Carnage (Roman Polanski)

A most impressive cast.

"Why can't they leave?" Luis Bunuel asked Gil Pender in Woody Allen's fantastical "Midnight in Paris" after the latter pitched the former a film idea (that is to say, the plot basics of "The Exterminating Angel"). "They just can't," Gil answered. Such is also the case for Roman Polanski's protagonists in "Carnage", a film based on the Tony award-winning play "God of Carnage", written by Yasmina Reza.

If the bourgeoisie characters in "The Exterminating Angel" can't seem to find a way to leave a lavish dinner party, "Carnage's" characters can't seem to break a cordial meeting (they decided to hold such because of their respective kids' earlier altercation in a park) because of, well, some cobblers, coffee, and just the right amount of angst and mutual disgust.

Watching the film with a certain consciousness of the performers involved, I can't help but feel a larger-than-life thump somewhere within me that reminds me of something akin to a beautiful heart-ache. John C. Reilly, Christoph Waltz, Jodie Foster, Kate Winslet. 4 Oscars and 8 nominations combined. As a film lover, if the mere idea of those names and these numbers joining forces for a film project is not enough to put you into a state of bliss, then I'm afraid nothing will.

Although in essence almost the same with Mike Nichols' "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" in its approach on situational degradation, only this time armed with parental sensibilities, "Carnage" is tightly humorous and uniquely energetic in all its hard-edged argumentative glory that these actually evoke a certain charm that can only be attributed to this film alone.

The cool but sharp-tongued Alan (Waltz), a lawyer whose intent to actually join in onto the whole conversational fiasco is constantly failing because of the repeated rings of his cellular phone. And then there's his wife, Nancy (Winslet), an elegant woman in her mid-thirties whose collected exterior is not enough to fend off the power of Scotch and nausea.

While on the other side, there's Michael (Reilly), your typical American husband who is, as what his wife claimed him to be, seemingly contented with living a life of mediocrity. And lastly, Penelope (Foster), Michael's wife, a writer who feels the plight of people in Africa (Darfur, specifically) but can't seem to feel the plight of her own lack of emotional control.

These four parents, after they have initially welcomed each other and ate cobblers together like fine, civilized folks, gradually transform into all-out verbal warriors one moment, pathetic criers the next. With wide-reaching topics in the tip of their tongues such as the "John Wayne" concept of manhood, the superficiality of writers, and, well, some hamsters, "Carnage", aside from being a study of contemporary parental thinking, is a teeth-gnashing, word-jousting, vomit-inducing (quite literally) little confessional of a film with just enough unraveling tirades that finely express the film's honest-to-goodness take on the oftentimes childish vulnerability of adult life.

Roman Polanski, after directing the more than impressive "The Ghost Writer", a thriller that is also a borderline adventure film, chose to direct a small, enclosed and set-limited film with only his actors and actresses to create wonders with. Fortunately for the exalted exile, his actors are immediately wonderful all on their own, with a powerful material working greatly to his advantage. What came out is a film that is a bit too standard in its technicalities, but one, just like other stage-to-film adaptations, that is relentless in its verbal athletics, poignant in its emotions and purely articulate in its entirety.

FINAL RATING

In Bruges (Martin Mcdonagh)

Ken and Ray, in f***in' Bruges.

A second viewing.

Oh, the beauty of style and substance. Stripping down the very essence of filmmaking and wherever which way you try to go around its principles, it will just bring you back to these simple words. "In Bruges", a slick crime comedy, a most surprisingly solid morality play and a meditative travelogue that explores the historical and religious significance of the much-preserved medieval sights of Belgium's Bruges, is an exemplary flag-carrier of the two nouns. It's like a film that could have been directed by Guy Ritchie but with an added strength by way of its thematic depth.

If the aforementioned British director, whose films I particularly admire but have never completely drooled and obsessed over, puts contemporary gangsterism into certain feats of absurdist twists of fates and distortion of events, "In Bruges'" director Martin Mcdonagh had, in some ways, also incorporated such playfully omniscient style into his characters but only as a superficially conscious device. Mcdonagh has put his two protagonists, Ken (the great Brendan Gleeson) and Ray (a revelatory performance by Colin Farrell which won him a Golden Globe) into the 'fairy tale-like' corners of Bruges because of a botched hit, which claimed the life of a child, but dared not to laugh at their predicament.

Sure, it's easy for the film to elicit sardonic smiles and chuckles from its audience judging from the scenario alone, which centers on the idea of two seemingly hardened criminals entrapped in an ennui-inspiring place, especially for people like them which the film has assumed to despise culture and history (such is not the case for Ken, it is for Ray). But unlike Ritchie's half-serious gangster films, "In Bruges" looks humorous only in its very surface. It is very distinct on the way it has conveyed the ever-recurring and ever-haunting notions of guilt and redemption without looking forced at the slightest bit. Maybe it's Brendan Gleeson and Colin Farrell's performances, maybe it is the freshness of the material itself, or maybe it is the brilliant cinematography, by Eigil Bryld, and musical score, by Carter Burwell. But to argue for each side would be very futile. Maybe, they just all work together perfectly.

And then there's Ralph Fiennes, whose portrayal of the rabid but highly principled gangster Harry Waters, the man who has sent Ken and Ray into the dreamy, cobble stone-laden streets of Bruges because of the latter's careless mistake, has caused many viewers to compare or even consider his performance as something of a homage to Ben Kingsley's unexpected turn as the unpredictable crime boss Don Logan in "Sexy Beast".

With the help of the film's great screenplay filled with trivial cues and modern conversationalist tones, which we just can't deny to have been influenced one way or another by "Pulp Fiction", Fiennes' character, which has the negative potential to be very caricature-like, passed off as somewhat believable and genuinely menacing in his distinct way.

We know of his principles, we know that he does not stand for killing innocent people, especially children, and we know that if some unexpected shit hits the fan, he won't think twice to fix everything himself and lull breakers of his code into an eternal sleep. His beliefs are forged of extremism, his methods violent but strangely understandable, his paradoxical impulse to kill someone who wrongly killed somebody is harshly immediate but completely undeniable.

Looking at the parallels of the film's themes with biblical concepts of hell, purgatory and the penance for sins, 'Bruges' might as well be both the purgatory and hell, and the penance for sins may be the film's depiction of the psychological manifestation of guilt, or may also be Harry himself, who just arrived, armed with a handgun and some 'dumdums', to collect.

"In Bruges" surely has been nothing but a sleeper hit more than 3 years ago, with the likes of "Slumdog Millionaire" and "The Dark Knight" taking over and dominating 2008's cinematic scene. Sure, that's also how I perceived this film at the time: A fascinatingly humorous, uniquely made crime film and nothing more (although I saw my 2008's top 10 movie lists on my old blog and saw it ranked at no. 3. I may just need to move it up a bit higher). But after rewatching it to once again witness its richly layered take regarding the context of existential woes, personal demons and bitter regret unfold in a beautiful ballet of humor and violence, it is, I can personally say, one of the greatest postmodern crime films in existence and simply put one of the decade's best films.

FINAL RATING

Source Code (Duncan Jones)

A minute to live.

Director Duncan Jones has already explored the genuine value of humanity by way of a relatively simplistic and observant film in the form of "Moon". He dared to redefine what really makes one human in the said film without even being, well, immediately human in nature. He has highlighted such in the fashion of say, "Blade Runner", and laid down a visual texture akin to "2001: A Space Odyssey". It's the struggle of a complex idea and visual stagnation (with it being set at the far reaches of the moon) that Duncan Jones has finely combined and from these was able to forge a brilliant science fiction film.

With his encounter with sci-fi minimalism a flat-out success, Here's "Source Code" coming within the midst of our viewing sensibilities. Molded more out of the same blockbuster tone like that of Nolan's "Inception" and a scenario close enough to Tony Scott's lukewarm "Unstoppable", the film, with its tight focus on the emotional content but still not deprived of some good ol' popcorn fun, is quite a well-balanced sci-fi affair with enough heart and soul on one side, energy and adrenaline on the other to fully present a complete film experience.

Jake Gyllenhaal, who's genuinely proven to be a capable actor to portray vulnerability in otherwise gun-equipped and battle-hardened roles ("Jarhead", "Brothers"), is very effective as the film's very Philip K. Dick-like protagonist Colter Stevens, a reluctant man clueless of what and where he's got himself into, emotionally needy yet articulate of his humanity.

Characterization-wise, that's just about it, I believe, in terms of complexity. With director Duncan Jones quite uninitiated with handling many characters at once (he only had the characters of Sam Bell and the robot Gerty to play with in "Moon"), this little hole in his skill has slightly showed itself in "Source Code".

Although the supporting roles, specifically the Goodwin and the Rutledge characters, were well-portrayed by the very dependable Vera Farmiga and the ever-impressive Jeffrey Wright respectively, the said characters were stereotypical at best. But with the material's imaginative edge, by Ben Ripley, reigning over the entirety of "Source Code", this slight flaw of deficient characterization is not really that noticeable as the film itself is just too overwhelming in its execution that you just wouldn't bother to look anywhere else.

To be frank, I expected this film to be very action-packed like, maybe "Deja Vu" (another Tony Scott film) in its race-against-time tone. I wouldn't really bother about an action set piece or two, but I'm impressed as to how "Source Code" has maintained its pulsating nature without resorting into unjustified action sequences.

Right now, as I ponder the reason as to why I liked this film very much, I realized that my admiration towards "Source Code" roots out more from its unorthodox view of humanity and the beauty of life rather than its intelligently magnified playfulness with space-time continuum and the mind. "Make every second count", the film's tagline preaches. Well, "Source Code", in its overall cinematic execution, verily did just that.

FINAL RATING

Midnight in Paris (Woody Allen)

A stroll.

Woody Allen, which we all know to be a truly psychological and philosophical filmmaker as well as a humorously cerebral director, an aspect of his being that collects much admirers as well as some haters, completely shines through in yet again a film of unique charm, intelligence, wit and imagination set in a city where beauty and mystique converges into one: Paris.

Although it stars Owen Wilson (alongside impressive supporting performances by Michael Sheen, Rachel McAdams and Marion Cotillard among others) as Gil, a character who seemingly treats his flirtation with the idea of premature infidelity (his character is just about to be married) merely as an exercise in curiosity by way of an unexpected trip into his 'Golden Age' subconscious (in 1920's Paris where he met countless demigods of art and literature), which as a result came out to be quite harmless and at the same time maintained naivete in its depiction of a brief psycho-sexual adventurism, the character still could have been played by a younger Woody Allen. Often times, I can even see Owen Wilson channeling Allen himself.

I believe that although this film could have been done in Woody Allen's cinematic heydays (maybe in mid-70's to early 80's) and still be as effective as it was today, "Midnight in Paris" nevertheless still stimulated my hidden cravings for new ideas and moved me with its gentle approach regarding the ideas of artistic confusion, romantic crossroads and the subsequent individual growth by way of traveling into a subjectively ideal past.

In the hands of a purely narrative-driven filmmaker, "Midnight in Paris" could have been a try-hard romantic/fantasy film with the hero torn between living his love and life in the present and reliving a past he quickly learns to love. But just like, say, Harold Ramis' "Groundhog Day", this film is too busy with its brilliant articulation of its fresh idea that tackles the paradox of insecurity, shown here in the form of "The Golden Age" mentality, which beholds the idea that it's a human tendency to hope, reminisce and visualize for a more ideal moment in time where everything's akin to an artistic and literary utopia, that the film isn't shallow enough to conceptualize a too far-fetched an explanation as to why Owen Wilson's character travels back into his personal 'Golden Age' every midnight.

For Allen, it's the characters that speak for the film itself. All we know, Owen Wilson's character is too exhausted with the overly urban and inch-deep intellectual exercises of working as a movie scriptwriter that he dares to internally lash out. All we know, he wants 1920's Paris, write pure novel, and walk in the rain more than anything else. Woody Allen injected these subtle characteristics on the Owen Wilson character to serve as simple catalysts for the film's turn of events and nothing more. No flashy time-travel nonsense, no unnecessary plot devices and no silly folklorian justifications as to why these historical jumps were possible.

Instead, the film's seemingly esoteric tone puts itself into a separate plain of romanticized existence; an alternative landscape where impenetrable icons like Dali, Picasso, Hemingway and Fitzgerald adhere into a single route of interconnected existence, where one may bump into the other, or where a man may travel back in time, develop romance with a charming lady, travel back into the present the next night and then see a memoir with his name mentioned all over the pages in romantic adoration, penned by the very same lady almost 90 years ago.

It is things like these, although devoid of any logical explanations, that can really put a genuine smile into your face. And it is films like "Midnight in Paris" that can really restore your faith in the hidden capabilities and the wonderful complexities that the romantic comedy genre can offer and conceive. I can only thank Woody Allen for that.

FINAL RATING

Another Earth (Mike Cahill)

Earth 2.

It's a true breath of fresh air to really watch something like "Another Earth" especially in a time where science fiction films almost always equate to aliens, colorful spaceships and the expanse of the outer space. Although this film has small doses of each of the aforementioned sci-fi stereotypes, "Another Earth" is a whole lot different, highly inventive all on its own and, in the fashion of films like Duncan Jones' masterful "Moon", beautifully dramatic.

Unusually, the film is founded by two narrative extremes: One is its angle of human drama, which exemplifies simplicity in approach, and the other is its transcendental vision, which highlights the film's ambitious scope. With this kind of double content which may risk the equal depiction attention of both ends, balance is most important, and the film, for that matter, does not disappoint.

Mike Cahill, who directs his first cinematic film (his previous one, co-directed by Brit Marling, being a documentary), did what most fresh filmmakers must do, and it is to enter the film scene not with anxieties and insecurities of visions, but with utter confidence and a slight dash of flamboyance. Such ideas like this one here in "Another Earth" admittedly does take a lot of guts and unbounded devotion to really pull off and be successful in its execution. And of course, such far-reaching exercise of the imagination do need a 'more than adequate' budget, but the film nevertheless proved that it isn't always the case, and that often times than not, mind outweighs currency, vision exceeds the means and conceptual quality reigns over monetary quantity. Even just for that reason alone, "Another Earth" should be viewed as an ideal celebration of the creative affluence of the independent film spirit.

The performances in the film, although done by fairly unknown performers, were still able to convey the film's dramatic essence. Brit Marling (also the film's co-writer), who plays the film's main character Rhoda, is assured and effectively compact in her portrayal of a young woman and her guilt-ridden (because of her involvement in a tragic car accident) descent into a directionless existence. Although Marling's character is a fairly complex role to play with her constant transformation from being lost, finding herself, being lost and finding herself again, her performance captured Rhoda's lack of existential motivations early on in the film that it made her character simpler to empathize with.

William Mapother, playing John, is quietly affecting in his portrayal of the anguished musical composer/professor who lost his family in the said accident, is blank-eyed in his detachment from life, but whose connection with Rhoda, being unaware of her involvement in the accident, soon slowly brings him back into its tender symphony.

"Another Earth", although as what I've said earlier, purely relies on the counterbalancing of its main dual content (simplistic human drama and grandiose sci-fi vision), it's also significant in its subtle irony. What if in the aftermath of death there's more to life? What if in tragedy there's love? What if in the presence of a celestial wonder there's disillusionment? "Another Earth" can only contemplate the answers, but rest assured, it's inclined towards what's more hopeful.

FINAL RATING

Melancholia (Lars von Trier)

Ophelia-esque.

Now here's a cinematic vision of the apocalypse which does not linger on wastelands, viruses, or famous landmarks being destroyed, but on something that is much more tautly compelling. "Melancholia" portrays an end of the world scenario where there isn't any last ditch efforts for heroism, but instead only passivity and fatalism.

But this film, another masterful creation by Lars von Trier whose auteur visions never cease to amaze me, more than anything, is a psychological drama. Yes, it does have a great build-up towards an apocalyptic situation, but "Melancholia" started as a dysfunctional mental drama and ended as a surprisingly tender one. More than ever, I think that the film's fictitious planet, named 'Melancholia', that is about to collide with Earth in a colossal, space-bound "dance of death" is an immense dramatic device and is there purely to accentuate the film's drama and give it a more desperate edge. It's a drama film enveloped in dreaded hopelessness, it's a film filled with frightening ideas but more importantly, it's a film that shows imagination at one of its highest but at the same time at its darkest, and produces a fluctuating dramatic depth quite reminiscent of films by Ingmar Bergman and Michelangelo Antonioni.

Judging from his previous works, it's quite evident that Lars von Trier is firmly growing not just as a filmmaker of ideas but a director of actors. This can be seen in Bjork's emotionally draining performance in his "Dancer in the Dark" or even in his most recent "Antichrist", which is highlighted by Charlotte Gainsbourg's staggering performance (who also stars in this film). "Melancholia" further elevates this budding directorial skill of his with its manifestation in the form of Kirsten Dunst in a heavily complex performance (she won the Best Actress at the 2011 Cannes Film Festival) as the emotionally impaired Justine and, again, Charlotte Gainsbourg in a vulnerable role as her sister, Claire. Lars von Trier has started the film with a lavish yet nightmarish wedding (with Justine as the bride and Michael, played by Alexander Skarsgard, as the groom), which suggests the unconscious, entropy-like effect of the 'Melancholia' planet even in the subtlest of human relationships.

From this sequence, populated by great character actors like John Hurt as Justine's father and Stellan Skarsgard as her boss, amid a highly-populated environment, the film has built a genuine connection between Justine and Claire; a connection that may not be perfect (Claire repeatedly stated how sometimes, she hates Justine so much) but a deeply felt sisterly bond, nonetheless.

And then there's Kiefer Sutherland who coolly played Claire's husband, a wealthy scientist whose skepticism about the planetary collision between 'Melancholia' and Earth brings emotional tranquility to his wife but worry within him. He is, after all, living in pretension, just like how Justine pretended she's all smiles at the wedding.

I'm not much of a fan of child characters in film (only the unnecessary ones) because often times they can be a drag, but Cameron Spurr as Leo sure is a revelation especially with that distinct voice which really fits the film's tonal disposition. Now, some may argue that "Melancholia" has broken some rules in the 'Dogme 95' film movement, which Lars von Trier himself has founded, but seeing that this is a film made 16 years after it, I think it's time for him to deconstruct, and "Melancholia", combining art house sensibilities with technology, came out to be a worthy end product.

Aside from the ethereal shots in the opening sequence and some special effects here and there, von Trier maintained his usage of a non-stagnant camera (brilliant cinematography by Manuel Alberto Claro) and kept his grasp on the whole film's emotional nuances and themes. Although it can be stated that von Trier has compromised with some visual magics of the mainstream, "Melancholia", as an aesthetic whole, is still wholly independent and utterly pure.

Should the planet "Melancholia" be taken literally? Being aware that it is also a name for a psychological condition, the fictitious planet can be an encompassing metaphor for emotional transformation (notice how Justine and Claire trade positions, emotional-wise, as the film progresses) and degradation (how the once cool and collected John has suddenly met his fate in a fashion too unfitting for him).

As much as it is a vision of the apocalypse, "Melancholia" is also a psychological discourse, albeit not too showy about it. As the planet 'Melancholia' looms large above, it may be a bringer of end to human existence, but it can also be a sign of the arrival of a distorted state of mind. One of the genuinely 'great' films of 2011.

FINAL RATING

Basquiat (Julian Schnabel)

Jeffrey Wright as Jean-Michel Basquiat.

It is a common practice in the film world to explore the lives of painters and artists, particularly those who lived and died by their art. Jean-Michel Basquiat is surely not an exception but rather a most definitive representation of it. He gives life and form to his countless statements through graffitis, shows his messily ecstatic but ultimately epochal visions through his paintings and evokes a new voice of artistic non-conformity by way of his creations.

But then, to counter this searing passion prevalent among artists like Basquiat, the film, directed by Julian Schnabel both with an attention to content and a slight delve into the experimental, then puts all of these into a final salvo towards self-destruction. Jeffrey Wright, one of the more impressive character actors of our time, delivers an unrecognizable performance as the title role. For roles like these, stars always have this tendency to either unnecessarily steal scenes or bury the real people they're playing in the afterthought of their very own persona. This is not the case for Jeffrey Wright. As I may describe it, his performance 'took its own form, life and time'.

His on-screen rendition of Jean-Michel Basquiat developed not through an obvious 'pen and paper'-bound emotional and psychological metamorphosis but through a more simple approach: Wright, as an actor, preferred not to merely play or portray Basquiat, but to embody him. Although he does not look like the late artist himself, Jeffrey Wright achieved to embrace the role not for the sake of showcasing some superficial acting prowess but to internally channel Basquiat as a human being. This unconscious but fruitful connection between Jeffrey Wright and Jean-Michel Basquiat was particularly enhanced by the fact that Julian Schnabel is also an artist/painter.

Considering that the artistic connection is fairly established between Wright, the mythical Basquiat and Schnabel, the film, in effect, has been much more transcendental and relatively honest in its emotional backbone and at the same time, also purer in its artistic merit.

The film's cast is great, with supporting roles by Gary Oldman, Dennis Hopper, a bit of Christopher Walken as his usual patented self playing an interviewer (this therefore completes an unofficial "True Romance" cast reunion), Benicio Del Toro as Basquiat's friend and Willem Dafoe as an electrician. David Bowie is wonderful to behold as Andy Warhol, whose facial resemblance with the enigmatic pop artist himself immensely helped in his portrayal and also added some authentic weight into his performance.

Although there were scenes that were too dormant for their own good, the film is quietly successful in almost all levels, specifically on how it was able to lift itself into a higher form of human 'drama' without accidentally spelling it out with an additional 'melo'. "Basquiat", as a biopic, is quite unique in its position. The film does celebrate the short-lived life and genius of Jean-Michel Basquiat but does not overly glorify him. The film shows his bleak self-decline but does not fully capitalize in it to exaggeratedly highlight a drama that is more than the film can swallow.

"Basquiat" is urgent in its neutrality as an observer. An observer of a man whose voice was deemed as coming from the gutters but whose art was deemed as a gift. With this middle ground stance, the film, with a great black and white look upon the short and bittersweet life of a "young black painter in a white art world", is an uncommon triumph.

FINAL RATING