Frances Ha (Noah Baumbach)

Girls just want to have fun.

It's one thing for a film to show life's heartaches in all its tearful, emotional glory, but it's altogether another for it to look at everything as if they're all but punchlines of a very funny story. The latter, I think, is always the more difficult one to pull off, and "Frances Ha" did just that without even figuratively letting out sweat. Throughout the film, there are hints about love and sex and relationship, but it's really more about the bumbling life of this girl named Frances, played with an entertaining kind of passive-aggressiveness by Greta Gerwig, and her bittersweet struggles through the 'black and white' metropolis of existence, all while these three crumble in front of her very eyes. 

Despite it being a story of a modern woman who we can pretentiously brand as some kind of a bird whose feather is just too bright for her own good, the film is unexpectedly brimming with so much naivety that you can excuse her foibles not just because it's cute and all but because we can understand her blunders. Frances may not necessarily be likable in the same way the characters portrayed by Katherine Heigl and Jennifer Aniston (then again, I'm not saying that you should like them in the first place) in all those junk chick-flicks out there are, but in her, I can sense someone real and breathing and very, very tangible. She's the kind of character who you can normally bump into on some busy avenue, share a brief smile with, and then be both on your way. 

As far as I'm concerned, Frances is as real as any modern female character can get, and it's very smart to show this honesty without reducing and locking her up within a basic 'girl meets boy' plot. "Frances Ha" is, for the record, a love story, but not between two very specific people but more with life itself, and how just wandering through it, sans responsibilities, will inevitably lead you into finding both what you really are and what you're not. And though I have this great urge to brand "Frances Ha" as a film about 'friendship' (between Frances and her best friend, Sophie), really, it's not. I even want to go out of my way and label the film as a comedy but it's really more concerned with the honest-to-goodness dramatic bummers of a twenty-something woman and not with some of her inconsequential quirks ala Wes Anderson. In retrospect, "Frances Ha" really is a film that's almost impossible to categorize simply because it works as some kind of a romance-drama-comedy genre hybrid without really being any of them because it's really just, all along, about this carefree woman who's merely being herself.     

As much as possible, I don't want to reference Woody Allen in my reviews of dramedy films because it's just too ho-hum to do so, but "Frances Ha", minus the almost disturbing dose of neurosis and cynicism, is perhaps what a Woody Allen film may look like if he's a little less world-weary, less redundantly psychoanalytical, and, yes, a tad less sexual. Directed by "The Squid and the Whale's" Noah Baumbach, the film is, just like the aforementioned 2005 indie sleeper, is virtually plotless and its cast not much acting but merely being themselves while saying trivial things that, when you think of it, actually matters. Case in point: The scene where Frances describes, half-drunk,what she really wants in a relationship. That's just pure movie magic right there. 

The script (co-written by Gerwig herself), in all its looseness, is very effective in impeccably highlighting Frances' aimless pursuit of dancing and, subsequently, happiness as a whole. Though some women may not like it if I declare Frances as 'what a modern woman should look and act like" (especially today where the archetypal 'empowered woman' is the 'in' thing this side of the glass ceiling), I think it is but right to brandish her with such a label because, hey, she's as imperfect as imperfect can be, and isn't modern living?

In "Frances Ha", there's no story but only Frances' life, there's no love but only her idealized concept of it, and there's no actual, concrete friendship but only her dreams of, one day, having such that would never go away. And her goal? To dance and choreograph. Perhaps she's too naive and awkward and a notch too 'undateable' to choreograph and orchestrate an entire production number let alone her very life as it happens, but Frances couldn't care less. Sometimes, at least for her, to want something without ever enacting upon it may just be enough because, sooner or later, it CAN just happen, all while she's having fun with herself and making fun of what she is and what she cannot be. As one of the staple sayings of this 'Tumblr' generation goes: "She saved everyone but couldn't save herself." But wait, Frances is not the martyr type, and no, she's really not keen on saving anyone, so read that quote again the other way around and you will pretty much have the idea of what Frances' "aimless goal" in life ultimately is. Shite. Freakin' oxymoron right there. 

Undateable.

FINAL RATING

The Battle of Algiers (Gillo Pontecorvo)

Struggle.

Widely heralded as one of the most historically significant films of all time, watching "The Battle of Algiers" is like watching a riveting, 2-hour newsreel footage, complete with all those 'blink and you'll miss it' moments of candid power. But more importantly, what makes "The Battle of Algiers" a fine film is its incredibly unbiased and objective depiction of the Algerian revolution; a quite tricky feat perhaps, considering the fact that for films like this, it's quite difficult not to choose sides. But by choosing not to be emotionally partisan, "The Battle of Algiers" was able to realistically reconstruct the events and make them flow in an intensely natural way.

     

On one side, there's the radical group called the National Liberation Front (FLN), whose tactics border on outright terrorism. While on the other, there are the French paratroopers, whose interrogation methods and counter military acts border on the atrociously inhumane.  Gillo Pontecorvo, the film's director, is quite adamant in highlighting the fact that in the bigger picture, none of them (the FLN and the French military) are completely righteous nor utterly justified in what they do and that the film's real protagonist is not the French's Colonel Matthieu (played by Jean Martin) or the FLN's Ali La Pointe (played by Brahim Hadjadj) but the Algerian people themselves. Ultimately, "The Battle of Algiers" succeeds as a film that deals with the universal language of revolution and as a stunning portrayal of an otherwise obscure fragment of history.

     

Speaking as a citizen who is born and raised in a country (the Philippines) that had its fair share of political uprisings, I can easily connect with the Algerian revolutionaries' fevered sentiment towards freedom and colonial deliverance. But what I cannot particularly embrace in the Algerian Revolution is the unnecessary bloodshed, which was starkly captured by the film's black and white photography (by Marcello Gatti) and was intensified by Ennio Morricone's iconic musical score.

     

Personally, I did not enjoy "The Battle of Algiers" that much because, after all, there's no way that the film is an entertaining one to watch. It's never a film that wholly glorifies the Algerian Revolution and carelessly trivializes the violence involved in it. Instead, the film shows the titular conflict merely as one thing: a bloody footnote in human history. And for this, I praise the Algerian government, which has commissioned the film's creation, for not peppering it with spirited propaganda. With a faceless crowd as the protagonist and with no sides taken, "The Battle of Algiers" is a clear-cut proof of how neutrality can make a cinematic difference.

(Note: In 2003, the film was screened in the Pentagon to highlight the pressing problems faced by the United States in its invasion of Iraq. Quite ironic, isn't it?)

FINAL RATING

Nights of Cabiria (Federico Fellini)

Cabiria.

Aside from being a masterful surrealist, it is also very notable to state that Federico Fellini is also a morally powerful and spiritually transcendent filmmaker. This is, of course, very much evident here in "Nights of Cabiria", an unforgettable cinematic masterpiece that traverses the widely unseen and unheard (at the time) world of prostitution and the soulful humanity that bleeds through and through albeit the blind sexuality contained within it. 

     

Although it is much expected that the film shall highlight the more obscene aspect of what many consider as the 'oldest profession in the world' just like, say, Luis Bunuel's later film "Belle de Jour", "Nights of Cabiria" is surprisingly very mellow with the jobs' details and instead delves not on the inner workings of the affordable sex that they offer or on what motivates prostitutes to continue on doing what they're doing but on the reasons why they should not anymore. At the center of it all is the energetic yet at times very temperamental Cabiria (played by Giulietta Masina), a prostitute who can be the most romantically jaded one minute yet can also be the most hopelessly romantic in the next. With a face that still echoes her heartbreaking turn in Fellini's earlier film "La Strada", Giulietta Masina, with her sometimes tomboyish facial expressions and mime-like gestures reminiscent of silent film stars, is a beautiful embodiment of both melancholy and hope. 

     

With her consistently comical body language and a face that fluctuates between naughtiness and confusion, Cabiria is evidently a most complex character to pull off. But despite of that, Masina has done it as if without much effort. Yes, perhaps there are no scenes that show her participating in any simulated sexual congress. And yes, perhaps Giulietta Masina does not, in any way, physically resemble an actual prostitute, what with her small stature and relatively frail body frame. But with the help of her masterful evocation of Cabiria's romantic naivety and pure humanity, she has been most believable as one in much the same way Philip Seymour Hoffman is never a dead ringer for Truman Capote (Toby Jones relatively gets that distinction) yet he has made us believe that he actually is the "In Cold Blood" writer for close to 2 hours mainly because of how inspired his performance was. 

     

But then of course, Giulietta Masina's powerful performance wouldn't really be as penetrating if not for Nino Rota's stirring musical score, the film's often dream-like photography and Fellini's patient direction which has perfectly built-up the film until its heart-breaking yet hopeful finale. 

    

Just like Fellini's masterpiece "La Dolce Vita", "Nights of Cabiria" is a film that's highly dependent not on how or where the so-called 'carnival of life' will bring the main characters to but how he/she may figure in the playfulness and hysteria of it all. In one of the film's most resonant sequences, Cabiria, along with her co-workers, joined a small pilgrimage heading towards the Santuario della Madonna so that they can ask her for forgiveness and guide. Albeit her countless pleads for mercy and various promises to change her way of life, Cabiria never felt any better or different, and so do her co-workers. Although a filmmaker that largely incorporates religious symbolism into his films, Fellini seems always aware that religion will always be a mere spiritual opiate and nothing more; that fate solely depends on whatever life a person leads and not on some higher power; that some music and a smile, not some wooden idols and a haplessly fevered devotion to the great unknown, can make the world of difference. With "Nights of Cabiria", Federico Fellini has made us all believe that despair can merely be shrugged off by a more than hopeful countenance. 

     

For the longest time, cinema has often made us feel the utter fruitlessness of existence and how it is almost impossible to graduate from life pristine and unscathed. "Nights of Cabiria", perhaps the best film ever made that deals with the emotional and moral conflict buried deep within the heart of prostitution, is a precious piece of art that genuinely captures the elusive essence of hope amidst anguish rarely seen in today's cinema.

FINAL RATING

La Jetée (The Pier) (Chris Marker)

The moment.

If pictures can paint a thousand words, then "La Jetée", directed by the late Chris Marker, has solidly proven that putting them in succession can also tell a story that's way ahead of time and can also impart a futuristic idea that's both thematically transcendent and deeply human. Let Terry Gilliam's "Twelve Monkeys" serve as the main testament of the film's far-reaching influence. 

     

Composed only of black and white stills and a moody narration (by Jean Négroni), "La Jetée" is a surprising proof of the power of cinematic narrative even when there are no literal movements on screen. It's also a film that treads the territories of hard science fiction, the elliptical tendencies of time and some probing existentialism. Although the narration was structured like that of a poem, it has not fallen in the clutches of vagueness. 

     

The use of the photographs has also fascinated me because it has given the film an otherworldly feel, a sense of ironic calm (even amid its apocalyptic premise) and its own distinct identity as an art piece. Even with the utter simplicity of its execution, the film was still very successful in telling a complex story of humanity trapped within the cycle of life and death, memories and time. Well, maybe we will never see a film quite like "La Jetée" again.

FINAL RATING

 

Hiroshima Mon Amour (Alain Resnais)

Affection.

Bleak, moody and scarred, "Hiroshima Mon Amour" is a film of uncommon power that treads both the emotional trauma of love and the ravages of war. Amid post-war Hiroshima, the film has maintained a deeply soulful dialogue between two lost people desperately trying to feel, to fall in love overnight, and to understand. But this isn't "Before Sunrise" here. 

     

"Hiroshima Mon Amour" is just one of those legendary films whose allure can never be easily diminished. Yes, it is a truly impressive exercise in innovative filmmaking technique (it is the film that has deeply influenced the French New Wave), but buried deep within all its picturesque framings and compositions is a beating heart and a crying soul. 

     

With a quietly affectionate screenplay written by Marguerite Duras that contains stream of consciousness dialogues that’s as romantically longing as they are emotionally detached, "Hiroshima Mon Amour" conveys its power through its two main characters' internal articulacy. They speak in a manner that transcends the limitations of the tongue. They speak as if their feelings overlap their vocabularies. They converse as if they see through each other's hearts. A French actress (Emmanuelle Riva) and a Japanese architect (Eiji Okada): the two of them represent the confusion we call love and the despairing post-romantic reality we call pain. They both know that they want each other but they just can't admit it to themselves. 

     

In the film's early scenes, we see how happy the French actress is when she's with the architect (shot in effective close-ups). But slowly and effectively, director Alain Resnais was able to construct her ironically fractured past by way of fragmentary flashbacks in Nevers, France that's as dream-like as the cityscapes of post-war Hiroshima. Sporting a haircut like that of Maria Falconetti in "The Passion of Joan of Arc" in the past, the French actress, just like the aforementioned saint, is a martyr, but not in the context of religion but of love. 

     

Resnais has highlighted the fact that, like all women, the French actress just wants to feel love more than anything else but is deeply scarred to try yet again. She consummates the meager sexual pleasures with the architect but she's too afraid to go beyond that. She wants to feel once more. She wants to erase the past, forget and fall in love again but just can't because she knows that she won't be ready yet. 

     

There's this powerful scene in the film where the actress is telling the architect the story of how she once loved a German soldier back in Nevers, France when suddenly, the architect seems to take on the identity of the deceased German lover as he identifies more and more with the story. The actress, on the other hand, lost in her own romantic recollection, unconsciously talks back to the architect as if she's talking to the German himself. Despite of her new-found connection with the Japanese gentleman, she still struggles to see herself together with other men other than her tragic lover. She's a captive of her own painful memories.

     

With a slightly upbeat musical score that seems to mock the utter desperation in the French actress and the Japanese architect's happenstance romance, "Hiroshima Mon Amour" is a film that does not scoff at the idea of love outside marriage but instead seems to mourn the idea as to why should this limitation exist. Although that's just a mere observation from yours truly, I just can't help but feel that aside from the French actress' inescapably scarred past, what may also be holding them back is the simple fact that they are both married. 

     

There's this scene in the film where both of them, standing quietly across each other in a living room, straightforwardly expressed their utmost admiration for their respective husband and wife. Sure, for some reasons explainable only by the heart, they want to be with each other, but they are also aware of the fact that their marriages are too good to be on the losing end of their intended romantic transgression. 

     

In another key scene, notice how the architect is chasing the actress through the streets of Hiroshima yet the latter keeps on moving and the former, uncharacteristic for a person who wants to catch up with someone, merely preferred to trail her. They want to hold each other yet they also want distance and space. "You're destroying me. You're good for me," the actress told the architect while they are presumably making love in the earlier moments of the film; there's the paradox of their romance right there. 

     

"Hiroshima Mon Amour", aside from being a landmark film that has launched an entire cinematic movement, is an unforgettable love story not of two people but of two longing souls who, because of circumstances, just can't be together. "You saw nothing in Hiroshima," the Japanese architect said to the actress in the film's early scenes. Maybe that's what they need to believe in to properly move on.

FINAL RATING

The Artist (Michel Hazanavicius)

Jean Dujardin and Berenice Bejo.

"The Artist", with its fascinating charm, wit and wonderful emotions that have served its entirety well in its ode to the beauty of silent filmmaking, is pretty much a throwback to the olden times which may not have offered anything very new to the table but is simply just irresistible in its irrevocably tantalizing, lighthearted allure.

If you may come to look at it in its actual themes and content, one can easily see that "The Artist", directed by Michel Hazanavicius, is nothing really special in terms of what it has to say. Are we talking about 20's silent film nostalgia here? Well, I reckon that it has already been tackled in the same outright fashion by Gene Kelly's "Singin' in the Rain". Are we talking about the post-fame and fortune lives of silent film stars as the dawn of 'talkies' came about? I guess Gene Wilder's "Sunset Blvd." is the definitive film to highlight that.

So what, in the end, made "The Artist" so special? I, for one, think that one of the reasons why is because of its utter innocence and lack of pretense and well, maybe because its ode to a bygone yet golden era is just too hard to ignore and all too easy to appreciate and embrace, thanks to star-making performances by Jean Dujardin and Berenice Bejo. Dujardin, an actor that is completely unfamiliar to me except for this very film, oozes with effortless grace, appeal and dramatic range. Armed with finely studied physical movements that finely evokes the awkward, oratorical-like gestures that has been the trademark of so many silent films, while at the same time embodying a look that seemingly combines a traditional silent player's to those of Gable and Grant (ironically two of the most well-known faces of the golden era of talkies), Dujardin took on the role of George Valentin as if he was born to play it or, in a more 'art imitates life' perspective, born to be him.

Same commendation goes for Berenice Bejo, who played the role of bit silent player turned talkie movie star Peppy Miller with an almost magical enthusiasm peppered with just the right amount of romantic fervor.

On the technical side, "The Artist" was able to mimic the beautiful Black and White shadow plays of such masters like F.W. Murnau and Fritz Lang while injecting within this two-tone world a sort of colorfully dimensioned wonder hidden beneath every frames, acts, and characters waiting to inevitably burst into an escapist whole. Of course, for a film like "The Artist", there must be a considerably weighty conflict to complement the lightheartedness of the whole affair.

In "Singin' in the Rain", there's Gene Kelly and company's transitional difficulties from silent films to talkies. In "Sunset Blvd.", there's Gloria Swanson's madness to keep up with. Here in "The Artist", although it took me awhile to convince myself that it's indeed strong enough a device for narrative complication, it was George Valentin's pride. Yes, the melancholy contained in the said cinematic transition has been a wonderful topic to explore and further develop in films, but what is always overlooked is the fact that silent players are adamant of change not mainly because they are technologically caught off-guard by the sudden arrival of dialogues but because they are mostly a proud lot. They stay loyal to their belief that moving pictures are an art form that need not any talking mouths or swirling tongues because, for them, gestures and musical scores are enough. This is the main concern for George Valentin, along with his declining finances and his flop "Tears of Love" picture.

Subtle as it may seem, "The Artist" is, on its own, a sentimentally outdated commentary that challenges the longevity and artistic integrity of voices in films and whether or not it can keep up with the already established wonder of silent pictures. But more than anything else, "The Artist" is a wonderfully-weaved little love story that bridges the artistic gap between sounds and mere gestures, dialogues and title cards.

And within the film's great silence accompanied only by orchestral musical scores, it's quite evident that, in all the film's joy, laughter and tears, it has more to say, romantically and whatnot, than any other love-oriented films these days. "The Artist", instead of being an untimely elegy to the art of silent films in the same fashion of how Clint Eastwood's "Unforgiven" may be to Western films, has breathe uncommon life into washed-out cinematic memories of a bygone era and has turned them into sounds, images and emotions that are as lively as they can be and are worth treasuring and relishing one more time, 'with pleasure'.

FINAL RATING

Manila Kingpin: The Asiong Salonga Story

Asiong in action.

This might as well be the first time that I'm reviewing a film without a director. Of course it was, during production, helmed by veteran film director Tikoy Aguiluz, whose film "Segurista" I truly admire. But because of some post-production politics and creative clashes between him and the producers, Aguiluz's name, by his own request, was removed from the posters and the film itself, leaving screenwriters Roy Iglesias and Rey Ventura as the only people left at the top of the creative hierarchy.

"Manila Kingpin: The Asiong Salonga Story" was, above all, branded as a resurrection of sorts for the very dead action genre of the local film scene: an alternative cinematic reality reigned over by the likes of Lito Lapid, Rudy Fernandez, FPJ, and lots and lots of blazing machismo. It was truly a haven of myth-making capable of solidifying silver screen stars such as Ramon Revilla Sr. as an amulet-empowered 'crime does not pay' icon and Paquito Diaz as villainy and ruthlessness personified. This is the powerful formula only action movies have the strength and endurance to carry on for more than 40 years or so without looking, even at the slightest bit, exhausted. And in this film's case, it was that same, enduring formula that was utilized by George Estregan Jr. (or E.R. Ejercito) and company to serve us thirsty fans a tribute to the genre's lore and also a blood-drenched gangster tale that we can call our own.

Namely, some of the film's strengths are its exquisite cinematography and set design, which have genuinely evoked the 50's period with its nostalgic, often times claustrophobic and grayish visual treatment. Take note, 'evoked', not 'replicated'. If replication is the film's real intent, then they should have gone braver and filmed it in full color. But with its purpose being to merely create a distinct visual 'feel' completely free to express its own artistic liberties rather than to completely emulate a bygone era to the teeth, "Manila Kingpin: The Asiong Salonga Story" succeeded.

But although the film has meritoriously upheld its own visually, it has fallen short substantially. The film suffered in severe one-dimensionality in terms of characterization, with George Estregan Jr., most known for merely playing loud-mouthed, smoker-voiced supervillains such as Dr. Zyke in "Batang Z" and Ivan in Andrew E.'s "Extranghero", although showing relative depth and previously unseen dramatic intensity in his performance as the savage but gold-hearted titular crime boss, obviously looked awkward at times as he makes most out of the stereotypically-written lead role. While character actors like the ever so psychotic John Regala and the subtle Ronnie Lazaro seem to enjoy in their respective characters' caricature-like brutality, the always reliable Phillip Salvador suffered in his role's tiring and predictable 'although my brother's a hardened criminal I still love him' mentality as Asiong's older cop sibling.

Ping Medina, one of the best young actors working today, was underused in an underdeveloped character, and so were Yul Servo and Ketchup Eusebio. Though I can't say the same for Baron Geisler's, which fueled and enforced the film's theme of betrayal and split loyalty with his dimensioned, though predictable Judas-like character to Estregan's Jesus Christ. With Geisler and his mocking smiles and stares like that of a manipulative schemer, you can clearly read within his character that it's just a matter of time before he goes all Robert Ford to Asiong's Jesse James behind.

True, "Manila Kingpin: The Asiong Salonga Story" may have, in certain ways, hopefully reverberated the action genre with the urgency of its ambition, thanks to George Estregan Jr. and all the people involved. But I think that in time, this film will and should be more remembered as a pioneering crime film that just happened to have one action scene and two or three kissing scenes (!) more than the usual. And just when I'm merely recovering from a "Mad World" LSS hangover, here comes this film complete with its own instrumental rendition of the said song which puts a preachy, 'this is what you should feel' vibe to an otherwise well-executed, "City of God"-esque bullet ballet of a climax.

Now, despite of my scrutiny of the film no one really asked for, I truly enjoyed watching the film for what it is: A textbook action/crime opera. And as the film's credits roll and as the lights in the theater were switched back on, I can see the geriatric majority of the audience; a bittersweet sight that made me think of one thing: "These are the fans that you've left behind, action genre!" Fans that, for so many years, have settled for those pixelated 16 in 1 Robin Padilla DVDs and Cinema One reruns to compensate for the lack, or even the complete absence, of new, locally-produced action pictures.

Now, with not much left to say, I have appreciated this version more than I thought I would, but I'm still particular of the fact that in the long run and in the overall definition of what cinema is all about, the director's vision matters more than all the commercial-minded producers' combined. Now, can we have the Tikoy Aguiluz cut, please?

FINAL RATING

Tetro (Francis Ford Coppola)

Tetro 'looking at the lights'.

Mr. Coppola. Once created cinematic juggernauts that is "The Godfather" series. Explored unrelenting paranoia in "The Conversation". Endured nightmares, tensions and existential questions in the Philippines, and splattered goth and color into Bram Stoker's "Dracula". Yes, it's just like looking back into Francis Ford Coppola's 'more than impressive' resume, but I just can't help but do that as I watch "Tetro", a film bringing Coppola's vision into the smaller confines of the art house scene, the uninhibited territory of Spanish linguistics and arguably into a more complex landscape of filmmaking where far-reaching scope is seldom a concern.

It stars Vincent Gallo, an actor who I think is just about as enigmatic and eccentric as the eponymous role he portrays, but may not be as restrained ("Brown Bunny?"). The film, like the opening sequence of "The Godfather", initially encapsulates the titular character with the same air of mystery and presence as that of Vito Corleone's cinematic introduction. We first see and feel Tetro not as an immediate character but merely as an idea. A lingering emotional attachment to its other important character, Bennie (well played by Alden Ehrenreich). A product of a past without a 'face'.

Though it may not be as noticed, I think director Coppola handled that brief scene perfectly, making us think that Bennie's visit to this 'brother' may not be an adequate idea as he thinks it is (highlighted by Tetro's harsh locking of his door). And though strengthened by a letter sent by his brother, Bennie's visit is still an unsure quest towards the unknown, into a brother who has also tread the same; a brooding but hopeful reverberation of a bond seemingly forgotten by time.

While I'm watching the film, one of the many things that I can think about is that it's quite reminiscent of Federico Fellini with its 'La Strada-like' utilization of carnivalesque characters littered around its central emotional arc. I'm not saying that Coppola, with all his aspirations to create a film he preferred to be remembered more in the European film scene, indirectly channeled and imitated Fellini. May be it's just the fact that in creating a deeply 'personal' film (he mentioned that it is), one can't help but grab the enduring roots of perennial cinematic artists like the aforementioned one above, a director also known for extracting emotions from his personal recesses for his more passionate projects to enhance the idea that the film was conceived, shot, and edited with the eyes on the camera's lens and hands pressed somewhere in the heart.

"Tetro" isn't just about the cliched concept of 'brotherly love', it's also about naivety at its most brutal misplacement and emptiness completely out of sync with what could have really been. And to say that Tetro's self-exile from his family is nothing but a bitter exaggeration is an insight out of context. I personally think that it was justifiable.

'Control' may also have something to do with it. With Tetro not having any with his life because of his father's egocentric authority, he looks for some place where he can. Then along came Bennie, his brother with the same sentiments but armed with much more urgency to answer questions of his own.

One chose to separate himself from his family, another is on a quest to know it more, and with the masterful and experienced craftsmanship of Francis Ford Coppola, the film has been rather successful in its polarizing portrayal of the two-sided truths and consequences of 'familial alienation' and an uncommon insight into an alternative reality of patriarchal flaws .

A self-produced film that is also an endlessly intriguing narrative exercise enhanced by unorthodox filmmaking. Coppola, with the creation of this independent gem shown in relative obscurity, really heeded the film's most significant line: "Don't look into the light". In his case, the blindingly bright lights of mainstream, that is.

FINAL RATING