Nanook of the North (Robert J. Flaherty)

Nanook.

While watching "Nanook of the North", I sure can sense the fact that some of the scenes were staged. But after finding out that the film was indeed not a hundred percent spontaneous and unscripted, "Nanook of the North", for me, has still lost none of its power. So what if the film isn't particularly authentic through and through? Let's take Werner Herzog's documentaries as great cases in point. Like "Lessons of Darkness" and the even more experimental "The Wild Blue Yonder", Herzog's documentaries were filled with actual footage only made metaphysically adventurous by half-cryptic, half-poetic narrations, which forge otherworldly narratives in the process. In Robert J. Flaherty's case, his main intent has none of Herzog's maddening grandiosity. Instead, his only goal is to plainly highlight, with honest anthropological eyes, the plight and bittersweet adventures of the Eskimos in the northernmost part of America, but with an anchoring main character to cohesively hold the film together. 

     

For me, the issue of non-authenticity in "Nanook of the North" is unimportant because as long as a story compels and drags you in a world previously unseen, then that, I think, is more than enough. And what about the hardships endured by Flaherty's crew themselves during the film's extraneous shoot? Isn't that an amazing feat in its own right? I do think so. "Nanook of the North", even for that reason alone, is worthy of all the recognition that it has gotten across time. But aside from that, I do think that the film itself is also a great example of cinematic determination at its infancy, but that does not make it any smaller compared to the hardships of today's industry. Let's just say that Robert J. Flaherty, even before Werner 'The Mad German Genius' Herzog was born, was already going all "Fitzcarraldo" in the deep arctic way before it was cool (pun not intended, by the way). 

     

The film, about the titular Eskimo and their everyday Exodus towards one simple goal (food), is a bittersweet documentation of what goes on in a place where technology and civilization is all but absent and where Walrus meat are one of the very few luxuries. Nanook (Allakariallak), the patriarch, is an experienced hunter who literally goes through thick and thin just to provide food and shelter for his family, complete with an almost irremovable smile on his face. For a film that is fully bent on visually tackling the turbulent topography of the arctic, "Nanook of the North" is also filled with countless scenes of tear-inducing poignancy, candidness, and awe-inspiring naivety, some of them being scenes involving Nanook and his son. 

     

In one scene, we even see Nanook, after trading goods with the so-called 'white man' trader in exchange for meager articles (money, after all, is immaterial to them), listens, with profound wonderment, to the quasi-magical sound coming from a phonograph. After doing so, Nanook, after being handed a vinyl record by the white man, first puts it near his ear, and then his mouth. The next thing we know, he is biting on it just like how we see 'Tarzan-like' characters do so in many movies.  

     

As a viewer, one can't help but to laugh at his utter ignorance. But in a way, one can also feel how enviable people like Nanook really are, especially when their tender innocence and their advantage of not knowing much evokes a sense of pure joy commonly unseen among highly civilized and decorum-following folks. As the old adage goes, sometimes, "ignorance is bliss." 

     

But apart from "Nanook of the North's" heart-thumping poignancy, the film is also chock-full of scenes which showcase Nanook and company's excellent craftsmanship, despite of the fact that they are miles removed from actual civilization. There's a moment in the film where Nanook, after building an igloo along with his family, picks up a glassy block of ice which he then proceeds to incorporate into their make-shift shelter. As it turns out, Nanook has turned it into a glass window perfect for their igloo. After that, Nanook then puts an additional block of ice beside it; this, as it appears to be, will serve as a sunlight reflector so that the interior of their igloo will be sufficiently lighted. 

     

So with that, we will go back to the initial inquiry as to whether or not scenes like the ones mentioned above were indeed authentic or merely staged. For me, the question of whether the film really deserves to be labeled as the first documentary film in cinematographic history is highly insignificant because "Nanook of the North", scripted or not, improvisational or otherwise, is nevertheless a film that intensely channels both the spirit of adventure and the resilience of the human body amid the constant prospect of an icy death. Flaherty, in this film, may not be a documentarian in the purest sense of the word, but he has sure attained a level of cinematic humanism still untouched at the time. 

     

Personally, Flaherty's constant capturing of Nanook's smile, which automatically spreads across his face almost immediately after his close brushes with certain death, just reminds me of the fact that both happiness and contentment have no geographical limits or ends. Ironically, I never expected that it is in the chilling coldness of the deep arctic that I shall find and relish what may be the most flawless documentation of human warmth there is. Until now, I can't remove Nanook's smile off my mind; so pure, so human and so true.

FINAL RATING

Hugo (Martin Scorsese)

Hugo Cabret.

Well, I can really say that 2011 has really been a great year for cinematic love poems. We have "The Artist", which pays tribute to the seminal greatness of silent films, and then we also have Woody Allen's "Midnight in Paris", a film that has not only been an endearing piece about the eponymous city itself but also one that embraces the people behind great works of art and timeless literature. And finally, there's Martin Scorsese's "Hugo".

A film that centers on the beautiful power of imagination and the innocent wonder of early cinema, it is, overall, a piece of cinematic work that has truly breath fresh air into the boundless limits of storytelling and has also been a larger-than-life portrait/tribute to the great Georges Melies: a revolutionary director and the first true cinematic artist to whom we owe our wondrous film-watching lives and whose pioneering works have contributed to the advancement of cinema as a strong artistic medium.

Martin Scorsese, a man who I have been and will always consider as one of the greatest filmmakers of all time and a man who we all loved by way of his films that deal with violence, loneliness, criminal perversions and even thematic controversies (with his truly masterful "The Last Temptation of Christ"), directed "Hugo" with surprising humility and simplicity without any traces of recklessly self-imposed panache. Sure, there have been countless elements in the film which may come across as truly audacious (the most glaring example being the automaton), but come on, "Hugo", a film adaptation of "The Invention of Hugo Cabret" written by Brian Selznick, is in no way up for something grounded in reality here.

Combining magical realism with the ironically down-to-earth story of Mr. Melies himself, "Hugo" is a balanced film which, in a very good way, wallows on 'adventure' that isn't literal in the Jules Verne sense of the word but more about the journey of the mind and the heart towards a hidden treasure chest not filled with tangible gold and pearls but one that is located somewhere within the very passionate soul of a truly great man.

Armed with visual sensibilities that closely mirror Tim Burton's recent child-friendly films, Martin Scorsese, furthered by that comparison may, on an initial glance, look out of place and sync with what he's working on, which is an adventure film that appeals to both the adults and the younger ones alike; a truly far-fetched idea considering that he really hasn't worked with the latter demographic before.

But looking at how "Hugo" actually turned out as a whole, right there and then surfaces the fact that he is indeed an unbelievably flexible filmmaker whose greatness cannot just be contained within the crime genre. As I watch the film, the joy of making it is evidently abundant in "Hugo's" very atmosphere which when coupled with the transcendental-sounding musical score created by Howard Shore, is a feast both for the eyes, the ears and, as corny as this may sound, the heart.

The actors do not disappoint either, and although Asa Butterfield may have done a bit better as the titular character, he has been quite a joy to watch in his convincing chemistry with Chloe Grace Moretz in a very sweet and 'harmless' (Remember "Kick-Ass"?) performance. Along with the enjoyably bit parts played by the legendary Christopher Lee and Jude Law and the comic part played by Sacha Baron Cohen as the train station inspector, it was Ben Kingsley's performance (which I believe should have at least been nominated for an Academy Award) as Georges Melies that has served as the figurative coal that has constantly kept the film's narrative locomotion on the right track.

Martin Scorsese, aside from being repeatedly heralded as one of the best filmmakers ever, is also one of the most passionate and vocal lovers of cinema out there. And here in "Hugo", he has expressively created a near-perfect cinematic love letter to the very medium itself that was initially seen as nothing but a passing fad (a statement ironically given by the Lumiere Brothers themselves), but now generally regarded as one of the most powerful means of expression, if not the most. And it all started with a trip to an all-smiling moon courtesy of a man motivated by endless wonder and fueled by nothing but his own dreams.

FINAL RATING

The Artist (Michel Hazanavicius)

Jean Dujardin and Berenice Bejo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FINAL RATING

Singin' in the Rain (Stanley Donen and Gene Kelly)

Gene Kelly is singin' in the rain.

Film Review Archive (date seen: September 14, 2010)

"Singin' in the Rain" might be the closest a film can get to a perfect musical. Some films of the kind, although impressive in its showcase of its extravagant production values, lacks the pure magic of telling a memorable story, drowning the project instead with countless song numbers to conceal the deficiency of the material itself, even so that some of them won Best Picture awards. Enter "Singin' in the Rain", a film that may look just like the others initially: style but no substance. But this film dared to remove the 'no', and succeeded.

The plot of the film may easily drift into some melodramatic musical numbers pertaining about the passing of old times and the silent era silenced forever by the emergence of the title card-less, full-fledged "talkies"; themes that can be effortlessly turned into a sad swan song of sorts for the said era. But with its mood and atmosphere departing from the typical treatment of the material, the film, directed by dance virtuoso Gene Kelly, along with Stanley Donen, flourished with almost uncontainable joy and genuine laughter, usually rooted out from the mishaps of transforming a silent film studio into a try-hard talkie producer. Add up Jean Hagen's unforgettable performance as Lina Lamont, a satiric attack for larger than life stars with smaller than penny brains, then you have a classic.

A concept that could have easily resulted into a tearful elegy about the transition of eras and the changing times always prevalent on the movie industry, but instead turned into a colorful celebration of film and music and of the successful passing of torch of two different cinematic deviations. Both proven by time as essential and significant to its (cinema) meteoric emergence as the prime medium commonly associated with "entertainment".

FINAL RATING