The Grandmaster (Wong Kar-wai)

Master Yip.

Yip Man, whose life is a common favorite among filmmakers to interpret and is also perhaps the Asian cinematic equivalent of Abraham Lincoln, headlines yet another film about his chain-punching exploits. But this time, we've got a cinematic heavyweight at the helm in the form of Wong Kar-wai. Plus, we've got the Asian king of cool Tony Leung Chiu Wai as Yip Man himself. Despite the question of "The Grandmaster's" true necessity as a biopic (the 2008 Donnie Yen-starrer "Ip Man" may have already sufficed), the film has nonetheless sparked immediate interest among cinephiles because, why wouldn't it? It has Wong Kar-wai and Tony Leung Chiu Wai in it, not to mention that Zhang Ziyi (Zhang Ziyi!) is also part of it. It also has an amazing cinematography and an obvious promise for some solid, kick-ass martial arts action. Now who would not figuratively jizz all over such a project?

     

Set in Foshan a few years before the Japanese occupation (but then again, so was the Donnie Yen film), "The Grandmaster" chronicles, through Wong Kar-wai's trademark, quasi-poetic visual style, Ip Man's well-deserved rise to high esteem as a martial arts master and sudden fall as a wartime-stricken citizen. The film also fascinates by highlighting the fact that a brothel, named the "Golden Pavilion", has been the favorite haven among martial artists (and also the most preferred venue for their fisticuffs) during the time. Well, let's just say that it's kind of like the early 20th century equivalent of those modern, organic coffee shops and the masters themselves as the hipsters that inhabit them. Things indeed just recur. 

     

In a nutshell, well, the film is basically about this bunch of high-flying, philosophy-uttering bohemians who fight for some obsolete sense of pride, respect and discipline, even amidst a time of guns, bombs and widespread hunger. Surely, it was a fascinating thing to tackle, especially since the earlier "Ip Man" film is so much more focused on a bombastically illusory narrative (its title should have been "Ip Man vs. Japan") more than Yip Man's intensely spiritual personality. But still, "The Grandmaster" is, after all, supposed to be a martial arts film, and Tony Leung Chiu Wai, basically, is supposed to kick some ass. Heavy philosophizing, for me, should belong in other films. Hell, even his eventual student Bruce Lee, who also had his share of martial arts movies, would certainly agree. You don't mix forced dramatics, contrived verbal symbolism and uncalled-for romance with some good ol' bone-cracking action because, sooner or later, it would definitely overwhelm what the film is really destined to be. And alas, that's exactly what happened with "The Grandmaster". 

     

In some sense, the film has even lost itself halfway by not being about Yip Man anymore. Instead, it has problematically focused on what is an otherwise very sub-par revenge narrative instigated by what is otherwise a very forgettable character in the form of Zhang Ziyi's Gong Er. Now, that's two aspects right there that "The Grandmaster" has missed its mark on: first on being a true martial arts film, and second on being a memorable biopic.  

     

As for the imagery, well, you really wouldn't expect anything short of brilliant from Wong Kar-wai. Dream-like in its execution and peppered with Wong's fevered slow-motion shots, the film's visuals flow like an achingly beautiful lullaby. Suddenly, shades of Zhang Yimou's more reflective martial arts films come to mind. But then again, "The Grandmaster" is too weak and indecisive regarding what its narrative really wants to cover and whether its fight scenes were there to really matter that the film ultimately achieved only a third of its potential greatness. Sadly, the film is an 'almost' masterpiece. And with 'almost', I mean stuck in a gas station two miles away from its supposed destination. It really could have been so much more.

FINAL RATING 

Cries and Whispers (Ingmar Bergman)

Anna the housekeeper.

"Cries and Whispers", released in 1972 and is certainly one of Ingmar Bergman's more accessible films, is an emotionally moody and atmospheric work so raw and scarring that it's the closest a human drama can get to terrifying. And its story, my friends, isn't your typical Jane Austen.

     

In simple terms, the film is an emotional horror story between three sisters, one dying (named Agnes) and two (named Maria and Karin) in utter disconnect, and how they all try, as reluctant as they may be in doing so, to mend their fractured relationships. Oh, and there's also the maid named Anna (Kari Sylwan in a sublimely affecting performance), the person who has been the most caring towards Agnes yet isn't really being given much importance or attention by the sisters simply because she is just, well, a housekeeper. But is she, in the eyes of the terminally ill Agnes, really just that? 

     

"Cries and Whispers", for me, is easily the most frightening of Bergman's works simply because it has eerily established, with its masterful use of dream-like flashbacks and painfully ingraining dialogue ("it's all a tissue of lies"), the wounded core of an ostensibly functional family. Evidently, familial dysfunction is one of Bergman's most favorite issues to explore in most of his films, and here in "Cries and Whispers", I do think that it has reached its most destructive zenith. 

     

In a way, the film can easily be compared to his later, equally masterful "Fanny and Alexander" simply because they have both examined the hidden perversions and emotional hollowness of an otherwise happy and affluent family in a way that's both realistic and stunningly metaphysical. But for me, "Cries and Whispers" is much closer, both in style and in intent, to Bergman's earlier "The Silence", likewise an ambiguous tale of two emotionally strained sisters and their effort (or the lack thereof) to try and connect with each other in sexually abstract ways that only Bergman (and his legendary cinematographer Sven Nykvist) can capably and eloquently capture on-camera with so much dramatic force.  And just like the said 1963 film, "Cries and Whispers" is also extremely claustrophobic, be it in its literal 'mansion' location comprised mainly of narrow hallways and red-draped rooms or in Sven Nykvists's dramatically suffocating camera work. 

     

The film, in its immediate essence, is a darkly consummate chamber drama, but typical of Bergman, such simplicity is but a veneer. In ways more than one, I do think that this film is a definitive representation of who he really is as a filmmaker in respect to what he can present visually and thematically. For the former, this film, as usual, is an exquisite costume drama, and for the latter, it is a flinching account of how memories can forever scar the deepest recesses of the 'soul'; an aspect of existence which Bergman himself has imagined as a "damp membrane in varying shades of red" (the reason for the film's crimson visual motif). Even in the casting, headed by regulars Liv Ullmann, Harriet Andersson and Ingrid Thulin (three of the most stunning actresses the cinema has ever seen), the film is typical Bergman. 

     

Often framed in stark close-up shots, the three actresses effectively convey, through the most anguishing of facial expressions, the very shadowy extent of the soul. And in one of the film's most enigmatic sequences, we see the younger Maria (Liv Ullmann) circling around and caressing the older Karin (Ingrid Thulin) as if she's trying to convince her to give in, but to what? It is here then where the ambiguous questions of 'homoeroticism' and 'incest' come to play. But on the other hand, to accept such a perspective, as what others are claiming, is but a betraying over-simplification of what the film is really all about. 

     

"Cries and Whispers", essentially, is an ambiguous film about love regardless of context, and whether or not you see the relationships between the characters as homosexual or not is quite irrelevant because although the film is littered with potentially sexual images, love is really the film's central focus, and Bergman is quite comfortable in not letting his audience know where that 'love' is coming from, how it came to be, or why is it such a mysterious and elusive force in the first place. 

     

But aside from that, the film is also about trying to build a bridge between two cold souls (Maria and Karin) and the inability of such a bridge, built in the most hastened of ways, to instantly translate into a pure form of affection. Here then is where Bergman's often used concept of the 'Silent God' enters the scene; that even though we can call to Him all we want, there will always be this underlying current of futility in doing so because, well, humans, and the relationships they create, are just either too fragile or already damaged from the get-go to be mended in an instant, even by an all-knowing God. 

     

In conclusion, although I would highly recommend "Cries and Whispers" to every single cinephile out there, I wouldn't go my way as to immediately force it down the throat of a Bergman tenderfoot. Exploring his oeuvre, in my view, should be treated as a journey, and honestly speaking, "Cries and Whispers" is never the preferable starting point. But still, if you're looking for a peculiarly intense yet visually elegant drama, then look further, you must not.

FINAL RATING

Lincoln (Steven Spielberg)

Honest Abe.

Honest Abe, the Liberator, the Great Emancipator. Throughout the course of human history, or to be more exact, the human understanding of history, Abraham Lincoln has always been highly considered as a pinnacle icon of human nobility, and numerous films have been made about him. From John Ford's "Young Mr. Lincoln" (starring Henry Fonda) to the insanely random "Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter", Honest Abe has always been ubiquitous in the annals of cinema. But do you know what's the only thing lacking? Yes, you've guessed right, a proper biopic that would cater to a modern audience. And that, my friends, is just what director Steven Spielberg has given us: a version of Abraham Lincoln that wouldn't kill vampires for pleasure or would just serve as a supporting snippet for a Nostradamus documentary (D.W. Griffith's "Abraham Lincoln") but one that would really make us feel how it is to be a pressured leader whose sole purpose is to deliver his country from prejudice and bondage. 

     

It of course stars one of the greatest actors of our time, Daniel Day-Lewis, as the eponymous American president, a role that has deservedly given him his third Academy Award (although my heart still have a soft spot for Joaquin Phoenix's performance in "The Master"). Even from this film's early stages of pre-production, I was keen enough to follow the latest developments, specifically when Liam Neeson has surprisingly decided to vacate the lead role. In a way, when Neeson left the cast, I thought the film will certainly be shelved. But then, the great news has struck me: according to reports, Daniel Day-Lewis has agreed to replace Neeson as Lincoln. And then just like that, the film's first production picture, that of DDL sitting with a humble grin, came out; Day-Lewis, even in his casual, non-19th century garb, looks spot-on as the much-venerated president. From that moment on, with him looking more Abraham Lincoln than Abraham Lincoln himself, I just knew it: Daniel Day-Lewis will make history as the first actor to nab 3 Best Actor Oscars. And bless the Oracle of Delphi, made he did. 

     

Although "Lincoln", as a period biopic, sometimes lacks the particular liveliness that characterizes the genre, Day-Lewis' performance and Steve Kushner's exquisitely written screenplay was able to work hand-in-hand to carry the whole film through. And for Spielberg, who, for this film, is surprisingly subtle in his sentimentalism, his choice of where to approach Lincoln's humanity was perfect, and that is through Abe's humbling skill as a storyteller. Instead of utilizing some emotionally swaying speeches (hell, the Gettysburg address has not even seen the light of day), Spielberg has filtered Lincoln's influential personality through his witty retelling of various anecdotes and whatnot, which makes him all the more endearing and instantly reachable not just for the characters that surround him but also for us viewers. In this case, myth-making works the other way around: this time, a veneer of enigma won't certainly do Abe Lincoln's personality justice. What's needed is a dose of humble humanity and some hints of vulnerability, which this film has taken on with class. 

     

Consider the brief scene when Abe's son is sleeping on the floor. Instead of immediately bringing him to his bed, Abe, uncharacteristic of a larger-than-life leader, slowly hunched his posture and lied down on the floor with his son. Despite the film's abundance of memorable images, this is the scene that has stayed with me the most. Perhaps the film is suggesting that more than being a father of an entire nation, Lincoln is also the patriarch of a simple family, and in many cases, it's as important to be good as the latter as it is to be great as the former. 

     

Again, Spielberg was able to display his exceptional range as a director in this film; that he can be subtle as he can be emotionally preachy and that he can direct sequences of massive proportions the same way he can execute smaller scenes of emotional resonance. If ever this film has proven anything, aside of course from Daniel Day-Lewis' flawless acting prowess (not to mention the film's great supporting cast that is headlined by the great Sally Field and the grumpy-looking yet very witty Tommy Lee Jones) which has given life and character to a man whom we have never even seen in actual footage or even heard deliver speeches, then it is Spielberg's utter completeness as a filmmaker. 

     

But then again, after all is said and done, this film is solely Abraham Lincoln's: A man who has shaken the status quo for the sake of a higher purpose, a man who has delivered America from the ruthless hands of slavery, and a man who, simply put, has forever changed the face of human history.

FINAL RATING

The Master (Paul Thomas Anderson)

The master and the mastered.

Many have been said regarding "The Master's" conspicuous allusions to L. Ron Hubbard and his church of Scientology, especially in how 'The Cause', the fictional religious group in the film, uncannily mirrors the said religion's intricate (but ultimately questionable) teachings. But after my first viewing of the film, I can really say that "The Master" is so much more than a quasi-satirical take on a controversial religion. More importantly, it is notable to mention that the film, amid its weird psychoanalytic vibe, is a piece brewing with enthralling character dynamics that are as involving as they are alienating, realized to utmost perfection by Joaquin Phoenix, Philip Seymour Hoffman and Amy Adams in what may be the best acting ensemble of 2012.

     

Fresh from his mock acting piece (chronicled in the Casey Affleck-directed film "I'm Still Here") which involves a Zach Galifianakis-like beard and some hip-hop music, Joaquin Phoenix, in one of 2012's best performances bar no role specifications, returns with a vengeance as the disturbed naval veteran Freddie Quell. A quintessential image of a wasted wanderer, Freddie does not know what to do or where to go next after a suggestively traumatic experience during the Second World War. But unexpectedly, one night after randomly boarding a yacht, he meets Lancaster Dodd, the multi-faceted leader of 'The Cause', who has developed an instant liking to Freddie's personality and, more specifically, to his paint thinner-infused booze. Slowly, they develop an erratic and openly psychoanalytic relationship that has also made an instant believer out of Freddie, even when Lancaster, as even what his own son has hypothesized, is merely making up the numerous doctrines of his religion as he goes along.

     

By fully imposing this complexly well-weaved relationship all throughout the film, Paul Thomas Anderson was able to make up for "The Master's" lack of narrative drive, and in that aspect, he has succeeded. But truth be told, "The Master" is no "There Will Be Blood", or does it even come close to being something akin to it. With quite a lack of thematic cohesion and a sense of narrative direction, "The Master", after a promising first half, falters both in power and energy in the second half, which leaves me very disappointed to say the least, especially considering the fact that this is my most anticipated film of 2012. Just like Joaquin Phoenix's character in the film, Paul Thomas Anderson appears to be quite lost, and it reflects in the film as it goes along, with both positive and negative repercussions.

     

In a way, being thematically directionless as a filmmaker adds to the overall mood and visual language of a film, and with "The Master", PTA's seemingly aimless psychological and science fiction-like philosophical jabbering is a great plus. But on the other hand, it's also the very same aspect that has squeezed out the film's strengths dry, until it reaches a conclusion that's characterized with a sort of hastened optimism.

     

For the record, he has never been this abstract since "Punch-Drunk Love", but also for the record, he has never been this optimistic, character development-wise, since, well, "Boogie Nights". But thanks to the film's stoic and sometimes emotionless imagery and its mercurial musical scoring that range from the relaxing to the downright unsettling, "The Master" was able to achieve a thoroughly frightening psychological undercurrent despite the fact that the film, after all, is heading towards a quite reassuring finale. Ultimately, the film, at least from where I see it, is all about the mystifying but deeply harmonizing relationship between man and religion. Unexpectedly, "The Master" has turned out to be more than just a brooding character study of a man lost between the harshness of his own reality and the emotional retreat that the so-called 'opiate of the masses' can offer; it is, after all, a quite comforting film that confronts religious cynicism and looks at it straight in the eye with the confidence of a newly reformed man.

     

In a way, "The Master" is a subtle criticism to those who criticize the truth to a particular religion, and for a seemingly cynical filmmaker like Paul Thomas Anderson, it is a truly welcoming sight. Now, I may sound stupid, but "The Master", with its insightful look at the interconnectedness of religion, psychology and sexuality, seems to remind me of a specific, Mormon-centric "South Park" episode entitled, well, "All About Mormons". In it, a kind-hearted Mormon boy named Gary, after hearing so much crap from Stan and his inquisitive statements regarding the veracity of Mormonism, suddenly manned up and delivered a most profound litany that is both a response to Stan and an address to us all: "Look, maybe us Mormons do believe in crazy stories that make absolutely no sense, and maybe Joseph Smith did make it all up, but I have a great life, and a great family, and I have the Book of Mormon to thank for that."

      

That quote, for me, is the essence of "The Master", specifically in the context of Freddie's emotional and psychological development. Yes, perhaps, my analysis of the film may be a tad too optimistic for some, but that's how I have made out the film. After sifting through much of my thoughts while writing this review, I still do think that I have arrived at a very justifiable conclusion. "The Master", in many ways, is a celebratory probe into the ever-changing nature of the human person. The only catch is that it doesn't look and feel like one.

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