Belgium | 2010 | Directed by Koen Mortier

Logline: A mall security guard apparently survives a suicide bomb attack and in the immediate aftermath suffers acute anxiety and encounters several of the victims’ ghosts.

The second feature from the Flemish director who unleashed the brilliant assault on the senses that is Ex Drummer delivers a disturbingly introspective follow-up, as uncompromising in its attitude as it is studious in tone. This is a character study where humanity is stained with the blood of morality; this is a deeply personal narrative that meanders and weaves like a lost child in a giant crowd.

Mortier achieves a disquieting hypnotism with his mise-en-scene, his Phantom camera tracking and dollying through the urban concrete jungle and psychological landscape, each as haunted as each other; the palette as grey and cold as the calculated intent of the young terrorist. But there is no political agenda on the mind of the young bomber; he is serving something much more personal and confronting.

The main thrust of the narrative focuses on Sam (Sam Louwyck), a security guard, who is standing at the entrance of the mall when the bomb is detonated inside. The blast knocks him to the ground. Covered in dust Sam does his best to pull some of the victims from the carnage. When hysteria overwhelms him he flees from the scene only to meet one of the victims, a woman who demands to know why the bomber did what he did, as if Sam is somehow responsible.

Innocence and guilt are intertwined as several other victims visit Sam and as he watches in a flashback the bomber preparing for his destructive deed. The death of his young daughter in a bicycle collision with a car holds a deep significance that isn’t revealed until the end of the movie; mortality and karma dance on a precarious edge.

Surrealism is a creative tool that Koen Mortier uses freely within his storytelling structures and 22^nd Of May hovers between experimental narrative and stream-of-consciousness. There is a palpable feeling of journey that this movie evokes, of time and place, of moment and instance. The fragility of humanity, the ephemeral quality of existence; death is just around the corner peering … Be careful you might just catch its eye.

Slow and deliberate 22^nd Of May doesn’t suffer fools gladly. This is an acquired taste. The taste of spit and cigarettes from ex Drummer is replaced by the taste of explosives and debris. Questions of longing and resignation are slapped around and sat down. This is violence for the intellectual, ugliness in beauty. A fantasy dysfunction. 

22nd Of May is released by Accent Entertainment.

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2011 | Denmark /Sweden/France/Germany | Directed by Lars Von Trier

Logline: Two sisters struggle to deal with their immediate relationships as once-hidden planet steadily hurtles toward earth prompting the end of the world.

Justine (Kirsten Dunst) is getting married to Michael (Alexander Skarsgard).

Justine is not happy.

Michael is blissful, but naïve.

Justine’s sister Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg) is exasperated.

Claire’s husband Jack (Keifer Sutherland) is angry.

Justine and Claire’s mother Gaby (Charlotte Rampling) is at the end of her tether.

Michael’s father Jack (Stellan Skarsgard) is boastful, but soon becomes bitter.

The grey planet Melancholia looms from behind the sun.

The wedding collapses.

Justine is in a stupor.

Claire becomes paranoid.

Jack becomes excited.

Melancholia appears inviting, but the threat of cosmic apocalypse soon overwhelms.

Jack insists science will prevail.

Justine’s dark mood leads her to strip herself of responsibility.

Claire’s desperation clings to her like a cold sweat.

Melancholy shrouds happiness.

Resignation is the softest option.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Destiny is held close.

Justine, Claire, and her son Leo (Cameron Spur) join hands under flora.

Melancholia bears down.

The protection of intimacy is such a fragile pursuit.

Surrender.

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USA | 1991 | Directed by Christopher Munch

Logline: A fictionalised account of what may have happened when John Lennon and Brian Epstein went on holiday together to Spain in 1963.

A curious character study that clocks in at just under an hour, so featurette would be the apt description. Christopher Munch takes liberty with a poignant and peculiar moment in history; a few days in Spain that John Lennon, of The Beatles, and the band’s manager, Brian Epstein, spent in intimate rest and recreation following an exhausting stint of concerts back in England.

It was April 1963, and of course, The Beatles were fast becoming the international phenomenon that would change the world of popular music forever. John Lennon, who was struggling in his relationship with Cynthia, his first wife and mother of baby Julian, so he relished the chance to get away from the hordes and the pressures of fatherhood and husbandry.

Brian Epstein was openly gay (well, at least to close friends and the rest of the band) and he harboured an infatuation with John. John was well aware of Brian’s deep-rooted attraction, and being the mischievous rascal he played on it. But as charming and witty as John was, he could also be cruel and heartless, as observed in the scene where he is on the phone to Cynthia. He was also a prick (tease) to Brian.

John was an opportunist and he loved to experiment. The Hours and Times presents a possible series of moments that might have occurred between the two men as the lounged and lingered around the Barcelona hotel. John smoked like a chimney and chewed gum like it was going out of fashion. Brian wore clean shirts and made plaintive glances in John’s direction. There was a tension, some of it sexual, much of it a power game.

Christopher Munch captures a city trapped in time. Filmed in high contrast black and white and cleverly shooting the beautiful urban exteriors (a lot of Gaudi) so as not to give away that the movie was made nearly thirty years later. There’s a visual poetry that weaves and slides, languid and emotive. Nothing much actually happens, yet during these hours, the times they are a-changing. It’s fascinating and compelling, but strangely distant.

Ian Hart delivers an uncannily spot on performance as Lennon, looking remarkably similar in facial features, but also nailing the nonchalant body language, the Liverpudlian drawl, and his impulsive sense of humour. Hart would go on to play Lennon again in the excellent early Beatles biopic Backbeat. David Angus isn’t as strong an actor as Hart, but he has Epstein’s Oxford-educated accent down pat, and he also bears a striking resemblance to the real Epstein.

Stephanie Pack is memorable as an airline stewardess whom Lennon flirts with in the movie’s opening scene and who turns up later at their hotel only to have Lennon play the whimsical tango fob-off. John didn’t know what he wanted, and Brian could only indulge him and keep his fingers crossed. When John pushed the envelope of their friendship it would only cause tears before bedtime. Perhaps it was John’s rejection of Brian that fuelled the manager’s suicidal tendencies? I guess no one will ever really know.

The Hours and Times DVD is courtesy of Accent Entertainment, many thanks!

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2005 | South Korea | Directed by Chan-wook Park

Logline: After a woman is released from prison for a crime she didn’t commit she sets about reuniting with her daughter and orchestrating an elaborate revenge on the man who was responsible for the terrible crime and many more. 

It’s original title, Chinjeolhan Geumjassi, translates as Kindhearted Ms. Guem-Ja, and like the first movie in Park’s “Vengeance Trilogy”, it is a far superior title than the American/international version, especially since it conjures a bitter sense of irony, which is in keeping with the movie’s sombre, yet bewitchingly poetic tone. This is a tale of revenge as different from Oldboy as it is from Mr. Vengeance, it is still a dish served oh so chilled, as it will always – and best be, but there is also a strange, melancholic beauty that permeates the movie’s atmosphere.

Not as explicitly violent as its predecessors, yet just as dark and, in some ways, even more disturbing, as it deals with child abuse and the cold-blooded killing of children. Park is not shy or perturbed about dealing with such heinous material, yet he provides his protagonist with a wealth of ethical complications and moral dilemmas. This is a complex movie in terms of its thematic elements, but at the core is a tale of systematic retribution; justice in the hands of an elegant damaged soul

After thirteen years in prison for kidnapping and murdering a young boy Geum-ja Lee (Yeong-ae Lee) is released and makes attempts to get her life on track. She finds a job in a bakery; orders the manufacturing of a special weapon; reunites with her daughter (who was adopted by an Australian family!); and, most importantly, plots her revenge against the real killer of the boy (who makes occasional ghostly visitations on her), the English teacher Mr. Baek (Min-sik Choi, star from Oldboy).

Geum-ja seeks redemption; she seeks to become “white” again. She orchestrates the union of the parents of the many children who had perished at the vile, cruel hands of the serial killer, and arranges for them to sate their shared desire for primal justice: and eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. As shocking as it is satisfying, this climax is delivered and executed not as one would expect.

Once again Park presents his deadly subversive tale with the eye of an artist; the visual narrative is stunning, the baroque classical soundtrack fits like hand in glove, the performances, especially that of Yeong-as Lee is nothing short of brilliant. To add a dangerous level of tenebrous humour infused with touches of surrealism is only something Park could get away with (as he does in the first and second movies of the trilogy),

This is a movie of contrasts and juxtapositions. Park’s original intention was for the cinematographic palette to slowly change from during the course of the movie; the colour slowly draining away eventually leaving the imagery in just black and white. Unfortunately the budget didn’t allow for such a complicated colour grade in post, however, for the domestic release a “Fade To Black Version” was completed, which is included on the Korean DVD release.

Forget Kill Bill (parts one and two), the “Vengeance Trilogy” is the essential viewing for Asian cinema lovers, leftfield crime fiends, and enthusiasts of the sub-genre of revenge flicks.

Sympathy for Lady Vengeance DVD is courtesy of Madman Entertainment, many thanks!

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2002 | South Korea | Directed by Chan-wook Park

Logline: A businessman seeks revenge for the botched kidnapping of his daughter by a disgruntled former employee and his girlfriend.

Park is best known for his masterful revenge thriller Oldboy (2003), which is the middle movie in what is now referred to as his “vengeance trilogy”. The first movie’s original title is Boksuneun Naui Geot that translates roughly as Vengeance is Mine, but it was re-titled Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance for its American/international release. Apparently Park prefers the Western title, but I think his original Eastern title is much more appropriate, especially once you’ve viewed the movie, and taken into account the complexity of its multiple takes on the act of revenge. Like Oldboy, this is a powerhouse thriller pulsing with a visceral intensity and packed with stunning imagery.

Needing money for a vital kidney transplant that will save his sister’s life, Ryu (Ha-kyun Shin), a deaf mute, and his girlfriend Cha Yeong-mi (Doona Bae) kidnap a wealthy divorced businessman’s only daughter in order to extort a ransom. When Ryu’s sister (Ji-Eun Lim) discovers that the young girl they’re “babysitting” has actually been kidnapped she acts in extreme protest, much to Ryu’s despair. Then the situation goes from tragic to double-whammy tragic, and the businessman, Park Dong-Jin (Kang-ho Song) seeks retribution.

This is vengeance as rite of passage riding shotgun with Murphy’s Law. Ryu tries to donate his own kidney to his sister, but his blood type is not compatible with hers. When Ryu is fired from Ilshin Electronics, he meets a black market dealer of human organs, but the criminals propose that he give them his kidney plus ten million to obtain a kidney suitable for his sister. Ryu accepts the trade, but he does not have money to pay for the surgery. His lover, Yeong-mi, who fancies herself as an anarchist revolutionary, is the one who convinces him to kidnap Yossun, the daughter of his former employer, the businessman Park, who owns the electronic company.

There’s also a retarded young man (Seung-beom Ryu) who turns up at the river where Ryu buries his sister. The physically disabled man complicates matters when he interferes. But later he provides Park with key information, via a necklace, the who and where, responsible for the death of his daughter. There is also Yeong-mi’s terrorist friends, the young circle jerks, living in the tiny apartment next door to Ryu and Yeong. They play their cards late in the game.

Chan-wook Park is a consummate visual storyteller, his mise-en-scene and composition is brilliant, as is his use of sound. He amply displays all the ingredients for compelling, provocative cinema. Morality is treated as both hero and villain, and extreme violence is par for the course; everyone is victim, everyone is perpetrator. Park elicits dynamic performances from his core cast, and as far as his finale is concerned, he doesn’t suffer fools gladly.

NB: All three movies in the “vengeance trilogy” are currently being remade by Hollywood with Spike Lee directing the Oldboy remake.

Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance DVD is courtesy of Madman Entertainment, many thanks!

TRAILER:

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DVD cover art © 2002 CJ Entertainment

1996/2004/2005 | Denmark/UK | Directed by Nicolas Winding Refn

Logline: Three drug pushers in three separate, but linked, stories; the first one trying desperately to repay a debt to a drug lord, the second (the mate of the first one) trying to do good in his father’s eyes, the third (the drug lord) trying to stay clean and adapt to a changing market. 

One of the most powerful, uncompromising, and utterly compelling multi-portraits of criminal life ever put to screen, the Pusher movies are incredibly vivid and distinctly individual, each movie a separate story, yet with characters that carry over from each movie. All of them are set in Copenhagen; all of them are shot with mostly handheld camera, pseudo-documentary fly-on-the-wall, cinema verite-style. The mise-en-scene is authentic, the performances stunning, the direction and editing consummate.

In Pusher the narrative follows a week (Monday to Sunday) in the life of Frank (Kim Bodnia), a twentysomething drug dealer who deals in coke and smack. His partner in crime is Tonny (Mads Mikkelsen), a skinhead with the word “RESPECT” tattooed in huge letters across the back of his head. His girlfriend is uber-pretty Vic (Laura Drasbaek), a callgirl with a habit. Frank doesn’t fuck her because she’s a whore, but he lets her give him head. Tonny teases him, Frank gives Tonny shit back. They’re best mates, but the ice they tread is thin.

The urgency in which Refn shoots Pusher is dynamic to say the least. The trials and tribulations, the tension and suspense is palpable, the slang dialogue crackles with authenticity. This is Frank’s nightmare descent, as he tries to find the money that he owes Milo (Zlatco Buric), a no nonsense high roller. And the audience is pulled down with him every step of the way. The shroud of nilhilism that hangs over this movie as is poetic as it is grim. There hasn’t been a more profound slap in the face for the narcotic thriller as Pusher.

With the sequels, which Refn was “forced” to make to pull his film company out of bankruptcy, he returns to the characters of Tonny and Milo. In Pusher II: With Blood on My Hands it is Tonny’s story as he tries – rather unsuccessfully – to wipe his slate clean and build a decent future working for his father. But his father is a cruel criminal himself, and he loathes his dodgy son. Tonny discovers he’s fathered a son (to an ex he has no interest in resuming a relationship with, yet can’t help but continue the acquaintance), and this plays an important card for his future decisions.

I’m the Angel of Death: Pusher 3 is Milo’s tale, a much more seasoned player than the leaner version we first met in Pusher. He still cooks dodgy dishes, but his lovely daughter is still keen for him to whip up some food for her 25^th birthday party. Milo has been attending Narcotics Anonymous, and seems to be staying afloat, until an old viper passes by, Kurt the Cunt (Kurt Nielsen), and slips him a wee packet of tasty horse. Milo’s rubber arm is behind his back, and before you can say “King Kong of Copenhagen” there’s xenophobia in the air, and there’s blood on the floor. Lots of it.

It’s hard to say which of the three movies is the best, as they’re all as good as each other. Each central character and performance is riveting. Refn directs – and tells his stories – with a maturity and sophistication that belies his youthful career. He’s not interested in making any kind of moral statement, he simply presents these characters and their milieu as it is. Refn is like a Danish Scorsese, as concerned with realism (including gut-wrenching violence), attention to detail, as he is determined to tell a captivating story, and in this case deliver the most convincing portrayal of this underbelly of society, the nuances of character that fill it, the foibles, humour, truths, and lies – the twisted morality and fragile mortality – that makes it all so darkly fascinating.

The Pusher trilogy is unpretentious, virtuoso filmmaking on all levels.

The Pusher Trilogy DVD pack (four discs, including the excellent documentary, Gambler, on how and why Refn made Pusher II & 3) is courtesy of Accent Entertainment, many thanks!

TRAILERS:

1991 | France | Directed by Jacques Rivette

Logline: A young artist and his girlfriend visit a former famous painter, and inadvertently the young woman becomes the painter’s new muse, much to her boyfriend and the painter’s wife’s frustration.

Inspired by a novella, Le Chef-d’oeuvre Inconnu by Balzac, La Belle Noiseuse (which roughly translates as The Beautiful Nuisance, or Pain-in-the-Arse) was scripted by the director with Pascal Bonitzer and Christine Laurent, both of whom wrote the dialogue. It’s a study of love and art, of truth and secrecy, of honesty and duplicity. It is one of the only movies to ever come close to capturing the essence, both in preliminary sketch and in painted completion, of the process of the painter as artist.

Frenhofer (Michele Piccoli) is a semi-retired painter living a peaceful, reflective life in his beautiful Provence countryside estate, with his wife Liz (Jane Birkin), and a young maid (Leila Remili). Nicolas (David Burszstein) arrives with Mariannae (Emmanuelle Beart), along with Porbus, Frenhofer’s agent. Porbus wants new art, but Frenhofer is reluctant, elusive. Nicolas is restless, whilst Marianne is an open book. Half-jokingly Nicolas and Porbus suggest that Marianne be his model, to invigorate his creative juices again.

When Marianne finds out she’d been offered as an objet d’art she is incensed with Nicolas and his assumption that she would do such a thing. At the crack of dawn the next morning she decides to offer herself, partly in spite, partly in curiosity. She is quickly seduced by Frenhofer’s casual intensity, as the aging painter knows her natural beauty, especially once she is sans clothes – au naturale – and being contorted into poses sensual and provocative.

Frenhofer decides to start again the work on a painting he long ago stopped: “La Belle Noiseuse”. Marianna has replaced his original muse: his wife Liz. A struggle for truth, life and sense begins, and the question of where the limit of art lies, or whether art is, in fact, limitless burns through the fabric of resistance. Marianne yearns to discover the artist’s creative secrets, yet the artist pulls deeper and deeper inside the young woman extracting another person entirely.

Elegantly directed and sumptuously shot, entirely on location, this is a quietly powerful treatise on the relationship between artist and model, between what is genuine and what is fake; in emotion, psyche, physicality, and ultimately in expression. Yet The Beautiful Nuisance remains as elusive as the spark of imagination. Masterfully understated, gloriously uninhibited, the film, and the mesmerizing performance of Emmanuelle Beart (who was 27 when she made the movie), has become a benchmark for artistic nuance and nude pulchritude.

The movie runs at a leisurely 229 minutes (three hours and forty minutes), but was also released in an alternate version of 125 minutes that used different takes, a different editing rhythm, and featured less nudity, yet brighter lighting. This was designed for French television and was re-titled Divertimento. I’ve not seen it, but am very curious as to how different the overall impression would be.

La Belle Noiseuse DVD (the movie is split onto two discs) is courtesy of Accent Entertainment, many thanks!

TRAILER:

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2010 | Germany/Hungary/France | Directed by Benedek Fliegauf

Logline: A woman’s consuming love leads her to bear a clone of her dead beloved, raising him to adulthood where she faces unavoidable complexities.

Womb is a movie of deep, emotionally charged, poetic moments. It is a narrative that lies in stillness and reflection, relies on nuance and subtlety, but at the core there is heartbreak and desperation. It is a powerful and unsettling tale that disturbs in the disquieting way a dream does as it lingers in your mind during those waking moments.

Rebecca is nine when she firsts meets Thomas who is ten. The time and place is never identified, but it is a coastal environment, and the science of human cloning is something that has been both embraced and shunned. This is a science fiction morality tale; not as explicit warning, but a timely reminder of the complex responsibilities and potentially awkward (to say the least) situations this bio-tech advancement will have on society’s ethics and the future of the human race.

Young Rebecca and Thomas forge an immediate close bond, but it isn’t to last, as Rebecca has to depart for Japan. She is gone for twelve years. When she returns they are adults, Thomas (Matt Smith) is an entomologist who moonlights as a political activist. Rebecca and Thomas resume their childhood sweetheart program, but their romance is shattered. Rebecca decides to walk the controversial avenue and visits the Department of Genetic Replication where she uses Thomas’s DNA (secretly supplied by the father, as the mother is loathe to) in a bid to reclaim what she lost: she is impregnated and subsequently gives birth to a baby boy who grows up looking exactly like young Thomas.

Benedek Fliegauf opts for a less obvious approach to the passing of time; there are no sub-titles saying “five years later” or “many seasons later”, but there doesn’t need to be, the visual narrative is strong and succinct enough. Eva Green should have been visually aged once Thomas reaches seventeen (or thereabouts), but as the movie is a symbolic tale, the emphasis on that level of realism is not important.

Peter Szatmari’s cinematography is stunning, icy blue widescreen vistas of the beach, shot on the Germanic island of Sylt, lots of long shots, tableauxs. Fliegauf loves his photographic rule of thirds and uses it extensively, but never ostentatiously. There is a cool vibe, a warm chill to the mood, both visually and tonally. It’s an original screenplay, but it feels like it’s based on a novel; or possibly a play, especially the languid pace, small cast – all of whom perform excellently – and only a clutch of locations.

Womb is a deep movie that swims in shallow waters; on the surface is a melancholic romantic fantasy, but underneath is a dark psychological drama; one woman’s mental health unhinged, her self-control slipping through her fingers like eels through a net. Womb is as insular and life affirming as it is tenebrous and primal. There is a dysfunctional carnality that is tugged and pulled as the strands of procreative reasoning fray.

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Womb DVD is courtesy of Accent Entertainment, many thanks!