Perhaps I am the only person to have seen this film, but seek it out you must. It's a Kiarostami slapstick (I think), which involves two schoolkids breaking each other's stuff and getting in a fight because they didn't cooperate (the second solution is much less entertaining because they both learn to get along). I'm not sure if it's meant to be funny, though Kiarostami is, I guess, pretty amusing as arthouse directors go, but it's the ritualised aspect of Iranian society that comes out, unconsciously perhaps, in this film and it's what gives it a comic turn as one kid tears up the other's exercise book and the other stares on impassively and breaks the other's ruler in half. But it's all in the expressions, man! The deadpan voiceover is pretty cool, too. Overall, as Jonathan Rosenbaum might say, 'dude, this rocks!'.
Reviews
7 Reviews
Yi Yi
(2000)
reply to bleepnbooster
19 July 2001
I disagree with bleepnbooster. Yi-Yi isn't a film that upsets conventions overtly, but I think that the close up along with the quick edit and lots of movement (to indicate emotion and excitement) is part of the lingua franca of television and commercial Hollywood pictures which Yang does seek to overturn. Of course the Hollywood way often works. Perhaps it could even have worked here. But I sometimes find it a bit of a shortcut for inexperienced directors. But Yi-Yi is an understated work. That doesn't mean that it's all English and emotionless, just that it doesn't deal in false pathos. It doesn't need to. To say that wide angle shots are alienating is not true (in this film at least - it can be a lot of the time, see Songs from the Second Floor). Indeed, in this film I thought the photography was incredibly beautiful, like a Balthus painting. Nor did I think that the proliferation of these sort of shots amounted to voyeurism. In fact isn't a close-up even more voyeuristic? I don't think Yi-Yi is a film that allows detachment: a Brechtian alienating effect would do nothing to add to it. It really is a masterpiece. Did the framing affect your involvement? I hope not.
Things as they are in themselves is what this film sets out to show. Yang shows this in the plainest way he can and lets his script speak rather than through crafty directorial tropes. Does this make Yang less of a pure 'cinema' director like Kieslowski or Bresson? Perhaps. But isn't he also preaching a 'new cinema' - part Rohmer (his tableaux remind me of Yang's) and part Wenders (the lead character reminds me most of the protagonist in Alice in the Cities)? But, in the end, all of this shoegazing cinema namedropping ceases to mean anything and perhaps we should just say, 'isn't this a truly great film?'.
Things as they are in themselves is what this film sets out to show. Yang shows this in the plainest way he can and lets his script speak rather than through crafty directorial tropes. Does this make Yang less of a pure 'cinema' director like Kieslowski or Bresson? Perhaps. But isn't he also preaching a 'new cinema' - part Rohmer (his tableaux remind me of Yang's) and part Wenders (the lead character reminds me most of the protagonist in Alice in the Cities)? But, in the end, all of this shoegazing cinema namedropping ceases to mean anything and perhaps we should just say, 'isn't this a truly great film?'.
Criminal Lovers
(1999)
Interesting, but not entirely satisfying
14 January 2000
Warning: Spoilers
I like François Ozon. Or at least, I like the idea of François Ozon. I like his challenge to bourgeois morality in Sitcom - I like his attempt to integrate this challenge into a technically limiting format. However, when it comes to committing his ideas to celluloid, I don't think that Ozon's ideas quite work. Be it in his shorts for Gay Majorettes in Space or See the Sea, his pieces always come off as half-arsed, as if they'd been good ideas in his head but not on film. Les Amants Criminels/Criminal Lovers goes half way to resolving this problem. In it, we see three rather brilliant leading performances, from Natacha Régnier (La Vie Rêvée des Anges) and Jérémie Renier as the two amants and an utterly remarkable (and disturbing) one from Miki Manojlovic (Underground) as the man who traps them in the forest. Hence, the film has been described as twisted Hansel and Gretel, and that it certainly is. Whether or not it was Ozon's intention to write a modern-day fairy tale (or whether or not this comparison/allusion is important) is not clear. However, what is clear is that, on some level, he finds this funny. Therefore, the whole thing rests, to a certain extent, upon whether you share Ozon's sense of humour (remember, in Sitcom we had a rat providing the apparatus for Ozon's exposition of middle-class morés, thus introducing S&M and masturbation to the sitcom genre ... and thus attacking his whole sitcom allusion with it). I found myself laughing ... nervously, maybe, but I found it very, very funny. Chilling? Not particularly. Unsympathetic? Certainly - in fact, Regnier's character is brilliantly drawn as both repugnant and seductive. But this is also my main problem with the film, because, while it is very clever, with a great use of music and some lovely visual touches, on a human, psychological level, Ozon's film doesn't rise above the insight afforded to us by an average TV movie-of-the-week. Yes, the oppositions of the characters are clearly defined, but they're clearly defined in tabloid black-and-white. Alice may well represent the 'other' of Luc, but we are never invited to speculate (although speculate is all that we can do, given the lack of information). Luc is seduced; Alice is a neo-noir anti-heroine. But that's as far as it goes, and that's why 'Les Amants Criminels' can be no more than an interesting sideline, a piece of fluff, rather than anything more profound. Nevertheless, Ozon shows considerable visual flair, and great talent for a certain tension, and he always has that pretty sick sense of humour to fall back on should everything else fail.
Rosetta
(1999)
Utterly remarkable
14 January 2000
Sometimes you see a work of art and it knocks you out - it's all you can do for days and days to come to get it out of your mind. And you try to find a way in your mind to bring yourself closer to it, immerse yourself in it. You'll read everything about it that you can, try to find some more of the artist's work, find everything you can to do with it. All this to try and replicate the feeling that you experienced when you first encountered the piece. This is the effect that I've been trying to achieve since I saw Rosetta at 1999's London Film Festival.
Though some have attributed Rosetta's success at Cannes to the last-day syndrome; whereby the film that stays freshest in the panel's minds is the one that wins, it smacks of cavilling to suggest that this is the reason behind Rosetta's success - the simple fact is that it's a remarkable film which was only seriously rivalled this year by Almodovar's All About My Mother. Ignorance and snobbery have constantly been at work when Rosetta has been considered by critics, since it's a film which has divided the critics.
Top of the list of things-to-hate about Rosetta is the Dardennes' decision to shoot hand-held, an objection which I can understand but barely comprehend. Rosetta is a film which follows its heroine. Therefore, by mounting the camera almost on her shoulders, we see the world as she sees it, just as we see the world as she thinks it throughout the rest of the film. Most perfect is a scene when she is lying in bed at the house of Ricquet, her (only) friend, when she reassures herself that she's normal, she's found a friend, a *true* job and that she won't fall into the hole. Seldom is a more perfect and more touching marriage and explanation of the inner-self and its outer-conflicts achieved? - it's just magnificent cinema.
Rosetta is a fighter, but although her conflicts are with individuals, in a literal, physical sense, the metaphorical struggle is with the societal brick wall which she comes up against when trying to forge 'une vie normale' for herself. She's fighting against society for the right to live a life; she's fighting against society for a modicum of dignity. In this way, Rosetta is both existentialist and political, though never overtly, much to the credit of the Dardenne Brothers, since Rosetta is a 'universal' film.
The question which Rosetta poses is how we can release ourselves from the trouble we are in. Rosetta believes, and has been taught to believe (ironically, by society) that the way that she can achieve this dignity is by getting a 'true' job - so much so that she phones her boss to tell him that she won't be at work before her suicide attempt. She doesn't see that it's through Ricquet, not through having a job (his job) that she stands the best chance of forging a true identity, a true life and true dignity.
Rosetta is, in effect, just a proletarian hero, fighting society for the right to live and the right to work. However, to see the film in this way is reductionist in the extreme and is self-defeating. Rosetta is, above all, an individual. Her victory is to see that she has a friend who was there all along, and this gives us a remarkable ending that is full of drama; packs a considerable emotional punch and is unforgettable, thanks especially to a stunningly naturalistic performance by Emilie Dequenne, who won an award at Cannes for her portrayal of Rosetta. Her interpretation of the eponymous heroine lends so much to the film that she is as much responsible for the brilliance of the film as the directors are.
This film will never be a hit with middle-class and middle-class, middle-brow critics it in the same way that Schindler's List and The English Patient were; the bourgeoisie never want to get their hands dirty. It's their loss; Rosetta is quite simply one of the most wonderful films you'll ever see.
Though some have attributed Rosetta's success at Cannes to the last-day syndrome; whereby the film that stays freshest in the panel's minds is the one that wins, it smacks of cavilling to suggest that this is the reason behind Rosetta's success - the simple fact is that it's a remarkable film which was only seriously rivalled this year by Almodovar's All About My Mother. Ignorance and snobbery have constantly been at work when Rosetta has been considered by critics, since it's a film which has divided the critics.
Top of the list of things-to-hate about Rosetta is the Dardennes' decision to shoot hand-held, an objection which I can understand but barely comprehend. Rosetta is a film which follows its heroine. Therefore, by mounting the camera almost on her shoulders, we see the world as she sees it, just as we see the world as she thinks it throughout the rest of the film. Most perfect is a scene when she is lying in bed at the house of Ricquet, her (only) friend, when she reassures herself that she's normal, she's found a friend, a *true* job and that she won't fall into the hole. Seldom is a more perfect and more touching marriage and explanation of the inner-self and its outer-conflicts achieved? - it's just magnificent cinema.
Rosetta is a fighter, but although her conflicts are with individuals, in a literal, physical sense, the metaphorical struggle is with the societal brick wall which she comes up against when trying to forge 'une vie normale' for herself. She's fighting against society for the right to live a life; she's fighting against society for a modicum of dignity. In this way, Rosetta is both existentialist and political, though never overtly, much to the credit of the Dardenne Brothers, since Rosetta is a 'universal' film.
The question which Rosetta poses is how we can release ourselves from the trouble we are in. Rosetta believes, and has been taught to believe (ironically, by society) that the way that she can achieve this dignity is by getting a 'true' job - so much so that she phones her boss to tell him that she won't be at work before her suicide attempt. She doesn't see that it's through Ricquet, not through having a job (his job) that she stands the best chance of forging a true identity, a true life and true dignity.
Rosetta is, in effect, just a proletarian hero, fighting society for the right to live and the right to work. However, to see the film in this way is reductionist in the extreme and is self-defeating. Rosetta is, above all, an individual. Her victory is to see that she has a friend who was there all along, and this gives us a remarkable ending that is full of drama; packs a considerable emotional punch and is unforgettable, thanks especially to a stunningly naturalistic performance by Emilie Dequenne, who won an award at Cannes for her portrayal of Rosetta. Her interpretation of the eponymous heroine lends so much to the film that she is as much responsible for the brilliance of the film as the directors are.
This film will never be a hit with middle-class and middle-class, middle-brow critics it in the same way that Schindler's List and The English Patient were; the bourgeoisie never want to get their hands dirty. It's their loss; Rosetta is quite simply one of the most wonderful films you'll ever see.
The Opposite of Sex
(1998)
Omniscient Narrator
16 November 1998
In eschewing conventional auterist constructs through thoughtful use of Christina Ricci's Dedee character; Don Roos transforms what may just have been an entertaining, yet unsubstantial film, into one that may just have enough power at the box-office to transform traditional, dull standard cinema technique. That is not to say that this is any more or less important than the rest of the film. In fact, the whole thing seems to effortlessly hang together as a whole, even though, on closer inspection, the plot is linked by a particularly thin thread. Performances in the film are mostly excellent, though whether Lyle Lovett's sheriff is simply bad, or is excellent emotionally tight-arsed method acting is difficult to say. Apart from Ricci, Kudrow's performance is a revelation, giving us an funny, yet oddly touching film, that may yet be seen as a minor classic that is much, much more than the sum of its many parts.
The Dreamlife of Angels
(1998)
la vie que tu reves ...
6 November 1998
La Vie Revee des Anges is a stunning debut feature by Erick Zonca. Whether it is the stunningly humanistic performance by Isabelle (Elodie Bouchez - Clubbed to Death), or the spitefully twisted one from Marie (Natacha Regnier), watching "Vie Revee..." is an arresting experience.
Following the lives of two young women, who meet in a factory, the film attempts to give us hope, above the dull city streets of Lille. Indeed, I wonder whether Lille has ever been more gloomily shot. The effect of this technique is to give a certain claustrophobia to proceedings. Even at its most comfortable, the who characters still seem like polar opposites, destined to break their fragile bond at any second. The tragic ending is both shocking and inevitable, and it is handled with considerable humanity by Zonca. I am trying not to give away much of the plot in this summary, however, Zonca leaves only the slightest glimmer of hope for Isabelle's future in his final shot. Isabelle returns to where she began, possibly a broken woman. Winner of the award for best actress(es) at Cannes, the film succeeds for many reasons, but most of all, it is down to Bouchez and Regnier. This film reminds us that, for all the Godzillas in this world, there are still some directors who think in cinematic terms. Zonca is clearly one of those directors.
-Simon Huxtable
Following the lives of two young women, who meet in a factory, the film attempts to give us hope, above the dull city streets of Lille. Indeed, I wonder whether Lille has ever been more gloomily shot. The effect of this technique is to give a certain claustrophobia to proceedings. Even at its most comfortable, the who characters still seem like polar opposites, destined to break their fragile bond at any second. The tragic ending is both shocking and inevitable, and it is handled with considerable humanity by Zonca. I am trying not to give away much of the plot in this summary, however, Zonca leaves only the slightest glimmer of hope for Isabelle's future in his final shot. Isabelle returns to where she began, possibly a broken woman. Winner of the award for best actress(es) at Cannes, the film succeeds for many reasons, but most of all, it is down to Bouchez and Regnier. This film reminds us that, for all the Godzillas in this world, there are still some directors who think in cinematic terms. Zonca is clearly one of those directors.
-Simon Huxtable
Three Colors: Red
(1994)
Any arguments?
6 November 1998
The greatest movie ever.
How's that for a contention? However, if we look at it through purely cinematic terms, it is clear that Three Colours Red is a masterpiece. It is not enough to merely say this - Three Colours Red is the masterpiece of world cinema. If you accept that Citizen Kane is not human enough, if you accept that Star Wars is not actually very good, if you accept that Ozu and Mizoguchi both have to take a step back - then Three Colours Red is the foremost masterpiece of all time. As a discussion into human morality, Three Colours Red works on an intensely metaphysical level, with a depth that none can match. Blue went almost as far into the human psyche, but stopped as it was going to pull the rabbit out of the hat. White forced us to reflect on the humanity of equality - this, in retrospect, was better still, but still not quite there. Red, however, is the real thing. What he expresses in this movie, is an expression of what it is to be human. In fact, what he expresses is _how_ it is to feel human. It forces us to examine up to the minutest detail, the very nature of our souls, of our ethical selves. In Red, one may find meaning on one of its several levels. On the first level, Red achieves a high level of verisimilitude - we could have no trouble in calling Red an exceptionally entertaining story. However, the coincidences inherent in the film and its conceits force us to examine the movie as a movie. It is as if Kieslowski is saying: "Ceci n'est pas la réalité". In effect, in pursuing a humanistic goal, Kieslowski can also challenge reality. It is a trick that Kieslowski has been attempting since Le Double Vie de Véronique, but not until this, his final film, did he finally manage to reach this divine intertwining of fate, philosophy and circumstance. The actors and actresses, too, appear to be at the mercy of a greater power. Valentine (Irène Jacob), is aptly name, for she seems to represent an almost pure love. Meanwhile, the idea of first impressions is challenged by Jean-Louis Tritignant's Judge Kern, a cantankerous man, who, by the end, becomes an almost all-knowing observer of events - a character who symbolically seems to possess the power to bring characters together - a power to make people happy, a power which he could only achieve through Valentine.
We have a capability to see films as more than just a series of pictures. In fact, films have the potential to possess more meaning than literature. It won't happen, of course, but at least we have the power to view this film, knowing that it gives us the power to achieve the something that we can't define, but all possess. A synopsis of this film read: "A film about a woman who runs over a dog". Well, it is.
Isn't it?
-Simon Huxtable
How's that for a contention? However, if we look at it through purely cinematic terms, it is clear that Three Colours Red is a masterpiece. It is not enough to merely say this - Three Colours Red is the masterpiece of world cinema. If you accept that Citizen Kane is not human enough, if you accept that Star Wars is not actually very good, if you accept that Ozu and Mizoguchi both have to take a step back - then Three Colours Red is the foremost masterpiece of all time. As a discussion into human morality, Three Colours Red works on an intensely metaphysical level, with a depth that none can match. Blue went almost as far into the human psyche, but stopped as it was going to pull the rabbit out of the hat. White forced us to reflect on the humanity of equality - this, in retrospect, was better still, but still not quite there. Red, however, is the real thing. What he expresses in this movie, is an expression of what it is to be human. In fact, what he expresses is _how_ it is to feel human. It forces us to examine up to the minutest detail, the very nature of our souls, of our ethical selves. In Red, one may find meaning on one of its several levels. On the first level, Red achieves a high level of verisimilitude - we could have no trouble in calling Red an exceptionally entertaining story. However, the coincidences inherent in the film and its conceits force us to examine the movie as a movie. It is as if Kieslowski is saying: "Ceci n'est pas la réalité". In effect, in pursuing a humanistic goal, Kieslowski can also challenge reality. It is a trick that Kieslowski has been attempting since Le Double Vie de Véronique, but not until this, his final film, did he finally manage to reach this divine intertwining of fate, philosophy and circumstance. The actors and actresses, too, appear to be at the mercy of a greater power. Valentine (Irène Jacob), is aptly name, for she seems to represent an almost pure love. Meanwhile, the idea of first impressions is challenged by Jean-Louis Tritignant's Judge Kern, a cantankerous man, who, by the end, becomes an almost all-knowing observer of events - a character who symbolically seems to possess the power to bring characters together - a power to make people happy, a power which he could only achieve through Valentine.
We have a capability to see films as more than just a series of pictures. In fact, films have the potential to possess more meaning than literature. It won't happen, of course, but at least we have the power to view this film, knowing that it gives us the power to achieve the something that we can't define, but all possess. A synopsis of this film read: "A film about a woman who runs over a dog". Well, it is.
Isn't it?
-Simon Huxtable
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