Her (Spike Jonze)

Lying on the moon.

For years immemorial, films are not entirely reserved in their use of artificial intelligence as a way to prove a point regarding the human condition. We've witnessed HAL 9000's descent into computerized ruthlessness when he tried to murder David Bowman in "2001: A Space Odyssey". We've seen "Blade Runner's" Roy Batty, a humanoid replicant, cry his heart out regarding his memories "that will be lost in time like tears in the rain." And just recently, we felt all there is to feel when Sam Rockwell's astronaut character in "Moon" found out about the painful truth about himself, all while Gerty, a good guy version of HAL, shows primitive signs of compassion and morality in the background. Yes, I admit, I did shed some tears when I saw "Moon" for the second time. And while we're at it, I swear I also quietly wept for a few minutes after seeing Spielberg's "A.I. Artificial Intelligence".  

Perhaps in more ways than one, indeed we've really reached a phase in cinema where we may cry not much anymore about the tragedy of human relationships but more about man's inability to grasp his real place in the universe. Unofficially, I would want to call our generation the 'sci-fi film mopers'. What that really means, I don't exactly know for sure, but I really think we are the kind that would brood about the relentless progress of technology because of how it redefines life as we know it, and love as how we feel it. "Her", Spike Jonze's first ever feature-length love story, firmly takes on its effects on the latter, questioning how will the notions of romance adopt to our ever-advancing world without losing so much as a spark. The film is very romantic in a very sad, 'your lover's hand is slowly slipping off yours' way, but very hopeful in its view of the modern sentient man's ability to love the intangible. Without a doubt, the film is a tender reminder that sublime cinema is not all the time built around harsh themes and provocative storylines. And as simple as "Her" is, there is still a pervasive sense of philosophical depth in its every scene and moment that the film itself seems a miraculous feat in its own right. 

Spike Jonze, a filmmaker whose two major works, "Being John Malkovich" and "Adaptation.", exemplify what cinematic oddity should be, proves in this film that he can indeed stand on his own without Charlie Kaufman on scribe duty. But more importantly, there's finally something in "Her" that has slightly been amiss in his past films: a beating heart.

Judging by "Her's" story of a letter writer who falls deeply and madly in love with his operating system, it is easy to dismiss the film as a gimmicky project that merely capitalizes on the currency of Siri. On paper, it's nothing but a piece of 'what if' story that seems lucky enough to even be green-lit by a production outfit. It is a story that's as far-fetched as it is entirely ludicrous. But hey, so is "The Running Man", but look at how prophetic and potent its commentary on reality shows has ultimately become. Look at "The Truman Show". Look at "Network". Again, look at "Her". Goddamn, that last sentence reads so beautifully.

Anyway, if we finally get through the superficial uniqueness of the story, "Her" is actually a film whose emotional quality is of the highest order. Honestly, it's been a very long time since I last cried watching a film (the weeping episodes I have mentioned above were like ages ago), so when I finally did once again, I was kind of like cleansed. It was therapeutic in a way knowing that I wept over a film that's close to perfect, but quite pathetic on my part for not bringing with me a box of Kleenex. Instead, a pillow became the proxy absorber of my tears. It was quite a 2-hour experience now forever fossilized in the corners of my memories, and I'm quite sure that it won't leave anytime soon. 

For sure, many people will surely remember this film mainly for its concept and perhaps not much else, but for me, what I will hold dearly in my heart about it are the performances by Joaquin Phoenix, Amy Adams, and, of course, Scarlett Johansson, who provided her voice for the OS Samantha (who deservedly won the Best Actress award at the 2013 Rome Film Festival). More than the story, what makes "Her" so much more than an ordinary sci-fi drama is how well the three of them has handled the film's seemingly ridiculous premise (in some respect) while at the same time lighting up the screen with the most intimate kind of chemistry. Also, from the very first time Joaquin Phoenix's character appeared on screen with that extreme close-up of him dictating to his computer a touching letter supposedly sent by a husband to his wife, rapport was instantly established. 

This man right here, named Theodore Twombly, is someone who writes love letters to all kinds of people every single day but is devoid of love himself. Now estranged from his wife, he visibly trudges through life like an invisible man, aware of the technological advancement happening around him but is oblivious of his need for affection. Along then comes Samantha, a new, state-of-the-art OS who is as intelligent (or even more so) as an actual person. Slowly but tenderly, they were able to nurture a different kind of romance that knows no judgments and knows no bounds. Should I say that it was love at first click? 

Unexpectedly, Theodore finds himself once again falling fully for a woman who truly essentiates love, but this time without a body for him to hold and a face for him to touch. I think this is where "Her", as an essay about the beauty of unconditional romance, really excels. 

Throughout the historical course of both literature and film, more often than not, technology has always been seen as this frail substitute to real human connection. Surprisingly, "Her" is, if my memory serves me well, the very first film that I have seen which looks upon technology not as something that cripples our emotional capacity but as something that actually improves our ability to care. "Her", a visual love poem fitting for our times, embraces the inner heartbroken outcasts in us that yearn for someone ideal even if truly imperceptible to the eye. Indeed, there's something so perfect in that which we cannot see but can nonetheless feel, and there's also something so extraordinary in a film so awfully simple and silently bittersweet yet can make your heart cave in and your eyes swell in tears. "Her", for a lack of a better description, is the ultimate 'feel' trip of our generation.

FINAL RATING

Before Midnight (Richard Linklater)

A Greek dramedy.

We have ventured with them through the streets of Vienna and tagged along on their reflective walk one Parisian afternoon. Jesse and Celine, as far as modern cinematic couples are concerned, is indeed the thinking man/woman's love team, thanks to Richard Linklater's deeply contemplative yet very entertaining style of writing. And after all these years, the first film, "Before Sunrise", still stands tall as a wonderful testament of how bittersweet a happenstance romance can be, while "Before Sunset" effortlessly goes to show how a hyper-idealized overnight love can completely change when, paraphrasing Jason Silva, lovers finally go their separate ways and return to their respective task-based existence. 

9 years ago, we were left to draw our own conclusions regarding what can happen to Jesse and Celine and whether or not their picture-perfect romance can carry itself away from the pragmatic hassles of reality, as Jesse is after all already married and has a son. Finally, though, we now have the answer in the form of "Before Midnight": the final chapter to the 'Jesse and Celine' saga. Yeah, that totally sounded like an epic superhero film.

In this film, Jesse and Celine are on a Greek getaway, and this time, it's not, in any way, a happenstance encounter but an official family vacation (along with their twin daughters). Yes, here in "Before Midnight", Jesse and Celine is finally (and permanently) together, albeit unmarried. Not the exact set-up you might expect if you think of an ideal kind of love, but hey, better to have that than nothing at all. Sure, both of them were physically withered by age quite a bit, but the energy of how they connect with each other is just as fresh and young as the moment when they first met in a sleepy train ride back in Vienna. "Before Midnight", with its preservation of Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy's on-screen chemistry that spans close to two decades, delivers just the right amount of ups and downs, romance-wise, to leave unto us a feeling that we've just been witnesses to what may be the closest cinema has gotten in perfectly capturing the essence of a flawed but nonetheless true kind of love.

Comparatively speaking, watching "Before Midnight" in all its sexual innuendos, hurtful gender slurs, and overwhelming pragmatism makes "Before Sunrise" and "Before Sunset" seem like two innocent younger brothers who have just gotten out of the house long enough to frolic freely in the streets for a while. Simply put, "Before Midnight" looks just like the big brother who has finally arrived to fetch his younger siblings so that he can smack some sense into them that no, it should never be all play. Though the film is still ripe with nostalgic talks about time in relation to love and love in relation to life at large and all that idealizing romantic bull, it's more clear on what it wants to examine, and that is the separation of love from the conundrums of life and vice versa. Unlike the first two films which seem to indulge only on reflections about what can be and what could have been between Jesse and Celine, "Before Midnight" is the realistic wake-up call that things are bound to inevitably fall apart. 

With Richard Linklater on the helm and on scribe duty, it's not a surprise that the film is just as layered as the first two films. This time, though, everything seems to be very much at stake, as both Jesse and Celine, for the first time in their screen lives, are quite careening into an emotional climax that may just be as explosive as the one in "The Avengers". Are we going to see them just as strong as before? Or, as surreal as it may sound, are we going to see them bitterly part ways? In ways more than one, "Before Midnight" is the maturation that we've all been waiting for and are unconsciously dying to see, because as much as it feels good to see them together at the end of "Before Sunset", it's still an altogether different kind of ballgame to tackle the all too real things (such as career conflicts, priorities, and family) that go along with love like prickly bonus items. And for that, I guess Linklater has nothing short of done something that makes me believe that, no, the telling of great love stories in films is yet to run its course. On the other hand, though, it's sad to think that to make me believe just that, it has to be done by ending one of the bestest modern ones there is. 

Like a more optimistic and infinitely more humorous "Scenes from a Marriage", "Before Midnight" is an extraordinary film that will force you to think twice about being married, but at the same time will convince you to just hold on to the imperfect truth that holds two people together like Velcro. And as Jesse and Celine struggle through a mudflow of insecurities, misled accusations, and complex decisions, the Velcro still sticks, and neither of them know the definite reason how and why save for the fact that, well, it just does. And remember what Celine was repeatedly saying while watching the sun set? "Still there." In the end, perhaps she can say the same to the love that she and Jesse have stumbled upon one fateful day in Vienna nearly 20 years ago; a kind that they thought would only be nothing but a fling, only to find out that there's definitely more to it than the aimless walks through cobblestone streets.

FINAL RATING

It Takes a Man and a Woman (Cathy Garcia-Molina)

Montenegro-Magtalas.

After the well-received "A Very Special Love" and the record-breaking "You Changed My Life", the much-lucrative romantic tandem of John Lloyd Cruz and Sarah Geronimo is finally back to once again rekindle the love story between rich hotshot Miggy Montenegro and the quirky Laida Magtalas, and people sure are elated. It also sure helps, anticipation-wise, that the film is widely accepted and believed to be the last one in the 'Miggy-Laida' movie franchise. But then again, I just want to remind you that, after all, this is Star Cinema we're dealing with here, so the next thing we know, we're watching Miggy and Laida, geriatric and all, inside a nursing home.

     

"It Takes a Man and a Woman", entitled so because it deals with the intrinsic essence of being a man and a woman in the context of love and also because, well, there's not much love songs left to choose from, is a rom-com film that capitalizes on the first two films' humor and one-liners too much that it ended up looking more like a rehash of its predecessors rather than a pure, standalone sequel. But thanks to Sarah Geronimo's infectious energy, the film's reliance on recycle humor has ironically proven to be one of the film's strongest points. After all, the movie is centered upon her character and on the humor that she endlessly churns out, so it just feels right for Ms. Geronimo to be a complete stand out among the rest, including even John Lloyd Cruz himself. But viewers beware: "It Takes a Man and a Woman" is a movie that can only be enjoyed by those who have already seen (and liked) the first two films. As for me who has always been slightly indifferent towards movies of this kind, I quite liked what I have seen. Although of course, typical for a Star Cinema feature, this one's got some issues too.

     

One of them is the fact that it has re-manufactured too much scenes from the first two films. Granted, the film, as what I have mentioned above, has been very conscious of what wonders recycling certain moments from its predecessors can do to elicit humor. But doing it too much can easily become quite a nuisance because one, it clogs the narrative with utter redundancy, and two, because it just goes to show that the screenwriters only have a few new things to offer.

     

I also hated how the movie has lazily resorted in using a thinly-written, blandly-realized character (played by Isabel Daza) as a momentary foil to the love team (Really? Aren't there any other options?). For me, with the Laida and Miggy characters being naturally repellant of each other (they are grudge-filled exes after all), the writers should have capitalized on that angle more and downplayed the surface level idea that they can't be together simply because there's an insubstantial third character involved. 

     

But despite of that deficiency, I loved how the movie has balanced work and play; that is, the film was able to mix the sentimentality and the humor without overcooking either. Well, let's just say that "It Takes a Man and a Woman" is the end product when we combine "A Very Special Love's" happy-go-lucky, abundantly comedic feel with "You Changed My Life's" more subtle dramatics.

     

But then, just when I thought that the film is quite walking the path of sun and breeze, the abominable final scenes came; scenes filled with globs and globs of sugar that even Willy Wonka would cringe. Suddenly, the balance that the film has maintained all throughout has suddenly vanished to give way to the utter glucose fest at hand. 

     

To be fair, "It Takes a Man and a Woman" is a very entertaining and well-realized crowd-pleaser, but for your own good, please do quietly walk out of the theater midway through the final 'airport' scene and calmly save yourself from the impending horror, for the final scenes are basically diabetes on celluloid.

FINAL RATING

Annie Hall (Woody Allen)

Annie and Alvy, Diane and Woody; it's either way.

A second viewing.

Looking at the gallery of the previous Oscar winners for best picture, "Annie Hall" is definitely one of the most unorthodox and unglazed of all the films that have won the coveted prize. No majestic scope, no larger-than-life characters and no unreachable emotional core, but only an accessibly psychoanalytical and pop-intellectual presence of Woody Allen and his one-liners. Oh, and there's also the impeccable Diane Keaton as the titular character (whose real name is, well you've guessed it: Diane 'Annie' Hall) whose unassumingly fluctuating romance with Allen's character Alvy Singer founds the film's distinct postmodernist approach to the uber-complicated thing we all call 'love'.

Opening scenes meter what we can expect from a particular film's wholeness, be it an initial action scene or a non-linear middle scene pushed right into the beginning. We are introduced into "Annie Hall" with a monologue by Woody Allen, to which I'm not sure if he's uttering his entry comic speech as him being Alvy Singer, the other way around or a random combination of both. Either way, it's a subtle delivery that may not give the immediate feel of the film but definitely serves unto us the fragile wholeness of our neurotic main character. Why is he even talking to us in the first place? Is he really that lonely in his own reality of 'death' and isolated 'mental masturbation' that he wills himself to break the fourth wall?

Unlike other 'love' stories that preceded "Annie Hall" which starts with impossible chance encounters and ends with reconciliations, this film started somewhere where Alvy and Annie's romantic complications are at an all-time high but their emotional excitement for each other at an all-time low. Then like an unsure blend of fantasy and reality, the film then traces the pieces of how this 'nervous romance' came to be, or at least something like that. But with the tone of the film, which I believe can go on for days and days (the movie itself) even without an audience (this Woody Allen fellow really talks a lot), it's apt to say that the film really couldn't care less.

The ability to enact both a pessimistic existential viewpoint (according to Alvy, the 'horrible' and the 'miserable' are the only dividends of life) and an indifferent humor throughout yet hints on an underlying warmth beneath its 'foreskin'. This is one of the unique aspects of the film which certainly gave it the prestigious Oscar award. Right now, the said award is nothing but history, and although I think that "Annie Hall" hasn't aged that well, its portrayal of the distorted nuances of 'love' and 'contemporary existence' never did.

Written and directed by Woody Allen himself, I know that it's not quite right, chronologically and qualitatively speaking, that I was introduced into Allen's works (not counting "Vicky Cristina Barcelona") via "Annie Hall", a film that is widely considered to be the artistic zenith of his film career.

Now on the other hand, although I loved every moment of how Woody Allen and Diane Keaton's effortless chemistry pervades the screen through and through, their dialogue exchanges that seem like trivial conversations between two not-so-special souls and their consummate embraces and kisses amidst a backdrop of a surprisingly subdued New York City (photography by Gordon Willis), I really can't see myself as Alvy Singer.

Reckon how other 'love story' heroes mirror us one way or another? This is Woody Allen's difference. He can look as plain, thin and 'balding' as he is, but at least, his Alvy Singer is never completely us. A character that is molded more out of clumsy ubiquity (based on his sometimes alienating but seemingly all-knowing one-bit opinions and whatnot) than crazy human simplicity.

Granted, "Annie Hall" is a complex film of romantic proportions, but its heart lies within two key jokes uttered by Alvy himself: the humorous 'elderly women' analogy and the 'chicken brother' joke. Unnoticed as it may seem, these jokes weren't just meant to give a start and end transition for the whole film but a perceptive change for Alvy Singer himself. And like the autobiographical stage play that he has created near the end of the film, after all his musings about the futility of life and the importance of death, he simply wants his romance warm and eternalized, just like everyone else.

FINAL RATING

Walk the Line (James Mangold)

'The Man in Black'.

"Walk the Line" is, without a doubt, one of those typical biopics that follow the 'redemption' dramatic formula as its narrative pattern. But armed with top-notch performances by Joaquin Phoenix as Johnny Cash and Reese Witherspoon as June Carter, the film achieved to be more than just another 'biopic' film. Of course it is strictly about Cash's initial rise, self-destructive fall and rise again as a musical icon, but it's also a subtly observant film that focuses about these two people's unorthodox human connection and the greatness of a slow-moving love.

Notice how in many films that tread the 'redemption' process as what I've mentioned above, the people to which the biopic is specifically center-weighted for typically goes through rushed marriages and easy romances with their better halves(see "People vs. Larry Flynt" and the classic "Raging Bull"), only bringing about problems on the way. "Walk the Line" (and Cash's romantic life) expresses utmost differentiation.

Sure, Johnny Cash's marriage with Vivian (played by Ginnifer Goodwin) was tackled in a fairly quick exposition, but with the film mainly about Cash's fascinating emotional exploits with June more than it is about his emotional and domestic problems with his initial wife, "Walk the Line", with a refreshingly patient direction by James Mangold, treated this Cash-Carter bond as a slow-burning fire. Fire that is occasionally being blown off by the wind, but still strives on with its flame.

Trickier as it may look to pull that extra-marital vibe off, the idea of being 'tricky' does not start there. It starts within the internalization of the actors themselves. James Mangold once mentioned in the "Becoming Cash/Becoming Carter" featurette that he is not concerned about whether or not Joaquin Phoenix would properly impersonate and emulate Cash's distinct gestures and facial expressions. What's important to him is the 'interpretation'. He is indeed more than correct.

I have seen images of the real Johnny Cash and trust me, aside from the slicked back hair, the facial structure of Cash and Phoenix are far from even being remotely similar. But guess what? Phoenix, for how much time he stayed on-screen, embodied the destructively alienating, non-conformist nature of the 'Man in Black', complete with powerful facial translations of a constantly self-debilitating internal conflict.

Phoenix, with a uniquely quiet intensity that is only his own, is such an inspired casting choice. Mangold could have gone for leading actors better-suited for the marquees but he chose not to. Besides, as what I've seen in his visual and dramatic treatment for "Walk the Line", the film is never made to be the usual Hollywood biographical offering. Aside from the common elements such as the non-linear opening scene, the childhood flashback and the aforementioned 'redemption' format, it's very different in context.

Sure, Cash came back, sober and all, to the music that he himself has nurtured and many people have since came to love with a better sense of inner peace. For some 'biopic'-fleshed main characters, coming back into a once abandoned limelight means going through a process of physical and mental self-improvement. A 'process' so honey-glazed that it seems too tiring and one-dimensional.

Cash, on the other hand, came back, black-clad, a slicked back hair and a voice colder than the night than it ever was before, to record live inside a maximum security prison while ridiculing its warden and critiquing its yellowish drinking water in the process. Talk about stern anti-authoritarian stance and a pair of steel cojones.

"Behind every great man is a great woman". That quote perfectly fits within "Walk the Line's" 'great love conquers all' theme, but I think it's better to rephrase that as "Beside every great man is a great woman". Johnny and June duet, don't they?

FINAL RATING

Stardust (Matthew Vaughn)

Tristan and Yvaine.

"My dear, I will give you everything, even the stars, just for the sake of our love". From that romantically far-fetched a line that is oh so abstract a thought and all too hyperbolic a statement begins the startlingly original adventure of "Stardust", a film adaptation of the Neil Gaiman graphic novel of the same name that vibrantly tells of magical realms and transcendent love that may initially look as if we've seen it all before, but with a comedic execution that makes it seem fresher and genuinely a notch more enjoyable than any films of the fantasy genre had ever been.

It's like Tim Burton's fantastically twisted vision merged with bits of Monty Python and some conventional fairy tale staples. As the film starts, with that deep-voiced narration by Ian Mckellen, "Stardust" created a distinct universe of myths and magic with eager flamboyance and familiarity, visually decreasing the sense of otherworldly surprise (that is clearly present in "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" via the wardrobe and in "Alice in Wonderland" via the rabbit hole) and minimizing the line that separates the human world from those of flying vessels and ambitious witches.

But this time, there's no spells to cast or tornadoes to be felt just to enter the land of whatever, but merely a wall to cross secured by a not so quick-witted a guard. Now there's Stormhold for you.

Matthew Vaughn, who previously directed the great "Layer Cake", captured the essence of the said parallel universe without any foreboding of age-long reign of darkness a la Sauron or suggestions of full-fledged random craziness a la Lewis Carroll. It walks along the fantasy land with Shakesperean opportunism (as to how the film has portrayed the ambition of power by means of the King's (the legendary Peter O'Toole) sons' struggle to possess the ruby that is the affirming object of kingship) and the commonly grim characterization of witches who want nothing but eternal youth and beauty.

They can separately try to get what they want and get done with it, right? Without getting on each others' nerves and may even inhabit two different films to isolate their goals, isn't it? But as it unfolds (effortlessly that is, thanks to Gaiman's source material), their goals manifest in the guise of Yvaine (played by Claire Danes), a fallen star that is as knowledgeable as she is clueless. But wait, there also enters our alliterated hero Tristan Thorn (played by Charlie Cox) who, based on the opening line of this film review, also strives to capture Yvaine and bring her to his true love as a romantic gift. And just like that, "Stardust", with a relentless but wholesome narrative pulse and high doses of magically bizarre slapstick, begins its rat race for a star that, in some ways, resembles that in "Maltese Falcon".

Now, if there's something I'll definitely remember in the whole film, it will be the 'characters' themselves and no, it's not Yvaine and Tristan. Michelle Pfeiffer and Robert De Niro, who gave unforgettably comic, over-the-top performances as Lamia the witch and Captain Shakespeare respectively, provide the sideshows that paint the world of Stormhold with contrastingly two-sided hues of eccentricity. With Claire Danes and Charlie Cox in the lead roles whose star powers and on-screen charisma (but based on what I've seen in the film, there's not much to scrutinize in their performances and formed chemistry) still isn't particularly tested that may also potentially give its studio a clunker of a film, veterans Pfeiffer and De Niro lend their shoulders for a share of the burden and oh what a support it was. "Stardust" just isn't the same without the presence of Pfeiffer's vain witch and De Niro's closeted pirate.

Add up Mark Strong, whose villainous roles in films bring him closer and closer on the verge of type-casting, portrays the sole-surviving prince Septimus (among his seven brothers) with that kind of vilely murderous instinct unforgettably displayed by Macbeth minus the downward spiraling insanity. Yeah, at first, I was quite unimpressed. Another antagonistic one for Mr. Strong, indeed. But all throughout his portrayal of the said character, one can sense his 'tongue-in-cheek' intent.

He bullies, brutalizes and kills anyone on-sight who hinders him in his goal for Yvaine and her ruby necklace. He renders anyone not on his side dead or dying, but he's deadpan in what he does. In this Septimus role, "Stardust" has immensely succeeded with its darkly comic tone. With the film being a fantasy picture, with such heavyweights as the "Harry Potter" and "Lord of the Rings" films serving as the genre's flag carriers, "Stardust" may have used some ideas that can easily be branded as repetitions.

But to what it is particularly disadvantaged, it makes up for its perfect approach for comedy. And to where it may look cliched (specifically in its magical and romantic elements), it makes up for its uniquely conveyed gallery of characters. "Stardust" is a beautiful, sometimes softly tender, sometimes ruggedly fast-paced and grotesquely overwhelming fantasy film that has achieved to leave a mark in such a conceptually-loaded genre.

By observation, after I watch some fantasy movies, there's always this recurring feeling of wonderment and awe mainly because of the visuals and nothing more. But after watching "Stardust", of course there's still the same feeling, but with a delightful smirk traced upon my face.

"My dear, I will give you everything, even the stars, just for the sake of our love". If that rings true to the one who promised the words and a place such as Stormhold a thing of reality, there will surely be a hundredfold of star-chasing adventures here and there. Yeah, right.

FINAL RATING

Lost in Translation (Sofia Coppola)

The long goodbye.

A second viewing.

Time and time again, it has been proven that a mark of a great film is the fact that no matter which place and what timeline you bring the core of the main story and its themes, the impact will always be the same. That claim is valid, of course, not strictly limited merely for films, but in every medium of artistic narratives as a whole, so to speak. Shakespeare's works, for example, right? Set "Hamlet" in Ancient Greece, "Macbeth" in Imperial China and "Romeo and Juliet" in Monarchical India, but the essence of their tales won't even be affected. 'Timeless', as they say.

But then there comes Sofia Coppola, armed with a little film called "Lost in Translation", a very picturesque 'Japan' to render fresh and some emotions to transcend. The aforementioned claim to greatness of films, as what was stated above, appeared to be not the case for "Lost in Translation" that made it rightfully so. Its theme of alienation and a subsequent connection in a haze of culture shock and language barrier (although were treated by Coppola's script with witty naivety that does not poke fun in the wrong places) was tackled perfectly by specifically setting the film in 'Japan'.

Putting it in China will get the same effect of misunderstanding and cultural difference, but the ideal Japanese bluish grayness wouldn't be there. Setting it somewhere in Europe may look too elegant, while locating the film somewhere exotic and infinitely tropical will be too adventurous and lively. The film needed stagnation, but at the same time, it asks for some unpredictable quirks and eccentricities. Japan is, after all, the definitive country there is. Tokyo's technologically advanced, contemporary metropolis, to be exact.

So, now that the alienating location was established, where would the film extract its romance? With the help of Scarlett Johansson's knowing yet discreet performance as newlywed twenty-something Charlotte and Bill Murray's naturally comic performance (that is one of the best performances of his career) as midlife crisis-inflicted actor Bob Harris, the film (along with its emotionally observant screenplay that won Sofia an Oscar) has further elevated the film from being a potentially lackluster travelogue-cum-romantic comedy film into a whole new height.

Granted, there were scenes that may look like cinematographic clichés for films set in foreign countries (the much used editing where a character is looking out from a car or a train's window, while images of landmarks are juxtaposing along with their wondrous stares and awestruck faces), but it was part of their characters. Beyond their situations, one tagging along with her husband (played by Giovanni Ribisi) for a job (Charlotte), and the other in there to shoot a whiskey commercial (Bob), although debilitated by cultures and places immensely different from their own, they still strive to appreciate Japan as it is, and to understand.

In some scenes, it was quite obvious that Bill Murray were ad-libbing lines mostly for comic effect, but it makes his character's bond with Charlotte much more genuine with all its tender spontaneity. To be precise, it is in a scene where they are eating in a typical Japanese restaurant of some sorts. Scripted or not, Bill Murray delivered his lines so irrevocably funny in a certain conversationally mundane way that Scarlett Johansson's laughs looked more authentic and very 'by-the-moment'. These sequences have helped to uphold their already very involving chemistry, and through that, they have achieved to inhabit the sensibilities of real people that for once, although how admittedly beautiful Scarlett Johansson is, by way of her portrayal of Charlotte, I wouldn't even be surprised if I bump into her character in a crowd of tourists all dazed and confused. Yes, she was that convincing.

There were many unforgettable scenes in the film mostly enhanced by Bill Murray's everyman-type slapstick and Scarlett Johansson's combination of ennui and starry-eyed cultural wonder. But it has got to be the final, evocative scene that easily takes the cake as the film's defining moment that exposes the silent power of love.

We see them say goodbye in the hotel lobby, but we all know that it was merely for formality's sake. After the brief farewell, Bob rides a car. Then in a busy corner, Bob Harris asked for his driver to stop. She saw a blond-haired woman that seems like Charlotte. It was her indeed. He went into her and they embraced. He then whispered to her something inaudible to us, but what Bob has said were just meager in importance. We have followed their connection, their relationship and their love close enough for the film's entirety that in that final whisper, we accepted their privacy and we gave it to them.

And as Bob returns to the backseat of his car that will bring him into the airport and then back into America, he alternately looks out the window and around him. The buildings and the highway. The cars and the skyline. At first, when he arrived in Tokyo, he looked upon them with questions in his mind, but after he has professed his love to an acquaintance in a foreign land that has unconsciously taught him to understand, he looked upon the metropolis with cathartic eyes. This time, it's with clarity, and with a hint of a smile.

FINAL RATING

The Graduate (Mike Nichols)

Alright, before anything else, let me say that "The Graduate" is definitely one of the best films of all time. And I rarely brand any films with such commendations quite easily (as if I'm a somebody. Ha.). It features a more-than-worthy star-making performance by Dustin Hoffman and Anne Bancroft's memorable and definitive portrayal of a promiscuous cougar in the guise of Mrs. Robinson. Add up the beautiful songs of Simon & Garfunkel and a deeply resonant ending, we got here a masterpiece.

But when I say 'masterpiece', it's not by the standards of what the word may immediately connote (pageantry, scope, larger-than-life actors) mind you, but what this influential little film has left behind. Back in the late 60's when it was released, with much cultural changes happening in the forefronts of America, maybe its popularity has sparked mainly because its main theme hasn't been explored before. Sure it's a romantic-comedy. Sure it's a love story. But at the time prior to this, mainstream speaking, any films of the genre won't mean anything if it isn't anchored by A-list stars.

Then "The Graduate" came. It's a story of a newly graduated man. It should be happy, right? Even I thought so. The film opens with our protagonist, Benjamin Braddock (Dustin Hoffman) sitting in an airplane. He should be glad, right? the camera then follows him as he steps onto a moving walkway with his face filled with uncertainty, fearfulness and a hint of dread. Yes, he graduated, but he doesn't know what to do next. Then he encounters one of his parents' friends, Mrs. Robinson. She asks him to drive her home, offers him a drink and requested for him to unzip her dress. This should have been a meet cute film, right? After some time, he delves into a semi-guilt-ridden affair with her. Hesitant at first, he likes the idea of it, and he likes her too. But then he meets Mrs. Robinson's daughter, Elaine (Katharine Ross). He loves her at first sight but Mrs. Robinson won't allow love to bud between the two. It should have been very easy, right?

From those complications rooted out from the idea of romantic relationships, "The Graduate", based on a novel by Charles Webb, unfolded what it was all about. Of course it's mainly focused on Benjamin's elusive quest for love, but I think the film is more about his existential search for meaning and its consequences. Only from that that his two-sided encounter with love, transgressive, determined and all, was inspired. And with the help of the uncommon cinematography by Robert Surtees which occasionally focuses shots into Hoffman's face with an intent to document his subtle pain and emotional crisis through his facial expressions, "The Graduate", aside from being an unorthodox tale of romance, succeeded to show the sweltering pressure of a newly grad whose own mind dictates he's got nowhere to go.

The film is filled with many memorable sequences, but there's one great scene in it where Benjamin, wearing a scuba outfit, enters the swimming pool and in the presence of his parents and some other guests, remained standing, motionless, below the water. It's a moment that can easily be gazed upon as a random slip-in about suburban life's view of young people's successes. But through its initial first person point of view to his plunge into the pool, it finely highlights his isolation, with the water pressure translating into his own and from that bluish loneliness he seeks to find warmth. But he is cornered. By his parents. By his parents' friends. By himself.

"The Graduate", directed masterfully by Mike Nichols, is an unforgettable film. Not just because of some of its laughs or its central romantic arc, but because of its exposition of the difference between flirting with the idea of love and simply embracing it. We saw both sides, Benjamin experienced both; he preferred the euphoria of true romance. But after all, uncertainty is still in his eyes and a sole question still in his mind: "What should I do next?"

As the film ends, I can't help but give "The Graduate" a small applause and slightly scold myself as to why I haven't seen it sooner. A true classic, and what "Fargo" is to Roger Ebert (as a definitive reason as to why he loves movies), "The Graduate" is to me. It really is.

FINAL RATING

Tatlong Taong Walang Diyos (Mario O'Hara)

Chance.

Not so long ago, I finally came into a certain understanding that Filipino films will always be inclined into 'melodrama': The sappy music, intense displays of physical animation to accompany the drama, and of course, tears. It's a nauseating phenomenon in the Philippine movie industry when absolutely done the wrong way. But thank god there are films such as "Tatlong Taong Walang Diyos" to serve as timeless testaments to the magic that 'melodrama' can create and manifest within one's senses and emotions, from simple to complex, when done perfectly.

The film started with Hitler's rhyming, mouth-foaming speech regarding the strength of his socialist party. Being set in the times of the Second World War, the film unveils like how a history text book would for a student. But after this run-of-the-mill introduction, its story unfolds like how a poet affects to even the farthest of souls.

In plain sight, the film may look like your typical 'love caught by the tides of war' and a period vehicle for its star and producer, Nora Aunor. Granted, the love story arc is already established prior to the complications of the narrative, but I am deeply surprised and pleasured how complex the film really was.

At various points, "Tatlong Taong Walang Diyos" can be viewed as a metaphor for the ravages and ruins that the Philippines (The idea of the motherland may allude to Nora Aunor's (subtly powerful, as always) character Rosario and her initial abuse in the hands of Masugi, played by Christopher De Leon) have experienced during the Japanese Occupation and, on the opposite end, the potentially unconscious development of the Philippines' slow embrace towards the Japanese ways (how Rosario learned to love Masugi after she has been raped).

And pushing it further, Bembol Roco's character Crispin is the physical manifestation of the concept of a true 'Filipino' who, despite of the predicament that his real love (Rosario) has gone through, remained completely absent and consumed by fighting an abstract notion towards an illusory, national deliverance. The film may also relate to a slightly satiric approach to some Filipinos' extreme devotion to the perpetually clean-cut view of America and their intervention.

Mario O'Hara, a primed director and a memorable actor by his own right due to his performance in Brocka's "Tinimbang ka ngunit kulang", created this film with a certain honesty and a hint for something new. He dared not to mold a war film with old clays of sentiments and melancholy. He instead established a fresh foundation to the film, making the complexity of love and the ambiguity of Catholicism its true center and added up the hypnotically repugnant, yet may have been quite accurate, emotional weather of the time.

"Tatlong Taong Walang Diyos" never settled for a one-sided rally behind patriotism's usual sweet myth-making; director Mario O'Hara treated the Filipino people (that includes the Guerrillas) not as hopeful revolutionaries that can almost dwell on the pages of a legend, but as a confused crowd dipped into a mudflow of fever and hysteria: looking for even the slightest mistakes, violently ditching even the slightest idea of a socially unsanctioned love, and pointing fingers to even the slightest of flaws.

Nora's Rosario, on the other hand, served as their martyr; their miniature 'Joan of Arc' to make up for the futility of their distorted search for something meaningful. A senseless pervasion of mobocracy masquerading as a push for Philippines' well-being and disguised as a search for national identity.

The film covered so much, yet it came out as a simple tragedy of love. Deep analysis or surface viewing, either way, "Tatlong Taong Walang Diyos" is still a tremendous work of Philippine cinema. Where is film preservation when it's needed most? This film begs for a better print. Too bad it's too late.

FINAL RATING

The Age of Innocence (Martin Scorsese)

two people consuming the fruits of forbidden love.

Film Review Archive (date seen: January 4, 2011)

Once again, Scorsese leads us through places almost bound with secrecy, wrapped in customs, littered with hidden scandals, and the people that inhabits them whose mastery of conversations, socialization, and even dining were too great in its artificiality that they almost looked like performance acts. No, it's not the Italian-flavored crimeland we're talking about here, but 19th century New York where high society dwells on everything material and excessive, where moral righteousness is not a code to follow but more of a trend to fashionably don.

At first, I had doubts if Scorsese's known visual compositions really belong to such a type of film set in an era of restraint and conservatism. But with his combination of attention to details and an inclined exploratory viewpoint of the social class' amoral gutters amidst its elegant vanity, he used a distinct style (at times, darkening everything on screen but a smooth-edged circle to contain the main subjects, or even letting a character face the camera and speak of a potentially saddening letter with great joy and eagerness) to really fit the film's grasp of irony. Those who accuse Daniel Day-Lewis as a scenery-chewing hack will be utterly disproved in his performance in this film, using the fine attitudes of an obligatory gentleman to depict the numbered movements of an 1870's society male while maintaining his attachment with controlled subtlety. With this type of acting approach, Day-Lewis has able to internalize and show on screen his character Newland Archer's episodic implosions about his clamor for freeing himself from the bondage of his class' norms about love.

Though "The Age of Innocence" had its moments of beautifying high society's excessive lifestyles, Martin Scorsese and Edith Wharton's novel (from which the film was adapted) have successfully portrayed an escapist love surrounded by eyes of the self-righteous ones, the impossibility of its fruition, and the beauty of its acceptance. Living the life of grandeur may be like lying in a bed of roses, but the occasional thorns sure do hurt.

FINAL RATING

Love Actually (Richard Curtis)

Rowan Atkinson: a British comedian, an angel of love.

Film Review Archive (date seen: January 3, 2011)

Aptly taglined as 'The Ultimate Romantic Comedy', director Richard Curtis (of the "Blackadder" and "Mr. Bean" fame) and his exceptional ensemble cast certainly have enough to boast for and much love on their hands to show for it. I'm not a fan of rom-com films mainly because of its high percentage of probability to recycle ideas and be formulaic, but "Love Actually" really has a different mindset to accompany the romantic mosaic in the film: And that is its genuine optimism about love and its inseparable grasp of the human heart.

I can understand, in all of "Love Actually's" sugar-coated, almost flirting with fantasy tale of connected romances, why a hefty amount of critics disliked the film. But with this type of offering, packed with great writing, humor as sidings, and a cast of genuinely talented actors (take note, this is not a love team-carried, 'cute fest' rom-com film, dear reader), there's little to no chance that anyone would really have the enormous pride to hypocritically reject such.

"Love Actually" is, well, a celebration of love, the many hands of fate that distributes it to each and every one of us, and the emotional epiphany when it finally arrives. Some may be fruitful, some may bear otherwise, but after all, equal ration 'love' still was. In the end, the will to decisively act to follow it through is completely ours. But of course, the uncommon spirit of an incoming Christmas certainly helps. Well, and a mysterious Rowan Atkinson cameo may also do wonders.

FINAL RATING

Before Sunset (Richard Linklater)

Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy reprise their roles in Richard Linklater's more contemplative follow-up to "Before Sunrise".

Film Review Archive (date seen: December 7, 2010)

Now here's a sequel made not because it has a new or unique story (I believe within the ratio of chances that the love story in the two films can really happen) to tell, but because of the natural ease of conversational exchanges and spontaneous sarcasms between Jesse and Celine, two characters that many people have loved so much that it has inspired its makers (including stars Hawke and Delpy) to urgently tell what happened and what could have been in a happenstance meeting 9 years later in Paris.

By the summary of the film, it's already given that their promise to meet on a train station in Vienna was particularly broken by either one of them. So as if fate has brought them to the city of love itself, "Before Sunset" is the center stage for their reunion, to measure up how they've changed, physically, emotionally, and even politically, while at the same short amount of time, contemplate all the 'what if' scenarios that could have been brought into their lives if the promise they've kept to see each other again was fulfilled.
If "Before Sunrise" is a definitive love story film for young lovers, "Before Sunset" is a matured observation of love, marriage, and no, not mid-life crisis (as what could have been expected in a sequel conceived 9 years after the first part), but about the contemplative spirit of a fateful night in the streets of Vienna that has might as well half-filled all the passions and perfect dreams Jesse and Celine ever had, and how another moment, even in a tranquil afternoon in Paris, is sorely necessary not just to pick up the pieces, but to piece out the fragments that surely could have been a lasting love. It may not be enough to fill up the other half, but it is, after all those years of neutral existence, a reassurance that they still can.

FINAL RATING

Before Sunrise (Richard Linklater)

The Vienna connection.

Film Review Archive (date seen: December 2, 2010)

"Before Sunrise" is a romance film pretty much unaffected by spoilers of any type, not because of any complexities that are involved in the story, but because the start and end of this unexpected love found in the most compatible of places are already given; what mattered most and further emphasized was what happened in between.

Richard Linklater and Kim Krizan has inserted impressively ingenious dialogues, ranging from brief philosophical views about life and death to trivial matters such as fortune-telling and even the cliches of male fantasies. But through this, director Linklater has able to weave both a gentle poem about the beauty of love and a valid question of "how long does it really take to consider 'love' as a transcendental one?" Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy are both natural and genuinely affecting as Jesse and Celine, two people who had the greatest chance encounter of their lives but with not enough time in their hands.

"Before Sunrise" may not be the most aesthetically-excellent romantic film, but it surely is one of the most satisfying expositions of a love threatened to be hindered by the absolute reality of time, but exceeded it with both people's urgency to feel and connect, brought about by the unconscious push of a ticking clock, a scheduled flight back to America, and a train ride to Paris. "One night may suffice." That may be Richard Linklater's answer to the aforementioned question above.

FINAL RATING