Incendies (Denis Villeneuve)

A family on fire.

"Multiply those odds by countless generations, against the odds of your ancestors being alive; meeting; siring this precise son; that exact daughter... Until your mother loves a man she has every reason to hate, and of that union, of the thousand million children competing for fertilization, it was you, only you, that emerged. To distill so specific a form from that chaos of improbability, like turning air to gold... that is the crowning unlikelihood. The thermodynamic miracle."

 – Dr Manhattan (Watchmen, 1987)

Starting off like a typical 'family' film as we get to see the twin siblings Simon and Jeanne Marwan (Maxim Gaudette and Mélissa Désormeaux-Poulin) trying to make sense of their late mother's strange last will, the film makes it apparent that the film's conflict will strongly be of familial nature, and its plot revelations be more implosive in tone. "Incendies", which is basically Sophocles' "Oedipus Rex" minus all the prophecies and is based on a play written by Wajdi Mouawad, is Denis Villeneuve's quiet yet intense study of a nuclear family that harbors a secret so painful that it gives the film a distinct feel of a horror story. The film may not be necessarily entertaining or generally appealing for audience to thoroughly enjoy, but it is the kind which leaves a bitter taste in the mouth, and then makes you wonder if such bitterness is really that of a bad thing.

"Incendies", as what I've repeatedly said about emotionally unsettling films, is a difficult one to sit through, but will nonetheless make you sit back in awe at Villeneuve's deftness as a peculiar storyteller. Instead of letting the film progress just like the objective mystery piece that it should be, Villeneuve is quick on shifting the film's point of view, with it jumping from the twins', their long-lost brother's, to their mother Nawal Marwan's, and then back again. There's also this ambivalent placing of blood-red title cards in the beginning of each of the film's chapter, which does nothing but enforce the film's narrative ambiguity even more. The heavy reliance on political and religious overtones, coupled with the positioning of Nawal Marwan as a reckless activist, also cleverly distracts from the film's shocking twist in the end, which, as what I've mentioned, hits close to freaking home as any bloody secret can get.

The performances in the film, which are all quiet, naturalistic, and nothing particularly scene-stealing or remarkable, take the backseat in favor of the film's slew of heavy and perception-altering revelations, which is, admittedly, "Incendies'" true selling point. Lubna Azabal's turn as Nawal Marwan, however, is, simply put, nothing short of stunning, which is only fitting because her character is, without a doubt, the film's heart and soul.   

Again, just like any other film with such a quiet, economical pacing, it may really take a while before "Incendies" can grab your attention. But once it does, rest assured, it is as tight as any strongman's grip, and the bad news is that it will keep on tightening the more you think about the film. It's a 'Holy shit, what the hell have I just seen?!' type of cinematic experience, and I tell you, its effect simply just won't go away. And even though its impact ranges from the religious to the utterly ideological, what "Incendies" is all about is how it has miraculously managed to make a film about an otherwise obscure conflict in an equally unknown Middle Eastern country and make it very personal and relatable regardless of racial boundaries. The film is a powerful examination of faith marred by senseless conflicts, and also of fate and how it oftentimes fucks everything up to the point that life ultimately mirrors the cruel formula of a Greek tragedy. But as what this film suggests, out of such an anomalous fate, out of a myriad of almost literary misfortunes arises a certain kind of miracle that "Incendies", despite it being a thematically unsettling film, was able to hold on to the same way Dr. Manhattan, a God-like entity, did when he mused about how the conception of human life is the reason why the world is worth saving.

Villeneuve may have directed the most disturbing family film there ever will be, but in the middle of "Incendies'" abundant cynicism, he also wants to make it known that there's still something pure and outwardly lovely in the sordid little truth that the Marwans are trying to unearth. Suffice it to say, there's still an element of bittersweet pain in finding out a certain secret no matter how pedestrian or persistently life-changing it is. This then reminds me of the ending to Roman Polanski's "Chinatown". Jake Gittes (played by Jack Nicholson), after witnessing with his own eyes how a decades-old secret savagely unravel, his friend whispered to him, distraught and all, "Forget it, Jake. It's Chinatown." Now, if only someone can gently whisper the same to any of the Marwans, then coping would be easier. Or would it? Though the film's story consistently progresses with closure in mind, the film is still, by and large, a haunted soul. The secret was known, but then what? Villeneuve seems content in ending his film with a depleted sigh of relief and chests heavy with sadness and guilt. And as how Dr. Manhattan would put it, "It ends with you in tears."

FINAL RATING

Perfume: The Story of a Murderer (Tom Tykwer)

Scent.

For some reasons unclear to me, "Perfume: The Story of a Murderer" has never really piqued my interest before. Despite the fact that the visually innovative Tom Tykwer is at the directorial helm, my inclination to watch this film is quite lukewarm at best mainly because, well, I just don't know why. But seeing the film in all its glorious bizarreness and vivid peculiarity after all of those apathetic years, "Perfume: The Story of a Murderer" has turned out to be quite an exhilarating cinematic surprise.

     

Later, I then found out that the novel on which the film was adapted from is a personal favorite of Kurt Cobain (because he was able to identify with Jean-Baptiste Grenouille's outsider mentality), which naturally leaves me even more intrigued to read it. After all, nothing beats a dose of literary alienation every now and then.

     

Starring Ben Whishaw as Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, a man born in a most conducive environment of rotten fishes and market filth who has since mastered an almost superhuman attention to scent, the film starts out in a fashion reminiscent of Danny DeVito's underrated film adaptation of Roald Dahl's "Matilda." Although on the opposite sides of the spectrum in terms of tone, atmosphere and character development, both films have captured the elusive beauty of introductory storytelling with a sort of effortless vibe, enhanced, of course, by two great narrative voices: the former being Danny DeVito's very own, and the latter being John Hurt's monastic yet commanding tenor. But before I get carried away by my comparison of a grotesquely obsessive tale to a heart-warming children's story, I'll just stop right there.

     

At the time (2006) considered as the most expensive German film ever made, that fact is very evident in how the film was visually conveyed. By maintaining the architectural grace of 18^th century Paris yet at the same time ornamenting it with the mud, dirt and decay caused by sheer overpopulation, Tom Tykwer, known for his audacious visuals (Remember "Run Lola Run?"), has convincingly turned Paris into the sort of city Charles Dickens' characters could have easily lived their respective plights on. But for Grenouille the aspiring master perfumer and scent savant, played with starry-eyed perfection by Ben Whishaw, Paris, abundantly stinky and all, is nothing but olfactory practice.

     

Despite his less than trivial birth, Grenouille knows that he is bound for something more transcendentally important, so with his grandiose ambitions intact, he then sets his eyes, err, nose, for something infinitely bigger than just merely creating a pedestrian perfume: and that is to create a scent made entirely out of natural, human fragrance. And how can he do that, you may ask? Well, watching this great film on your own to find out definitely won't hurt.

     

With great veteran talents (Dustin Hoffman and Alan Rickman) leading the way, "Perfume: The Story of a Murderer" turns out to be more than just a visual feast. Although Hoffman and Rickman's performances may slightly be criticized mainly because of the fact that they haven't tried hard enough to completely disappear into their roles (Hoffman quite labors on the Italian accent; Alan Rickman is just too Judge Turpin), the story's twisted yet serene soul more than makes up for the convincing yet fleeting performances, especially when Grenouille, the emotionally lost perfumer himself, slowly tunes up the band for the shocking final crescendo that will surely part the viewers like the Red Sea.

     

Suffice it to say, "Perfume: The Story of a Murderer" has never quite reached the relative popularity of the Patrick Süskind novel, but still, for someone who believes that film adaptations should be judged separately from their source materials, I think that this one should have received an infinitely more favorable reception. But for the sake of discourse, aren't you curious of what Kubrick may have done with this one? Or what Polanski may have added to it? Or what Scorsese may have changed? But then again, despite of those mammoth cinematic names that were, at one point or another, either attached or has shown interest to direct this film (add Ridley Scott and Milos Forman there), I still believe that this Tykwer version is enough. Like Grenouille's 'human' perfume itself, "Perfume: The Story of a Murderer" is a hypnotic creation that exudes a kind of flawed beauty so haunting and unique that you have no other choice but be willingly spellbound by it.

FINAL RATING

L'Avventura (Michelangelo Antonioni)

Claudia.

Before anything else, let me first, for the record, state that I love Michelangelo Antonioni's films. Be it the psychological enigma that is "Blowup", the mysterious identity thriller that is "The Passenger" or the marital woe-laden "La Notte", he has always been a hit to me. Without exaggeration, I consider him as one of the greatest auteurs of all time, and I'm not even halfway through his sterling filmography yet. So with that in mind, I went on to watch "L'Avventura", the first film in his informal 'Incommunicability Trilogy', with an expectation of being blown away once more. But alas, it has not happened. 

     

Hailed as a cinematic work that has revolutionized the way films are structured and executed, "L'Avventura" is quite a disappointment for me as far as Michelangelo Antonioni and his films are concerned. But then again, maybe that is the film's point. After all, the film is a prolonged observation of emotional detachment, which is the same thing that I have felt while watching the film. 

     

Though I understand where the characters are coming from, the film has still alienated me to high heavens. If perhaps that is Mr. Antonioni's ultimate intent, then I am impressed once more. If it's not, then maybe I deserve to be sentenced to an eternal cinematic damnation for not liking a film that everyone seems to love. But kidding aside, I think that "L'Avventura" is really that kind of film that is quite difficult to like but is easy to admire.

     

Antonioni, being the existentialist filmmaker that he is, is more concerned not with the film's literal mystery (the sudden disappearance of one of the characters) but with the emotional enigma that pervades throughout. The primary premise is simple enough: After the shocking disappearance of her friend Anna (Lea Massari) during a yacht trip, Claudia (Monica Vitt) suddenly finds herself trying to resist the urge of falling in love with Sandro (Gabriele Ferzetti), the man that's no less than Anna's current lover. But still, fell she did. 

     

All throughout the film, Michelangelo Antonioni finely questions the validity of the romance between Claudia and Sandro and invites us to witness the subtle awkwardness of it all. We see them kiss and hug in hotel rooms and on discreet street corners. We can sense that, somehow, they look fine together, but what about Anna? 

     

As the film progresses, Antonioni lays down the question of whether or not we should take Anna's disappearance literally or symbolically. Whatever our personal answers regarding it may be, it is quite evident that Antonioni has used Anna's sudden absence as a device to further explore the emotional uncertainties of the kind of love that mushrooms from such situation rather than as a shallow means to compel and excite. 

     

Despite of its slow pacing, bloated running time and alienating characters, "L'Avventura" is still a seminal film that is worthy of great veneration mainly because of how it has changed the way how cinema can communicate such things as love, existence and the feeling of being lost. I may not have liked the film that much compared to Michelangelo Antonioni's other works, but I sure do respect it for what it has contributed to the artistic progression of cinema as a whole. By creating this film, Antonioni has proven that cinema has no limitations, that it is not necessarily all about the plot and the payoff, and that cinema can exist outside the four corners of a tightly-structured narrative; the shackles are no more.

FINAL RATING

 

The Cabin in the Woods (Drew Goddard)

The cabin.

Now this is a big surprise. "The Cabin in the Woods", a film with zero hype, has unexpectedly turned out to be the best horror film that I have seen in a relatively long time because of the fact that it was not afraid to satirically articulate the numerous shortcomings of the horror genre while still being damn disturbing at the same time. I was highly impressed. 

The film, directed by Drew Goddard and written by Joss Whedon, is a true breath of fresh air in terms of vision and is also a tongue-in-cheek descent into the inner workings of the horror genre. Though some may be frustrated by the film's unconventionality, utter preposterousness and satirical intent, "The Cabin in the Woods", no matter where you may look at it, is pure horror entertainment. It's a half-serious genre pastiche directed towards the cliché-infested, 'more miss than hit' genre, but no one can deny the fact that it's also a glimmering tribute to its bloody wonders. Right now, I think it's fair for me to say that my faith in modern horror films, as of the moment, is once again restored. 

     

On top the film's cast of relative unknowns is actor Chris Hemsworth of "Thor" fame, whose character in the film, as far as horror movies are concerned, is that of the quintessential sports jock. To complete the line-up, we also have the dumb blonde (Anna Hutchison), the well-intentioned scholar (Jesse Williams), the comic stoner (Fran Kranz) and finally, the virginal heroine (Kristen Connolly). There's also Richard Jenkins and Bradley Whitford, whose roles as the fun-loving and highly desensitized technicians of the so-called 'system' are particularly memorable and also humorously potent. 

     

By making these five (the jock, the blonde, the scholar, the stoner and the virgin) act in a way that's irritatingly and irrationally familiar (their questionable preference to have sex deep within the woods in the middle of the night, for example), Goddard and Whedon were able to poke fun at the stereotypical character blueprints of a usual horror film (specifically the 'slashers') and were also able to express their take as to why it's always the jocks and the blondes et al. who are always on the receiving end of anything sharp and fatal. You'll definitely be surprised.  

     

Disguised as something disgustingly clichéd almost until the halfway mark, "The Cabin in the Woods" then suddenly lambasts you (and unapologetic at that) with the true nature of its narrative and, in the end, the beauty of its entertainingly theoretical take on why horror films seem to have a recurring blueprint. This is imagination at the height of bizarre audacity and vision at its wildest. You just have to see it for yourself. 

     

But aside from that, "The Cabin in the Woods", with its ambition and exaggerated vision, is also a testament of ingenious writing. Initially, I thought that nothing would ever come out of the horror genre ever again that hasn't been done before. I also thought that however original a horror film may strive to be, it will still come back to its formulaic roots one way or another. Well, I guess I was wrong. 

     

Writer Joss Whedon, although he has already proven his worth by directing that little film called "The Avengers", has shown here in "The Cabin in the Woods" that his capabilities both as a writer and director extend far beyond the trappings of costumed superheroes and whatnot. By way of this film, he has solidified himself as a pure creative force comparable to the earlier, more mischievous days of both Sam Raimi and Peter Jackson.   

     

"The Cabin in the Woods", a true sleeper hit, is one of the best and most entertaining horror films to come out for quite a while. It's a self-conscious horror masterwork in the same fashion as that of Wes Craven's "New Nightmare" and as gut-churning as Vincenzo Natali's "Cube". Who would have thought that a film mainly about a cabin, some Latin spells and a bunch of disposable lads and lasses would be able to encompass the horror genre's whole thematic plateau in such a way that's both thought-provoking and fun? The creators of "The Cabin in the Woods" have, and the result is an ingenious horror film that's surely destined to be a cult classic.

FINAL RATING

Red Dragon (Brett Ratner)

Dr. Lecter.

For some utterly unknown reasons, I have never really been that eager to watch this film despite of the fact that it has Hannibal Lecter in it (and we all know how magnetic the murderous bastard is). With Ridley Scott's "Hannibal" merely teetering between mediocrity and good in terms of quality, seeing "Red Dragon" has never been a recurring priority for yours truly mainly because I have locked myself up with the fact that "The Silence of the Lambs" is more than enough for me. But now that I have seen "Red Dragon" in its entirety (I've tried to see it once before; the damn DVD copy stopped halfway through the beginning), I can now safely say that I was very, very wrong by not seeing it any sooner. 

     

Not only has it recaptured the psychological complexity of "The Silence of the Lambs", it has also channeled the darkly rhythmic feel of a well-made '80s thriller. Oh, and did I mention that "Red Dragon" has a heavyweight cast? With prime actors Edward Norton, Ralph Fiennes and Anthony Hopkins leading the way (with Harvey Keitel, Philip Seymour Hoffman and Emily Watson on the side), do you really expect this film to fail? Well, if the script is weak, it surely will, but screenwriter Ted Tally has adapted Thomas Harris' novel of the same name with narrative patience and an otherworldly sense of dread (aided by Danny Elfman's escalating musical score) that it has made the film both frightening and mesmerizing. But surprisingly, the spine-tingling sensation that I have felt while watching the film is not because of Hopkins' Hannibal Lecter but because of Ralph Fiennes' part-sympathetic, part-monstrous turn as the 'Tooth Fairy' killer. 

     

It has always been argued that although Hannibal Lecter is the spine of the franchise and is, bar none, one of the most nightmarishly intimidating characters in film history, the plot-demanded 'other' killers are the ones that often steal the show. And by 'other' killers, I mean "The Silence of the Lambs'" Buffalo Bill (played by Ted Levine), "Hannibal's" Mason Verger (played by Gary Oldman) and now, "Red Dragon's" 'Tooth Fairy' killer. 

     

Of course, this perspective about the whole franchise has always been 'relative' and 'arguable', but in this film, I personally think that Ralph Fiennes has truly outshined Mr. Hopkins partly due to the fact that, at this point, we just know Hannibal Lecter too well. Though he is unpredictable, the danger that Lecter imposes to the audience is now, for a lack of a better term, all too cinematic. On the other hand, the way Fiennes' 'Tooth Fairy' unfolds and takes command of the screen is way more psychologically unsettling because it is insanity at its rawest and lowest form; personally, I find him to be more fascinating and disturbing because he can be as real as the next fellow. The likes of John Wayne Gacy can attest to that. 

     

I also liked the fact that 'Tooth Fairy's' M.O. is kept as ambiguous as possible and was made even more bizarre by some far-fetched mythological hints (the killer's symbolic association with a 'dragon' based on a William Blake painting) that further his preposterous delusions. This madness is, of course, carried out very well by Fiennes through his limiting facial expressions that suggest internal suppression. Here is a killer who knows the consequences of his murderous deeds yet cannot stop from doing them because of some misplaced sense of grandiosity (with him thinking that he is a 'dragon' incarnate) and superficial self-importance. 

     

On the other side of the spectrum, there's Will Graham (Edward Norton), a retired FBI agent who has been called back to duty (Aren't they all?) because of the 'Tooth Fairy' killings. He is also the one responsible for capturing Hannibal Lecter years before. A gifted forensic man, Graham sees projections not commonly seen by the ordinary eye yet repels the idea that he is special, which makes him the perfect counterpoint to Lecter's intellectual vanity. Unlike the complex relationship between Lecter and Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster in "The Silence of the Lambs", Julianne Moore in "Hannibal") in the previous films, Will Graham's affiliation with Dr. Lecter is more simplified to the point that their relationship seems to be dictated by the plot and not by their characters' respective personalities. 

     

All in all, I have to commend Brett Ratner in how he has surprised yours truly (and maybe everyone else) by successfully pulling off a complex psychological thriller. From a man whose most famous films include the "Rush Hour" trilogy and "X-Men: The Last Stand", Ratner has achieved to surprise us with the relative intricacy of "Red Dragon". Although it is not necessarily a great film, it is a highly enjoyable and intriguing one. And realizing that this is a prequel to one of the only three films that have won every major Academy Award back in 1991, this was a tall task that was took on with enough focus, style and unflinching psychological mystery. Let's have some Chianti, shall we?

FINAL RATING

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (Tomas Alfredson)

Smile, Smiley.

In "Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy", the reality of Cold War espionage has never been as coldly depicted. It's a film that's really intended to be emotionally distant from its viewers so that it can properly highlight the alienating undertakings that Cold War master spies have undergone themselves for a great 30 years or so for the sake of information supremacy. 

One of them is George Smiley, played by the ever-chameleon-like Gary Oldman in one of his most uncanny performances in a non-villain role, a master spy who is forced out of retirement to seek out a mole buried deep within the Circus' (the jargon for British Intelligence) ranks. What follows is a tensely complex story of half-baked allegiances, harsh inner rank politics and, looking at the bigger historical picture, the futility of it all. 

Oldman, a great actor known for his nerve-racking energy on-screen, is successfully sublime and grounded with his portrayal of Smiley. Despite of the lack of human warmth in the whole film, Oldman is able enough to capture the essence of Smiley's anxious humanity without being either too brooding or self-reflective. Here is a character and a man who is motivated not by his family and forced to act not by the pressures of those around him in the service but by a seemingly obsolete code of samurai-like proportions. He is compelled to do so because he believes there's still an enormously unfinished chess puzzle of fates between him and Karla, the mysterious Soviet spymaster that is both deceptive and brutal. In a tense world whose morality and loyalty is turning ever grayer by the minute, Smiley still believes in a black and white.

But then, finding the mole is a very tricky mission. He needs to go through a lot of red tape to arrive at something. Among the ones that Smiley must monitor (as potential leakers) are Alleline (the underrated Toby Jones), the Circus chief, and Haydon (Colin Firth), a superior intelligence officer that's having an illicit affair with Smiley's wife. 

With such great actors effortlessly horsing around with their respective characters, one can easily see the success of this film as a great acting ensemble. Add up talented young actors Mark Strong and Tom Hardy in the mix as the Circus' globe-trotting pawns and we've got ourselves a hell of a film. Oh, and did I mention that John Hurt is also in it? 

But then again, with the film capitalizing on natural overall silence as if to truly simulate the quiet intrigue of genuine espionage, "Tinker Tailor Solider Spy" gets its sustaining power not just from the actors but from the very material itself. Adapted from John le Carre's novel, which I'm more than tempted in buying from our local bookstore so that I can read it first before watching this (but never did), the film has captured the nervous essence, with its pale-colored cinematography that heightens the disillusioning effect, of the reality of spying without much glitter but full of quiet power.

To be exact, I have never witnessed such an intriguing 'backstage pass' of a film ever since, well, maybe Scorsese's "Casino". "Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy" is a rare film that does not indulge on cheap thrills just so it can maintain some sort of energetic flair in its narrative. Instead, it is a film with a great fly on the wall perspective that is as compelling and as frightening as the characters that populate it and the locations that make it whole. Director Tomas Alfredson is very commendable for not going overboard on some of the characters or faltering in the story department. 

Now, if some may want to argue that "Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy" is as cold as a walk-in freezer and that it will make you want to leave the second you enter it, then the film has succeeded. Its goal is not to sensationalize or commodify the reality of Cold War espionage for the general public but to render it as a cinematic mood, and it's your choice to either accept it as it is or not. But judging from its box-office returns, it's quite obvious that the film has compelled rather than disgust, and for that, the film is utterly effective and, in some ways, vindicated. 

"Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy" may just be fiction, but in the end, it's a story worthy of being told. It makes me want to grab that gargantuan "Smiley Versus Karla" compilation in our nearby bookstore, and fast. James Bond's great antithesis has finally arrived.

FINAL RATING

The Skin I Live In (Pedro Almodovar)

He's got her under the skin.

Pedro Almodovar, known for films that contain unique mixtures of human comedy, dramatic absurdity and gender commentaries, is unusually darker and bizarre in "The Skin I Live In", a film that greatly offers a very, very morbid take on grief and infatuation but is also able to preserve some of Almodovar's trademark humor, albeit a more underlying one. 

As if partly inspired by Victor Frankenstein's travails or even Scottie Ferguson's (of Hitchcock's "Vertigo") obsessive fixation towards a mysterious blonde woman, Almodovar's cinematic touches in this film are infinitely more brooding and, in some ways, also more pitiful in tone as it brings our protagonist, a brilliant plastic surgeon named Robert Ledgard (Antonio Banderas), into a fate already sealed by certain doom and imminent futility as he obsesses himself in endless experimentation with a mysterious woman named Vera (Elena Anaya).

I know, I know, there has been an almost automatic requirement for any film review to contain at least two to three sentence plot synopsis so that readers can familiarize themselves to whatever film the reviewer is tackling, ranting or plainly rambling about. But with me excluding one in this review, do think of this as a favor. See the film for yourself and be enlightened of what may be one of the most unique cinematic experiences that you may ever lay your senses upon for quite a while. Now, with that being said, let's go back to the review proper (or something like that). 

Obsession and tragedy, these has been one of the more recurring themes on film as far as the 'mad scientist' sub-genre is concerned ever since Victor Frankenstein found out (maybe 'discovered' is the posh word) that electricity can resurrect the dead. It has been nothing but a tired cinematic vehicle, but just like David Cronenberg's "The Fly", "The Skin I Live In" offers a truly thought-provoking story and some unforgettable characters that genuinely remind us of the potential narrative and emotional power that the said sub-genre really has. 

But with that being said, it does not mean that "The Skin I Live In" merely exists within the 'mad scientist' boundaries and not a step more. Instead, the film's quality is truly multifaceted that viewers may attend the theater runs with different expectations but can still come out individually satisfied in different ways. 

To watch the film expecting a tense and suspenseful film, one would not be disappointed. If one comes into the film expecting a humane film about flawed love and emotional tragedy, you won't be let down either. Perhaps this is how Pedro Almodovar has intended the film to be seen: as a deeply human film about the inhumanity of cognitive and emotional irrationality that balances profundity and some suspenseful storytelling. But still, I believe those are not the main reasons that has made this film a truly special one. For me, it was Almodovar and his trademark directorial self that has. 

A filmmaker known for his sensitive and tender approach to gender-bending narratives, Almodovar has made the film sexually unnerving and shocking in the surface for the purpose of capturing enough attention so that his real message concealed within the film's sensational imagery can be absorbed more thoroughly, which now reminds me of Chuck Palahniuk's novel "Rant". 

In there, the main character's mother used to put thumbtacks or other mouth-crimsoning objects into foods that she cooks. In that way, she sternly believes, their great taste would appeal to the palate more competently because you've dissected through the meal to get there. In layman's terms, she believes that ecstasy comes after difficulty, which is what "The Skin I Live In" is all about. Beneath the detestably explicit visual content, there lies Almodovar's ever-compelling gender commentary, waiting to enlighten its audience with what it has to say. 

A perfect companion piece or, should I say, a more twisted cinematic brother to "All About my Mother", "The Skin I Live In" raises questions that provoke not just the mind and the heart but also the very perception of one's own gender and where does it really reside: In the mind, in the genitals, or in the heart?

Whether it is in a person's physical appearance or somewhere deeper is not what's important. Even Almodovar is cautious enough not to preach his side all throughout the film. What counts is that he was able to raise this very idea seamlessly, with capable emotions and with proper humanity, within the film. As the plot twist (yes, there is one) reveals itself, it's not much about how it was unveiled, but how it affects us afterwards. Call it an emotional twist if you may. 

With a penetrating story, powerful performances, notably those of Antonio Banderas (overlooked) and Elena Anaya (terribly unnoticed), and a sobering outlook that questions the requisites of what really makes one man or woman, not mentioning the effectively dream-like visuals and musical scoring, Almodovar's "The Skin I Live In" is, bar no genres, one of the best films of 2011.

FINAL RATING

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (David Fincher)

Mikael and Lisbeth.

To be honest, my first reaction when I first heard about this Hollywood adaptation of the Stieg Larsson novel was that of utter irritation. Although I haven't read the novels, I just believe at the time that there's no absolute necessity in making a western adaptation of a book that has already been masterfully made 3 years ago by a Swedish production. 

I remember that I even shook my head when I saw both the first pictures of Rooney Mara as Lisbeth Salander and the very run-of-the-mill (by thriller film standards) trailer itself. Though I more than agree about the casting of Daniel Craig as Mikael Blomkvist, all in all, I just don't really care that much about this project from its pre-production stage up to the initial releases of promotional materials. 

"The Swedish film is enough for me, let them have this Americanized Dragon Tattoo." This has been my subliminal mantra before the film's very release. Now reminiscing my ridiculous demeanor towards this Hollywood adaptation as I write this review, fresh from watching the very film of which I have been quite disdainful of, I can only think of one phrase to sum up this pre-judgmental flaw of mine: "Oh, how wrong I was". 

But with that, I'm not saying that this adaptation, as great a stand-alone film it is, is head over heels better than the 2009 film. For a lack of a better word, both films, as far as overall quality is concerned, are 'stalemate', which applies even to the performances themselves. Although I would say that, with a gun pointed at my head, Noomi Rapace as Lisbeth Salander has the softer spot in my heart, I believe that Rooney Mara is as enigmatic in her interpretation, if not as charismatic. 

Daniel Craig, on the other hand, offers a more athletic-looking Mikael Blomkvist and is very into his character that his body language in the film is very effortless in scenes of unbearable suspense and surprising tenderness. Despite of his affiliation in that little movie franchise about an indestructible and highly sexual spy agent we call James Bond, Craig has been very, very believable in this film as a vulnerably mild-mannered journalist torn between the sheer passion of his investigative work and the preservation of his pristine name as a well-known one.

Stellan Skarsgard and Christopher Plummer, on the other hand, offer great presences in vital roles, while Robin Wright makes up for her limited screen time as Blomkvist's editor and lover quite well.

Though I must say that Michael Nyqvist (the Swedish Mikael Blomkvist) possesses the more world-weary physical demeanor that suits the character better, Daniel Craig is the more intense one compared to the former, which makes him more capable in shouldering the heavier scenes as the peril of the story piles up. 

Just like what I've mentioned in my review of the earlier Swedish adaptation, "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo", as intriguing as its little whodunit murder mystery is, is a thriller of characters, not of plot. David Fincher, the perfect man in Hollywood to handle this film (and the whole "Millennium" Trilogy) with great composure, balance and proper genre experience, did just what the expectations call for him to do. 

A man that I can rightfully regard as one of the contemporary greats of the thriller/suspense genre, with works like "Se7en", "Zodiac" and even "Fight Club", Fincher is a humane handler of characters even within the most unbearably disturbing (e.g. Cops tracking down gruesome killers, a founder of a gazillion dollars worth of social networking empire (just kidding)), or the most unusual (e.g. a man physically growing old backwards, an insomniac with a split personality), of situations. And in "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo", it really shows. 

In a worst case scenario, both Lisbeth Salander and Mikael Bomkvist can be turned into characters that may closely mirror members of Scooby-Doo's mystery machine, with the Vanger murder mystery serving as the shadowy plot to unmask and the 'it's him all along' twist serving as its burdening cliche. 

David Fincher, armed with a strong source material and a screenplay of considerable strength by Steven Zaillian, was able to give great priority to the characters without sacrificing any chances of turning the very story into a muddled maze merely solved by taking the wrong path just so a sort of closure, however half-baked, can be attained. 

Our protagonists, aside from being a two-team investigative force, are also two people wrapped in romantic ambiguity. Tackled by the Swedish adaptation with recurring hints of mutual affection, this film has even rendered their relationship close to perfection. It's not much their sexual scenes that have enforced this idea but the subtlest of moments. 

One poignant scene near the end of the film is when Blomkvist and Salander are lying considerably apart in bed as if two reflective lovers. In the scene, there has been no direct gestures of affection directed to each other save for Lisbeth's retelling of her scarred past and their lingering eye contact. 

The camera position perfect, that little space in the middle a spot-on balance-giver to the whole moment and the lighting totally exact. As they lie there subliminally contemplating what their relationship really means and as we absorb this key scene, the more that we already know what the answer is. And surely so that in another scene, as a sales clerk asks Lisbeth to whom will she give the jacket she had just bought, a gift obviously intended for Mikael, she answered that it's only for a 'friend'. 

Well, after all that she has gone through in the film, that which involves digging up absolute truths hidden layers deep within the snow-covered wilderness of the fictional town of Hedestad, we're quite aware that what she said to the sales clerk was a lie.

"What is hidden in snow, comes forth in the thaw" is the film's tagline that's also a Swedish proverb. It was indeed a half-century old tale of hate, murder, and misogyny that was unearthed, but so are shades of something that resembles love. One of the absolute sleeper hits of 2011.

FINAL RATING

Donnie Darko (Richard Kelly)

Donnie and the Manipulated Dead.

(Note: It's the Director's Cut that I have seen)

I think it's quite a mistake to brand "Donnie Darko" solely as a horror let alone a thriller film. Sure, the film's prevalent elements suggest that it is, but the film completely transcends both genres to which it's most commonly attributed to. On the other hand, I can't also say that the film is inclined to be a full-fledged drama film either, as its emotional content is often times overshadowed by the film's overwhelmingly menacing visual texture. A film written and directed by Richard Kelly, it's a film that I have fully expected to deliver and also to disturb, but its thematic complexity I haven't seen from a mile away. It's one of those films that you're going to watch for the first time out of curiosity but for the second strictly for cathartic clarity.

"Donnie Darko" is a deceptive film that, in initial impression, asks for nothing but your senses, making you think that it's merely one of those typical psychological thrillers, but then catches you off-guard with its beautiful convolutions and blasts your senses and your bedazzled mind away. It is a difficult watch, mind you folks, but not in the sense of how epic period films are. It's difficult in a way how reading a complex literary gem is: intellectually frustrating, even discouraging in the beginning, but is ultimately rewarding.

Description-wise, it's quite challenging to state what this film is all about in a one paragraph, five-sentence synopsis. But seeing it fit to combine various films to create an impression of what the film might look and feel like for braver souls who may want to give it a go, then this is how I see it. It's like a cross between Paul Thomas Anderson's "Magnolia" and Sofia Coppola's "The Virgin Suicides", with Brian De Palma's "Carrie" and even Stanley Kubrick's "The Shining" dually sneaking somewhere in a dark corner to provide the dream-like scares. That and some heavy-handed concepts of time travel.

Set in an 80's American suburbia, it's a bit of a stretch for the film to have etched some fantastical science deeply into itself. But with what I've said earlier, seeing that the film's true motive, at least from how I see it, is to give its characters dramatic pay-offs that are wholly unique (producing a sense of emotional catharsis out of the idea of portals and vortexes) in terms of how they were built up more than to depict an adolescent schizoid's mad internal world, it has nonetheless made the film's distinct mood shifts and tonal overlaps seem justified.

Jake Gyllenhaal, now a very fine actor of considerable fame, can be proud to call "Donnie Darko" as his great coming-out party, but the same can also be said regarding how Richard Kelly and company felt about Gyllenhaal's performance. Seething with deranged half-smiles and enigmatic behavioral patterns, it can easily be surmised that his Donnie Darko, a teenager with distorted visions of an impending oblivion and an evil-looking, six-foot tall rabbit, is one murderous freak. But on the other hand, with his acting talents winded to the fullest, Gyllenhaal was also able to merge those with childish tenderness and youthful naivete. With that, what came out is a character that may externally be judged upon as a doomed nightmare incarnate but is, after all, still entirely human.

One may regularly see people dressed as Donnie Darko on certain Halloween parties but I think he's not meant to be seen like that. "Donnie Darko" is a film that agreeably shows the dangers of psychological distortions but does not focus on its negative consequences but on how it affects lives in ways both unexpected and unseen, either good or bad. For some, with this kind of character treatment, it's an opportunity to yet again exploit give-away murders and bloody mayhem that may even breed dreadful sequels, as it is even quite fitting to see the title "Donnie Darko 2" dwell in movie marquees, complete with cheesy taglines that border on the desperate, but I'll just stop right there.

The film may or may not have provided all the answers regarding its hidden truths, but nevertheless, "Donnie Darko", with its conceptual complexity that deservedly inspires an intellectually stimulating post-viewing discussion or two, has awaken my ever-analytic sensibilities and my urgent need to understand. It is a film that achieves to simulate the sensation of reading an intriguing little book without trying very hard to do so. The film, for the magnitude of its ambition, can easily be branded as nothing but extreme cinematic pretense on Richard Kelly's part, but what it surely can't be accused of is cowardice of vision. A true modern classic, I believe.

FINAL RATING

The Serpent's Egg (Ingmar Bergman)

Liv Ullmann and David Carradine.

I am really not quite sure what really is "The Serpent's Egg" more weighing flaw: The whole alienating premise of the film or David Carradine's robotic performance. But basing my choice on my better judgment, I'm gearing more towards the latter.

Throughout this whole Ingmar Bergman-directed feature, aside from that final, pseudo-scientific revelation, the film really felt nothing but an aimless exercise in existential angst. With our disillusioned and hapless protagonist roaming the decaying streets of 1920's Berlin that is completely unaware of a governmental take-over being led by someone named Adolf Hitler, I think that the groundwork as to why he's slowly being consumed by despair was not properly established, resulting with us being left with a main character that is both underwhelming and emotionally plodding.

I just don't think that David Carradine, a cult actor known for roles such as "Caine" in "Kung Fu" (a bit unrelated but it's interesting to note that his character here is then named "Abel"; a sort of an unconscious biblical allusion) and later as "Bill" in Tarantino's "Kill Bill", fits these kinds of roles. He's just relatively too tough-looking to really make his character believable and empathetic. Even Liv Ullmann, an actress of great emotional depth, is a bit out of place playing a forgettable character.

But then, there's Sven Nykvist's calculated cinematography that constantly puts dread and bleakness even in the most joyous cabaret settings and at the same time, finds emptiness even in a crowd. This is particularly evident in the film's impressive and disturbingly ambiguous opening scene (that is, until the climactic final exposition) where Nykvist has shot a scene of people of different ages and walks of life descending a stair with deeply melancholic and exhausted faces in stark, grainy black and white.

At certain points, the film's flimsy hands seem to let go of my already fleeting attention, but there's no doubt about the uncannily fascinating impression that the climactic 'explanation' scene, pulled off rather brilliantly by Heinz Bennent who played an experimentation scientist who knows the core secret as to why people like Abel are slowly slipping off from sanity, has left me.

Yes, it does felt that that crucially revelatory sequence looked and sounded more like a scene that you may see from those 'mad scientist' movies rather than from 'art' films like this, but for it to prophetically foretell the Nazi revolution's supposed 'New Society' and at the same time highlighting and comparing its idealistic superiority to an old one founded by the goodness of man is truly unnerving and, in a way, very brave.

And considering that this is Ingmar Bergman's first and only Hollywood film, "The Serpent's Egg" should be remembered more as a testament of his unbounded audacity rather than as a disappointing speed bump in his otherwise flawless oeuvre.

FINAL RATING

Memento (Christopher Nolan)

Lenny and AMD.

After a 4th viewing, I finally came into terms on how great a psycho noir film "Memento" really is. Its lonely and constantly manipulated protagonist Leonard Shelby (played by the very underrated Guy Pearce), who is out there in the open searching for the man who raped and murdered his wife, isn't the only one that goes with the wave of the film's conflicted theme of revenge, deceit and selective thinking, but also us. 'This' character helps Leonard and 'that' character aids him, but can they really be trusted? "Memento" is indeed a film that gives its ultimate revelation in the end (which is also supposedly the chronological beginning of the film's colored sequences) just like any other mystery films, but what elevates the film above other movies of its kind is its unique view of its characters' reliability. Do they really speak of the truth?

The film plays like a crooked little jigsaw puzzle game and we, the audience and Leonard, are the clueless arrangers. Or is it like a tight-strung political conspiracy and we are the Woodwards and Bernsteins? "Memento" is truly successful in its layered exploration of the barren landscapes of a short term memory disorder-inflicted mind that visually simulates this through the film's reverse chronology. Christopher Nolan, who directed the film with both the limitless consciousness of a daring independent director and the depth of a human dramatist, fragments the film with subtle linkages that makes the film all the more urgent in its presentation. It's purely involving yet it never spoon-feeds plot devices and narrative necessities.

"Memento" merely plays like a confused sleuth who constantly goes around places until its confusion turns into a foggy clarity. As evident in its pattern alone, it stands as a film that was never really created to answer its own teetering questions. It probes into the deepest and treads the slightest yet the next thing you may know, it unravels on its own. Here is an exceptional mystery film that is more concerned with its protagonist's internal catharsis than the audience's plot satisfaction.

Here we do not have a hero but a mere vengeful soul. He wants answers but so do we. "Memento" hands out its clever twists and turns just like any other cinematic exercises in doing so but does not have the courtesy to give a parenthetical period. It's a fourth wall cerebral involvement and I'm more than happy to join in.

I hate films which open up a lot of doors yet don't have enough capacity to close them afterwards. "Memento" is different. It's meticulously written to the point that I have even imagined Christopher Nolan and his brother Jonathan drawing out diagrams for the film's numerous probabilities. We're very much aware of their skillful ability to answer the film's many questions with stoic narrative certainties, but they chose not to.

Like people with Anterograde Amnesia ourselves, Nolan is our few-worded storyteller that tells us an unforgettable tale of desire and the search for human closure but does not consider the necessity to leave us a pen so that we wouldn't forget. But as I like to call it, it's 'living in the moment and in it alone'.

Aside from a rich, 'blink and you'll miss it'-type of story, the film is also filled with splendid performances by former "Matrix" colleagues Carrie-Anne Moss and Joe Pantoliano. He (Pantoliano) embodies our common view of an unreliable handler of truth. Do the words he says comfort or distort?

"Memento" grabs us audience in its engrossing clutches but then leads us astray to each our own as the film ends. Some may find Teddy as a legitimate guide, some may consider Sammy Jankis nothing but a tarnished flashback, but again, to each our own. "Memento" surely polarizes in-depth views and what-if analyses among its viewers, but as a film that brilliantly shows the mystery of motives and the flaws of human relationships, it concentrates its audience into a common agreement that it is indeed one of the first great films of the new millennium.

First viewing, I thought it was confusing as hell. Second, I thought it was good but still confusing as all hell. Third, I thought it's not as confusing as how I initially thought it was but still wasn't as great as how everyone thinks it is. This is my fourth viewing and the rating speaks for itself. It's not 'confusion' that bothers me anymore but its characters' (particularly Teddy's) 'reliability' and the liability of Leonard's tattered memories; two doors worth finding the keys for.

FINAL RATING

Chinatown (Roman Polanski)

A nosy fellow.

A second viewing.

What make film noirs such a joy to watch are their own unique ways of weaving complex plot devices and interestingly enigmatic characters into one riveting narrative. And as a bonus, we also get to see compelling notions about morality and some hints of psychology. This is the generalized beauty of the said genre that we come to love. But then there's also a sole ingredient in it that is also the flavor base of the whole course: An exemplary anti-hero.

This is what Jack Nicholson's great performance as J.J. Gittes has particularly achieved here in "Chinatown" with his combination of passive body languages and a sense of motivational indifference. He is a seedy private investigator who helps (with cash on the side, of course) husbands and wives find out a truth or two about their marital problems by way of his sleuth abilities. He talks with clients briefly, calls for a standard contract, and done, he is in for the job. This is Gittes' job that even makes him a sort of a celebrity for some but an object of disgust for others. Director Roman Polanski (handling an original material written by Robert Towne, who has gone on to win an original screenplay Oscar for it), who directed the film with low-key mastery, has able to highlight Gittes' occupational detachment from those commonly accepted (banker, insurance agent, police) in society or at least, in its late 1930's L.A. setting.

Consider the scene in the barber shop where he engaged into a brief but loud argument with a banker about the validity and social soundness of his job. As far as we're concerned, we want Gittes to win the said argument and put the banker into a whole lot of verbal beating. But Polanski, who is acting like a personality censorship agent (a brief display of selective exposure), immediately cuts the scene and transitioned it into the next where we see Gittes calm and cool again. This can be Polanski's unnoticeable answer to a potential criticism of the film not having enough back story to fully expose Gittes' psychological connection with the eponymous place. In Gittes' world where everyone wants to find out skeletons in one's closet by way of a private investigator, he prefer his own to be in utter concealment.

And then there is "Chinatown's" handful of unforgettable characters, ranging from the most enigmatic (Evelyn Mulwray, one of the film's highlights, greatly played by Faye Dunaway) to the most villainous (Noah Cross, played by the great John Huston), and even to the most mundane of fellows that hates 'nosy fellas' (cameo by Polanski himself).

As the film progresses with its one-bit pace that may detract some viewers who prefer their mystery/thriller films shaken and quick to the fullest extent, we also come to immerse into the sepia-toned Los Angeles setting, back in the days where it is still labeled as a 'desert city'. The dried riverbeds that is repeatedly visited by a boy riding a horse, the orange groves that speaks of both serenity and danger, and the desolately oriental mood in the Mulwrays' home, which also houses a salt water garden pond that is ornamental as it is pivotal. These key places of mystery and intrigue has been established with an almost otherworldly musical score and an escalating sense of dread that makes the film a lot more arresting, despite of its degree of quietness, than any other 'louder' films of its kind.

Judging from Gittes' actions that transforms him from an amoral observant into an unconditional hero, it can be wholly concluded that J.J Gittes', no matter how far he may put his emotions away from the conflicting gist of what he is trying to investigate, unhealthy trait of increasingly treating every case he handles a tad too personal is his obvious downfall. But isn't that what essentially makes him human?

The allusion to Chinatown is, contextually speaking, quite misleading. Unlike the earlier "Midnight Cowboy" (in its case, New York City) or the later "Maynila: Sa Mga Kuko ng Liwanag" (Manila), "Chinatown", aside from the happenstance connection of Gittes' past to the said place, never treats the culturally different area as a visual protagonist unlike how the other two aforementioned films have done so. The place was even introduced with nothing else but bits of establishing shots. But what the film has powerfully highlighted instead is the fact that it may not evoke the stirring qualities of a definitive visual texture that may accompany the said place, but it gave texture to J.J. Gittes' heart and soul even more so, especially when the silently doomed climax creeps into the screen in a sequence that is one of the most devastating amalgamations of honest emotions, violence, outright hatred and confusion ever on cinematic display, downplayed by the raw innocence of Chinatown's bewildered silence and cheap neon lights.

'Forget it, Jake. It's Chinatown". It may be an immortal line that stands shoulder to shoulder with the likes of 'Rosebud' and 'Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn', but judging from the overall cinematic wallop of "Chinatown" itself, to 'forget' it is the last thing you'll ever do. This is powerful stuff.

FINAL RATING

Winter's Bone (Debra Granik)

Ree in the woods.

With its "Brother's Keeper-like" 'squalor in the woods' visuals and the emotional and economic burden felt throughout the film that echoes that in "Frozen River", I knew that by looking upon those simple parallels, 'pace' is a tertiary concern. Jennifer Lawrence is very effective as the independent, though constantly puzzled female protagonist Ree, using every means to hold her family together, put food on the table, and keep their house from being taken away.

I have to admit that I have fully anticipated some big time plot revelations in the end, as what many films dealing with mysterious disappearances and murders often lead to. With that, "Winter's Bone" has been rather quite exceptional. Instead of focusing on 'whodunit' plot devices, the film's central theme is within the emotional arc and choices of Ree herself.

The sheriff came into their house and told her that his crank-cooking (illegal drug maker) father is a 'runner' from the law, with their house being considered as his 'bail bond'. "I will find him" is Ree's sole answer to the sheriff. With that response, the camera pans into her face. Conflicted, clueless, but ultimately decisive. She will set on to locate her father whatever it may take. But there enters the conflicting duality of her true goal: Is she really trying to look for her father because of the simple idea that he, beyond all that he has done, is still 'family'? Or is she going to find him solely for the reason that they can keep their house? There may be no one that would outright and unconditionally help her in her mission considering the helplessness of her two young siblings, a mother resigned from reality, and a husband-dominated best friend. Her extended family of criminal grotesqueries may even be in on all the troubles, and going into the military is not a way out.

Then there were sequences where Ree constantly looks upon her father's closet filled with his clothes, boots, and a banjo (signifying that she may have really loved her father after all). And then on the other end, she will never let their house let out of her grasp. It's a two-way complication, but one which she is more than willing to resolve. She's compelled, not by outer forces, but by an inner call for order and emotional complacency.

Based on a novel, but with the film's extreme subtlety (though there was a peculiar use of a framed black and white sequence of squirrels and trees being cut down) and constant stagnation, the prevention of it being a cinematic adaptation that may connote and recognize its source material's page-turning quality was the one that was ultimately achieved. Great performance by John Hawkes as Teardrop.

FINAL RATING

Minority Report (Steven Spielberg)

Tom Cruise: jumping futuristic cars and anticipating crimes.

Film Review Archive (date seen: December 11, 2010)

“Blade Runner”, “Total Recall”, and now “Minority Report”. Philip K. Dick’s alternative view of dystopia and the condition of future society has influenced modern filmmakers. From cyberpunk films to neo-noir-ish treatment of the sci-fi genre, his works have, although its scientific ideas were not entirely plausible, in some ways, churned up visions that might as well be prophetic and relevant to both our world’s current technological advancements and present state of morality.

Fresh from his work on the Kubrick-conceived “Artificial Intelligence”, Steven Spielberg then tried to merge his own visions with Philip K. Dick’s, and the result is “Minority Report”, quite possibly one of the best sci-fi films of our generation. I’ve always preferred sci-fi films not delving into much computer-generated overkill, but in this case, I have to make an exception. Because although Spielberg is quite well-known as a visual baroque, this film is less a flamboyant display of futuristic computer-altered images than it is an effective portrayal of a ‘perfect’ system that is really not what it seems to be. Tom Cruise is great as John Anderton, mixing his past experiences with hard action films with emotional depth and some mild black comedy (in the eye transplant scene, with the exceptional Peter Stormare).

Paralleling Max Von Sydow’s character’s surname (Burgess) with “A Clockwork Orange’s” author, both works deal with the same subject matter. And though a bit different in substantial attack, have clamored for one common, irreversible fact: That ‘crime’ cannot be prevented by the repression of human nature. Its solution lies within one’s own “choice”. An outstanding film that meritoriously worked on a cerebral level, but also did not falter on its entertainment value.

FINAL RATING