An interesting concept, but practically confused (Wild Grass).

Wild Grass (2009) is legendary French director Alain Resnais’ latest arthouse film. An adaption of Christian Gailly’s 1996 novel L’Incident, the film attempts to delve into the darkest desires of mankind whilst maintaining a satirical and ironic undertone. Its playful style produces some interesting scenes and unique depictions, but the final mix does not reflect the film’s high ambitions and occasionally feels incomplete and haphazard.

Wild Grass is a quirky love story between the ditzy and impulsive dentist and part-time pilot, Marguerite (Sabrine Azeme), and the shady Georges (Andre Dussollier). When Georges finds Marguerite’s dropped purse in a car park and looks inside, he immediately becomes obsessed with striking up a relationship with the frizzy red-haired woman pictured inside. Reluctantly – for it is implied that he has sexually violent and possibly criminal past – Georges decides to take the purse to the police station where a rather light-hearted yet surreal encounter with the station officer (Mathieu Amalric) takes place.

However, despite handing the purse over to the police, Georges cannot forget the incident and continues to desire some form of connection with Marguerite. Although already in a seemingly happy marriage, he calls her persistently, leaving messages on her answer phone. Eventually he writes Marguerite a letter expressing his desire and stating his love for her. At first shunning the voyeuristic attentions of the still unseen Georges, Marguerite – middle-aged, single and lonely – gradually begins to reciprocate Georges’ desire. Thus springs up a relationship that is not so much based on love nor lust, but the human desire to be impulsive and reckless.

Throughout the narrative close-up shots of wild grass are interwoven and become a major theme in the film. Resnais’ explores how, in the same way that wild grass manages to push through the gaps between paving stones and flourish, the human desire to be spontaneous and wild penetrates cold logic and reason. Essentially, Wild Grass is about desire for desire and, like its characters, refuses to be restrained. One moment a romantic comedy, the next a thriller and then an ironical satire, the film shuns all attempts at genre classification. Its quirkiness and oddities give the film a quality of randomness akin to the behaviour of ‘wild grass’. The plot impulsive, the characters hazy and the genre indefinable, Wild Grass can ultimately only be understood as ‘wild grass’ itself. The film’s whimsicality and incomplete characters with their vague motives can ultimately only make sense if the film is seen as a deliberate attempt to be free and unrestricted.

Yet despite the intriguing and intricate concept behind Wild Grass, the film does not work. Its purposeful eccentricity does not feel carefree, but mystifying. It’s story, rather than unrestrained, merely seems unconvincing. And Resnais’ attempt to smooth the rough plot with ironic humour fails dismally, appearing not only out-dated but sketchy. It is a shame that, with such exquisitely shot scenes, Resnais has not achieved the desired outcome. The attempt to make Wild Grass as spontaneous as its theme overstretches the film and, despite all reasoning behind it, appears woolly. As an intellectual concept, the film is interesting and original; but as a film itself, it merely bewilders.

A step back proves to be a step forward for animation (Belleville Rendez-vous).

Sylvain Chomet’s 2003 epic masterpiece Belleville Rendez-vous is a film that brings animation back to its roots and proves to be a reminder of the reason for its endurance over the last hundred years. The film’s mix of classic mid-1900’s style animation, contemporary dark satire, penetrating perception and surreal inventiveness, captures the imagination of both young and old in a way that most 21^st century animation has long forgotten. Finally there seems to be a move away from Pixar’s formulaic, computer generated characters which lack the essential acuity and detail in their characterisations to convey depths of meaning.

 

Belleville Rendez-vous follows the story of Madam Souza, her grandson Champion and his beloved pet dog, Bruno. As Champion grows up, Madam Souza notices his restlessness. Trying various methods to entertain him, she finally buys him a bike and from then on man and bicycle are inseparable. As Champion enters manhood, his lifelong obsession finds an outlet, the Tour de France.

After rigorous training, the time finally arrives for him to live up to his name. However, no sooner as the race has begun, then he is kidnapped by two mysterious men in black; later revealed to be part of the French Mafia. Thus begins the adventure of Madam Souza and her faithful but obsessive compulsive dog, Bruno, as they travel across the vast ocean to the giant metropolis of Belleville on a mission to rescue the captive Champion. On route they encounter a succession of wonderfully drawn characters, including three eccentric, washed-up female performers from the 1930’s and an expressionless but forbidding Mafia chief. As the tale develops, events become steadily shadier, revealing a darker and more twisted undertone to the otherwise surreal but light-hearted adventure.

Brilliantly detailed and thoroughly thought out, Belleville Rendez-vous is a breath of fresh air for animated films. Chomet’s decision to emulate not only the visual style of 1930’s animation, but the sound of the period as well, works marvellously with the film’s subject and storyline. With no dialogue at all, most of the characters convey their feelings though a kind of mime, putting great strain on the precise characterisations of each figure. Yet the animation bares this pressure remarkably. By means of wonderfully grotesque and exaggerated characters, Chomet manages to avoid completely the obvious pitfall with regards to scrapping the dialogue, of becoming dull. In fact, far from detracting from its substance, the lack of speech actually adds to the film’s impact. Effectively, it is through Belleville Rendez-vous’ silence that Chomet makes his most perceptive and satirical commentary.

Most of Chomet’s remarks focus on contemporary consumerism and the detrimental effect this has on the individual person. Through witty and insightful depictions, this film satirises the disposable nature of modern capitalist culture. The musical group The Triplets serve as a reminder of this. Once attracting the rich and famous in Belleville, they are abandoned by society and reduced to playing in little run-down nightclubs, earning barely enough to get by. This wasteful tendency is further highlighted by The Triplet’s actual performance. Refusing to throw anything away, the group use house-hold items as instruments and provide the film with a fantastically unique and tuneful soundtrack. Inspired by the experimental jazz era of the 1930’s, music plays a big part in Chomet's work.

It is extremely refreshing to watch a film with so many inventive and vivid ideas. The re-working of traditional animation allows this film to have extraordinary character and insight. Ultimately, Belleville Rendez-vous re-reminds us of the capabilities of animation and shows us that a film can be funny and entertaining as well as poignant.

A sensation of colour and emotion; impressionism on film (Chungking Express).

Wong Kar-Wai’s 1994 film Chungking Express is a vibrant and thoughtful depiction of humanity’s attempt to overcome the void left by that which is missing. With a fusion of energetic visuals, streaks of melancholy and down-beat humour, this chic film is a unique and fascinating portrayal of mankind’s struggles with loneliness, isolation and discontent. Its mishmash of emotion, plot and colour gives Chungking Express a dreamy impressionistic charm and affords it the reputation as one of the most influential and groundbreaking contemporary Asian films.

The film consists of two sequential stories linked not by the characters, but by the themes and setting.  The narratives revolve around two police officers trying to come to terms with the loss of their girlfriends and their subsequent feelings of solitude. Both stories unfold in and around the bustling, multi-cultural streets of Tsim Sha Tsui. Nevertheless, this congested location does not detract from the film’s aura of remoteness, but instead enhances it, conveying the sense of isolation a person can feel amongst a crowd.

 The first story occurs in the concrete-jungle of Chungking Mansion – the basis for the film’s title – and follows the post-breakup period of police officer 223’s life. Played by Takeshi Kaneshiro, officer 223 is a man obsessed with his separation from his former girlfriend May. Whilst musing on the brevity and fickleness of love, his path crosses that of a female drug smuggler and he enters into a platonic and brief acquaintance with her after they meet at a bar. Yet despite the unsatisfactory depth of this fleeting association, there is a sense that the one night the couple spends together has brought officer 223 out of his self-perpetuating despondency and helped him in some way to overcome his loss. 

The second story focuses on the frequently visited Midnight Express food stall introduced in the former narrative and tells the tale of police officer 633 who has recently been dumped by his air-hostess girlfriend. Although appearing seemingly detached, officer 633 – played by Tony Leung – struggles to repress the painful memories which persistently resurface as flashbacks brought on by commonplace household items.  Faye, the young and quirky waitress at the food stall, falls in love with the reserved police officer and when she accidently finds herself in possession of a set of keys to his house, the two become inexplicably entangled in a strange and remarkable relationship.

However, these two tales only serve as a vehicle to understanding the overarching themes. Essentially Chungking Express is an exploration into mankind’s inability to face up to the impermanence in life. As officer 223 observes, ‘everything comes with an expiry date. Swordfish expires. Meat expires. Even cling film expires’ and each character has their own coping mechanisms in dealing with this harsh reality. The characters create fantasy worlds in which they subsequently indulge in order to escape their discontent and loneliness. Yet this only serves to highlight their own isolation as they drift about dreamlike and listless in their day-to-day lives. What is highly commendable in this film is how Wong manages to delve deep into the personal psyche of each the characters, yet refrains from making the film excessively dense. Through a scattering of endearingly comic scenes and a clever use of soundtrack, Chungking Express manages to remain up-beat despite its profound undertones.

The exceptional camerawork – mostly using handheld cameras – gives the film a splash of colour and energy that is like no other. Yet the film's artistic style does not detract from its accessibility nor does it verge – which is so often the case – on the pretentious.The script and acting lend this impressionistic piece a touch of humanity and prevent it from feeling overtly abstract. 

Nevertheless, it must be noted that the plot is not of immediate importance and this may frustrate some viewers. The open-endedness of Wong’s film could be perceived as confusing rather than challenging and its dreamy air might be construed as detached. Ultimately, Chungking Express is a film that should not be tracked along the lines of its plot. However, watched as a stylistic work of art, the film is guaranteed not only to be enchanting, but both funny and touching as well.

Overlooked yet unforgettable (Nil By Mouth).

We are all aware of the massive impact British films have had on our cinema screens over the last decade. From such global British successes as Trainspotting, the Harry Potter films and the recent Kings Speech, British cinema has made a rather impressive name for itself in the film industry worldwide. However, attaining such a status is an arduous process which has left many independent gems buried and forgotten in its wake.

One such overlooked arthouse film is Gary Oldman’s 1997 gritty drama Nil By Mouth. A realistic, semi-autobiographical depiction of life in the poverty-stricken estates of South East London, this film is both poignant and shocking. It unflinchingly follows the ups-and-downs of a single working class family battling against the harsher realities of life. Raymond – a powerful performance by Ray Winstone – is the head of the family and the violent, alcoholic husband of Valerie – a stunning, award winning performance by Kathy Burke. As the film delves deeper into the dark and twisted lives of Raymond, Valerie and Valerie’s drug addicted brother Billy, the viewer becomes increasingly drawn in to the family’s day-to-day life. Even at the most traumatic and brutal scenes, it is impossible to look away. The film is compulsively watchable and this is the key to the genius behind Gary Oldman’s work. Each character feels so personal and is executed so perfectly, that the film carries with it a sense of eerie verisimilitude which leaves a permanent imprint upon the audience’s mind.

Oldman achieves this by not taking the easy path of condemning the abuser and revering the victim, an approach that compels empathy for the characters. Although not excused, even the atrocities committed by Raymond do not make him into a monster. He is depicted as a doting father to his daughter and in one exceedingly private scene; he reveals the unfathomable wound left by his father’s lack of affection. It is painfully distressing that, whilst all Raymond strives for is to be loved and to not emulate the footsteps of his own alcoholic father, he falls into the same pattern of behaviour. The script serves to support these complex characters and talented acting. When asked by his wife why he hurts her, Raymond replies “because I love you”, and in some ways we are forced to understand his twisted logic. Nothing is black and white in this film and you get a sense that it probably caused Oldman pain to depict, in such realistic terms, the memories from his childhood.

Never is this more apparent than in the infamous scene in which Raymond, in a drunken fit of jealousy, attacks his pregnant wife. Despite the violence being out of the frame, the scene is so vivid and the build up so tense that it never fails to leave the viewer unmoved. Yet the film is not just violent outbursts and uncomfortable suspense. The affection between the characters serves to fragment the more intense scenes and it is at these moments that the film really displays its artistic charm. Oldman uses stunning urban cinematography of the concrete-jungle estates and a soundtrack that was made specifically for the film to convey the unbreakable ties that one suspect are the only lifelines keeping these characters afloat.

Like life, Nil By Mouth does not have a neat ending; it does not wrap everything up nicely. As the door closes in the final scene and the window into Ray and Valerie’s life is shut, we imagine the characters continue the same struggle. Conversely, it is as if the film does not alter the lives of the characters, but instead transcends the cinema screen to affect the audience. It leaves the viewer with a profound sense that whatever happens, life goes on and you can only make do with what you have.

Beckett... but on film (Adam & Paul).

Described by many as either a down-beat comedy or a slap-stick tragedy, Adam and Paul (2004) – written by Mark O’Halloran who also stars as Paul – is a film that should not be taken at face value.  It follows a day in the life of two heroin junkies from Dublin embarking on a quest to find their next fix. However, their pursuit is complicated by an assortment of bad luck.  Their desperation and lack of money, exacerbated by their gradual withdrawal symptoms, lead this duo to encounter a succession of strange and wonderful characters as they try to scrape enough money together to stave off the sickness for one more day. A stylish and subtle take on the classic little-and-large double-act, Adam and Paul is a seemingly simple story with profound and complex undertones.

Nothing in this film is as minimal as it appears. As the adventure of Adam and Paul unfolds, moving parallel stories of side-line characters are revealed. These branching narratives colour in the background of the two apparent simpletons and expose a more heart-wrenching reality. A bleak depiction of life, speckled with humorous scenes and dialogue, the tone of this film mimics that of fellow Irishman and play write Samuel Beckett. And just like Beckett, the film’s message is certainly not straightforward. Ultimately, Adam and Paul is a clever minimalist re-work of a traditional fairy tale; two little boys, naive and vulnerable, caught under a spell they cannot shake off and lost in a world of eccentric characters from which it seems there is no way out.

Yet despite the apparent grimness of life for all the characters, Adam and Paul is not without hope. In some ways the film is a celebration of mankind’s endurance. Heedless of all the tragedies surrounding the characters, each of them – without exception – refuses to give up. Some may call such hope pathetic in its own patient fruitlessness, but this optimism – futile or not– is not just touching, but admirable. Whether it is Adam and Paul’s refusal to yield to fate’s blows or Matthew’s grieving mother singing at his wake, mankind’s refusal to be consumed by life’s overwhelming misfortunes in this film is truly touching.

Stylishly shot and extremely subtle, Adam and Paul is not a light watch. Although it is impossible not to feel some empathy with the character’s situations, the film does not make it easy to like them. Some may find themselves unsympathetic towards Adam and Paul who commit atrocious acts in order to feed their habit. But even these few will find their criteria for judging people questioned to some extent by this film. For others the film’s deliberate downbeat style may feel plodding and tedious, marring the more buoyant and energetic scenes. This is especially true with regards to the dialogue which is thick with the colloquial Dublin accent and can be hard to follow at times.

Yet the film’s complexity, gritty realism and minimalist style prove to be its saving graces, without which it would just be another bleak drama about drug addiction. In fact it is the film’s quirkiness, depth and humanity that means it surpasses all other films of its genre. Adam and Paul is not simply a film about drugs, but a film about humanity. Superbly directed and at times extremely funny, this film has the ability to charm, move and question. Whether a fan of the film or not, it is impossible to come away from Adam and Paul unaffected.

Beneath the name; more than just another gangster flick (Tsotsi).

Tsotsi is Gavin Hood’s Academy Award winning 2005 adaptation of the 1959 novel of the same name by South African political playwright Athol Fugard. Although the concept of a troubled adolescent setting out on a learning curve to rediscover himself isn’t new, the superb handling of such a hackneyed theme in this film transforms it from just another generic coming-of-age flick into a powerful and insightful cinematic experience. It should be no surprise that, in the light of Fugard’s collaborative influence on the script, Tsotsi verges on deep philosophical reflections; particularly raising questions with regards to personhood.

Set in a South African slum on the outskirts of Johannesburg, Tsotsi follows the transformation of an ostensibly emotionally inhibited adolescent who answers to the name Tsotsi; meaning “thug” in local Tsotsitaal patois. Breathtakingly played by amateur actor Presley Chweneyagae, the young killer Tsotsi – maltreated by those whom he loved – undertakes a form of self-depersonalisation in an attempt to dislocate himself from his traumatic history. Severing all ties to his previous self, he runs away from his home to live on the streets as a cold-hearted, small-time gangster. With no name, no past and no identity, it seems that nothing can move him.


Yet when Tsotsi unwittingly gains possession of a one-year-old baby after shooting his mother, he is faced with a dilemma that threatens to penetrate his emotional fortress. Unable to desert the child as he himself was, Tsotsi takes it on himself to become the child’s surrogate father. By projecting his abandoned and vulnerable past-self onto the newly acquired infant, Tsotsi becomes increasingly attached to the helpless baby whom he perceives to possess the innocence he has lost. In a sense the child is the key that frees Tsotsi’s repressed emotions and with the ability to be affected once again reawakened, Tsotsi’s dormant memories come flooding back. Through a culmination of flashbacks and a visit to the concrete construction pipe that was once his primitive childhood home, Tsotsi reacquaints himself with his past.


Ultimately this is a film about the exorcism of trauma and the subsequent re-discovery of self by re-learning how to feel. Although deeply moving, at no point does Hood fall back on Hollywoodised one-liners or big dramatic embraces. Much of this is due to the soundtrack; an infusion of heavy-bass Kwaito and pulsating African-tribal folk music, this score really does transport you to the poverty-stricken South African townships. Many of the songs also feature the melodic voice of South African protest singer and poet Vusi Mahlasela, an inclusion that permits Tsotsi to be emotionally engaging without skirting on the corny.


In fact Tsotsi manages to stay clear from all the obvious pitfalls of over sentimentalising the story or characters. By staying true to Fugard’s original novel and taking a reductive approach to dialogue, Hood rejects the normative use of language in films as a means of explanation. It is clear that no words are wasted in Tsotsi and much of the underlying meaning is heavily reliant on visuals. The result is that the cinematography is both stunning and poignant; scarcely can a still frame in a film say so much. Consequently, it would be a mistake to say that the deliberation given to each shot in Tsotsi is merely impressive; it is a work of art.


And the acting follows suit. From the loneliness and simmering rage in Tsotsi’s fixed glare to the immeasurable pain in Miriam’s fleeting glance, it is uncanny the extent to which the emotions in the film are conveyed by the actor’s eyes alone. After trawling through so many wax work Hollywood productions, it is invigorating to watch a film where so much time is dedicated to tracking the expressions of the actors. To some this film might seem a little slow moving at first, but given half a chance it is guaranteed to take the viewer on a powerful journey that results in subsequent ponderings on philosophical questions about personhood never before heeded.

Malick's not-so-successful master plan (The Tree Of Life).

Terrance Malick’s new film, The Tree Of Life, is an existential exploration which follows a middle-aged man’s reflections on his upbringing and the death of his brother within a 1950’s American family. The film focuses on his intricate and often paradoxical childhood relationships with his mother, father and brothers, whilst ambitiously striving to link these byzantine familial relationships with natural causation. By interjecting the non-linear narrative with scenes of the creation of the world and other natural phenomenon, Malick attempts to convey man’s underlying nature and his role as a just another cog in the grand scheme of life. 

Essentially Maick’s film is an examination of life and death and whilst the film is both profound and visually spectacular, it is riddled with faults. Admittedly the subtlety of the direction, the depth of the characters and the stunning cinematography must be highly commended. Seldom has one seen such tenderness and affection in the birth of a child or the relationship between two brothers being portrayed in film. Moreover the eldest son’s relationship with his loving-tyrannical father, played outstandingly by Brad Pitt, is exceptional in its genuine contradictory nature. Interwoven and conflicted emotions natural to all human families are probed with such sensitivity in Malick’s film that it is akin to the poetic.

However, The Tree Of Life lacks moderation. Malick’s excessive use of whispering voices undermines the genuine emotion in the film and not infrequently feels corny. His continual scenes of natural imagery cease to impress and often seem more like indecision than insightful symbolism. It feels as though Malick has endeavoured to create a cinematic masterpiece but has gone too far and so missed the mark. Ultimately Malick’s over-ambitious attempt, although flecked with moments of true beauty, verges on the self-important and at times, the tiresome. Yet despite this The Tree of Life is a film worth watching. With the right amount of patience and sensitivity, it is possible to come away from this film sufficiently impressed.