TOP
TEN FILMS SEEN IN THE YEAR 2011
(Films not released or shown in
This is another year with the same director pulling down
two Top Ten slots, something previously unheard of until last year’s release of
Xavier Dolan’s first two films. This
year it’s Lee Chang-dong’s 4th and 5th films, by now
showing the ease of a mature filmmaker, one with a novelesque
flair not seen since the days of Edward Yang, the other veering towards Dostoevskian grief. This
year includes the best documentary seen in at least 5 years, also the two
funniest films of the year come from
In only its first year, this website (cranes are flying) provided 225 film reviews, a personal vacation wrap up (Rocky Mountain Vacation), a 9/11 commentary (9/11 Ground Zero Memorial Service), and a Chicago Film Festival summary (2011 Chicago Film Festival Recap). All reviews will be added to this still developing larger site: cranes are flying online film project which is only updated about twice a year.
Best wishes to everyone for a fabulous new year.
Robert
1.) The Tree
of Life A
That's
where God lives! —Mrs.
O’Brien (Jessica Chastain), pointing upwards towards the sky
Larry,
the youngest, went to
—from Page 2 of Peter Biskind’s
August, 1999 article for Vanity Fair, “The Runaway Genius,” seen here: The
Runaway Genius | Classic | Vanity Fair
Unlike Malick’s other films, this one is much more
autobiographical in nature, showing a portrait of the artist himself and a
deeply personal understanding of the world around him and even his own place in
the universe. Grasping at the eternal,
this feels like a dialogue the director may be having with God, where answers
are few, but the probing intensity to unfathom the
meaning and puzzling nature of our existence seems to be at the heart of this
film. Why are we here? Where did we come from? What does it all mean, and what, in the end,
really matters? Much like the imagined
inner thoughts of the soldiers in THE THIN RED LINE (1998), who collectively
form the consciousness of mankind through an endless stream of voices paying
tribute to both the living and the dead, the director strives to find some
meaning in witnessing wave after wave of human slaughter at Guadalcanal in
1942, and also asking how God can allow it?
Much like Jewish Holocaust survivor Elie
Wiesel asking where was the presence of God at
Due to the Biblical references throughout the film, many
will confuse this as a devout religious work, where something of an afterlife or
a vision of collected memories seem to materialize where the living and the
dead, at different stages in their lives, may actually co-exist, at least
temporarily, where they commune and share feelings. But rather than a declaration of devotion to
God, there is no evidence from the point of view of a religious believer,
instead the view is continually that of one questioning man’s fate on
earth. And from this perspective, after
the world is created, knowing we are all fated to die, the question is how does
one live in this world? Despite his best
efforts, extreme forms of discipline, never missing a day of work, and
attending church every week, Malick’s father, portrayed by Brad Pitt, has no
answers. Life is still hard and at times
unendurable, where faith does not seem to be a determining factor in one’s
wealth or happiness. People are still
weak, human and vulnerable, subject to making mistakes, where they may suffer
painful consequences from their own actions, and more importantly,
inadvertently transfer them onto their own children, which has a punishing
effect upon the innocent. Pitt has high
standards that the world, and his family, rarely meet, admonishing them,
blaming them for resisting his will, undermining his authority, eventually
turning on them with a detestable abuse that poisons his relationship with each
and every one. At one point, the oldest
of three boys, young Jack (Hugh McCracken in the likely role of the director),
actually expresses his wishes that God would kill his father, to literally get
rid of him. In contrast to the sublime,
humans have thoughts of vengeance.
Without ever resorting to a narrative, per se, the film
instead is a fragment of reflections, beautifully shown in a montage of Jack
from birth to a young moody teenager, where his mother, Jessica Chastain,
couldn’t be a more devoted mother, always taking the children’s side from the
ferocious mood swings of her husband, a man who had high hopes for himself but
believes he ultimately let his family down by failing to live up to any of his
dreams, becoming more and more disgusted with himself, which is mirrored in
Jack’s view of the world around him, detesting his father, growing more
troubled, even becoming something of a loose cannon with his own brothers,
where he abuses their brotherly trust, eventually shooting one of them with a
BB gun. In one of the more miraculous
scenes in the film, quite a contrast from the ominous creation of the world,
Jack apologizes to his younger brother R.L. (Laramie Eppler),
who immediately forgives him. This
simple act of brotherly love is an ecstatic moment in the film, perhaps the
turning point, and perhaps the reason for making the film because it has such
emotional resonance, especially knowing, as the audience does from the
beginning, that he’ll later lose a brother. His father, on the other hand, feels tortured
by all the terrible things he never got to amend, having to live with his own
human fallibility. Learning how to be a
part rather than apart seems to be the secret.
Much like the exquisite feel of TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD (1962), one of the
best films ever made in portraying the mindset of gracious but mischievous
children, the time spent outdoors seems endless, where at that age, every day
seems to last forever.
What’s truly remarkable about this film is that the
immensity of the big bang, the ponderous inquiry into how it all began, is
replaced by tiny moments in people’s lives, by their collective memories which
bond them together as families, as this is something they uniquely share with
one another. What Malick
does is fill the screen with ordinary moments, each one a gesture of love, such
as a mother lovingly teaching her children how to speak or read, or share
playful moments together, perhaps playing outside, getting wet in the
sprinkler, shooting off fireworks, or playing catch. Even the mistakes they make, which they may
regret later in life, are something they can somehow atone for and become a
better person. This entire film seems to
be directed towards the human being’s capacity for love, which is shown so
effortlessly and generously by their mother, luminously portrayed by Chastain,
but also in the way the children, even in their innocence, have a “feel” for
one another, where at times the audience zeroes in on exactly what they’re
feeling, such as moments of unadulterated exaltation and joy, complemented by
exquisite choices of music that suggest how they can transcend the moment,
literally getting outside their troubled existence. One of the best sequences in the film is
observing Pitt playing Bach at home on the piano, where R.L. outside on the
porch is following along on his guitar, where at least for one mesmerizing
moment, they play a flawless duet that is simply magical, one of those rare
moments shared together. So despite all
the ambition and all the attention paid to the big moments in the film, it’s
really about the smaller almost forgotten moments in our lives, suggesting pure
love can literally transcend the seeming futility of man’s existence, elevating
the stakes, placing the needs of others ahead of your own, where perhaps the
highest realization is that man is not the center of the universe—not sure
anyone has ever seen it expressed quite like this before, but by all artistic
measurements, simply breathtaking.
Post Addendum:
Despite the fact I saw this with a group of about 8 people
& I was the only one who found it truly amazing, and I had to listen to
gripes and groans from disappointed viewers afterwards, this remains my #1 film
of the year. Malick simply brings something to
the table that no one else does, and what people forget is what a gripping film
this really is, despite the meandering philosophical questioning, which, by the
way, is something we ALL do in our lifetimes, continually question what the
fuck we're doing - - though for many, they soon grew tired of listening of
the near whispered, pondering questions that have frequented Malick's films of
late, especially prevalent in Thin Red
Line. Since this film opens with the death of a child, who we haven't
even gotten to know yet, the rest of the film frames his life and puts his life
in perspective, offering meaning in its own unique way, and is a kind of
personal recollection from Malick, which is unique to
all his films. For me, the entire film was focused and centered upon that
death, where this portrait of his life becomes so excruciatingly personal,
especially the way it never singles out which kid died, so we see them as a
family growing up when you could barely differentiate between them, as they're
all just kids, though with telling differences that would seem to matter more
to the storyteller than the audience, as the older kid (who obviously did NOT
die, as he went on to later make this film) plays the lead. What few
mention is just how tearful this film is, as so much of this experience is
filled with the most extreme forms of personal anguish, truly accentuated by
the choices of music, where Malick outdoes himself
here.
Filmmaking as personal heartache is something new, as his
(Malick's) heart aches not just for his brother, but for all
mankind, as this is just one of millions and millions of deaths that take
place over time, each of which has a similar framing story, where this is
where we came from, this is what we're a part of, these are the fragmented
pieces in our minds that hold us together, these isolated memories that have
little meaning to anyone else which can bring me to my knees when I think of
them, tormented forever, like an affliction, which is the pain of death
and loss. Nothing is so powerfully overwhelming than having to accept the
finality of death.
It's still early for me to think this rises above Days of Heaven or
What a difference philosophical perspective makes - - all the difference in the
world.
Another Post Addendum:
Just a point in general, but for a Malick
movie, or von Trier's Melancholia, what you're watching on TV is simply
not the same experience as sitting in a theater and getting the big picture, so
to speak. I know people have heard this discussion ad nauseum,
but it's worth repeating for very specific films, ones that tend to be mentally
and visually expansive. They were created for a theater
experience.
I don't know if anyone ever went to a Pink Floyd concert,
but it would not translate well if shown on TV. I'm not saying it
wouldn't be enjoyable, but it's not the same experience. Opera
doesn't translate well into TV or even the movie theaters. It's
designed to be heard live onstage.
My point is if you are limiting the potential breadth of
the experience by watching a movie on Netflix, then you can't expect to get the
same out of it as those who had a completely different experience in a
theater.
Yeah, yeah, I know. Theaters are obsolete, everyone
watches at home nowadays. But understand that all of those rave reviews
coming out of
The people who don't get Malick's films, or understand
why there is such lavish praise, are the ones who expect the film to
deliver in ways where they don't have to do all the work, expecting the
director to do that for them, as this is what they're more accustomed to at the
movies, where their reaction is like: OK, show me the magic, where
they're expecting the film to *do* something to them, where the audience
basically sits there passively and waits for the movie to blow their
mind. And if their minds are not significantly blown away, the movie is
a dud, like going on a ride at Disneyland, where movie watching is a form of
thrill seeking to make up for the emptiness in people's lives.
Putting it another way, I'd say Malick
makes the kind of films that offer something for the viewer to figure out for
themselves, where everyone walks out with a different impression, which is the
beauty of it, literally hundreds of different reactions. It's a
different kind of movie experience than, say, Harry Potter, where
everything is explained to you, and often over explained. Malick makes puzzle films without ever revealing whodunit.
All you get is a series of clues which you have to put together yourself.
I'd say Kubrick did much the same thing, and that single quality is what makes
their films brilliant, not to mention timeless.
While Malick's films are visually extravagant, that's only
a small part of how they can affect an audience, where different people
bring different experiences into the movie theater with them. War films,
for instance, affect people who have experienced war differently than those who
haven't. Not saying the experience couldn't be profound in each case, but
the perspective is different, as it becomes more personal. Malick films are the same way. Those that feel a
personal connection are not looking for each and every shot or sequence to have
meaning, they're looking at the overall experience, where part of
the pleasure is viewing a subject through the eyes and experiences of
someone else, putting yourself in someone else's shoes, where yes the
author/director or the screenplay matter. Yes, we have similarities,
common memories, but how each of us perceives the significance of those
memories is ultimately what matters and turns an otherwise common or ordinary
experience into a great work of art. Crime and Punishment is
not remembered for the actual crime committed, the kind of thing we see on
the TV news reports each and every day, but is significant due to the
singularly personal and unique way that he experienced the haunting
aftereffects of his act.
Malick's film reverberates with the death of a child,
where he attempts to give meaning to that life by having the memory echo
endlessly through the vast universe, where in memory he never dies, but I
imagine the film works best by those who are actually haunted by the
personal effects of death, where those reverberations in their own lives have
been given a different form and meaning by the very nature of the stream of
conscious film expression.
Why does a final image have to mean so much more than
all the preceding images? I don't think that's how Malick
sees it, and I doubt our last breath in life will be any more profound or
meaningful than all the preceding moments we had in our lives. Malick is looking at it all - - not a single
moment. Reducing one's life to a final single moment and
placing so much meaning to that moment is missing everything that came
before. It's all inclusive. I think Malick's very ordinariness in
his finale adds a touch of final realism to the film, as people
don't go eloquently and gracefully with big finishes. Most leave this
earth with a whimper, dying from untreated medical maladies, long protracted
illnesses or from senseless acts. Why should the final moment carry all
the meaning? It's everything that comes before that
matters.
2.) Margaret
A
Márgarét, are you gríeving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves, líke the things
of man, you
With your
fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah!
ás the heart grows
older
It will
come to such sights colder
By and
by, nor spare a sigh
Though
worlds of wanwood leafmeal
lie;
And yet
you wíll weep and know why.
Now no
matter, child, the name:
Sórrow's spríngs áre the same.
Nor mouth
had, no nor mind, expressed
What
heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It ís the blight man was born for,
It is
Margaret you mourn for.
—Spring and Fall: To a
Young Child (September 7, 1880) by Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844 – 1889)
A hugely ambitious work, something along the lines of
Charlie Kaufman’s SYNECDOCHE NEW YORK (2008), not in subject matter but as it
similarly covers such a broad canvas, released a decade after his last work YOU
CAN COUNT ON ME (2000), originally shot in 2005, where despite the 6-year
history of lawsuits it was considered by the studio Fox Searchlight as
unreleasable, requiring that it be under 150 minutes and refusing to pay for a
film they thought would never be released, but with the help of additional
money from actor Matthew Broderick and a final editing by Martin Scorsese and
Thelma Schoonmaker, Lonergan approved their edit for this theatrical release.
Considering the circumstances, the pace of the film is brisk and fluid, the
subject dense and complex, and is surprisingly well constructed, where there
may be a few odd dangling moments that could have been left out, or more likely
expanded, but this film offers more sensational sequences that stand alone on
their own artistic merit than any other film in recent memory, as there are at
least a dozen or so such scenes, each wonderfully realized and well
incorporated into the film. Most all include the brilliantly sensational
dialogue, perhaps the best written film in the past decade, along with so many
impressive performances both large and small, where so much spins off the
interpretation of a single word, where this is a film replete with
misunderstanding, with a near obsessive drive to be understood, yet a single
word may be picked out of one’s comments which in the eyes of others refutes
everything else said. This misunderstanding, then, is not accidental, but
willfully misunderstood, where there is an equally obsessive drive to hurt and
belittle others with chaotic and embarrassing insults. The language here is so
combative that it often resembles the theatrical fireworks of a play, hurled
with the ferocious invectives of Edward Albee’s WHO’S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF?
(1966), and, reinforcing a theme, there are several stage performances
witnessed before a live audience, where the reaction to them changes and
evolves over time, revealing the significance of personal transformation.
The film is a bold and brutally honest exposé of a post
9/11 New York, which most importantly unveils the complexity of one’s own
evolving personal reaction to a horrific accident, a film experience that
thrives on combustible force, such as the friction and combative language between
two people, the unpredictability of the theatrical experience, the boredom of
an overly structured classroom setting, the hotly contested courtroom
litigation, the chaotic dynamics of multiple parties on a speaker phone,
several unannounced visits to perfect strangers, or even the improbable
dynamics in initiating sexual interest. Anna Paquin, now 29, was only 23
when she played this 17-year old student (Lisa Cohen) at a privileged
Often using a slowed down change of camera speed,
especially in the streets of New York, this reflects the change of pace going
on inside people’s heads as they’re walking down the street, often daydreaming
or easily distracted by window displays, food vendors, or their own cellphone
conversations, where a part of their brain is operating at a different speed
than the rapidly passing traffic. This also expresses a kind of
compartmentalization, where people’s focus is broken down into separate and
different parts, which may operate in school classrooms where your thoughts may
lie elsewhere, or a teenager’s conversation with their parents, or a disrupted
phone call, or even a conversation with one friend when you’re actually
thinking of someone else. Lonergan figures all of these fractured and
imbalanced moments into his film, where they come into play in ways people
least suspect, as they have no idea the significant impact that seemingly
throwaway lines have on other people who are intensely interested in what they
have to say, where the indifference of one hurts and overrides the acute
curiosity of the other, where emotions are existing simultaneously on so many
different levels, like an architecturally designed playing field of human
drama. Paquin is near brilliant in conveying all these mixed and
conflicting emotions, not as a particularly appealing character, but a rich and
pampered prima donna who’s used to being the center of attention whenever she
feels like it, who selfishly indulges in whatever she likes, showing little to
no regard for others, but who also craves the attention and adoration of adults
she admires or needs. She willingly bullies and manipulates others to get
what she needs, pretending she cares, but never for a minute does she take
responsibility on any level. Frankly, she’s a thoroughly despicable
character throughout most of the film, but also completely captivating, a
whirlwind of mixed emotions, where there’s an authentic adult person hidden
underneath fighting to get through the adolescent cloud of confusion.
Lisa has a change of heart about the accident, plagued by
the idea that there’s no justice if the driver is not held accountable,
reconnecting on her own, with varying degrees of success, with the bus driver,
police, and even the family of the deceased, where she meets Jeannie Berlin
(Elaine May’s daughter) as Emily, the person closest to the woman who died in
Lisa’s arms, whose achingly real remarks at the memorial service are among the
highpoints of the film, where Berlin delivers the performance of her career,
whose grace under pressure offers Lisa a new friend and role model. Emily
is also an entryway to taking relevant action, finding an attorney who will sue
the bus company for negligence. Lisa’s mother finds this attention
discomfiting, proud that her daughter is following up in a socially relevant
manner, but also a bit disconcerted that her daughter’s personal obsession has
relegated her own mother to the sidelines, as it’s been an issue Lisa refuses
to even discuss with her mother, instead placing her at arms length.
Again, the imbalance of emotions between the doers and the watchers are
swinging on significantly different levels, where the interplay between Lisa
and Emily only grows more intense, reaching a climax with a proposed settlement
offer, a compromise offering monetary rewards that refuses to hold the driver
accountable, as this would admit liability, the sole objective of Lisa coming
forward, which evolves into a blitzkrieg of conflicting emotions, one of the
superb moments of the film. Afterwards Emily starts questioning Lisa’s
need for drama, to always be the center of attention, and refuses to allow her
lifelong friendship with the deceased to be jeopardized or defined by a teenager
who won’t even speak to her own mother. Incredulously, this is another
one of those sequences of the film, all set in motion with the use of the word
“strident,” as Lisa goes absolutely berserk with this rejection, as if her
entire world is crumbling and she has nowhere else to turn. Where she
does turn is to sexually inappropriate behavior, perhaps one of those
regrettable sequences that if it can’t be expanded deserves to be cut.
The canvas of the film is an emotional battleground, where
blood gouging and unhealed scars are evident everywhere, where characters are
defined by their emotional limitations, but also their willingness to keep at
it, to persevere through what can only be considered the unknown. There’s
a novelistic complexity to the overall sweep of the film, which takes the
viewer through a breathtaking panoply of emotional conflict on an unprecedented
scale. This is accompanied by luminous photography of the streets of
3.) The
Interrupters
A
We got over 500 years of prison time at this table. That’s
a lot of fuckin’ wisdom. — Zale Hoddenbach, former gang member, now a CeaseFire
interrupter
First of all, gang violence is not something most people
understand or have any insight into, considered a cultural phenomenon unique to
neighborhoods infested with gangs, and largely ignored, out of sight, out of
mind, by people living in safer neighborhoods. It’s like prison reform,
as you never stop to consider the ramifications of undermanned and overcrowded
prisons until the day you find yourself incarcerated. But in large urban
areas across the country, this is the story that usually leads off the evening
news, another senseless death, a child accidentally shot down in a gang
shooting crossfire, where it’s rarely the intended victim that’s harmed.
The stories are relentless, with few, if any solutions offered, because the
perpetrators are outside the reach of the police, family, or church influence,
and therefore usually end up dead or in prison at an early age, supposedly
immune to the powers of persuasion, or so we thought.
In the aftermath of this 2008 New York Times piece, a thoroughly engaging essay by Alex
Kotlowitz that scientifically examines the root causes of Chicago gang
violence, offering treatment along the lines of neutralizing a medical
epidemic, actually offering a bit of insight into the seemingly impenetrable
gang culture for a change, documentary filmmaker Steve James, the heralded
director of HOOP DREAMS (1994), enlisted the assistance of Kotlowitz in
following on camera some of the individuals mentioned in his article who were
providing gang intervention, known as “violence interrupters,” as they hope to
stop the neverending cycle of revenge and prevent future shootings before they
happen. With the experience of having been in gangs and prison and
survived, some for committing murder when they were teenagers, these
interrupters already understand the mindset of the upcoming gang youth who
shoot before they think, never for a second thinking about their own lives they
are throwing away, instead it’s all about getting immediate retribution in a
moment of anger, thinking that in some way killing makes things right, at least
in their eyes. This kind of thinking is what fills the prisons.
This is one of the most heartbreaking and excruciatingly
painful subjects of any film ever seen, as the camera searches out families of
recently shot teenagers, including their younger brothers and sisters or their
grieving parents, focusing on their immediate reaction, oftentimes on their
front steps, in their living rooms, or at the funeral and burial services.
Unlike the news media that exploit these situations, the violence interrupters
routinely put their own lives on the line, trying to diffuse anger by placing
themselves in harm’s way, where they have unique insight into just what these
kids are feeling and how they intend to resolve the conflict. But
violence isn’t inherited at birth, it’s a learned behavior that reflects the
world around them, where kids are just following the examples of people they
know. The interrupters have an obligation to re-educate them on the spot,
using as examples those around them who are dead or imprisoned, where they
could become just another statistic or they could have a second chance at
life. The interrupters are placed in the precarious position where they are
not cops and do not inform on illegal activity, and while they don’t condone
gang activity, they’re not in a position to change or even alter that culture,
only the hair-trigger response of certain individuals to shoot whoever shot one
of them.
The film documents a year in the life of an inner city
organization called CeaseFire,
founded by an infectious disease physician Gary Slutkin who spent a decade in
While the city’s interrupters meet weekly with Hardiman to
discuss their works in progress, James chooses three to follow, all extremely
charismatic individuals with tortured pasts whose impressive turnabout makes
them uniquely qualified. Ameena Matthews gives what is perhaps the most
wrenching performance of the year, whose no nonsense
authenticity, directness under pressure, and personal charm gives her an overwhelming
onscreen presence. The daughter of Jeff Fort, iconic founder of the Black
P. Stone Nation and imprisoned-for-life leader of the notorious
Ricardo “Cobe” Williams is a big man with a similar
purpose, a kid who went haywire when his father was beaten to death by a
baseball bat, spending his youth in and out of prison until he also found
religion, where he seems determined to offer a path of redemption for others
that he never experienced himself. Another easy going guy, whose wife
says is really “nerdy,” where according to Hardiman, among his many talents is
knowing when to walk away in dicey situations. This is a guy so dedicated
that he continued going to work even after the funds dried up and he was laid
off for a period, because like a CIA undercover operative in the field, once
you make a promise to be there in saving people’s lives, people in high risk
situations where their lives may be in danger, you have a commitment to be
there. One of the most riveting scenes in the film is Cobe bringing a
young 19-year old armed offender known as Little Mikey, a youth who spent
nearly 3 years in prison, back to the scene of the crime where he held up a
barber shop. This kind of theater you can’t invent, as it’s among the
most dramatically powerful and intensely personal moments of the film.
Mikey is so committed to finding that redemptive path that Hardiman actually
considers him as their first teen
interrupter.
Eddie Bocanegra shot a killed another kid when he was
17. Now, like the other two, he’s on a spiritual mission to make up for
it, talking to disaffected youth, offering an art class for those kids who have
been affected by violence, where one 11-year old girl describes the experience
of her brother getting shot in the head and dying in her arms. Because of
the tender age of many of these kids, he’s more like a big brother offering
them positive alternatives or a shoulder to cry on, where their heartfelt
comments are remarkably unfiltered. One of the more poignant moments is
joining the family at the cemetery site, where they gather every single day,
offering a silent communion for their loss. While Eddie is able to
console the young girl, the figure of her father sitting there in silence every
day is a haunting and tragic sight.
For 25 years murder has been the leading cause of death
among black men between the ages of 15 and 34, while more than 11% of black
males age 25 to 34 are incarcerated, while black women are incarcerated at
nearly 4 times the rate of white women and more than twice the rate of Hispanic
women. Nothing seems to put a dent in these numbers despite neighborhood
marches, media speeches, church activism, a Mayor’s attempt to ban handguns
(which was overturned by the U.S. Supreme Court), and the police continually
asking for crime witnesses to step forward. While it’s impossible to
measure the results, CeaseFire claims they show a 40 – 60% reduction in
shootings in six targeted neighborhoods, which would include West Garfield
Park, Englewood, Maywood, Logan Square, Roseland, and Rogers Park, with as much
as a 67% reduction in others. Despite these claims, the interventionist
program has continued to face budget cuts, where 50 or 60 interrupters were
reduced to less than 20, where the elected politicians seem as far removed from
this problem as those living in the isolation of the rural plain states.
As profoundly relevant as any documentary seen in the past 5 years, there’s a
soulful, organ drenched rendition of “Don’t Give Up on Me” by Solomon Burke
that plays over the end credits, an ominous reminder of just how hard it is to
remain committed to a lifelong project fraught with this degree of intense
tragedy and pain.
4.) The Arbor A
She
had a bit of a gob on her and she was hot-headed at times. —Natalie Gavin (describing Andrea Dunbar)
This is one film where it didn’t help knowing absolutely
nothing going into the screening, because in format alone, this is a dizzying
conception that defies convention and has the audience on their heels from the
outset. Much like Andrea Arnold’s FISH
TANK (2009), my initial reaction was thinking this is another unvarnished
exploration of British miserablism, utterly downbeat,
centering on life in the slums, where I was not fond of any of the characters
presented onscreen, and in fact found much of the initial material somewhat
loathsome, as they were introducing characters fast and furious like a Tolstoy
novel, none of whom seemed to matter at all.
By the opening twenty minutes or so, I was ready to throw my hands up in
the air wondering what in hell was going on, as I wasn’t sure if I recalled
correctly from the opening or even believed that the actors were actually
lip-synching the original material. Most
of the time characters are speaking directly into the camera, as if in an
interview format, though each, as it turns out, is a recreation. Other times the cast is gathered on the front
lawn and enact scenes from the play as neighbors watch from the street. I’m not sure when it clicks in, but at some
point you stop fighting what you initially can’t comprehend and start
appreciating what’s happening onscreen, as the film only grows more intimately
compelling until the audience is completely riveted and even overwhelmed by the
material.
Like a musicologist such as Béla Bartók, who went around his country recording various
musical folk melodies, compiling 9200 in all by the way, playwright and local
resident Andrea Dunbar grew up in the Buttershaw
Estate housing project in Bradford, West Yorkshire in Northern England, living
on the toughest street known as The Arbor, where for two years in her life in
the 1970’s she collected audio interviews from friends, family, and local
residents, shocking everyone when at 15 she wrote a heralded play known as The Arbor, an autobiographical account
of her life growing up there, the supposed drug capital of Yorkshire, whose
corrupt police force in the 1980’s was notoriously depicted in THE RED RIDING
TRILOGY (2009).
What’s initially so mysterious is the unique power of the
language itself, wrapped in gutter talk, slang, and profanity, but also a
profoundly uneducated street way of speaking, where even the subtitles make it
hard to describe or comprehend. It’s not
just an example of illiterate youth speaking, as it might first seem, but adult
characters at times are equally incomprehensible. Over time, we start to identify with some of
the central characters, including Andrea, the outspoken Natalie Gavin, and her
two daughters, mixed blood
5.) Martha
Marcy May Marlene
A
Well
she, she's just a picture
Who lives on my wall
Well she, she's just a picture
And the reason, reason, reason it is so small
With a smile so inviting and a body so tall
She, she's just a picture
Just a picture
That's all
Well you stand there, stand there with the nightshade
Her dripping ripping down your hands
And you ask me, ask me about the lightning
And the lady, lady, lady she understands
It's a dream for the future and the water for the sands
And the strangeness is wandering
Through many callin' lands
I'd give you, give you quite freely
All the clothes on your gipsy bait
And I'd suffer, suffer so long in prison
If I knew you'd have to wait
With the wind scouring sandstone
And the ashes in your grate
Somewhere no devil emperor
The great whale's gone
The holy plate
And this caravan it becomes an alter
And the priests, the priests are big as none
And I'll share, share our time together
Until our time together is done
But your skin it was pretty
And I loved, I loved another one
Now she, she's just like some picture
That has faded in the sun
Well she, she's just a picture
Who lives on my wall
Well she, she's just a picture
And the reason, reason, reason is so small
With a smile so inviting and a body so tall
Well she, she's just a picture
Just a picture
That's all
Just a picture
That's all
—“Marcy’s Song,” by Jackson C. Frank from Martha Marcy May Marlene
Marcy's
Song by John Hawkes - YouTube (
Marcy's Song - Jackson C. Frank.
YouTube (
Winner of the Best Director Award at Sundance, Durkin has
crafted a mesmerizing piece of cinema that insists upon naturalism and
simplicity, revealing just how effortless it feels to be under the spell of
good direction that doesn’t rely upon computer graphics for special effects,
creating a murky interior atmosphere that slides back and forth in time, never
knowing just where you are at the beginning of each shot. The idea behind
the film is imagining what would happen in the first few weeks after fleeing
from an emotionally abusive cult, where your real family has no idea whatsoever
what you've been through, creating a culture clash or a psychic rupture.
This is a film that also uses darkness and light, also the edges of the screen
throughout, shot by Jody Lee Lipes, where characters
move freely in and out of the frame, where often the focus is only in a corner
or in a small piece of the larger picture shown onscreen, where occasionally a
human face remains split along the edge. There’s a beautiful visual
scheme that is heightened by a brilliant sound and editing design, where it’s
the intelligence of the filmmaking itself that distinguishes this edgy feature
as the creepiest film experience of the year, reminiscent of Polanski’s
REPULSION (1965), where the initial innocence of getting back to nature and
living on a farm commune in the Catskill Mountains of New York becomes a
psychotic break from reality for Martha (Elizabeth Olsen) when the women become
the exclusive property of the cult leader Patrick (John Hawkes), a Charles
Manson like persona whose motivation seems to be to redefine the entire world
around him in his own image, where everyone and everything belongs to
him. He even takes her name, calling her Marcy May, where she quickly
loses all sense of who she is. Martha is initially confused by an
initiation rape sequence from Patrick, where it is the women afterwards who
reveal this as the spreading of communal love, that all must remain open to it,
as it is a special moment to cherish. In this way they break her spirit
and her conception of free will, and in doing so accept her into their
community, offering her a place where she belongs.
Early in the film, however, we see Martha methodically step
over her sleeping roommates one morning in an attempted escape, where a near
indecipherable phone call for help reveals her jangled state of mind,
overwhelmed by the circumstances and unable to make any sense out of it.
She is soon safely in the comfortable upscale surroundings of a heavily
windowed vacation home on a lake owned by her sister Lucy (Sarah Paulson) and
her British architectural wizard for a husband, Hugh Dancy
as Ted. Neither have heard a word from Martha in the past two years and
she’s not eager to share her personal experiences, remaining glum and
depressed, uncommunicative, sleeping most of the time, not fitting in here at
all, as she finds all the monetary wealth and exhibitionism on display
personally revolting, knowing a dozen people could live in this vast amount of
space that is currently used by only two. Her thoughts continually drift
back and forth, filling in some of the intimate details of just what happened
during her two years, followed by equally inhumane treatment by her more conservative
and socially uptight family who find her abnormal behavior morally intolerable,
as she just sits around doing nothing, or makes odd behavioral choices that
send them into a rage of disapproval, where they continue to be harshly
judgmental instead of supportive, not having a clue what she’s endured.
At the farm, Patrick singles her out, making her the girl that matters most of
all, but only so long as she latches herself onto him, even writing a song in
her honor, Marcy's Song by
John Hawkes - YouTube (3:49), making her feel wanted and special, the
exact opposite of how she feels with her sister where she feels utterly
helpless, growing more paranoid, completely alienated and alone.
The theme of the film seems to rest with Martha’s haunting
confession to her sister: “Do you ever have that feeling where you can't
tell if something is a memory or a dream?” Unable to reassemble the
broken pieces of her life, her spirit remains crushed and shattered, where
Olsen is excellent portraying that glum expressionless stupor, much like the
other women at the farm, none of whom ever smile or have anything to be
thankful about, yet they carry out Patrick’s wishes with few missteps, as he
brings the wrath upon anyone who disobeys or even questions his
authority. The deeper she sinks into this world of repressed anger and
self-loathing, the harder it is to recognize herself, where what she thought
was freedom has turned into involuntary servitude. Long after she escapes
the farm, she continues to imagine that she sees the cult leaders everywhere
she goes, believing they are after her, that they will never let her be.
Durkin beautifully interweaves the two threads, where what’s real and what’s
imagined become indecipherable, creating an all but unbearable mounting tension
and suspense. This is a powerful film that defies predictability and the
norm by using thoroughly self-absorbed and unlikable characters, where the
world becomes even more despicable with an unloving family who finds fault with
everything she does, becoming holier than thou, super moralistic, symptomatic
of their own shallow interests that can’t tolerate differences. You never
really know where this is going, a world with no escape, as Patrick starts
spouting Manson gibberish about love is death after awhile, advocating violence
and murder, perhaps rationalizing in his own mind some of the evil that is done
in his name, where Martha in her mind never stops seeing them, as if they’re
about to burst through the next room. The audience senses they are there,
the barbarians gathering at the gate, an ominous threat that pervades both the
past and the present, elusive, yet all powerful, expressed through an abstract
palette consumed in disturbing imagery. The spare indie score by Saunder Jurriaans and Danny Bensi haunts the already tense and creepy atmosphere with
melancholic counterpoint for a poetic memory play of a woman under relentless
psychological assault that couldn’t be a more exquisite offering.
6.) Poetry A
When was the last time an American film was written
specifically for a sixty-something grandmother in mind for the lead? Everything seems driven towards the youth
market, yet this film makes a mockery of any culture that idealizes youth and
in the same breath excuses the violent consequences of reckless immaturity,
where parents are constantly seen covering up and protecting the criminal
behavior of their children, who are not nearly so innocent anymore. Written by the director with this specific
actress in mind, Mija (Yun Jung-hee,
who has acted in over 300 films in her career, coming
out of retirement after sixteen years of living in
What makes this movie so special is not the story itself,
which is announced in the opening minutes, but watching the way the
consequences unfold, where the suspense isn’t necessarily what happens, but the
way it happens, as much of it plays out like a silent film. Mija barely utters
a word to Wook, who hasn’t an ounce of remorse,
instead he’s an aimless, self-centered kid who’s used to being waited on hand
and foot and acts like he hasn’t a care in the world, yet as his mother lives
and works out of town, Mija looks after him while
also working as an in-home care giver to an elderly man left partially
paralyzed from a stroke, where it appears her life is spent cleaning up after
the messes left behind by others. Almost
on a whim, she decides to register in a poetry class, where her instructor
suggests everyone has poetry in them, but that they need to find a way to
liberate their awareness. Mija finds it especially difficult, constantly working,
never feeling inspired, yet she jots down various notes in her diary when she
finds an idle moment. She also attends
poetry readings, where locals read their works in a coffee house
atmosphere. While the poetry itself is
not all that exceptional, the use of highly distinctive language in an
otherwise near wordless movie is quite a contrast, as the director himself is
accentuating a different level of thought throughout his own picture. There are several remarkable scenes that
stand out, like Mija attending the Christian church
service for the deceased girl, where the use of refracted images give the
appearance of entering an alternate universe, yet the mirror images also offer
a psychological impression that she’s seeing herself in the death of the young
girl, as if her own future was destroyed in the process. This blending of the souls is a unique
component of death, where the living identify with their own mortality. Mija is also
diagnosed with early stages of Alzheimer’s disease, though she doesn’t exhibit
any signs of forgetfulness yet. All the
more reason why she is so shaken by this experience, as it feels like something
she doesn’t ever want to forget.
Exhibiting cowardice to the corps, the other fathers
suggest Mija have a woman-to-woman talk with the
bereaved mother in hopes she will accept their offer. What’s even more disturbing is the way they
casually sit around and consume alcohol while they assign responsibility to
someone else. It’s easy to see their
son’s contemptible behavior in their own adult lives, as not once in this
entire film do any of them ever speak to their sons or hold them accountable, a
scathing indictment of male behavior in Korean society, not to mention the
brazen cover up, and this from a writer/director who once served as the
nation’s Minister of Culture. Mija’s visit takes on its own spiritual transcendence, but
not as one would imagine, as this is another remarkable sequence, one filled
with a quiet and mesmerizing poetry all its own, all the more captivating by
revealing only the sparest essence of the moment, where the unseen, untapped
power is the quiet dignity of the two women.
How this matter evolves is almost entirely offscreen, alluded to, never
for a moment seen, which is the director’s aesthetic. The film is unique in that words are never
used to address the actual criminal acts, which are the story of the film,
instead it silently makes references, offers signs, clues, glances, gestures,
poetic reveries, and insightful silences, where a consummate actress like Yun
Jung-hee gracefully carries this film on her
shoulders. By the end the audience is
immersed in a moving and powerful drama, where the poetry professor candidly
reveals that poetry is a dying art, that few people read it or find it much use
anymore, that the culture certainly doesn’t embrace it, making it nearly
archaic in a morally bankrupt society that prefers to cover up and forget its
heinous acts, sweeping them under the rug.
But the director finds a way to poetically rhapsodize the unspoken
truths in a YI YI-like remembrance, where this heartbreaking story finally
finds release.
aka: Scorched
One of the more harrowing stories seen in quite awhile,
embellished with superb storytelling, unraveling an odyssey so fascinating and
intensely personal that even the display of chapter headings is riveting, as it
knowingly leads the viewer into such fertile, unchartered territory. Adapted by the director from a play written
by Lebanese-Canadian playwright Wajdi Mouawad who fled from Lebanon to France
at the age of 8, which is a reworking of Greek tragedy superimposed with
hyper-realistic scenes taken from the Lebanese Civil War of the 1970’s and 80’s
that left 250,000 civilians dead, 350,000 displaced, and more than a million to
flee the country, where a majority of its original inhabitants continue to live
elsewhere, retelling history through the personalized lens of children
discovering their own mother’s legacy after her death. Told out of sequence through a series of
haunting flashbacks, each delves deeper into the mysterious unknown of their
mother’s life. Powerfully written,
brilliantly edited, where the simultaneous present mixed with the past time
schemes are blended together perfectly using unforgettable onsite locations
that are gorgeously photographed by André Turpin, where the ensemble acting,
especially by the women involved, is superb, and where Grégoire Hetzel’s
original musical score recalls Beethoven and Mahler, especially in the solemn
expression of anguish and lament. The
intensity of the film is unwavering, where much of the play’s dialogue has been
replaced by sequences of staggering devastation. Opening with a stunning scene set in slo-mo to the angry whisper of Radiohead’s You And
Who's Army? - Radiohead (YouTube
The mood is quickly shifted to the present, where an
Arab-born Canadian brother and sister, Simon (Maxim Gaudette) and Jeanne
(Mélissa Désormeaux-Poulin), sit in a notary’s office (Rémy Girard) in Montreal
and hear the strangely unique terms of their mother’s will, handing each
letters to deliver to family members they never knew existed, Simon to an unknown
brother and Jeanne to the father she understood was dead, as only in this way
will the mother unearth the buried family secrets and fulfill a lifelong
promise to break the continuing cycle of violence and regret. Simon, something of a self-centered grouch
throughout, is disgusted by the whole ordeal and finds it a waste of time, the
ravings of an embarrassing and unstable mother who never “acted” normal, while
the more inquisitive Jeanne immediately sets out for the
In fact, no truer words are spoken anywhere in the film, as
Nawal developed an intense hatred for the Christian nationalists, where murder
and massacres are routinely attributed to the name of Christianity, including
infamous refugee camp massacres, eventually being sent to prison for aiding the
Muslim subversives, becoming part of a radical resistance movement. As a French-speaking Canadian, Jeanne is way
over her head when she begins to uncover even the tiniest pieces of reality,
calling her recalcitrant brother to join her, as this was beyond her capacity
to comprehend. And like Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, the further they
inquire into this unspeakable realm, the less they understand about their
mother, as she was an active participant in the civil war, the consequences of
which have only grown immeasurably over time, leaving her family involved, with
the siblings no closer to finding what happened to the missing family members,
who may have perished somewhere along the way.
Like good investigative journalism, the director unleashes only bits and
pieces at a time, providing the full ramifications at each stage, where the
audience, through flashbacks, have a clearer picture of the kind of desperate
life Nawal lived, constantly besieged by forces that were greater than her, but
refusing to weaken her resolve, still desperately searching for her missing
son, showing no signs of the eccentric portrait held by her family in Montreal,
who themselves are getting a taste of the mosaic of ethnic conflicts in the
region. The Radiohead song is chillingly
utilized several times in the film, each time adding surprising depth and
coherency, where there’s a boiling rage still simmering just under the surface,
where the director has the audience by the throat and never for a second
loosens his grip on the build up of tension and suspense. There is never any indication that this
originated from a play, as the powerful tone of authenticity feels like it’s
based on a real life experience. Both Lubna Azabal and Désormeaux-Poulin match the elevated
intensity with their outstanding performances, but it’s the director who
amazingly pulls together all the mysterious elements, sad and heartbreaking,
plunging headfirst into this complex and dense material yet achieving balance,
with nothing less than spectacular results.
Premiering at Cannes in 2007, nominated for a Foreign
Language Academy Award in 2008, it took nearly 4 years before the film opened
in a major U.S. city, distributed by IFC, and when it did, it was shown on HD
Video on a small screen, similar to watching it at home, as the size is reduced
even further for the ‘Scope aspect ratio, so the top and bottom of the screen
were empty. As to why it took so long
for the film to arrive, one remains clueless, as it’s
clear this is a formidable talent with unique filmmaking credentials. According to his bio at
IMDb See
full bio, Lee Chang-dong was born in Daegu, considered the most
right wing city in
Lee never makes it easy for us, nor does he spell things
out for us, as he instead takes us on Jeon Do-yeon’s novelesque journey (winner
of Best Actress at Cannes), a widow who is moving with her young son to the
small town of her recently deceased husband, the subject of poisonous family
rumors which has caused her to leave her family behind, which begins with her
car breaking down just outside of Milyang, which in Chinese means “Secret
Sunshine,” where a hotshot mechanic Song Kang-ho cheerfully welcomes her to the
city. Slowly she acclimates herself to
life in a small town, where school busses have flowers and optimistic slogans
painted on them and where everyone has soon heard about her arrival. She immediately joins a women’s social
circle, even as she has little in common with these other women who oftentimes
make unflattering comments about her behind her back, but this is what’s done
as she assumes a social standing as a piano instructor. It’s interesting to see women drink too much
in public as they have a vicious sense of humor and seem to enjoy leaving their
husbands behind. Their frivolity recalls
the surreal final scene of dancing housewives in Bong Joon-ho’s audacious
psychological thriller MOTHER (2009).
Somewhat shockingly, this film turns into a heartbreaking missing child
saga, where the terrifying jolt of losing her child becomes a stark everyday
reality, where her inconsolable anguish leads her to seek comfort in the refuge
of Christianity, where her physical expression of grief in the church is
unforgettable, expertly shot by the way where in a distant shot that lasts for
nearly a minute we only hear the sounds of wailing in the congregation before a
close up reveals the source, where smiles just a few minutes ago have led to a
flood of tears. Song Kang-ho accompanies
her in her religious quest, always a bit late and usually appearing just
outside the frame, but he always seems to be there, standing up for her when no
one else will, especially when her dysfunctional family comes to her son’s
funeral and tries to label her damaged goods.
When Jeon was initially blackmailed and had no one else to turn to,
there’s a hauntingly empty scene where she pays him a visit at his garage at
night where she stands outside gazing in at him where he’s alone, drinking
heavily, and singing karaoke at the top of his lungs.
Jeon’s Christian transformation is one for the ages, as she
soon becomes the poster child for a born again Christian, assimilating the
message and the speech, becoming one of God’s ambassadors on earth spreading
the message. She goes to meetings,
speaks with the Reverend, joins new social circles, and sings joyous religious
songs outside the commuter train stations as bystanders walk by. The film paints an excellent portrait of
Korean Christianity, which is always led by that everpresent cheerful smile,
and where they have a ready answer for all of the nation’s social ills. This leads to that transcending moment when
she’s ready to go to prison to forgive the man who murdered her child. There have been other similar determinant
prison sequences, Bresson’s PICKPOCKET (1959) and Kurosawa’s HIGH AND LOW
(1963) come to mind, which feature moments of transcendence. But this is something different altogether
and is eerie and creepy at the same time, as the prisoner has also found
comfort in the salvation of Jesus Christ, so her forgiveness is not really
necessary, as he’s already squared it with a higher power. Where does this leave her? - - devastated and
crushed, where this turns into a psychologically tormenting grief and anguish
of Dostoevskian proportion. Her ultimate
clash with religion reaches NASHVILLE (1975) proportions in one of the most
perfectly written sequences in the film when she inserts a pop song into an
amplified Christian outdoor rally during the middle of a sermon (Kim Chu Ja
singing “Gu Jit Mal”). She is rattled
with guilt for the inner rage she feels, and for which she can find no comfort
or relief, feeling scarred and betrayed for life, as she’s really done nothing
wrong, yet she’s condemned to eternal punishment without ever committing a
crime. What God, who oversees all
things, could allow this to happen? And
where is her salvation? What is her road
to redemption? She travels into that
BREAKING THE WAVES (1996) territory, which is really a descent into human
depravity, and it is from this haunting and punishing emptiness that she needs
to find herself, from some horrible dark abyss, void of human virtue, a
laceratingly lonely and empty place, the cavernous depression of her soul,
where she needs to somehow crawl out alive and discover what it means to live
again.
9.) Miss Bala
A-
While this is a case of the truth is stranger than fiction,
the director along with fellow writer Mauricio Katz have fashioned a
fictionalized account of real events that leap out of the headlines, Miss Sinaloa and the Seven Narcos, ran the headline in The Mexican-Daily El Universal, where beauty queen Laura Zuñiga, Miss Sinaloa 2008, was arrested along with seven
suspected narco drug traffickers in a truck filled with guns and ammunition,
including $53,000 in cash, two AR-15 rifles, three handguns, 633 cartridges of
different calibers, and 16 cellphones, on December 23, 2008 in Zapopan,
Mexico. According to the film, 50,000 people have lost their lives in the
Mexican Drug Wars just in the last 6 years where the profiteers are protecting
a $30 billion dollar industry within
While this may sound surprising
to most Americans who still haven’t a clue what’s happening in the gang wars
taking place in ghettos across America, this activity in Mexico is not confined
to specific neighborhoods, but can play out on the city streets anywhere, where
the presence of these gigantic SUV’s is an everyday reality for most citizens,
where all they can hope is that they’re not targeting civilians. Like any
other war, this one goes after the Who’s Who in both the police and drug
trafficker operations, each searching for the other, and when they meet a
fierce firefight develops instantaneously, where chaos reigns and bullets fly
in all directions. The collateral damage extends to innocent civilians
who happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. This film doesn’t
suppose what happens when the innocent civilian is a Mexican beauty queen, but
uses her actual experience of what really happened when she got sucked into
narco operations purely by chance, where she proved useful to them as she was
scared shitless, afraid for the lives of her family, so would do as instructed
over a brief period of time which included several operations. In real
life, she was released following her arrest after the subsequent investigation
proved she had no involvement with the narco drug industry, but was only a pawn
in their game, suggesting it could just as easily be anybody, and often
is. This one just happened to be especially pretty, Stephanie Sigman as Laura Guerrero, a beauty queen contestant that
attracted the eye of the drug kingpin, Lino (Noe Hernandez), a shadowy head of the Estrella drug cartel
who sees her huddling in the corner during the middle of a raid on a nightclub
targeting DEA agents, allowing her to live in order to make use of her in the
future. The film wastes no time getting right into the thick of the
action.
This plays out like a Mexican version of a Michael Mann
action thriller, shot in ‘Scope using long takes from the constantly probing
camera by Hungarian cinematographer Mátyás Erdély, often altering the focus in the same shot, making
excellent use of locations and off-screen sound, featuring riveting
performances from characters forced to act on impulse when events continually
spiral out of control, where the gangsters thrive on this kind of heart racing
action, driving trophy Porsches through the streets of Tijuana, but not a
teenage girl who is being used for target practice for the first time in her
life, where she spends most of the movie close to peeing in her pants from the
intense fear, where Lino is continually toying with
her, always getting what he wants and then throwing her away until she’s
summoned again from out of the blue, a repeating cycle that seemingly can’t be
broken. The overriding theme here is fear and how it plays havoc with ordinary
people who are caught up in this phenomenon of gunfights taking place on the
city streets in broad daylight, where one of the best edited transitions seen
all year finds Laura pinned down in one of the fiercest gunfights you could
imagine, using a slow tracking shot where bodies are dropping and bullets are
flying, where the sound is deafening, like what it must have been for the
Marines trapped in Mogadishu, where she is then whisked away from that reality
into a continuing pan through the back wings of a beauty pageant where she is
quickly dressed for a runway appearance, and with tears streaming down her face
she’s continually reminded to smile. This kind of mood shift is insane,
as you have no time to process the fear, as her life has turned into a human
pin cushion of getting stuck repeatedly with having to perform some of the most
dangerous drug operations, where she is the center of the storm not knowing
which way to turn for safety, as the bullets are flying from every direction,
where Laura has to rely on the whims of a cold blooded killer for
protection. While the film is seen exclusively through the terrified eyes
of one woman, the larger issues of
10.) Oslo,
August 31
A-
Joachim Trier is something of a revelation, known for only
two feature films, but both have quietly surpassed anyone’s expectations, where
REPRISE (2006), released in the U.S. in 2008, made several end of the year Top
Ten lists, including my own, seen here at #8: 2008. Born in
Mind you, this isn’t a film that shows crack houses or junkies shooting up, as
it refrains from that kind of exhibitionism and bleak miserablism
and instead focuses on one man’s internal quest to get clean, Anders (Anders Danielsen Lie), one of the stars from Trier’s previous
film, where it plays out like a journey, almost like a road movie, as we follow
the various places he visits in one day of his life. Opening with
stream-of-conscious reflections on the city of
Special
Mention
Buddha
Mountain (Guan yin shan)
A-
Without any fanfare, this is a special treat, one of the
most sublime and drop dead gorgeous films of the year, a rare mix of the
hopelessness of the current generation, as portrayed by lounge singer Nan Feng,
Chinese actress Fan Bingbin, a fearless in-your-face
girl who steadfastly stands up for her friends, and her two admirers, bike
courier Ding Bo, handsome Taiwanese actor Chen Bo-lin,
and his comically rotund sidekick known as Fatso, Fei
Zao (Fei Long), reflecting
the down and out, rebellious youth style of Jia Zhang-ke’s UNKNOWN PLEASURES (2002), and the classical elegance
of an earlier generation, reflected by a towering performance by Taiwanese
actress Sylvia Chang. Little do we know what’s in store for us in this
movie, as it starts out like many other coming of age films, establishing a
near documentary rhythm and lifestyle of this threesome, much of which is
captured through vibrant street scenes, where their infectious energy
represents the pulse of the nation, but they feel no connection to their country
or their future and are largely disconnected from their families, living day by
day, spending what they earn in food keeping Fatso happy. Their easy
going style with one another is quite reminiscent of the French New Wave, shot
in vérité style by Zheng Jian, who also edits the
film, where their casual and mostly reckless behavior often finds them clashing
with others, where their offbeat, non-conformist manner sets them apart.
When performer Nan Feng accidentally hits a front row patron in the groin with her
swinging microphone onstage, she loses her job at the same time their home is
about to be demolished, finding a new apartment in the home of a retired
Beijing Opera star Chang Yueqin (Chang), a quieter,
much more reserved personality. No one thinks this living arrangement
will succeed, least of all Chang who is constantly criticizing their rude
manners and behavior, usually mocked and mimicked behind her back
afterwards.
We soon learn Chang has a deceased son she never talks
about, as his photo is in the living room, and Chang secretly keeps a car in a
garage which still has a bashed in windshield. When the kids find the
car, they get it started and go on a joyride, experiencing momentary bliss on
the road but eternal condemnation from Chang upon their return, where she is
heartbroken at their sign of disrespect. What follows is a train ride
sequence where the three hop a freight, one of the most breathtaking wordless
sequences seen all year both in length and poignancy, passing through endless
mountain tunnels and some of the most impressive natural scenery in China,
beautifully accompanied by original music from Peyman
Yazdanian. Interjected into this harmonious
beauty is real life news footage of the 2008 Sichuan earthquake killing nearly
70,000 people, leaving nearly 5 million people homeless, where on Buddha
Mountain this trio eventually finds a shattered Buddhist temple in a lush
mountainous landscape in ruins, where the Master on the premises indicates he
plans to rebuild, which becomes a prominent theme of the film, where these
rootless stragglers need to find something worth holding onto. When Ding
Bo, who never expresses his feelings, is caught with another girl, Nan Feng
ditches him and leaves town, perhaps forever, making him feel foolish and
regretful afterwards, something Fatty doesn’t let him
forget. Nan Feng goes back home and stands up for her mother, as her
abusive and alcoholic father is in the hospital with cancer. This is one
of the more singularly ferocious scenes of the film, perfectly expressing the
in-your-face attitude of this young woman.
But it is the haunting beauty and quiet personal
devastation of this film that most impresses, freely moving the characters in
and out of the frame, continually changing the focus on who remains onscreen,
perfectly expressing the restless anxiety of youth, never amounting to much,
never seemingly satisfied, but along with the tragic implications of the
earthquake, the director also adds the breathtaking beauty and extreme
tranquility of the world that is also within their reach, using a complicated
editing scheme, often changing the pace, reflecting the changing rhythms of the
characters. The style evolves as the interior world of the characters
changes as well, each broken and damaged in differing ways, the wounds becoming
more exposed, where each has an unspoken sense of the tragic depth of each
other’s anguish and pain, which holds them together, like an extended family,
where quietly Chang becomes a silent force onscreen, nurturing them in ways
they’ve never dreamed possible, becoming a dominant presence in their
lives. The director blends together poetic notions of fragility and loss,
loneliness and friendship, but also a haunting regret and a renewed sense of
place in the world, filling a spiritual void. But the aftermath of this
film is one mixing grief with the haunting beauty of the mountainous landscape
filled with lakes, natural springs and spectacular waterfalls. Renewal or
rebirth is the quality of transcending life’s endless series of tragedy and
pain, where this film is beautifully affixed on the journey of that
transcension.
Beginners
A-
Our good
fortune allowed us to feel the sadness our parents never had time
for.
—Oliver Fields (Ewen McGregor)
Apart from everything else this is, it’s definitely a Los Angeles movie, and
one of the better ones at that, using uniquely chosen natural settings offering
such a positive view of the city, making excellent use of the distant skyline
that of course includes the unsightliness of hovering smog while also using
many interior shots of the Los Angeles County Art Museum. But most
importantly, from the opening shot, there’s a gorgeous home with a beautiful
garden and big glass windows furnishing that perfect view of the city off in
the distance. It’s the kind of place one would like to call home, but
immediately the narrator, Ewen McGregor as Oliver,
indicates this is the room where his father died, which sets the backstory in
motion, told almost entirely through flashbacks. Apparently based on the
director’s own personal experience, Mills has crafted a loving portrait of his
father, Christopher Plummer, who announces he is gay at the age of 75 just
after Oliver’s mother dies. It has a kind of Buddhist spirituality about
it, as it apparently took his mother’s death to allow the inner life of her
husband to blossom, as he finally discovers a joy in life like never before
with parties, dancing, and newfound friends, and even a much younger lover Andy
(Goran Visnjic). This picture of uninhibited happiness is a complete
turnaround from the era of living in a closet, which Oliver knew nothing about
until this recent revelation. Through the use of family photos, still
shots, and campy magazine photos, Mills beautifully expresses each era through
the embellishment of advertising, including car and smoking ads, showing people
enjoying their leisure activity. Oliver himself has a kind of stunted
emotional growth, stuck somewhere between the eras, never quite understanding
the complexity of his parent’s relationship, which is even more baffling to him
in the present.
Despite the kumbaya feel good
story that seems destined for the typical upbeat, movie-of-the-week format,
this film has quite a few surprises in store, one of which is frequently
jumping back and forth through different time periods, while another is an Asta-like dog (from THE THIN MAN series of the 30’s) that
has a limited human vocabulary, where Oliver can actually comprehend his
subtitled thoughts. Otherwise, Oliver leads an emotionally detached life
where he observes his father’s outpourings of happiness almost as a tourist, as
he’s there through it all, but doesn’t exactly know how to join in.
Prodded by his coworkers where Oliver works as a sketch artist, he reluctantly
attends a party where he meets Mélanie Laurent as
Anna, an actress with one of the most impressive opening appearances,
surprising everyone with her openly flirtatious style that is easily one of the
best performances of the year, as she literally steals every scene she’s in,
and may even steal the movie that’s not even about her, as she’s initially a
tangential character, but her chemistry with Oliver provides the fireworks
that’s missing in his life. Still, he’s lost in a fog about the memory of
his father, wondering how his parents could keep pretending for all those
years, doubting his own capacity for a long term relationship. It’s this
bristling honesty that may be the most pleasant surprise and the true
revelation of the film, making the viewer feel like they’re actually
experiencing something remarkable happening, as there are snippets of gay
rights history thrown in that allow people to reflect upon how love was
expressed generations ago when it had to remain a closely guarded secret.
One of the other delicious surprises is Oliver’s mother, Mary Page Keller, who
due to the passionless circumstances with her husband decides to make Oliver
her pet project by introducing him to age inappropriate material with unbridled
relish, where she seems to be having a blast onscreen. Oliver, on the
other hand, is flabbergasted by this overtly scandalous treatment, embarrassed
by his mother’s ultra liberated, free spirited style, eventually driving him to
the obscure safety of that button down conservative that he is today. But
Anna shows those same sparks, another fiercely individualistic force of nature
that literally defies belief, yet Oliver hesitates, as he’s done his entire
life. In fact, McGregor may hold the entire picture back, as perhaps he
doesn’t wish to overstep what amounts to the director’s own personal life
story, so remains something of a blank canvas waiting for life to color him
in. As is, he remains the odd man out in his own movie, something of a
wet blanket, as his father, mother, girlfriend, and even his dog outshine him
in every respect, where they couldn’t be more artfully crafted and intensely
appealing characters onscreen.
It’s a little like his role in I LOVE YOU PHILLIP MORRIS
(2009), where he is rather tame and conventional in comparison to the ever
cheerful but boldly outlandish Jim Carrey. In each instance, you wonder
if he’s worth the adoration the other characters pour on him. He was so
much better in the outrageously garish musical production that is MOULIN ROUGE
(2001) and the downbeat existential ménage a trois in
YOUNG ADAM (2003), as in each we felt we were literally inhabiting his
skin. Here he is stuck in the center of the universe, but it’s the stars
and planets aligned around him that shine so much brighter. The mistake is
always thinking we’re the center instead of just one of the movable
parts. Perhaps what prevents us from recognizing love is a
psychologically imposed barrier of self-doubt, a kind of delusion that always
leads to failure, where true love necessitates that you push aside that trap of
self preservation and wholly trust that something better awaits you. This
is a film that never quite grasps the secret to lasting relationships other
than insisting that fears and misunderstandings and other forks in the road are
real, where from Oliver’s point of view, there is an open but still
undiscovered path, but from Anna’s, there’s some question as to what she sees
in Oliver in the first place, perhaps wondering why Oliver’s mother stayed in
such an emotionally unfulfilled marriage for so long, questions that remain
unanswered. What we discover then is that we’re not ready for answers
yet, that we’re not at that all important commitment threshold, but, as the
title suggests, still in a feeling out and the getting to know you stage, in
the throes of something they as yet barely comprehend.
The Trip –
made for TV A-
Quite simply the funniest film seen all year, a masterwork
of spontaneous impressions, all of which call into question the legitimacy of
one’s identity, beautifully unraveling in a free form exhibition of improvised
conversations that seamlessly moves from one fictitious movie character to
another, from Michael Caine to Al Pacino, Sean Connery, Roger Moore, Anthony
Hopkins, Ian McKellen, Alec Guinness, Woody Allen and
more, supplanting the real lives of two friends, Steve Coogan
(as himself) and Rob Bryden, who is his fifth or
sixth, but most likely his last desperate choice as a traveling companion, as
they go on a weeklong road trip together across Northern England, all expenses paid
by a British newspaper The Observer,
to review some of the nation’s most prestigious, upscale restaurants in
gorgeously posh historic inn accommodations set throughout the painterly
English landscapes. Can anyone think
SIDEWAYS (2004)? Coogan
initially wanted to go with his girl friend (Margo Stilley)
as an attempt to rekindle their lost romance, but she’s too busy trying to
establish her own career, so he’s left frantically searching at the last moment
for an acceptable fill-in. Bryden, like
Initially shot as a 3-hour British TV series, where each of
six visits is a half-hour episode, this is a streamlined version which
undoubtedly leaves out choice material, and without it, one can only wonder
what’s missing? So one would guess the original
source material would be the way to go, but that’s not how it’s being released
in
Some of the food offerings are an amazingly pretentious
display of overkill, where it appears grass is included with every serving of a
10-course meal, always accompanied by bottles of wine, where in every instance
they are given the best window seat. Not
once do we ever see Coogan do any writing on this
assignment, where he instead continually moans and bitches about the apparently
stalled state of his career or how his girl friend is not there, while the ever
upbeat Bryden appears to be having the time of his
life. Both these guys are evenly
matched, intelligent, witty, spontaneous, imperfect, openly flawed, yet they
seem to use humor to rise above the moment, finding their humanity in their
various impressions. Rarely does Coogan ever have dinner with Rob Bryden,
as instead he’s met with a host of interchangeable characters that eventually
drive him batty. Initially he tries to
keep up, matching impression for impression, insisting his are superior, but
when we see him alone in his room at night attempting to master various Bryden voice inflections, the audience knows he’s been
outdone. Coogan
can be vicious when given the chance, never having a kind word to say about
anyone else, while continually seeing himself with delusions of grandeur,
actually seeing himself as the Don
Quixote of
Hugo in 3D B+
No one questions Martin Scorsese’s sincerity when it comes
to movies, as he’s a director obsessed with the history of movies, supporting
the video releases of lesser known directors that may have received little
exposure initially, and is one of the most outspoken advocates supporting film
preservation. He is perhaps the most knowledgeable American professor on
the subject of cinema, as it’s a world he knows inside and out, being the elder
statesman of American directors, having made movies since the late 1960’s,
including two of the most critically acclaimed films ever made, RAGING BULL
(1980) and GOODFELLAS (1990). Everyone may have a different favorite, but
no one disputes his mastery of the art form. As a child, his mother
thought it odd that he insisted on watching Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger’s THE RED
SHOES (1948) over and over again, as he was mesmerized by the construction of
such an enchantingly beautiful film. Throughout his career, most all of his
films have catered to adult subject matter, where language alone, let alone
excessive violence, may not be suitable for smaller children. With this
film, a screen adaptation of Brian Selznick’s The Invention of Hugo Cabret, a book
which won the Caldecott Medal in 2008 for the most distinguished children’s
picture book, Scorsese has finally found the right source material to make his
first children’s film. While the book is 533 pages, more than half are
pencil drawings by the author where the illustrations are used to balance the
way the story is told and ultimately understood, so a supremely gifted visual
artist could only enhance the experience, which Scorsese chose to render in 3D,
another first in his career. The 3D glasses do darken the already
darkened atmosphere, but also offer a bit of playfulness to some of the scenes,
perhaps stretching the imagination somewhat, especially seeing 100-year old
historic archival footage in 3D, which has never been done before, but they are
by no means necessary to appreciate this film, which has a wonderful
story. However, with Scorsese at the helm, why not opt for the best?
From the opening shot, we’re quickly reminded of the overly
cute, Frenchified version of Paris in Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s AMELIE (2001), which features swooping camera
shots and picture postcard panoramas, as the camera pulls the viewers into an
extended sequence that sweeps across the city landscape, guiding us past
historical monuments through the Parisian streets and into a busy train
station, finally resting upon the eyes of a young child perched high atop a
rooftop looking out over the station below, peering through an inside opening
of a clock tower. But this is not your typical children’s adventure
story, despite the French accordions playing as people in the crowded streets
of Paris run right past one another, bypassing the friendly shops and outdoor
café’s, creating a stampede effect in order to get to their trains on time.
Hugo (Asa Butterfield) is the child in the opening
shot, a bright young boy cloistered away living high above the fray through the
ventilation ducts and cavernous back passageways in a darkened 1930’s world
filled with blowing steam and giant churning gears constantly turning, where
the clicking sound is everpresent as he’s literally
living behind the elevated clocks of the train station, like Quasimoto or The Phantom of the Opera. In flashback
sequences, his father (Jude Law) taught him to fix clocks and develop a
fascination for fixing things, tinkering with various spare parts that he finds
or steals, along with handfuls of food, but his father and his uncle die, so he
now lives a Dickensian existence on his own, an orphan secretly inheriting the
family job of winding all the clocks at the station so that they run on
time. His real life’s obsession, however, is trying to repair an
automaton, an item discarded and rescued by his father from a museum, a small
steel creature in the form of a human that runs on gears and springs and
wires. But so far Hugo has been stumped at making it work.
Instead Hugo’s regularly harassed by the bumbling train
inspector (Sasha Baron Cohen) and his vicious Doberman tracking hound,
threatening to send any loitering orphans to the orphanage, which he does with
a sadistic relish, an orphan of the war himself taking pride in carrying out
his civic responsibilities by bullying and manhandling the little buggers,
throwing them in a tiny locked cage like one might do with an escaped
pet. Hugo is also mistreated by a grumpy old man with a continuous scowl
on his face that runs a toy shop (Ben Kingsley), who’s constantly berating Hugo
as a thief as he’s forever stealing tiny parts needed for clock repairs.
The old man absconds with Hugo’s secret notebook, the one given to him by his
father with all the drawings on how to construct the automaton, where he’s
hoping it will help him figure out how to make it work. When the old man
threatens to burn it, Hugo follows him to his home where in the window he sees
his goddaughter Isabelle (Chloë Grace Moretz), a girl about his same age, so he pleads for her
help in the matter. Something of a bookworm, she’s more interested in an
adventure, so the two set out together on a mission of discovery, where she
wears around her neck a secret key that may mysteriously help with the
automaton, but also includes her first trip to the cinema watching Harold
Lloyd’s dangling rooftop clock sequence in SAFETY LAST (1923) harold
Lloyd Safety Last (on YouTube 5:55) and regular visits to the library where
the elderly librarian (Christopher Lee) directs them to books on the history of
cinema, which opens up a whole new world. Apparently this is a movie for
kids with intelligence who aren’t afraid of difficult or complicated emotions
and love to find things in the dusty bins at the library, much like the
director's own childhood. Even as this film initially meanders to find
its footing, Scorsese fills the screen with a rich and meticulous tapestry of
vivid detail, always dazzling the eye with visual originality and flair.
Saving the best for last, through a series of spectacular flashback sequences,
the grumpy old man, Isabelle’s godfather, is none other than George Méliès, one of the founding fathers of cinema, who around
the turn of the century made a collection of moving pictures that specialized
in magic acts and special effects, like disappearing heads or dancing
skeletons, flying objects, missiles to the moon, mermaids and underwater sea
creatures, all of which Scorsese lovingly recreates here and were thought
destroyed during WWI when movie interest waned and Méliès
was forced to sell his celluloid prints, as requisitioned by the Army, which
melted them down for the liquid contents in making boot heels. With
Hugo’s rabid interest in rediscovering these films, Scorsese has a field day
bombarding the viewers with a mesmerizing collage of turn of the century films,
updated in 3D, offering special visualizations never before seen or even
imagined. This is a bonanza of unique discoveries, nothing less than
spectacular, including hand print colorizing, something Guy Maddin
used to love to do, offering a one-of-a-kind glimpse into the birth of cinema
as conceived by none other than America’s reigning film historian. This
is a child’s adventure story where the world of adults is threatening and
occasionally hurtful, but one that’s constantly changing and inventively
different, that offers a chance at real discovery, where if you pursue your
curiosity in life, you just might find your interests could change the shape
and vision of the world. This is a film near and dear to Scorsese’s
heart, as who would have thought some kid from the Little Italy neighborhood in
New York City, where he witnessed firsthand how gamblers and mobsters ran their
underworld rackets, would end up becoming one of the foremost film historians
and preservationists, not to mention one of the premiere artists of the past
century. This is a spellbinding trip to the movies that becomes an
excursion into the history of movies itself—delightful.
USA
France (86 mi) 2010
‘Scope d: Gregg Araki
Queer film fantasia at its finest, actually shot in ‘Scope,
a first for Araki who returns to his filmmaking roots where he is constantly
having a blast with this candy-colored material where he imagines being 18
again, set from the perspective of the New Order (not “the seminal band of the
80’s”) in the universe, where strange is the new normal. The entire story revolves around a single
character, Smith (Thomas Dekker), a bisexually curious college student whose
dreams, everyday gay fantasies and thoughts are embellished onscreen with
little left to the imagination, where constant blasts of lurid sexual imagery
bombard the voyeuristic impulses from the audience and pretty much typifies how
college life is portrayed. It’s all about
getting laid. While most students may
imagine this kind of lurid sensuality, most remain alienated and alone,
isolated from the rest of the world in the worst way, even as they hang around
in groups as a cover so that they at least entertain the possibility that they
are social creatures. Araki does wonders
by turning that common perception upside down.
Smith has a best friend, the constantly-at-his-side lesbian companion
Stella (Haley Bennett), the acid-tongued, highly sarcastic art student that
invites him to a party where he immediately sees two women he’s never met
before, but seen in a constantly recurring dream. One, the voluptuously beautiful Lorelei
(Roxanne Mesquida, from Catherine Breillat
films), immediately goes home with Stella while Smith, who sees the other dreamgirl only instantly, the mysterious Red-haired girl
(newcomer Nicole LaLiberte), is grabbed by London
(yes she’s British, Juno Temple, daughter of documentary filmmaker Julien
Temple), where both have near surreal sexual adventures, where Lorelei
amusingly has supernatural powers where she casts a spell on her sexual partner
to prolong the bliss in bed while London is simply every guy’s dream, as she
won’t stop until her partner is completely satisfied. This little montage of sexual satisfaction is
hilarious, as at 18, that’s never the way it actually turns out, as kids are
still way too self-conscious and end up blitzed on drugs or alcohol and can
barely even remember what happened other than having to lie about it
afterwards.
Adding to the intrigue is Smith’s roommate Thor (Chris Zylka), seen in an opening dream montage, a blond surfer
dude with marbles in his head for brains, exactly as Smith likes them, he
fantasizes, but Thor insists he’s straight, while an amusing theme recurs
throughout the film where this declaration is constantly in doubt. Out of nowhere, Smith imagines he was
attacked late one night along with the Red-haired girl by strange men in masks,
where she might have been bludgeoned—cut to bright red jam in a scene at
breakfast where Stella finds no evidence of any crime, but according to London,
the Red-haired girl was in one of her classes and she has disappeared. This musical chairs of missing persons, men
in masks, hallucinations of perceived violence, all add to a creeping sense of
paranoia that begins to spread like wildfires.
When cryptic messages are received, not to mention stealth computer
sites that disappear in the night, Smith examines the source of these clues
much like Aaron Katz uses a similar Sherlock Holmes subtext in search of a
missing girl in his recent indie film COLD WEATHER (2010), both examining a
different social strata. Araki
embellishes the gay world with bright colors and perfect physiques, with kids
that are willing to hop into bed with one another, and a movie storyline that
literally takes off on its own exaggerated sense of playfulness, where bad
things continue to plague the world of these otherwise adorable teenagers who
mysteriously continue to take an interest in one another. Again, unlike the stagnant social lives of
most teens who appear glum, moody, and continually down in the dumps, in this
portrayal, someone’s always knocking on Smith’s door followed by an incessant
barrage of cell phone calls of people constantly interested in seeing him.
Smith’s investigations reveal cult-like symptoms in what is
perceived as normal society, where an interesting family secret escalates to
grotesque behavior, where the world is run by an L. Ron Hubbard style guru who
seeks world domination, yet makes dire, apocalyptic proclamations that the end
is near. Poking fun at the acceptance of
Scientology among the well-to-do in Hollywood circles, a movement known for its
condemnation and abhorrence of homosexuality, yet accepted by a society where
cult status becomes accepted as the norm, Araki uses this prevalent theme of a
world falling off its axis. While the
story grows ever more ridiculous, reaching comic book proportions of conspiracy
theory absurdity, this insanity is seen as a looming threat that is constantly
menacing Smith and the world he knows, where men in masks run a secret campaign
to round up innocent victims and make them disappear, much like the Ku Klux
Klan once did, reigning terror against their intended victims, a lawless sect
using fear tactics and violence that spread beyond the reach of the law, seen
as a totalitarian threat intent upon annihilating gays, perhaps even willing to
use the New Testament as a sign to
fanatically bring about ultimate doom to the entire world, literally carrying
out the wishes of a new Revelations. Perhaps only in this manner can gays be
eradicated from the earth. But much like
DOCTOR STRANGELOVE (1964), the director relishes each and every misstep, where
there are more twists and turns in this film, all shown in humorous good fun,
where the finale plays like the staging of a burlesque review, where the mad
romp into the ever wackier world of the absurd is an irreverent dash to the
finish line. This is an insanely
appealing film filled with clever twists and beautifully written dialogue that
is so outrageously over the top that one can’t help but stand back and admire
afterwards what a rollicking good time this was, and like a Sirk
film, that through the veneer of a film soaked in sarcasm and bright
artificiality there is a glimpse of something serious lurking underneath.
BEST ACTOR
Ryan Gosling – Blue Valentine (3) + Drive (1) + The Ides of March (2)
Brandon Gleeson – The Guard
*Peter Mullan – Tyrannosaur
Michael Fassbender – Shame
Gary Oldham – Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy
Jean Dujardin – The Artist
BEST ACTRESS
*Yun Jung-hee – Poetry
Jessica Chastain – The Tree of Life (1) + The Debt (2)
Anna Paquin – Margaret
Olivia Colman – Tyrannosaur
Mélanie
Laurent – Beginners
Emily Watson – Appropriate Adult
BEST SUPP ACTOR
John C. Reilly – Cedar Rapids
William Jøhnk Nielsen – In a
Better World
Rob Bryden – The Trip
Nick Nolte – Warrior
*Albert Brooks – Drive
John Hawkes – Martha Marcy May Marlene
BEST SUPP ACTRESS
Lesley Manville – Another Year
Octavia Spencer – The Help
Jessica Chastain – The Help (2) + Take Shelter (1)
*Jeannie Berlin – Margaret
Sylvia Chang – Buddha Mountain
Bérénice
Bejo – The Artist
BEST DIRECTOR
Lee Chang-dong S.
Korea Secret Sunshine
(2) + Poetry (1)
Clio Bernard Great
Britain The
Arbor
*Terrence Malick USA The Tree of Life
Nicolas Winding Refn USA Drive
Kenneth Lonergan USA Margaret
Sean Durkin USA Martha Marcy May
Marlene
BEST SCREENPLAY
Clio Bernard, adapted from Andrea Dunbar – The Arbor
John Michael McDonagh – The Guard
Jannicke
Systad Jacobsen, adapted from Olaug
Nilssen – Turn Me On, Dammit!
*Kenneth Lonergan – Margaret
Sean Durkin – Martha Marcy May Marlene
Mike Mills – Beginners
BEST CINEMATOGRAPHY
Andrea Locatelli – Le Quattro Volte (Four Times)
*Emmanuel “Chivo” Lubezki – The
Tree of Life
Ryszard
Lenczewski – Margaret (2) + The
Woman in the Fifth (1)
Mátyás
Erdély – Miss Bala
Manuel Alberto Claro – Melancholia
Robert Richardson – Hugo in 3D
BEST ENSEMBLE ACTING
Secret Sunshine
Another Year
The Arbor
*Margaret
Tyrannosaur
Beginners
BEST ART DIRECTION
Le Quattro Volte (Four Times)
*The Tree of Life
Margaret
The Woman in the Fifth
Hugo
Shame
BEST EDITING
*The Arbor
Incendies
Michael
Miss Bala
Martha Marcy May Marlene
Beginners
BEST COSTUMES
Kaboom
Putty Hill
Midnight in Paris
Bunny Drop
Hugo
*The Artist
BEST ORIGINAL MUSIC
*Cliff Martinez – Contagion (1) + Drive (2)
Peyman
Yazdanian – Buddha Mountain
Ginge
Anvik – Turn Me On, Dammit!
Pablo Malaurie – Loverboy
Saunder
Jurriaans and Danny Bensi –
Martha Marcy May Marlene
Harry Escott – Shame
BEST DOCUMENTARY
*The Interrupters
Tabloid
Rabbit à la Berlin
Waste Land
Over Your Cities Grass Will Grow
Vlast
(Power)