sophistication (in a wonderfully brittle performance from screenwriter Meade Roberts).

The film is Cassavetes’ first flirtation with genre

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cinema as a director and his first real stab at a film with commercial aspirations after achieving unexpected box office success and an Academy Award nomination for A Woman under the Influence. As an actor, however, he was no stranger to B-movies: a regular in tough-guy crime and action flicks, he made his name appearing in films such as Don Siegel film noirs The Killers and Crime In The Streets, and machismo drenched Italian gangster movies such as Bandits in Rome and Machine Gun McCain, before landing his most famous role in the action-packed war drama The Dirty Dozen.

More so than perhaps in any of his other directorial work, these acting roles have a clear influence on Bookie: the nightmarish, fatalistic way minor decisions have far-reaching consequences is redolent of the structure of classic film noir, while the grimy aesthetic and visceral approach to action feels very much in the same vein as 60s and 70s poliziotteschi. Where Bookie derives the majority of its power is from the tension that develops between these commercial influences and Cassavetes’ decidedly uncommercial filmmaking style.

Cassavetes himself once characterized his films as attempts to cinematically realise the ‘small feelings’ he believed American cinema (and by extension American society) attempted to gloss over, arguing that they were the “greatest political force there is”. His directorial career began almost by accident, when the then-actor took to the airwaves of a New York public radio station to promote new film Edge of the City, only to abruptly claim that the film was dull, disappointing and not worth seeing, and that he could make a better one himself, a film that would truly be about ‘people’ in a way that Hollywood films could never be capable of. He casually encouraged listeners sympathetic to his ideas to send him some funding, and to his astonishment the radio station received over two thousand dollars within a week. He duly began production on what became Shadows, his immensely influential 1959 debut. Although this was the only one of his works that was developed solely through improvisation (in his other works improvisation was encouraged, but the film still began with a detailed shooting script) it led to an actor-focused approach to film-making that the director would stay true to throughout his career, where staging and set-ups would be arranged to

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allow the greatest amount of possible freedom for the cast to experiment. This lack of pre-blocking and elaborate lighting set-ups meant that his films often had a documentary-like aesthetic.

It’s particularly interesting how Cassavetes’ democratic approach to storytelling and filmmaking manifests itself in Bookie, in a genre where rapid-fire pacing and unexpected twists are key elements of their appeal. In fact, Bookie does have a very serviceable noir/crime plot, and there is not as much digression as there may at first appear.

Each scene serves to drive the plot and the character of Cosmo forward, however incrementally, and the titular killing is as effective a suspense sequence as can be found in any of its more immediate peers. Indeed, the often-languorous pace mostly increases the queasy sense of tension, rather than diffusing it.

But Cassavetes’ willingness to spend time exploring the lives of all of his characters, no matter how insignificant, is what sets his film apart and gives it its unique atmosphere. Everyone gets a chance to shine, from the waitress who is dumbfounded by Cosmo’s order of 12 hamburgers in a bag, to the taxi driver who takes time to shoot the shit with Cosmo about their respective childhood hangouts in New York. His habit of tracking the camera into extreme close-up and fill the screen with faces, combined with the naturalistic way scenes unfold, makes Bookie often feel almost uncomfortably intimate; particularly given the traditionally cold, impersonal nature of gangster movies and film noir in particular.

It’s through these moments it becomes clear that Bookie is primarily a film about an unconventional family; namely, Cosmo, Mr. Sophistication and the De-Lovelies. It’s not a film about family in the same way that, say, The Godfather is: it’s not interested in portraying a microcosm of America. It’s simply a portrait of the way that these particular men and women interact with each other on a day-to-day basis.

Cosmo himself is a fascinating character, and a textbook example of a Cassavetes protagonist. His films are often filled with idealistic entrepreneurs charged with leading and inspiring large groups and it hardly takes a huge leap of imagination to see why the director was drawn to this archetype.

Gazarra struggled to get into the head of Vitelli during shooting, and when he turned to Cassavetes for inspiration, the director told him to think

about Vitelli’s mob opponents as a metaphor for people who try to steal or ruin others’ dreams. As he spoke, Cassavetes began to cry, and the actor saw that Vitelli was actually a thinly veiled surrogate for his director.

Another Cassavetes surrogate could be the grotesque Mr. Sophistication, a pompous man with delusions of grandeur who believes that his unique personality is underappreciated by a baying crowd who just want to see flesh. There’s something of Cassavetes in this figure of someone who strives to be seen as a unique artist, whilst also seeking mainstream acceptance and envying those who have it: in other words, Cassavetes’s films can often feel rambling and unfriendly when compared to most Hollywood’s output, which remains happy to bare its metaphorical tits to keep people smiling.

Cassavetes was more sensitive to the mainstream than you might think, as demonstrated by his re-cutting of the film in 1978 after initial box office failure. Amongst critics there is little agreement on which film is better, or even on which cut Cassavetes himself preferred, with some saying the editing of the 1976 version was rushed.

Others claim that the re-edit was done under the duress of studio pressure. Both versions are considerably different, with scenes added, amended and re-ordered, but both have their plus and minus points – the longer cut undoubtedly has a more depth of character, and is so languorously paced that it has a woozy, dreamlike quality that is not as present in the shorter version. The 1978 version feels colder, but more effective as a thriller and generally more coherent – it also hardly suffers from trimming a few of the cabaret scenes, many of which drag on way past the point of being terminable in the original cut.

Whichever version you choose, Bookie remains one of the most fascinating pieces of work from a genuine iconoclast: a tough-guy leading man who made some of the strangest, most personal films of any era. This doomed bid for mainstream success is one of his most personal works, and is all the more vital for it. As Vitelli says in his pre-cabaret announcement at the Crazy Horse West: “I choose the numbers, I direct them, I arrange them. You have any complaints, you just come to me, and I’ll throw you right out on your ass.” It’s a film made for belligerent dreamers everywhere.

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B R I A N DE (act PALMA one) Brian De Palma, the great visual stylist of his generation, is back in psychosexual mode with a new erotic thriller. Ahead of the release of Passion, Jordan McGrath looks back at his infamous 80s slasher Dressed To Kill, which finally recieves Blu-ray treatment this month thanks to Arrow Video

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words by Jordan McGrath

f you were to ask me ‘what’s your favourite Brian De Palma movie?’ you’d find a man struggling to an answer. Imagine asking a child to choose their favourite sweet while standing in front of a wall bearing every tooth-rotting candy imaginable and you can understand my dilemma. The only decision of any real substance I would be able to muster would be to agree that 1980’s Dressed to Kill would be right up there. A psychosexual thriller that screams ‘I’m a DePalma movie’ – it has the sleaze, the violence, and many visual treats to satisfy any hardcore fan’s deepest desire. Not forgetting to mention it’s probably one of the purest examples of his unique stylistic vision in his oeuvre.

He was trendsetter, influencing many major players working today - including one Mr. Tarantino, who classes the director’s follow up to Dressed to Kill; the John Travolta starring Blow Out as one of his top three films of all time. His

films stay with you, lingering and effective, exuding provocation. In the current cinema landscape we have directors such as Lars Von Trier and Nicolas Winding Refn that seem to enjoy challenging and contesting the boundaries, just like De Palma did back in the late-70s and 80s. His films were artistic ink-blot tests of taste, judging and relishing the reaction and grim satisfaction his audiences would experience when viewing his more salacious and gory outings. Constantly in the news, controversy seemed to follow him as closely as his own shadow.

However, this wasn’t (isn’t) the only talking point when it comes to De Palma’s career. It’s a rather absurd notion that, in a career spanning over five decades, his integrity as a filmmaker is still called into question. While many still label him a ‘second-rate Hitchcock’ he’s never let it hinder his output. Actually, some may say that it injected even more energy into it. His trilogy of

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Hitchcock homages – Obsession, Dressed to Kill and Body Double – rank among some of his best examples of pure cinema. In many ways De Palma is to Hitchcock as a young street artist – recreating their vision of the Mona Lisa, armed with nothing more than spray paints and a derelict building as a canvas – is to Da Vinci. Both are able to abstract the intricacy and classic nature of a piece of art and, understanding it’s beauty (or horror), reconstruct it in a way that it becomes something bolder, something broader that, in most cases, leads to a piece of work that is invigorating and memorable in its own right.

In the case of Dressed to Kill, the director’s influences are obvious. He plays with similar themes from Psycho, as well as its structure, and executes them with an exquisite Argento-esque (another director accused of Hitchcock baiting) giallo sheen.

Yes, there may be a sense of the cinematic magpie about his approach but this cinematic crescendo is undoubtedly a De Palma work. He infuses enough of his personal sensibility and technical bravura – narratively and aesthetically – that, in the end, his individual characteristics ensure the film is no mere rip-off or homage.

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With his film, De Palma cogently guides us down a rabbit-hole of sexual guilt. Exploring, in a metaphorical reality, its manifestation and consequential contrition.

We have Kate (Angie Dickinson), a bored late40s all-American housewife who, after complaining about her inadequate sex life to her psychiatrist, Dr Elliott (Michael Caine), fleetingly escapes her torrid marriage with an afternoon fling of animalistic passion with a strange man she meets at a museum.

Burning desire for physical attention quenched, she quickly returns to the real-world – she’s shattered her harmonious vows of marriage. But as she comes to grips with her betrayal, a tall blonde wielding a switchblade surprisingly and gruesomely kills her.

Witnessing the murder, Liz (Nancy Allen), a young high-end New York City prostitute, enters proceedings – becoming the film’s new focus as she subsequently finds herself a part of the investigation.

De Palma uses sexuality as a double-edged sword.

Encouraging his characters to express themselves sexually but only when it is morally right. Kate exhibits the easy way out and is dealt with in a shocking circumstance. The killer – Caine’s

suppressed transsexual alter ego Bobbi – is a character lying to himself about his true identity. He/ she, allows the problem to fester and become uncontrollable; his female personality striking out in anger when his male-instinct is triggered. Liz’s wisecracking hooker is the middle-road, naïve but street-smart, she might be a prostitute but at least she knows what exactly what she is and lives without secrets.

Anyone versed in his extensive catalogue knows De Palma is a self-confessed visual stylist. A perfect example of his creative genius is the six-minute sequence where Kate, struggling with her moral plight and fighting her sexual urge, meets the man whom she finally gives into – culminating in a frenzied encounter in the back of a New York cab.

Choreographed like some sort of ballet, the scene is a flawless piece of visual storytelling. It is basically a dance of infidelity, Kate drifting through each state of mind a woman in her position would experience – intrigue, arousal, shock, disgust, regret, fear and finally lust. Precisely paced and exquisitely accomplished, with Pino Donaggio’s faultless score adding even more momentum to proceedings, it’s

worth seeing Dressed to Kill for the sequence alone.

When it comes to moving a camera to get the most out of scene, De Palma can stand shoulder to shoulder with any of the greats. The effortless flow between Kate’s POV and her pursuit of the stranger is something Argento could only dream of. In Dressed to Kill, De Palma does Argento even better than Argento.

The film is as ‘out-there’ narratively as you can get the wrap up a preposterous sledge-hammer blow of retrospective exposition. It’s clunky; boarding at times on comedic, but De Palma never once feels like he’s trying to deliver a twist that’s going to shock. He’s having fun. In his review of the film, Roger Ebert stated that Dressed to Kill was ‘an exercise in style, not narrative; it would rather look and feel like a thriller than make sense’. Although I think that sells the film short a little, the sentiment not only fits this movie but 90% of his work. Brian De Palma is an innovator, a one-of-a-kind filmmaker that delivers delicious set-pieces, testing stories and a pure understanding of the construction of tension that can rival any director.

Split-screen anyone?

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Genre in Disguise

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Step into the Mind of Kelvin Tong

Evrim Ersoy uncovers this month’s cinematic treasure – Singapore law-graduate-turned-critic-turned-filmmaker Kelvin Tong

words by Evrim Ersoy

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elvin Tong is an enigma like no other – the fact that he hails from Singapore, a country with a still-burgeoning film industry just adds to the curiosity.

An astute story-teller, Tong recalls the directors of old Hollywood – like Rouben Mamoulian and Billy Wilder, he’s adept at switching between genres, easily able to adapt if the story is worth putting on the screen. However, it is his work within genre film that makes him such a suitable subject for discovery.

While his efforts in promoting local cinema are nothing short of fantastic, a foreign audience might find it harder to connect with his resolutely Singaporean films.

Notwithstanding, his forays into horror and thriller territory produce incredible results: Intense, dark, complex works with a melancholy ferocity that most of the big budget productions of today lack.

Starting out with a brief stint at a legal firm after graduating from law school, Tong eventually found himself as the chief film critic for The Straits Times in Singapore. He kept the position for four years during which he wrote and directed his first short in 1996, Moveable Feast, followed by his first feature in 1999 – a Malaysian kung-fu road comedy called Eating Air. In 2005 he unleashed his sophomore feature 1942 – a ghost story set in Malay during the second World War – but his first real foray into genre film was with The Maid, released the same year. As one of the first home-grown horror movies to ever come out of Singapore, The Maid counts an astounding success taking in excess of $700,000 in home box-office revenue alone. The story follows the titular young maid, Rosa, who travels to Singapore from the Philippines to work for a Chinese family. Unaccustomed to the ways of honouring the dead in Chinese

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culture, Rosa is haunted and hounded by an inadvertent offense she makes against the deceased spirits and all hell breaks loose.

Looking back on the film now, it follows familiar tropes of the ghost genre: viewers will recognise a lot of the set-pieces from similar titles such as Ringu.

However Tong’s skill lies in being able to bring the unique local flavour to the fore: set within The Hungry Ghosts Moon which, according to Chinese tradition, is the time when ghosts come and visit from the other realms, the film pays attention to the superstitions of local culture looking particularly to Chinese rituals associated with the month.

His other strength comes from drawing on the melancholy nature of ghosts: Tong’s creations are unlike Sadako in Ringu – they are portrayed mainly as lost spirits – visiting our realm for a limited time, not really able to affect what happens around them. His next entry into the genre would be in the form of horror-comedy Men In White (2007) – a loving homage to the Stephen Chow comedies of the 1980’s. Focusing on four ghosts who share a flat in Singapore trying to get through the day, the film is told in chapters almost like a guide to exploring how the life of a ghost in Singapore works.

It’s an uneven work – trying to parody everything and anything: however, each time one of Tong’s skits hits the

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mark, the excellent timing and humour make it impossible not to be impressed by his skills as writer-director.

The scattershot approach of a young filmmaker trying to find his feet, Men In White is an admirable rite-of-passage that still can stand its ground.

Tong’s next directing job finds him shooting in Hong Kong rather than Singapore – however this seems to prove an advantage to the director who crafts what is effectively his most brilliant work to date.

2008’s Rule No #1 might seem like a familiar story: After a ghostly encounter, Inspector Lee Kwok Keung (Shawn Yue in top form) finds himself assigned to the Miscellaneous Affairs Department headed by Inspector Wong (Ekin Cheng proving more than a worthwhile match). The department deals with the two per cent of unexplained cases within the police department: ghosts and the supernatural. But as Inspector Wong reminds Keung in his first day – the number one rule of the department is that there are no such things as ghosts. Rule No #1 is an incredible film: imagine the most nihilistic and melancholy ghost story ever imaginable and you can’t even begin to cover Tong’s superb gem – it’s like Otto Preminger directing the first ‘ghost-noir’.

Tong focuses purely on the characters, letting the scares build up over time: he’s not interested in cheap jump scares – instead the film slowly builds a sense of dread,

“Tong’s creations are unlike Sadako in Ringu – they are portrayed mainly as lost spirits – visiting our realm for a limited time, not really able to affect what happens around them.”

which by the end, is almost unbearable. The two leads, Yue and Cheng, develop their characters with top-calibre performances; by the end of the film it’s impossible not to care what happens to them.

Special mention must go to Inspector Kwok-Keung’s relationship with a young delivery girl (played by Lee Wan.) The dreamlike qualities of film (reminiscent of Timothy Hutton’s relationship with Natalie Portman’s girl next door in Beautiful Girls) shine during these sequences where reality and fantasy merge – the sight of the two of them cycling around the department building with a giant blow-up toy animal are impossible to forget.

It’s also worth touching upon the final act of Tong’s film without spoiling it; having built his story around his characters, Tong brings the tragedy surrounding these two figures home in a way that stays with the viewer, permanently. Surreally dreamy imagery of earlier scenes transforms into the stuff of nightmares in the final 10 minutes as Tong reminds us that good guys don’t always win and sometimes, good men do bad things.

This theme continues to be explored in Tong’s 2010 film Kidnapper, which has him return back to Singapore. A thriller in the mould of Hollywood films such as Phone Booth, Tong’s effort is light years ahead of any of the big budget we’ve seen in terms of both mood and tension.

Cab driver Ah Huat (Christopher Lee) lives a difficult existence with his son Lim Wei Xiang. The pair doesn’t have any money but is content with what they can get and generally have a happy existence.

However, one day Wei Xiang gets kidnapped due to a case of mistaken identity: instead of the son of a rich man who is the intended target, brutal criminal Hu accidentally takes Huat’s son. When the original target

refuses to pay the ransom to save Huat’s son, Lu puts the pressure on Lim – telling that he has 36 hours to come up with the money and that every hour past the deadline will cost him one pint of his son’s blood until the boy’s imminent death.

The tension in Kidnapper is almost unbearable at times simply because Tong lets no certainty remain within the script: no character is guaranteed to survive until the end and as the story takes darker and darker turns, everything turns upside down.

The violence within the film is visceral, brutal and realistic. Each punch feels unpleasant and too close for comfort, too personal – a counterpoint to Hollywood action where men survive a thousand rounds with skilled opponents. Both the good and bad characters in this film are real people – untrained, vicious and with one desire: to survive. The fights are unchoreographed – wild and messy the way real life is whilst the stunts looks bone-shatteringly real. Both the leads give their all, bringing out a grittiness hitherto missing from the thriller genre.

After Kidnapper Tong penned two local comedies: one focusing on Singapore’s oldest and most popular shopping mall titled It’s A Great Great World (2011), which he also directed, and a follow-up to that film, 2012’s Dance Dance Dragon, directed by Kat Goh. Tong repeatedly states that he’s still learning his craft, evident in the uneven nature of his films.

However, when Tong’s skill is so apparent in the rest of the set-pieces and the characters and his capacity to impress so evident on the screen, it’s hard to hold these small faults against him. Perhaps the best genre director working within Singapore today, it’s hard not to be excited to see what Tong comes up with next.

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Masters of Cinema

Le Pont du Nord Self-confessed Jacques Rivette sceptic Robert Makin is charmed by a later work from the divisive French auteur words by Robert Makin

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his probably isn’t the best way to start an article on Jacques Rivette but I have to admit I’m not his biggest fan having sat through his most beloved work – Celine and Julie Go Boating (1974). I completely understand why it has such a devoted cult following and remains influential; it does contain some strange cinematic magic that’s for sure. It is visually unique and idiosyncratic and has one of the most endearing and watchable female duos in seventies cinema, played by Juliet Berto and Dominique Labourier.

It’s also incredibly pretentious, ridiculously convoluted and cryptic, and far too long. In fact I found the last half an hour absolutely excruciating. One of the main criticisms constantly aimed at Rivette is that his films are unnecessarily long without any justification, making them feel like a reactionary endurance test for some.

So why would I accept an assignment writing about a director I’m not particularly fascinated with? I do have a

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number of legitimate reasons. Firstly, I’m genuinely intrigued as to why a director who seems to have influenced so many modern filmmakers still remains somewhat of a mystery – with his work rarely screened. Despite Spike Jonze, Susan Seidelman, Michel Gondry, Sofia Coppola and Charlie Kaufman making films that seem to be channelling the style and approach of Rivette, his place in cinema history is still met with uncertainty.

He is definitely what you might refer to as a filmmaker’s filmmaker and one of the most renowned directors to openly site Rivette as an influence is Jim Jarmusch, which brings me to my second reason. I’m a huge Jarmusch fan so any inside information he chooses to reveal in regard to his creative process is always going to pique my interest. The original concept or his 2009 ‘zen thriller’ The Limits of Control was what if Jacques Rivette had directed Point Blank (1967) instead of John Boorman? It’s Rivette’s Le Pont du Nord (1982) that serves as the most obvious influence on The

Limits of Control. It even stars Jean-Francois Stevenin as The Frenchman, a part not too dissimilar to his memorable role as the sinister Max in Rivette’s sprawling, episodic early eighties anti-thriller.

It’s without doubt that Rivette is very divisive director who even divides opinion within my own household. Which brings me to my last reason. Ever since I met my wife she’s always talked about a strange French film entitled Le Pont du Nord, completely baffled that someone who apparently writes about film has never actually heard of it, let alone seen it.

The hunt was on but my attempts at obtaining or viewing this mysterious movie were completely futile.

In fact any information on Jacques Rivette seemed extremely limited, something that seems to have changed over the past few years.

From booze-infused film nights in dimly lit pubs, to repertory cinemas, esoteric websites and beyond I have been lucky enough to eventually come across most of the cinematic oddities that tend to fire my imagination. Nevertheless Le Pont du Nord continued to evade me. That is until now.

Thanks to Eureka’s Masters of Cinema collection I finally managed to watch this rarely seen, very odd and elusive entry into eighties French cinema. And I have to say I enjoyed every strange, sporadic, nonsensical, drawn out moment, causing me to readdress my initial response to Jacques Rivette and his films.

As one of the first Cahiers du Cinema writers to begin work on a feature film he was also one of the last to gain any kind of serious recognition. Le Pont du Nord is the last entry in what his enthusiasts often refer to as his ‘golden middle’ period that begins with Mad Love in 1969 and includes what I imagine to be one of the most challenging films to ever exist in the history of cinema; Out 1: Don’t Touch Me (1971) which has a running time of almost thirteen hours.

Le Port du Nord brings closure to a highly experimental period while perfecting its most influential elements into something almost cohesive. The most notable being a preoccupation with secret societies, hidden worlds within familiar surroundings and an extremely likeable, attractive and charismatic female duo as the main protagonists. What makes this film stand out from his other work is that it feels a lot more focussed and linear without deviating too much from his strange and spontaneous signature style. It’s also genuinely funny, in a weird sort of way.

Bulle Ogier plays Marie, arriving in Paris on the back of a pick-up truck having just been released from prison. After a chance encounter she joins forces with a younger woman called Baptiste, played by her actual twenty-two year old daughter Pascale Ogier.

[In a tragic side note, Ogier herself died at the age of twenty-five soon after starring in Eric Rohmer’s Full Moon in Paris (1984)].

Bapitste is a streetwise, knife-wielding, scoter-riding drifter who claims to be a kung-fu expert and believes the city of Paris is constantly watching those who populate it. It’s a paranoid belief that compels

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her to attack any billboard and poster that contains images of eyes.

Due to Marie’s romantic involvement with a mysterious figure named Julien, our two heroines are gradually embroiled into a conspiracy involving secret maps that reveal Paris as a mystical labyrinth. Much of the film’s surreal humour comes from this mystery thriller plot running parallel with a magnified focus on the episodic and incidental moments of everyday life. This isn’t James Bond with quick edits and fast paced chases. This is a universe where the protagonists crave breakfast and meander from one location to the next, engaging in general banter, occasionally having to take a toilet break mid-way through a conversation.

One of the film’s most memorable and mesmerising aspects is that the Paris of Le Pont du Nord is not the one we’re used to seeing on screen. Due to Marie’s claustrophobia brought on from her time in prison the vast majority of the film takes place outside. The famous tourist landmarks have been replaced by a more industrial or decaying landscape. The locations Rivette uses are either in the process of being demolished or have an eerie sense of desolation,

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such as the abandoned Carreau du Temple, which is used to great effect.

As you’d expect with this kind of freeform style of filmmaking some plot strands are left unresolved, certain things are never explained, and the final scenes are quite bizarre with very little regard towards anything resembling a normal narrative conclusion. What we are left with instead is a passionate, abstract and concerned sketch of one of the world’s most engrossing and enticing cities in a state of immense transition, captured in a way that only a certain type of artist is capable of doing, with its changes accepted in a way that only a person of with a certain amount of life experience is able to accept.

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Le Pont Du Nord is available on July 29th courtesy of Eureka Entertainment. www.eurekavideo.co.uk

AVAILABLE ON AMAZON KINDLE

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In Defence...

60s Counter Cultre: Head (1968)

words by Rob Makin

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hanks to Saturday morning re-runs during the early eighties, The Monkees supplied me with my first impression of what a real band should be.

They all shared the same house; they drove a custom built hot rod, chased girls, wore the same clothes, had goofy adventures, lampooned authority, and played a few good tunes along the way.

Even when I was informed of their manufactured inception it still made a lot more sense to me than a bunch of blokes in shit suits singing on yachts.

Ironically enough a career that was constantly denounced as artificial would end with one their most authentic and personal creations, the feature film Head. With a ridiculously esoteric marketing campaign and content that was too weird for the pop

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crowd but not weird enough for the hipsters it epically bombed on its initial release and was banished into obscurity. That is until repertory screenings and nocturnal TV schedules finally lifted the curse of its pop culture limbo.

Seriously underappreciated, Head is a full-on collision between avant-garde aesthetics and mainstream sensibilities, a bold masterpiece of psychedelic cinema, one of the best Rock films ever made and a genuine cult classic. In fact its cult movie credentials are hard to surpass when you consider the amount of raw talent involved. Co-written by Jack Nicholson under the influence of LSD, produced by Bert Schneider, directed Bob Rafelson, and masterfully edited by Michael Pozen and an un-credited Monte Hellman, it should rightfully be recognised

“I’d rather be watching The Monkees performing Can You Dig It? in a desert harem then watching Peter Fonda crying in a graveyard.” as an early example of the New American Cinema movement.

It’s certainly brave enough to fit in that category when you consider scenes involving the juxtaposition of the band performing live with news footage of South Vietnamese general Nguyen Ngoc Loan executing a Viet Cong prisoner. A scene that ends with the terrifying shriek of a teenage girl who’s either screaming at the horror of it all or overwhelmed by the appearance of her favourite band. It’s moments like these which elevate the film above the usual sixties folly.

It’s also very funny, admittedly in very weird and random kind of way, and surely any film that features Frank Zappa with a talking cow deserves a more significant place in history of sixties cinema.

Zappa of course would soon create his own entry into the dubious sub-genre of the Rock movie with the seriously mental and incoherent mind meld that is 200 Motels (1971). His appearance is one of many odd cameos in a cast that reads like a priceless appendix on American cult figures.

Matinee idol Victor mature has a recurring role, as does the volcanic and sublimely unhinged Timothy Carey, director of outsider cinema favourite The World’s Greatest Sinner (1962) as well as performing memorable roles for Kubrick and Cassavetes.

Legendary world heavy weight champion Sonny Liston makes an appearance, and the brilliant Teri Garr gets her first speaking role. B-movie big guy Tor Johnson, counter culture figure head Dennis Hopper, future star Jack Nicholson, famed stripper Carol Doda (one of the first to have silicone implants), and Mouskateer/beach party movie pin-up Annette Funicello all show up at some point or another. Not to mention a dance routine choreographed and featuring Toni Basil. Yes, that Toni Basil.

Still unfairly dismissed as a shambolic and uneven mess, it may not have a linear plot in the traditional sense but it does have a diligent and layered structure that addresses themes of free will, conceptual reality, and identity, whilst deconstructing the band,

their fabricated image, the era that defined them, and the film itself. Admittedly there are a few confusing loose ends here and there, but then some of the best moments in life and some of the best moments in cinema are the ones without an answer.

Personally I find the film’s irreverent disregard for movie conventions humorous, artful, ground-breaking and more than anything extremely entertaining.

In fact it’s satirising of popular American film genres is a clear and flashing sign post as to what Rafelson and Schneider were steering towards in regards to their future approach to filmmaking.

Underlying the wacky sight gags that are constantly bulldozing the fourth wall is the subversive intention to express a creative ideology, one that considers these traditional cinematic tropes to be culturally redundant so far as reflecting the hidden truth of contemporary American life as they saw it.

If Easy Rider (1969) was to become their eggs Benedict then Head was most definitely their Marmite on toast. But to be honest I’d rather be watching The Monkees performing Can You Dig It? in a desert harem then watching Peter Fonda crying in a graveyard.

As one scenario overlaps into another the film eventually becomes circular. What we were originally led to believe was the beginning is in fact the end.

Pursued by a crowd of irate authorities, Nesmith, Dolenz, Jones and Tork crash through the tedious and mundane ceremony of a bridge being officially opened by the local mayor. As they stand on the edge of the bridge ready to jump, what is initially perceived as a suicide attempt is in fact a daring leap of faith into unknown waters. But as their swim for freedom becomes a brief, fantastical and erotic adventure it only leads to captivity in a final scene that’s funny, clever, and surprisingly bleak. An unforgettable conclusion signifying the initial motivations, appeal, and eventual demise of an epochal decade and a whole generation trapped in a moment. Did I mention the talking cow?

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Blackfish

cert (15)

director Gabriela Cowperthwaite writers Gabriela Cowperthwaite, Eli B. Despres starring Kim Ashdown, Samantha Berg, Dave Duffus

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Review by Paul Martinovic

release date 26th July

“Is there such a thing as insanity amongst penguins?” Werner Herzog asked a dumbfounded marine ecologist in his 2007 documentary Encounters at the End of World. Blackfish, a new documentary on the history of Tilikum, a serial killer whale held at the flagship Sea World in Florida, poses a similar question: is there such a thing as insanity among killer whales? More specifically, can humans drive a whale insane through captivity? On the evidence of Blackfish, the answer to both of these questions is a clear yes, and the film garners much of its considerable power by presenting a number of Tilikum’s former handlers as they come to terms with the fact that they may have played a part in creating a murdering psychopath.

The tragic story of Tilikum begins with the widely publicised death of popular, accomplished Sea World trainer Dawn Brancheau after a show with Tilikum. Brancheau’s violent death, which took place in front of horrified park-goers, was downplayed at first by Sea World as Brancheau’s own error: namely, her decision to wear her hair in a ponytail, which the whale latched onto as she walked past the pool.

Director Gabriela Cowperthwaite then spends the remainder of the film disproving Sea World by delving into Tilikum’s shocking history of violence: the six-tonne, 22-foot long killer whale has spent nearly his entire life in shockingly undersized tanks, often sharing with other whales intent on proving their alpha status by tearing lumps out of him. In this time, it is revealed that he was also been directly involved in the deaths of two more people.

The first half of Blackfish is the most thoughtful and interesting, as a number of scientists explain why killer whale captivity is so specifically monstrous, displaying how whales’ brains are more developed around socialising and emotions than humans, and pointing out that there is no evidence of a killer whale ever attacking humans in the wild.

The Herzogian theme of animal madness is abandoned for the second half of the film, which is comprised mainly of utterly distressing footage of whales attacking either humans or each other, while calling Sea World to account for their numerous public contradictions and alleged negligence. It’s a shame that this more philosophical exploration of human/animal relationship is left behind, but it becomes clear early on that Cowperthwaite wants her film to provoke action rather than thoughts.

This is no hastily put together PETA campaign film, however: Cowperthwaite’s cinematic acein-the-hole is perhaps Sea World’s own garish, impossibly cheesy advertisements, whose saturated early 90s CRT visuals take on a nightmarish quality when juxtaposed with the distraught testimonies of those who worked with Tilikum and are have spent their lives plagued with regret. When a grizzled, Quint-esque sea fisherman describes the abduction of Tilikum from his grieving mother as “the worst thing I’ve ever done”, it’s impossible not to reframe the way you think about Sea World, aquariums, and even zoos. Mission accomplished.

Frances Ha

release date 26th July

cert (15)

director Noah Baumbach Review by David Hall

“This apartment is very aware of itself ”, says Sophie, best friend to Greta Gerwig’s eponymous heroine, as she enters Frances’ new flat (which belongs to two well-heeled NYC hipsters). The same judgement could be applied to Noah Baumbach’s film (written with Gerwig) – an outwardly slight, frequently charming, sometimes melancholic confection that knowingly marries French New Wave homage to an explicitly Manhattann-esque visual palette. But whereas Woody Allen’s romantic but sombre masterpiece was ultimately a love letter to his favourite city, Baumbach’s is a valentine to his new sweetheart – former mumblecore queen Gerwig. For some years now one of the most intriguing young actors in America – simultaneously graceful and ungainly, her facial expression a permanent question mark – Gerwig is, depending on your taste, beguiling or ingratiating.

As Frances, she’s allowed to be both and elevates Baumbach’s fable with an incredibly nuanced and engaging performance of a girl woman in career – and life – flux.

Frances is 27, pursuing a career in dance that is dwindling away from her, living with best friend Sophie who is drifting away from the friendship, and trying to negotiate a course through her mid20s to an adult life that seems much further away her for her than her contemporaries. Essentially homeless and jobless, she’s floundering, no matter how optimistic she might seem. One character, comparing Frances to her best friend, says: “you look a lot older – but you seem far less mature.”

Frances can be self-centred and narcissistic, and on occasion awful. It takes a special kind of actress to make such a character sympathetic and likeable even when she’s being mean spirited and manipulative. Gerwig is that woman. There’s a truly beautiful moment in Frances Ha where Gerwig opens up totally about what she wants from a relationship which is lovely and disarming – yet could so easily have been disastrously twee and mawkish. The sweet and sour mix is deftly handled throughout, especially in the presentation of an impulsive Parisian trip which must rank as one of the most joyless cinematic jaunts around the city of love.

As a contemporary film about young people with first world problems there are inevitable comparisons to be made with Lena Dunham’s TV series Girls (and her character Hannah Horvath, another well-educated, floundering NYC gal).

Baumbach and Gerwig’s movie doesn’t quite have Dunham’s level of detail, edge and contemporary authenticity. Frances Ha can’t help but feel more nostalgic, fairy-tale like. But Girls is an on-going series penned by a woman close to her own source material, Frances Ha is a brisk 86 minute movie seen mostly through the lens of a 43-year old-man. Baumbach’s earlier Greenberg, a much more savage and sour picture than this, was in a lot of ways a more truthful (and depressing) film; perhaps because its (male) hero was the same age as its writer. Frances Ha is a more balanced work that, like its heroine, ultimately embraces hope and possibility, masking its melancholy under layers of pleasurable nostalgia and sweet affectation.

writers Noah Baumbach, Greta Gerwig starring Greta Gerwig, Mickey Sumner, Adam Driver, Michael Esper

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Review by David Watson

A Field in England release date 7th July

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Shot in stunning monochrome for £300,000, Ben Wheatley’s new period horror A Field In England shares so much DNA with Blood On Satan’s Claw it should probably sue Tigon for child support. It was released simultaneously across all platforms (cinema, TV, DVD & digital) on the same day in what’s been sold to the audience as a historic, bold experiment in distribution.

It’s 1648 and the English Civil War is at its bloody height. Popping through a hedge to escape from battle, cowardly scholar and alchemist Whitehead (Reece Shearsmith) finds himself in the company of a group of fellow deserters; the pragmatic Jacob (Peter Ferdinando), idiot in search of a village Friend (Richard Glover) and the sly Cutler (Ryan Pope).

The war holding little attraction, they set off in search of a pub in which to sit out the battle. But, crossing a field, Cutler takes the group prisoner, feeds them magic mushrooms and introduces them to his master, Irish necromancer O’Neill (Michael Smiley), who’s convinced a supernatural treasure lies buried nearby. Sharing personal history and a mutual desire for forbidden occult knowledge, O’Neill also has plans for the craven Whitehead.

Scripted by Wheatley’s wife and regular collaborator Amy Jump, A Field In England is a shrill, muddled mess that stirs Christianity, Paganism, witchcraft, science, superstition and psilocybins into what feels like an episode of The League Of Gentleman shorn of humour and horror, the overripe dialogue an uneasy soup of cod-Shakespeare and earthy swearing that only sounds believable in the Satanic Michael Smiley’s mouth. The film looks beautiful but the hallucinatory trip scenes feel forced and tonally it’s all over the place; a Sealed Knot am-dram production that lurches from grimy toilet humour to self-important pretension before culminating in a Peckinpah-esque bloodbag-athon. Crucially, it’s neither involving nor convincing. You can’t quite shake the notion the characters may already be dead, Wheatley’s English countryside their Purgatory.

If Wheatley’s dark fantasy is an adult fairytale, here’s how it really should have gone: Once upon a time, in a land far, far away (well, a field just outside Guildford), a po-faced director made a film with some battle re-enactors. The finished product lacked coherence, clarity. Wilfully obtuse and cod-surreal, it had neither characters nor incident to hold the attention, fire the imagination.

Undeterred, the director laid the film before his audience and said: “This is a magic film. To a wise man, this is bold experimental cinema. But to a fool, it is absolutely invisible!”

The audience, not wishing to appear foolish said: “Isn’t it grand! Isn’t it fine! Look at the cut, the style, the line! This film is all together, but all together, it’s all together the most remarkable film that I have ever seen.”

Call the physician! Call an intermission! The director is in the all together…

Review by Jordan McGrath

Over the last decade, Scandinavia’s fine film exports have been some of the most stimulating of any region in world cinema, with Sweden probably fighting out for the top spot of that great bunch. And this year is no different. Mickael Marcimain’s first feature film, Call Girl, is a monster. Dense and beautiful, it is essentially Sweden’s All the President’s Men, sprawling in mind-set but deeply personal throughout its execution.

Set in the late 70s at a time where social and gender equality was finally at the forefront of the Swedish political landscape, and with a general election looming, a moralistic police investigator (Simon J. Berger) delves into the depths of Swedish government to find out if the rumours of government officials soliciting prostitution are actually true. We’re also introduced to Iris (Sofia Karemyr), a troubled youth, who locates to a teenage juvenile centre where she is quickly reunited with best-friend Sonja ( Josefin Asplund). As they head into town to party along with some friends one night things get weird, and from then it’s not long until they find themselves in the firm grip of Madam to the rich and powerful, Dagmar Glans (Pernilla August).

If you were to boil Call Girl down, it’d be nothing more than a horrific tale of loss of innocence. However, this isn’t a film that should be boiled down; it’s one to be cherished and savoured – the contrasting elements Marciman and writer Marietta von Hausswolff von Baumgarten add to the mix bring distinctive flavours to a familiar formula. A key element to the film’s success is the ability to find the perfect balance between the bigger picture investigation and Iris’ personal journey, giving both time to individually mature until they inevitably collide.

Like the aftermath of an explosion, remnants of the 60s are scattered like shrapnel throughout the film – and I’m not only talking about the bell-bottoms – but it’s the freedoms and idealism of the time that becomes corrupted by the narcissism and paranoia of the 70s.

Gently bohemian in its style, and photographed liked a day to bright for a person with a lingering hangover, the dreamy aesthetic and constantly sun-drenched haze of its palette gives the film a diametrically opposite experience from the neon lights and pulsating synth soundtracks of the drug induced, sex-filled nights. Its methodical beats and cool and composed tone remind one of Marciman’s compatriot Tomas Alfredson’s star-studded masterpiece, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. Call Girl’s main message, however, is to highlight the hypocrisy and public façade of politics on a whole; we get to see in shocking truths that the personal values of the individuals making the laws do not inherently mirror their politically fuelled stances. On the surface a government who want to make all equal but who - behind-the-scenes treat woman with contempt. A crime drama with elegance and bite, Call Girl is one of the finest films of 2013 so far.

Call Girl

release date 16th August

cert (TBC)

director Mikael Marcimain writer Marietta von Hausswolff von Baumgarten starring Sofia Karemyr, Simon J. Berger, Josefin Asplund, Pernilla August VERITE JULY 2013

73

Breathe In cert (15)

director Drake Doremus writers Drake Doremus, Ben York Jones starring Guy Pearce, Felicity Jones, Amy Ryan, Kyle MacLachlan

74

JULY 2013 VERITE

Review by Angela Peters

release date 19th July

Set in the secluded and safe environment of a small town in upstate New York, Breathe In is a compelling and seductive tale of tortured family affairs – and another outstanding film from the already accomplished director Drake Doremus.

Keith (Guy Pierce) is a frustrated musician challenged by the mundanity of a day job and little access to creative outlets. When he and his wife take in a foreign exchange student and upcoming music starlet Sophie (Felicity Jones) as a lodger, he is enchanted. His wife (Amy Ryan), disillusioned by his obsession with his early music making days, continues to ignore the ill-fated collision course their relationship is on. His daughter, facing her own man troubles at school, is also seemingly unaware of the hint of a spark between the unusual pairing.

Breath In enveloped my sense of reason and threw it all out the window. All my sensibilities screamed that this dad would never go for someone that age.

And yet, as the story unfolds, Doremus and Ben York Jones’s script and sensitive handling of the material ensures the film remains plausible. It is an ageless story of a loveless marriage that is frayed at the edges but on the outside looks crisp.As he did with Like Crazy, Doremus elevates the film from its budget. John Guleserian’s beautiful and contrasting cinematography gives the film an elegant sheen and I particularly enjoyed the New York disco sequence that is in stark contrast to the long slow sleepy shots in their hometown.

My only gripe is that I simply don’t believe Felicity Jones as an eighteen year old. In Like Crazy, as a university student, she was perfectly cast.

But in Breathe In the character really needs to be played by someone of college age. Surely Doremus can see that the naivety so beautifully captured by the daughter (Mackenzie Davis), cannot be matched by the twenty nine year old Jones?

The pace suits the film, even though it drifts now and again and the long dramatic pauses can make for uncomfortable viewing. For the most part however, the beats are very well measured. The inclusion of some lighter, more upbeat moments may have helped though and perhaps increased the dramatic tension.

Heavy and unsettling discourse between the family members runs rampant but is never overdone. As with Like Crazy, this is a truthful story with honest outcomes. There are no superheroes. By the end, Doremus has presented us with characters that are flawed yet likeable, all of whom share some responsibility for what has happened but none are demonised or blamed outright.

Like Crazy was a hard act to follow and yet I feel that Doremus has matched it. He’s shaping up to be a director of depth and nuance, sensitive to character choices and able to convey everyday stories with subtlety and power. I can’t wait to see what he does next.

Kuma

release date 16th August

cert (15)

director Umut Dag Review by David Hall

An ambitious social drama from first time director Umat Dag, Kuma (Turkish for ‘ second wife’) operates best when Dag withholds information, presenting events in way that seem straightforward enough, only to pull the rug from under the audience in unexpected and sometimes shocking fashion. In what becomes an increasingly claustrophobic small scale drama, Dag overloads the narrative in ways that debutant filmmakers sometimes feel the need to, and the film threatens to implode into episodic soapy melodrama at times, but that doesn’t detract too much from what is a surprisingly strong debut feature.

Kuma begins with a traditional Turkish wedding.

Handsome Hasan (Murathan Muslu) is marrying a beautiful young village girl, 19 year old Ayse (Begum Akkaya) in a ceremony that seems full of promise for a happy future. Even at this early stage though there are hints of family unrest. Sister Nurcan is outwardly resentful of the new bride, and Hasan’s mother Fatma (Nihal Koldas), is seriously ill. After the ceremony, the family travel together to Vienna where they are to set up home. However, in Austria it becomes clear than Ayse is not going to be Hassan’s wife. Instead she has been brought over to be a second wife or ‘Kuma’ for Hasan’s father Mustafa ((Vedat Erincin) a situation cooked up – with Fatima’s explicit approval – to scam the immigration authorities and bring the young bride into the country for what will be her actual role; that of Fatima’s eventual replacement. For Fatima is undergoing chemotherapy and concerned that her disparate offspring will need someone to care for them when she is gone.

After the open spaces of the Turkish setting, life in Vienna becomes increasingly claustrophobic, the family all living together in one small flat. Ayse quickly learns that Hassan’s family is rife with tensions and unease, close-knit, much like the rest of the migrant community, yet with many potentially devastating secrets.

This is a bold work from Dag, which not only tackles the hotbed themes of immigration and cultural identity, but throws various other push button topics into the mix including extramarital affairs, homosexuality, terminal illness, even honour killing. A seasoned director would struggle to keep such elements together and occasionally Kuma slips into contrivance. But Petra Ladinigg’s script is solid, with the tensions between the family’s secretive and frankly surreal situation and Ayse’s new life as a teenager in an unfamiliar country whose customs and language she has no experience of handled effectively. It’s a shame the film’s visual style is so flat, but it’s a low-budget work, and the domestic scenes don’t suffer as a consequence.

Ultimately the most successful element of the film – and the most convincingly drawn – is the relationship between Fatima and Ayse; complex, tense and riddled with cultural and generational differences not to mention the spectre of death, it is heightened by the excellent performances of both women. Not all of Kuma is as successful but this is a flawed and fascinating work with hints of real promise from an emerging talent.

writers Petra Ladinigg, Umut Dag starring Nihal G. Koldas, Begüm Akkaya, Vedat Erincin

VERITE JULY 2013

75

Review by Kelsey Eichhorn

The Kings of Summer

release date 26th July

cert (15)

director Jordan Vogt-Roberts writer Chris Galletta starring Nick Robinson, Gabriel Basso, Moises Arias, Nick Offerman 76

JULY 2013 VERITE

The thing about The Kings of Summer is that you already know the story. It’s not the provocative coming-of-age tale of On the Road, or the controversial rites of passage chronicle of The Catcher in the Rye. But really, that’s ok. The bottom line is that Kings of Summer is simply enjoyable to watch. You can’t help but smile: you laugh at the quirky one-liners, you nod inwardly at the dramatic self-realisation moments and you definitely sigh at the picturesque cinematography.

As the first feature from both writer Chris Galleta and director Jordan Vogt-Roberts, I’m certainly impressed. There’s talent there and undeniably a lot of potential. They are both, perhaps, still navigating the path from Television to Feature, as the narrative has a slightly episodic feel and the slickness of the first half falls off gradually as the film progresses. That said, there is remarkable poignancy to the balance the two manage to fuse between the ominous, anxious teenage drama and the light-hearted comedy inherent in adolescence.

Part of that balance is thanks to the impressive, organic performances of the three protagonists. The audience’s perspective is immediately aligned with fourteen-year-old Joe Toy, played by relative newcomer Nick Robinson (primarily known for his role in the American Television show Melissa and Joey).

And while we ally with Joe throughout the film, it’s not difficult to see bits and pieces of ourselves in each of the characters, from Joe’s friends Patrick and Biaggio to his “it-girl” crush Kelly to his embittered father Frank. This is a timeless story of independence and family told through quirky, contemporary characters. While Galleta’s script is the solid backbone of the film, it’s evident that each member of the cast embraced their characters and made them their own.

What better place to set such a timeless tale than small-town America? The suburban setting is ripe with symbolic contradiction: the breathless scenery of the woods laced with cool, clear streams provides a comic yet evocative contrast with the road-side fast-food restaurant. Cinematically, the film exquisitely captures the emotion of the summer sun and Vogt-Roberts uses his actors subtly to balance such emotionally charged scenery with light-hearted humour, employing Galleta’s clever one-liners to provide breaths of fresh air throughout the narrative.

Overall, there are moments of heavy-handedness, such as when the camera zooms out on Patrick and Joe manoeuvring the edge of the dam as a bridge from suburbia to woodland, the shot ending with the two teens minuscule and alone in a vast frame of wilderness. More blatant still is when, following Patrick’s ‘betrayal’, the film cuts suddenly to a large three-trunked tree in the forest: the camera holds static on a seemingly motionless shot until one trunk, presumably rotten through, crashes to the ground.

Shots like these make me groan inwardly, yet in the case of The Kings of Summer, they’re certainly not deal-breakers. Clichéd at times for sure, but perhaps in a self-aware way, which makes The Kings of Summer all the more endearing.

Review by Evrim Ersoy

Delayed nearly two years after its initial festival run, Adam Wingard’s smart take on the home-invasion movie might not re-write the rule book – however the sheer energy on screen is more than enough to ensure the film is a resounding success.

Focusing on a dysfunctional family re-union in classic indie fashion , Wingard’s script brings together the disparate Davison family unit: father and mother Paul and Aubrey (Rob Moran and Barbara Crampton on top form), son Crispian (A.J. Bowen) and his Australian girlfriend Erin (Sharni Vinson) ; manipulative, vicious brother Drake ( Joe Swanberg) and his girlfriend Kelly (Margaret Laney); youngest brother Felix (Nicholas Tucci) and his nihilistic girlfriend Zee (Wendy Glenn) and finally daughter Aimee (Amy Seimetz) followed by artist boyfriend Tariq (Ti West).

The family barely settle in and sit down to dinner before old animosities flare proving exactly why the Davison family re-unions don’t occur very often. However before any of them can sulk off, the house gets besieged by masked invaders who seem intent on killing them all one by one.

As the joy of Wingard’s film lies primarily within the structure of the story, to tell anymore would spoil the fun. Suffice to say that alliances are made and broken (as well as bones) while an incredibly varied number of deaths keep the body count high.

It’s hard not to be impressed with this indie which not only keeps its script fresh by focusing on the characters but also understands that the genre needs visceral set-pieces to have impact on the audience. Using actors like A.J Bowen and Joe Swanberg only add to the sense of fun – stalwarts of the mumblecore scene, these thespians lovingly send up the usual characters they play in low-key - overgrown children who suddenly find themselves unwittingly dragged into the bloodiest of horror film scenarios.

The tension of the early scenes is handled well and the switch in mood does not cause the film to lose any momentum: add to the mix the smart dialogue and a killer third act and it’s hard to see why the film was kept on the shelf for so long.

Simon Barrett’s script understands horror tropes and has fun turning them on their heard – no surprise coming from a veteran genre writer whose own unappreciated ‘Dead Bird’ remains a solid and impressive entry. He is particularly adept in bringing the story together keeping the particular focus on characters.

You’re Next is a film designed to be enjoyed in a cinema full of like-minded film-goers – a perfect example that the midnight movie can be smart and frightfully violent at the same time.

You’re Next release date 30th August

cert (18)

director Adam Wingard writer Simon Barrett starring Sharni Vinson, Nicholas Tucci, AJ Bowen, Joe Swanberg

VERITE JULY 2013

77

Easy Money

release date 19th July

cert (15)

writer Maria Karlsson starring Joel Kinnaman, Matias Varela, Dragomir Mrsic

78

JULY 2013 VERITE

Review by David Hall

director Daniel Espinosa

Arriving in the UK three years after it proved a box office smash in its home territory, spawning two sequels and earning director Daniel Espinosa a Hollywood calling card he duly cashed in (with the Denzel Washington/Ryan Reynolds actioner Safe House), Easy Money is a perfectly serviceable slice of Scandi-crime. The film’s original title (Snabba Cash) more directly translates as ‘fast’ money, which is much more evocative of this picture’s territory. It paints a world of characters eager to get rich as quickly as they can and by any means necessary, no matter the personal devastation and cost along the way.

Johan “JW” Westlund ( Joel Kinnaman) is an economics student living a Tom Ripley style double life as a player, trying to escape from a troubled home life and forget about the disappearance of his younger sister. A romantic liaison with an upper class heiress, Sophie (Lisa Henni), who believes him to be the son of a diplomat (he’s a student who drives a cab), complicates things and in order to keep up his bogus lifestyle and spiralling debts, JW hooks up with some well-connected cocaine dealers to get a new business venture going. But JW soon finds himself out of his depth and intertwined in a murky labyrinthine world of crime that brings him in to contact with an escaped convict and wanted hard man, a petty crook looking to make one last big score, and the cop who has been tailing him.

Easy Money is stylish but not over stylised and keeps a brisk pace, with a lot of story packed into over two hours of screen time. Much of the credit for its narrative drive should be given to Maria Karrlson, whose screenplay unpicks a dense novel in a way that makes sense for film and keeps three stories pretty tightly wound and interlocked throughout. Lead Joel Kinnaman – known to UK audiences as the male lead in the US TV version of The Killing (and who will be next seen stepping into Peter Weller’s metallic shoes for the upcoming rebooted Robocop) – is very watchable and charismatic as JW, even when he is making business and personal decisions that are fantastically stupid and hard to fathom.

Easy Money ultimately doesn’t do anything startling or new and could use a little of the mordant black humour of say, Headhunters, from time to time. Also, inevitably with this kind of material, as the film wears on, it become increasingly easy to predict where all the strands are heading. But like the small screen dramas the Scandinavians are pumping out on a regular basis it takes overfamiliar, shop-worn territory and gives it a layer of depth and sophistication, at least in terms of characterisation. Indeed you could see Easy Money (and it’s rather underwhelming sequel) working just as well, maybe even better, as a Scandinavian Wire for television, with its multi-ethnic strands and localised landscape of corruption and greed.

In the Frame:Blow Out (1981)

“It’s a good scream...”

- John Travolta as Jack Terry

words by Giles Edwards

S

killed but slack-heeled soundman, Jack Terry ( John Travolta) toils away his days, and often his nights, creating sounds and screams to accompany the derivative visuals and vapid starlets of a host of terrible genre films.

During a routine sound scout, he witnesses what appears to be a tragic car accident. But after rescuing the sole survivor of the crash, Sally (Nancy Allen), his inquisitive (and somewhat self-destructive) sensibilities pull them both into a sinister and murderous affair involving corrupt senators, sleazy snitches and a maniacal killer played with admirable salaciousness by John Lithgow.

After the climactic sturm und drang of the most chaotic of Liberty Bell Jubilees on the streets of (and skies over) Philadelphia that sees him cradling the body of his makeshift ward, Sally, as a halo of red, white and blue fireworks crown his weeping frame, we cut to the lone figure of Jack sometime later. Sat on a bench, clad in delicately drifting snowflakes, the autumn of his innocence turning to a very literal winter of discontent, his worst nightmare has come true. For him, it is a recurring nightmare, one that he relives twice in the film (once in flashback) and after the credits roll, possibly forever. In his obsessive quest for truth he has recorded for posterity, the moment of his ultimate, tragic downfall: Sally’s death. He must listen to it over and over, the echo of this perfect ‘good scream’ eventually, inexorably feeding into his work, recorded for an audience’s posterity on the soundtrack to

his latest film, never to be erased, never to be forgotten.

Blow Out is perfect distillation of every film obsessive’s fear that eventually their mania will consume their every waking thought, action and emotion. It’s a portrait of the filmmaker’s purgatory, a purgatory Terry embodies in the film’s final minutes: deliciously grandiose, operatically tragic and darkly, morbidly funny all at the same time.

It also perfectly encapsulates a little-expressed truth about De Palma: he’s one of cinema great romantics. His stock in trade is the longing of Douglas Sirk and Max Ohpuls by way of the bitter irony of Nicholas Ray and Sam Fuller. From Sisters and Phantom of the Paradise to Carlito’s Way and Mission to Mars De Palma’s is not the cinema of happy endings but of emotionally cathartic ones that

embrace the giddy, sometimes cruel, always abstract absurdity of providence and destiny (often by fate’s design; more often as the result of sheer human hubris and fallibility). He’s quite the beautiful dreamer.

Horror is often emotional truth disguised as fantasy. Here, that truth, as played by Travolta, is laid bare with a raw honesty and genuine compassion quite unexpected in an essentially glossy skid row thriller. The dazzlingly controlled camera work and cutting by Vilmos Zsigmond and Paul Hirsch respectively parries with a score by Pino Donnagio that’s laced with romantic catastrophe. In the picture’s final seconds, a simple grimly ironic sound gag encapsulates one man’s spiritual destruction and despair at a modern world full of bastards and liars. You’ll never think of scream queens in quite the same way again.

v

VERITE JULY 2013

79

Jordan McGrath

David Hall

Founder / Editor-in-Chief / Designer

Managing Editor

jordanmcgrath@veritefilmmag.com

davidhall@veritefilmmag.com

thanks: Contributors Evrim Ersoy Robert Makin Kelsey Eichhorn James Marsh Stuart Barr James Rocarols Angela Peters David Watson Ben Nicholson Paul Martinovic Giles Edwards Michael Pattison Joseph Fahim

80

JULY 2013 VERITE

Image credits: Lionsgate UK - 1,8,10,12,77,78,81 / Soda Pictures - 14,16,18 / Metrodome - 20,71 / Film 4 - 22, 72 / Camera One - 24,26,28,29 / Joachim Trier - 30,31,32,33 / Artificial Eye - 48, 73, 74 / Universal - 48 / Warp Films - 49 / Dogwoof - 50,70 / BFI - 52,55 / Arrow Video - 56,58,59 / Eureka Entertainment - 64,65,66 / Peccadillo Pictures - 75 / StudioCanal - 76

VERITE JULY 2013

81

82

JULY 2013 VERITE