Directed by André Téchiné

Written by André Téchiné and Mehdi Ben Attia

France, 2011

French director and screenwriter André Téchiné has had a long and illustrious career, earning critical acclaim for a great variety of films. His works date as far back as 1969, the year he released his debut, Aline s’en va. Among the common threads which tie in his works are the complicated interactions and strained relationships between his characters, who are continuously confronted with emotional challenges they would much rather not deal with. The wealth they sometimes possess is belittled in the face of various interpersonal hardships. Another is that he adapts almost exclusively original scripts, oftentimes playing a major role in the writing process. For Impardonnables, his latest feature film, the inspiration differs, for it is based on a novel of the same name from Philippe Dijan. Dealing with a vastly different screenwriting process, how would the highly regarded Téchiné fair?

Impardonnables‘ story is spread over the course of approximately two years. Francis (André Dussollier) is an ageing author struggling to find inspiration. To remedy this frustrating predicament, he travels to Italy, Venice more specifically, in the hopes of renting out an apartment where he may live in peace and quiet for the next year or so and simply write. Through his search he makes the acquaintance of Judith (Carole Bouquet), a real estate agent, who offers him a lovely villa outside the city, accessible by boat. As she shows him the building, the author makes an unexpected and bold proposition: he asks her to live with him! Cut to a year and a half later, Francis and Judith are married. The former’s granddaughters come visit one summer. The eldest, Alice (Mélanie Thierry) is a difficult girl to please. Given that her marriage is on the rocks, she takes advantage of her time in Venice to hook up with an old flame, the tremendously well off Alvise (Andrea Pergolesi), who just so happens to deal in drug trafficking, which worries Francis a great deal. Against Judith’s counsel, Francis hires a retired private detective, Anna Maria (Adriana Asti) to seek out Mélanie. This is but the beginning in a long, elaborate game of mistrust, voyerism and shattered emotions.

”Impardonnables’ never achieves its comfort zone…

The talented director easily flexes his muscles when forcing his characters to confront one another with undesirable revelations and confessions, something he does quite well, especially when the dramatic action is set against a gorgeous backdrop, in this case Venice, one of the most romantic cities in the world, one of the film’s many ironic qualities. He seems to enjoy playing such opposing elements against one another and has done so before. Despite this, André Téchiné, by taking cues from a piece of work he himself did not create, has painted himself in a corner. The single greatest issue plaguing Impardonnables is, precisely, its reliance on a a previously created story. There are more than a few examples throughout the film when the narrative feels as though it is stretching itself far too wide, attempting to successfully juggle a few plot threads too many. What’s more, just when one believes Téchiné might have settled the film into a sufficiently high number of plot points, a couple more will rear their heads, some very deep into the running time. Pictures driven by multiple storylines are arguably among the more difficult to pull off because the risk involved in investing too much energy into one and not enough in another. His previous works, such as Les témoins (The Witnesses), also wrestled with an impressive amount of characters, but perhaps the director had creative control from the start that the script was original, it resulted in very smooth direction and comfortable transitions from one story facet to another. Impardonnables never achieves its comfort zone, hopping almost schizophrenically from one event to another. Characters who feel like central figures in the plot at the beginning are seen infrequently for long stretches, and several threads never touch the viewer with the full impact they might have earned otherwise.

Regardless of the film’s unfortunate sloppiness, there are some clever constructs that will surprise and please a few. For one, the overall story and the dilemmas its many protagonists are confronted with are laced with ironic twists. For one, Francis’ story begins with him living through a temporary yet frustrating creative drought. Just as this annoying problem prevents him from exercising his profession, he is thrust, through the flippant behaviour of his eldest granddaughter, into a wildly imaginative, emotionally and and down adventure the likes of a real ‘page-turner’ as such stories are affectionately described. Writers often admit to writing what they know best, and what inspiration for a gripping novel than one’s own experience, especially with so much material to work from. His other better half, Judith, also finds herself facing an unfortunate reality. Alice’s infuriating decision to run off proves to be the smoking gun which slowly but surely forces Judith to arrive at the conclusion that her and Francis are not as close as they once were. The film goes on to reveal that none of her previous relationships ended happily either, including her lesbian courtship with Anna Maria. Here is a woman whose profession is to help others find places to settle down and feel comfortable for long periods, oftentimes for families, yet she has always been incapable of doing so herself with individuals.

‘Mistrust and voyeurism play a strong role in the ethically murky behaviour many of these characters engage in…

Mistrust and voyeurism play a strong role in the ethically murky behaviour many of these characters engage in, chief among them Francis. At first, his decision to hunt down his daughter seems honourable, relatively speaking. She has, after all, gone away with a young man whose own ethical standards are less than exemplary. Francis therefore asks for the help of private eye Anna Maria, who reluctantly agrees after she recognizes some parallels between Francis’ current situation and her own involving her delinquent, strangely a-sexual son Jérémie (Mauro Conte). The ease of having someone trace the steps of a loved one convinces Francis to do the same when doubt begins to germinate in his mind with regards to Judith’s fidelity (yet another added plot point). He therefore provides Jérémie, recently released from prison, with such a task in return for a handsome weekly wage. Impardonnables, even though it struggles to keep its narrative coherent at times, has its protagonist give in to an amoral activity with the hopes of arriving at the right conclusions for the good of everybody involved, which is always a slippery slope to go down as one incurs the risk of having everything explode in their face eventually.

If there are people not worthy of any blame, it would have to be the cast members, with both André Dussollier and Carole Bouquet giving their respective characters degrees of complexity fitting for the material awarded to them. In the end, however, director André Téchiné’s labyrinthine story lacks a few too many solid foundations in order for everything to hold together nicely. The film goes right, left, up, down…a little bit everywhere, really. Given his enviable career though, this may be considered just a small blemish.

-Edgar Chaput

Salt White

Written and directed by Ketevan Machavariani

2011, Georgia

Salt White is a moody, bleak first feature by Georgian director Ketevan Machavariani. Set in a post-communist Georgian Black Sea resort, Salt White is at first glance an unpretentious chronicling of the daily lives of an assortment of underdog characters – proud but impecunious waitress Nana, her jaded, brutish policeman of a suitor Niko, and a gang of street children of varying ages. Yet the film has a surreal charisma served by a breathtakingly atmospheric cinematography: the metallic surface of the sea, the craggy hyper-real, pebbly texture of the forlorn beach, the brooding long takes convey a hermetic, hopeless desolation that somehow manages to insinuate itself into the viewer’s sympathy.

Policeman

Written and directed by Nadav Lapid

2011, Israel

Policeman, a rather atypical Israeli offering dealing with home-grown extreme-left terrorism, is a refreshingly unpredictable triptychal thriller opening with a hyper-intimate quasi-voyeuristic sequence of the policeman in question, Yaron, massaging his heavily pregnant wife’s thighs, the unease of which lingers virtually throughout. This is followed by scene after scene of unsettling glimpses into the uber-macho culture of a counter-terrorist police unit collectively accused of unlawfully killing a suspect and a civilian minor. Enter a foursome of callow, ridiculously good-looking but delusional twenty-something radicals bent on igniting an ideologically-muddled, poetry-imbued revolution intended to redistribute the riches of the few super-rich Israeli tycoons to the masses of poor citizens. Of course, the revolutionary plot which hinges on crashing a billionaire’s daughter’s wedding and demanding ransom and social revolution is as naïve as it is doomed, but its endgame turns out to be uncannily topical, the film’s release coinciding as it did with the summer of social protest which engulfed Israel in the summer of 2011.

Here Without Me

Written and directed by Bahram Tavakoli

From the play by Tennessee Williams

2011, Iran

Bahram Tavakoli’s third film is a present-day Tehran-set adaptation of Tennessee Williams’ play The Glass Menagerie, which understandably feels both dated and modern. The dysfunctional family dynamics – an overbearing mother trying desperately to marry off her crippled, pathologically shy daughter while working overtime in a canning factory barely making ends meet, and her rebellious artistically-inclined son – are anything but cheerful. Yet the melodramatic vehemence of the verbal duels between mother and so, and the histrionic performances carry a striking veracity that anybody who’s ever had a love-hate relationship with a mother only ‘trying to do what’s best’ for her children would recognise themselves in.

Zornista Staneva

Chronicle

Directed by Josh Trank

Screenplay by Max Landis

2012, UK / USA

Director Josh Trank and screenwriter Max Landis (son of filmmaker John Landis), put a fresh, invigorating spin on the superhero origin story, with Chronicle, a movie so sleek and incredibly ultra-portable, it suggests better things to come from the duo. The two display enough raw talent and ingenuity in their feature debut that this jolt to the found-footage genre transcends its gimmicks with a clever script, fast-paced direction, and engaging performances from its young cast. In many ways less a superhero movie than a coming-of-age story, Chronicle manages to outdo other mega-budget comic book spectacles by deconstructing the conventional superhero narrative and reassembling it as an artful dialogue on the troubled teen psyche.

Chronicle is familiar, and yet unique, in the way it treats the so-called origin story. Trank and Landis imagine what ordinary kids might do when coming into contact with a mysterious rock that gives them superpowers. Their challenge is to find a way to cope with their new found gifts, control their impulses and avoid the temptation of using their powers in the public eye. There’s a savvy naturalism to what is essentially a sci-fi fairy tale, a story that places these otherwise average high schoolers in an extraordinary position. Yet the trio isn’t concerned with joining some elite mutant squad, or saving planet earth from an egomaniac, homicidal super powered villain – in this case, these characters simply have to cope with the challenge of teenage youth – hormones, peer pressure, parental issues, bullying, and so forth – while coming to terms that their newfound powers cannot and will not change their fundamental identities. There is no great call to adventure or heroism in these boys who spend the majority of the pic’s running time testing their abilities by playing pranks – attempting Jackass-style stunts and entering talent shows to impress girls. But there is a great bit of dark comedy, tragedy, levity and sadness; the movie, against all odds, becomes a darkly perverse revenge story for the high-school outsider. With references to Plato and Schopenhauer, Chronicle is best described as a horrifying look at supernatural powers, high school cruelty, and teen angst, a film that gives the superhero genre its best crack at naturalism yet.

“unquestionably endowed with the best special effects this low-budget shaky-cam movie could afford…

First time director Josh Trank’s best asset is also his greatest challenge: The first-person narrative style, once viewed as a gimmicky variant for low-budget productions, wrestles with the logic of having characters constantly filming events with good reason. While the found footage approach has become an increasingly popular conceit, it can at times feel awkward and artificial. Yet with Chronicle, the seemingly low-tech approach makes the teens and their powers all the more believable and invests us in the characters with a surprising economy of screen time. Despite the limitations, Chronicle gains in intimacy and immediacy like no previous superhero movie has achieved.

Chronicle will never be mistaken for an artistic breakthrough, but it is unquestionably endowed with the best special effects this low-budget shaky-cam movie could afford. The effects here (handled by Simon Hansen, second unit director on District 9) are terrific – both seamless and as realistic as can be. Most notable is the climax revolving around Seattle’s Space Needle, a remarkably economical urban view of widespread panic obviously done on a small budget yet rivalling that of any superhero movie of 2011. Shot for a reported $15 million, director Trank wisely strips down the pic – the compositions are visually clutter free, the shots usually static or steady – and the result is pure movie magic.

“The combination of pathos, shocks, and the visceral, visually impressive effects is orchestrated with jaw-dropping precision…

The cast is comprised of professional actors (if unfamiliar faces), which enhances the pseudo-reality of the pic’s style, and allowing audiences to accept their roles with ease. All three characters are designed to illustrate the positive and negative uses of exceptional power. The principals – Dane DeHaan, Alex Russell, and Michael B. Jordan – represent teen archetypes, but it is DeHaan’s Andrew who steals the show. His intriguing blend of sensitivity and anger makes him highly sympathetic, a peevish Seattle misfit whose authenticity sells the film with an emotionally riveting downward spiral. The fierce sympathy it extends to its unfashionable central character puts the film a million miles above the generic Marvel flick. The best moments come when Andrew uses his powers to vent his neurotic aggression – there’s a brilliantly staged moment of foreboding involving a spider. What happens next is pure poetry.

With a brief 83-minute running time, Chronicle moves along with a brisk pace, while always aware of it’s strengths and limitations. The combination of pathos, shocks, and the visceral, visually impressive effects is orchestrated with jaw-dropping precision by a young filmmaker with a very bright future ahead.

Ricky D

Chronicle

Directed by Josh Trank

Written by Max Landis

2012, USA /  UK

The more comic books one has read, the less original the plot of Chronicle might seem. The idea of “what would happen if real teenagers got real superpowers in the really real world” has been done many times in that format, and those stories hit many of the same notes that Chronicle does. Furthermore, the film is clearly riding the Paranormal Activity bandwagon with its found-footage visual style. But neither of those facts can stop Josh Trank’s film from being a fresh new take on the material.

The film unfolds in a series of videos shot by social outcast Andrew (Dane DeHaan). Andrew’s camera is his only friend, and it’s with him when he and two classmates (Alex Russell and Michael B. Jordan) discover a strange object that endows them with telekinetic powers. All three of the leads are not above using their powers for pranks or “this is awesome” gratification, but the film’s advertising has made it no secret that only Andrew will go in an antisocial direction.

“There will be a great many supervillains in theaters this year, but very few films will have the villain as the protagonist and suggest that he was made evil rather than born that way…

There will be a great many supervillains in theaters this year, but very few films will have the villain as the protagonist and suggest that he was made evil rather than born that way. The story spends a lot of time showing that Andrew’s own self-loathing mirrors the directionless anger of his drunken abusive father (veteran character actor Michael Kelly), and that Andrew’s loathing feeds his powers rather than being eased by them. Andrew’s self-hatred is slowly polished towards mankind-hatred in the same way that coal is transformed into diamond, leading to a climax which feels natural and intense rather than a computer-effects showcase.

Russell seems uncomfortable with the found-footage format, but he never derails the movie, and whenever he lacks energy Jordan (Friday Night Lights, The Wire) swaggers into the scene and dominates it like the class president that he’s playing. They both play second fiddle to DeHaan’s dynamite performance, a display of developing psychopathy superior even to Ezra Miller’s work in We Need to Talk About Kevin.

Trank does occasionally stumble with the found-footage format, mainly because the “correct” way to express this style of film is still evolving. In certain scenes Andrew’s telekinetic control of his camera is clearly a crutch, an excuse to get rid of the handheld style and introduce crane shots and other traditional techniques. Certain beats are not only telegraphed but hit far too hard, especially a tacked-on, sequel-baiting ending. Still, that concluding scene does not waste the goodwill that Chronicle develops over its first 80 minutes, and does not prevent this film from being highly recommended.

Mark Young

Robot and Frank

Directed by Jack Schreier

Screenplay by Christopher D. Ford

2012, USA

Director Jake Schreier’s Robot and Frank is a tale set sometime in the near future when robots will be at our beck and call for menial tasks or even to watch over the elderly as they become no longer fit to be on their own. Frank Langella (seasoned thespian and recently seen in The Box and Starting Out in the Evening) plays a man unable to let go of his glory years as a suave cat burglar. In and out of prison for most of his life, he was an absent father focused on short term gains from jewelry heists. Now his children (James Marsden, Liv Tyler) are grown and have become independent people with legitimate careers that carry them away from their estranged father. Deteriorating from old age, Frank’s isolating situation threatens to depress him into an early grave. The passive aggressive gift of a caretaker robot from his son inadvertently invigorates his sense of purpose and manages to reopen avenues of illegal opportunity for the veteran thief.

It might be easy to see this indie as overly quirky or even sickeningly cute if it weren’t for the fact that this film very bluntly repeats that the robot is just a robot, nothing more. While it can be taught, it cannot feel. Robot and Frank is saddest and most moving when the audience stops projecting onto the robot the human qualities that we want to believe it has. That Frank is merely interacting with command based circuitry and talking in circles to himself lends the story a poignant and lonely edge. Not initially trusting or wanting a machine, Frank eventually takes a shine to the robot when he finds out that he can teach it how to pick a lock and case a joint. As the capers get more increasingly exciting, it is disconcerting but amusing that Frank has a better rapport with this robot then any human he knows. There are authentic laughs as the robot seems to be the perfect partner in crime for Frank and attune to his needs for companionship. Then again, there is the realization that having learned how to burgle from him while being reliant on his commands, the robot is fundamentally Frank- only clearer in mind and indestructible in form. The film’s main fault may be that the music soars triumphantly when Frank makes narrow escapes from the cops with the help of the robot. This misdirects the audience into thinking that Frank is friends with someone other than himself.

Langella makes sure that his character is never all the way sympathetic or relatable. He is a borderline contemptible man who doesn’t get along with others and to whom the a family has never held anything worth sticking around for. The little affection he shows to his children and a love interest (Susan Sarandon) are with presents that he has lifted. Peter Sarsgaard’s robot voice is uniform in intonation and quick to soothe the often agitated Frank with a calm tempo of response. Everything cannot be magically healed by Frank’s alliance with the robot. It will not solve loneliness or fill the emptiness in his heart that he has always tried to solve with cheap thrills.

Unlike most other films about the potential of technology in the future, this robot is meant to help and has no ill design on overthrowing authority. Here it is the human that leads the machine astray. We go with the robot into a personal hell that Frank is only faintly aware of himself- where he relives his past and the outcome stays the same. The revolutionary idea of living for someone beyond himself is occurring almost too late in his life to make any kind of impact on those who might have been able to love him. Looking at machines as tools that can extend our personalities and improve functionality, we can appreciate through Frank that there is hardly any modern fulfillment to gain by way of electronics if we are unwilling to honestly stand in judgement of ourselves and share our emotional lives with one another. Robot and Frank is something rare in that asks for us to examine our personal use of machines as direct reflections of who we are. They are platforms from which we command, write and talk into an abyss of electronic space to spread the importance of our thoughts but often they’re just somewhere we end up retreating into ourselves. We can’t hesitate to make real world connections or else we may end up like Frank, whose best and only friend is a mechanical version of himself.

- Lane Scarberry

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Chronicle

Directed by Josh Trank

Screenplay by Max Landis

2012, UK / USA

There’s no more horrifying an idea than one film being both a super hero and found footage vehicle. On their own, they are blights on the release schedule; putting them together in one picture is unutterably disheartening. The unlucky product of this collation is Josh Trank’s debut Chronicle. The issue with any film that uses the character-carried camera as a mode of storytelling needs justification for the tired format to relevant rather than a means to sell a picture which lacks distinction otherwise. Chronicle is one of the only examples of this type of cinema that fully justifies that aspect and is not betrayed by a shot or a scene which shatters the illusion of reality that the form strives for.

The set-up for the camera as a character is disclosed in the opening scene where Andrew (Dane DeHaan) is hiding from his drunk and abusive father and says “I’m filming everything now,” and he means everything. The camera is an emotional crutch for his lack of friends and social isolation. The only friend, Andrew, has his cousin Matt (Alex Russell), who has a fair share of neuroses of his own. After school one day, Matt and Andrew go to a high school party, still with the camera in tow. Tossed from the party for filming something he shouldn’t have, he sits outside alone only to be met by the super-popular Steve (Michael B. Jordan). Steve urges Andrew to come with him because he and Matt have discovered something unbelievable, and without going into detail further, they end up with telekinetic superpowers.

“Chronicle makes for an interesting counterpoint to Kick-Ass, Super and even Batman as artefacts which celebrate the idea of the everyman as a superhero…

Whether the camera is used as an emotional crutch or personality substitute, the found footage sub-genre always undoes itself by trying to achieve too much under the banner of realism. Chronicle is the best use of the camera as a character rather than as a tool voyeuristically gazing from the outside to date. The camera is passed around from character to character, and it’s not just the one camera that the footage is taken from; eventually it’s taken from other cameramen, CCTV footage, police car footage, and other sources to make one seamless loop of footage. Unfortunately, though the camera is implemented more seamlessly than ever before, there is still no distinct reason for it to be shot this way rather than through traditional means.

Chronicle makes for an interesting counterpoint to Kick-Ass, Super and even Batman as artefacts which celebrate the idea of the everyman as a superhero by having these three teenagers use their powers in Jackass-style pranks and as a one-up in the perpetual battle for high school popularity. That playful sense of discovery is what elevates Trank’s debut above the atypical superhero origins story, using their power to indulge irresponsibly and generally behave like a normal person would if this kind of greatness was thrust upon them when they are blank canvases in the gap between childhood and adulthood. The performances support this; they might be arrogant or hard to like but they never stray from the film’s self-imposed reality.

“At 26 years old, writer Max Landis and director Josh Trank have to be credited for being accomplished beyond their years…

The lack of motivation to be heroic leaves it open for the three leads to ultimately lean alternately good or evil, and the catalyst for this shift comes midway in, when a car is pushed into a reservoir. From there it mutates from something playful into a surprisingly violent showcase for the young director. The translation might not be seamless and the use of Andrew’s father (Michael Kelly) as an abusive figure is over-exaggerated, showing a lack of humanity in a film whose cast is fully formed and three-dimensional. Otherwise, the jump from discovery to destruction is engaging, exciting and thrilling. The final twenty minutes unfold like a more grounded version of Katsuhiro Otomo’s Akira, throwing in a couple of visual references for good measure.

At 26 years old, writer Max Landis and director Josh Trank have to be credited for being accomplished beyond their years. There might be problems here and there, such as some unfortunate CGI, but for a debut feature with a budget of $15 million, Chronicle embarrasses directors that have attempted to achieve a similar end with budgets stretching into the hundreds of millions. It gets around its self-imposed stylistic limitations with guile and intelligence by presenting the most interesting and watchable superhero origin since Batman Begins.

Robert Simpson

The Woman in Black

Nowadays, “old-fashioned” is generally meant as a compliment in discussions of contemporary movies, in conjunction with an overarching sense that new films – particularly mainstream films – are not as sharp or high-minded as their counterparts from decades past. In the case of The Woman In Black, though, we can safely revert “old-fashioned” back to its traditional, pejorative meaning; hoary, creaky, outdated, too-familiar. The film’s one-sheet is more effectively creepy than the film itself.

This is doubly disappointing considering the source; James Watkins previously helmed the truly vicious chavsploitation thriller Eden Lake. That film took a familiar genre touchstone – the killer-kids flick – and found a novel, relevant spin. The Woman in Black, meanwhile, is entirely content to recycle plot points seen countless times, and its unconvincing turn-of-the-last-century setting might explain Watkins’s comparative alienation from the material. In his first prominent post-Potter role, Daniel Radcliffle toplines as Arthur Kipps, a lawyer who’s been assigned to tidy up the affairs of a lonely estate in some remote corner of the English-speaking world, a dust-ridden mansion whose only point of access is a lonely road which becomes completely submerged when the high tide arrives. In the nearby village, denizens speak in hushed tones about a terrible tragedy that befell the estate’s former occupants, and only one (Ciaran Hinds) greets Kipps with anything other than bald contempt. With his help, Kipps resolves to set the house in order, spirits and all.

Not unlike Ti West’s similarly misbegotten The Innkeepers, Watkins’s film attempts to resurrect age-old haunted-house tropes, but at least West’s movie felt aesthetically novel in some respects. By contrast, Woman cribs scary-lady framing from decade-old J-horror, only dulled with a sense of numbing repetition; at least a dozen of the film’s creep-out moments consist of placing Radcliffe’s face in closeup to one side of the frame, while a shadowy entity slinks along the background in varying degrees of focus. The “mysteries” at the heart of the estate unravel plainly, with no palpable sense of revelation. (Worse, the film repeatedly shows us the same information, as though we’re too dense to piece together the tale in one pass.) Perhaps most cripplingly, Radcliffe feels like he’s play-acting; all determination and generic torment, he’s a difficult figure to become invested in, yet he’s in nearly every frame. Kipps never feels like more than a collection of attributes.

The stretches of Woman that almost work do so purely on visual terms. Its gothic vistas are presented with a distinct lack of CGI goosing (at least not of the detectable sort); serious credit is due to DP Tim Maurice-Jones. The murky environment is put to good use in a late marshland sequence that, while hardly tense, at least threatens to plunge the film into the realm of the memorable. For the most part, though, Woman is content to recycle with class. It’s unfortunate that we already know Watkins can do better.

Simon Howell

Directed by Anh Hung Tran

Written by Anh Hung Tran, from the novel by Haruki Murakami

Japan, 2010

Haruki Murakami’s dense novel Norwegian Wood, which derives its title from an enigmatic Beatles song, has been celebrated around the world since its publication some years ago. Typically, the road to adapting any novel to the silver screen is paved with various trappings which, if mishandled, will earn the filmmakers the scorn of movie goers hoping to see faithful representations of their favourite stories. Given Norwegian Wood‘s near universal praise of the highest order, anyone willing to throw themselves into the process of translating that specific piece of literature from page to screen was taking a risk, regardless of how successful already said screenplay writer and director were, even acclaimed Vietnamese filmmaker Anh Hung Tran, known to most for for Scent of the Green Papaya, winner of the Caméra D’Or at the 1993 Cannes Film Festival. Faced with a steep challenge, he embraced the opportunity in attempt to put his own stamp on the story.

Set in the 1960s, the story circles around episodes of Toru Watanabe’s (Ken’ichi Matsuyama) very early adulthood in and around Tokyo, more specifically the several complicated loves in this period of his. One such girl is the sweet but mentally imbalanced Naoko (Rinko Kikuchi), whom he re-acquaints himself with some after the her previous boyfriend inexplicably commits suicide. The blossoming of their relationship requires some time and effort, and whether it is the rush of confused emotions that get the better of them or some other underlying attraction, they hit it off on the girl’s 20th birthday. Soon thereafter, Naoko leaves Watanabe without a word of warning, having been sent to a picturesque clinic (a variety of mental institute, in truth). Back in Tokyo, between Watanabe’s intermittent visits to Naoko and her guardian Reiko (Reika Kirishima), the young man is seduced by the cute, witty, if complicated and hard to get at Midori (Kiko Myzuhara). Watanabe floats between these two offbeat relationships but will eventually have to make the ultimate choice. Who will it be?

‘Anh Hung Tran brings a lyricism to Norwegian Wood which may be difficult for some to digest…

Director Anh Hung Tran brings a lyricism to Norwegian Wood which may be difficult for some to digest. While the overall plot is straightforward, following from point A to B to C and so, each of those individual points is infused with an ambitious cocktail of cinematographic artistry, remarkable aural qualities and psychologically and emotionally complicated relationships . What prevents the film from firing on all cylinders is, oddly enough, how infrequently said relationships hit home in full force. For all its technical merits, which do nevertheless enhance some of the film’s scenes, director Tran somehow manages to keep Norwegian Wood‘s beating heart at bay from the viewers for much of its running time. There is an unexpected, even puzzling austerity which hovers over many of the scenes like an ominous cloud spoiling what would have been a brilliant sunny day. Is this a result of something being lost in translation between a Vietnamese speaking director and a Japanese cast, or do the filmmakers hope that viewers will have to dig a bit deeper before being blanketed by the potentially fascinating rush of juxtaposed emotions which clearly lie somewhere? Somewhere, undoubtedly, but the answer as to where exactly might remain a mystery to many after only a single viewing.

In fairness, one should award credit where credit is due. As previously stated, Norwegian Wood is in many regards blessed with an artistic touch second to none. The director’s camera, how it captures specific shots as well as how it connects them from moment to moment are among the movie’s more intriguing and easily striking qualities. When the camera remains stationary, the images could just as well serve as magnificent wall posters. The colour palettes and level of detail are fantastic, with obvious loving care having gone into representing all the small, specific moments in the everyday lives of the figures that inhabit the world of the movie. Other times Tran pulls out all the stops in filming scenes with as dynamic a camera as possible, employing either very smooth, delicate pans or quick, jittery ones. The ebb and flow dictating the cinematography mirrors that of the emotionally stretched out Watanabe, who sees himself metaphorically swimming without end between two individuals that strike his fancy, each for completely different reasons. The accompanying score, supplied by Jonny Greenwood, is reminiscent of his work for P. T. Anderson’s There Will be Blood a few years ago, and suits Norwegian Wood’s murky tonal waters brilliantly. These intersecting individuals are all difficult to define, displaying a vast array of disparate behaviours, some of which are difficult to predict. Knowing that, the score may suit this film even better than it ever did Blood.

‘…the overall tone succeeds more at distancing the viewer from what these people are experiencing than is does invite the viewer to live it with them…

Perhaps it is due to the very ambiguous nature of the three protagonists that the film fails to ever blanket the viewer which much emotion. Midori constantly engages Watanabe with a constant grin on her face which belies her borderline snotty attitude, indicating that her smile may very well be lackadaisical than anything else. Her definition of love, which she literally provides at one point, is counter to what the vast majority of regular people think of when they speak of love. On the flip side, Naoko, played superbly by Rinko Kikuchi, is, in her own peculiar way, desperate for love, although her desire is terribly confusing given that the memories of her deceased ex-boyfriend haunt her still. Her relationship with Watanabe is plagued by constant forces of push and pull.. Sometimes she wants nothing more than to cuddle under a blanket with him (a difficult proposition seeing as how her clinic does not permit patients to ever be completely alone with outsiders), while other days his presence conflicts and repulses her. Stuck in the middle of this trio is Watanabe, whose simple kindness and plain honesty is seemingly what attracts all these girls to him (there is a third that gets to him near the end). His mere compliance with trying woo one while keeping the other contradicts his gentile facade. Make no mistake, the young man is conflicted, only that his relative youth fails to provide him with any proper guidance. Of the three characters, the mark left by Naoko is the most prominent.

The potential for an unforgettable love story involving unorthodox personalities is ripe for the picking, but never bears fruit. There are moments that spark, such as Watanabe’s first visit to Naoko at the clinic, but the overall tone succeeds more at distancing the viewer from what these people are experiencing more than it does invite the viewer to live it with them. Norwegian Wood still makes for an impressive big screen experience, but one that might very well leave some feeling a bit empty.

Edgar Chaput

Albert Nobbs

Directed by Rodrigo Garcia

Screenplay by Glenn Close and John Banville

U.K, Ireland, 2011

Mainstream cinema has a difficult time tackling what some big studio executives might view as the ‘icky’ side of gender politics. Cross-dressing, homosexuality and its oft-maligned offspring themes of homo-eroticism, transsexuals, etc. These are topics which, if one is being honest, have been a part of human society for a very long time, but simply do not register in any pronounced way on the landscape major motion pictures. When word got out that a big production taking place in 19th century Ireland about a woman who goes about earning a living dressed as a man, the interest of some was surely aroused. Glenn Close taking a chance on the film by landing the lead role? Now things were definitely getting intriguing. What’s more, early reviews raved about the legendary actresses’ performance. With Albert Nobbs  set to open wide in the weeks to come, it is time to see what the fuss is about and if it lives up to its promise.

The high class hotel operated by Mrs. Baker (Pauline Caollins) is among the finest in Dublin. Everything about it is chic, clean and decorated in a manner to please only society’s upper class citizens. It goes without saying that the establishment’s reputation rests predominantly on the efforts of its staff members, with the most dedicated and respected employee among them being one Albert Nobbs (Glenn Close). Everyone loves his dutiful, precise, curt but never over-friendly service. What they do not know is that Albert is not a he, but rather a she. The secret is out one evening when a hired painter, Hubert Page (Janet Mcteer) is offered to become Albert’s bed buddy for the night. Albert’s early shame soon transforms into renewed confidence and curiosity when Hubert shares a little secret of his own: he is a woman too! Their bond is the launching pad for Albert’s desire to finally settle down with a girl, in this case fellow hotel employee Helen (Mia Wasikowska), and open up a small business,  but there is opposition standing in his way in the form of the new boiler room boy, Joe Mackins (Aaron Johnson) who has also taken a liking to Helen.

Clearly, there was a bountiful amount of potential at the outset of the film’s production to truly explore a fascinating subject that would have given viewers an intelligent, thought-provoking film had it even been set in the early 21st century, let alone 19th century Ireland! One should avoid, as much as possible, constantly scorning the movie industry for playing things too safe for the mainstream. There is a reason why it is called the ‘mainstream’ after all. That being said, there comes an unavoidable sentiment of disappointment when the closing credits arrive at the tail end of a picture that could have been great for all sorts of unique reasons, yet can only muster timid appreciation. Let it be known, Albert Nobbs is on the whole a mostly well acted, well decorated period pieced that transports audiences to a time and place which followed different norms based on class status. As a brief snapshot of how people behaved back then, and of what sort of duress those condemned to deal with their forsaken lot in life had to wrestle with, the film is rather good. Its strengths cannot camouflage the unfortunate missteps however.

“…as interesting an idea the Albert Nobbs character may have been on paper, on film he (she) does not amount to very much at all.

Much of the criticism is aimed at the titular character. Given that Glenn Close not only portrays the individual but had a significant hand into the writing process, she is doubly at fault. Few people would doubt her capabilities as an actress, her accolades, after all, speak for themselves. However, in the case of Albert Nobbs,  her double duty may have lent her to stretch herself too much. For starters, as interesting an idea the Albert Nobbs character may have been on paper, on film he (she) does not amount to very much at all. In essence, Nobbs is far too reserved a personality for there to be a genuine connection between her and the audience.  The individual’s plight and circumstances are more than worthy of a feature film, yet somehow the opportunity for an in-depth study of what makes Albert tick is criminally squandered. Close’s interpretation of Albert Nobbs is so quiet, so shy, so enigmatic that by the end of the film, it is unclear how far a road the character has travelled, both emotionally and psychologically. Worse still is the fact that the film openly affords Albert to confess her history as well as her innermost thoughts and emotions. Rather than shining some much needed light onto what actually makes this character, the audience is left with some half-explanations, like the notion that she tried to get a job once, many years ago, dressed as a man (for a variety of semi-plausible reasons) and it somehow worked…so she just carried on as such. What does that tell the viewer about her sexual orientation, or about whether or not she feels comfortable in her own skin? Another glaring example of  such missed opportunities concerns Albert’s decision to woo Helen, slowly yet surely, so that they may eventually become husband and wife. Somehow, the film awkwardly tip toes around any hints as to whether or not Albert is genuinely in love with Helen. So far as the film can tell, the reasoning behind the scheme is reduced to Albert wanting to have a woman around her shop. So this is strictly a business transaction?

“Impressive set and costume design and memorable supporting roles cannot overpower Albert Nobbs‘ shortcomings…

In contrast, Albert Nobbs has a supporting character with her own identical secret, Hubert Page, played by Janet Mcteer. McTeer is so lively in the role, playing the part of the tall, very manly cross-dresser with a sense of gusto, pride, energy charm and wit. Here is an individual living virtually under the same circumstances as Albert (their professions differ greatly), yet has managed to find a sense of purpose and  comfort with who she is, in addition to the actual performance from actress McTeer being above and beyond the most charismatic in the entire film. How has she accomplished such a brilliant state of mind? Certainly the societal norms of the period must press down on her, at times in gruelling fashion even. Where does her unspoken reconciliation with the outside emanate from? A film that evolved around that person, titled ‘Hubert Page’, would have been amazing.

Possibly lost in the shuffle is Mia Wasikowska, who plays second fiddle to both of the aforementioned characters, although she holds her own brightly, playing Helen with a lot of heart and a fun ‘saucy’ side. She is still very young although the talent on display is simply undeniable. People had better believe the hype: Wasikowska is a darn good actress.

Impressive set and costume design (which they are) and memorable supporting roles (of which there are two) cannot overpower Albert Nobbs‘ shortcomings. Had the film been a bit more bold, a bit more daring in where it tried to take Albert, this could have been a great movie. Did the filmmakers get cold feet? Was the intent all along to preserve a sense of mystery and ambiguity about Albert Nobbs? In either case, there was a much better, much more thought-provoking movie somewhere in this script. As at stands, Nobbs has several good smaller aspects, but lacks punch for its main attraction.

-Edgar Chaput

The Innkeepers

Directed and Written by Ti West

USA, 2011

Fantasia
imdb

Chuck Jones directed a trilogy of horror cartoons (Scaredy Cat, 1948, Claws for Alarm, 1954 and Jumpin’ Jupiter, 1955) featuring Porky Pig blissfully unaware that his life is in danger, while his pet cat, – Sylvester, naturally – only too aware of the danger, does his best to protect both his own skin and that of his master, Porky, from killer mice, ghosts and aliens.

The Inkeepers is not a film for the Porky’s of this world, those easily distracted, immune to menace, insensitive to fear. It is a film for the sensitive, hyper-vigilant Sylvester’s, the fraidy-cats amongst us.

In the case of The Innkeepers, our Porky and Sylvester are Luke (Pat Healy) and Claire (the amazing Sara Paxton). They are the only staff left supervising the Yankee Pedlar Inn on its last weekend of operation. Fortunately, the hotel only has a handful of guests, most memorably including Kelly McGillis as a former actress turned spiritualist. Since Luke and Claire have ample free time and are amateur ghost-hunters, they devote most of their time trying to find evidence of the inn’s ghost.

“The craftmanship of this film, in support of building that atmosphere of fear, is outstanding,..

There is a sense in which Ti West is a man (wonderfully) out of step with time. He makes films using techniques and methods seemingly long abandoned. His films build menace and threat slowly, almost imperceptibly. Each isolated moment is easily dismissed, but for those paying attention the dread mounts drop by drop, until you are drowning in fear and the slightest, most miniscule thing: a piano key being played, a beer can falling down a flight of stairs, is enough to send you clawing the ceiling in fright.

If we say that West achieves the most scares with the least, by least we don’t mean least effort. The craftmanship of this film, in support of building that atmosphere of fear, is outstanding, especially the layered and creepy sound design.

There would be a temptation to arm the ghosthunters with video cameras and employ the modern arsenal of shaky-cam techniques to elicit fear. Instead, West arms Luke and Claire with headphones and a sound recorder, forcing both them and the audience to listen for the ghost. West’s work has been described as atmospheric and West does his best in The Innkeepers to film that atmosphere, to film what can be sensed but not seen.

“Ti West is a singular genius, and The Innkeepers is his best film to date…

West’s camera does not shake. It is in fact, slow, steady and silky smooth, almost as if West is consciously declaring that it is the audience that should shake and not the camera. The well-framed shots leave the sensitive in the audience studying every inch, deperately searching for traces of the invisible.

Let the Porky’s of this world sneer that The Innkeepers did not scare them. We Sylvester’s understand that this spooky ghost film is nothing less than a test of our evolutionary fight or flight response. When the inevitable Zombie holocaust hits, there will be a word for the Sylvester’s amongst us: survivors, while the blasé, no attention-span, sneeringly unafraid Porky Pig mother-fuckers will be so much Zombie chow.

For those with the patience for his slow-build cinematic magic, Ti West is a singular genius, and The Innkeepers is his best film to date.

- Michael Ryan

Kill List

Directed by Ben Wheatley

Written by Ben Wheatley and Amy Jump

2011, UK

A detailed discussion of Kill List risks spoiling a singular and thrilling adventure. But if you are the type that relishes the feeling of leaving a theatre shaken and disconnected from reality, listen: I’ve got a film for you.

Kill List is ostensibly a film about an old soldier struggling though a broken, shouty–but not loveless–marriage, who hooks up with his army buddy to do some contract killing in an attempt to ease his ailing finances. But it’s hardly just that. Opening on preparations for a dinner party, the camera lingers and skips through banal, comfortable conversations and arguments between Jay (Neil Maskell) and Shell (MyAnna Buring). Working in sudden fits of verbal outburst mixed with warmth and humor, Director Ben Wheatley is in expert control of the tone he is setting: that is, realistic and frighteningly unpredictable.

“Kill List earns most of its twists, turns, and sudden explicit beatings by drawing you into its way of thinking…

Wheatley continues his focus on naturalistic, somewhat improvised, dialogue as he pulls the film out of its domestic trappings and into the world of contract killing. Jay’s relationship with fellow soldier Gal (Michael Smiley, who is fantastic) feels lived in and trusting in a way that Jay and Shell’s never does. As they embark on their first mission, the film even seems to flirt with glorifying Jay and Gal’s witty report and suspiciously efficient death dolling. But just as suddenly as you think you understand this thing, Jay, overcome with righteous anger, beats a mark to death with a hammer. And it is horrifying.

Kill List earns most of its twists, turns, and sudden explicit beatings by drawing you into its way of thinking. The film follows the logic and pacing of dreams– nightmares, really–suddenly cutting to new scenes or shifting tone and trusting that your brain will fill in the rest. It’s rare to see a film that this deftly shifts from crime romp to horror show and then right back to relationship drama. It’s rarer still to see a film that can make the relationship drama just as uncomfortable and immediate as the horror elements.

“plays like a brutal, exhausting shaggy dog tale with a dark as night punchline…

The film’s end will likely provoke disparate reactions. It is visceral and it is unexpected, but it’s also not at all a logical or satisfying conclusion to anybodies’ story arc. It just is. That’s not to say that the film isn’t perfectly tailored to carry the audience through to its final shot–this is a delicately plotted film–just that Kill List is about following Jay and Gal into their screwed up fever dream, and that revelation may turn off viewers. But Kill List never made any grand vows about its ultimate content–while there are thematic elements and three-dimensional characters, it plays like a brutal, exhausting shaggy dog tale with a dark as night punchline. And it comes highly recommended.

-Emmet Duff

Red Hook Summer
Written by Spike Lee
Directed by Spike Lee
USA, 2012

Spike Lee’s latest film might ask daring questions about community responsibility and black manhood, but these themes are not at all cohesively tied together. Red Hook Summer revolves around a privileged young boy’s summertime visit to his grandfather’s poor neighborhood of Red Hook, Brooklyn. Flik, who is already feeling rejected by his mother for being sent off is now cooped up with a preacher grandfather who confronts almost everything he does as inherently lazy or not worthwhile. Flik’s dad has been killed in Afghanistan so he has not had a positive male role model in his life for quite some time. The preacher is a fixture in Red Hook and while not universally respected, is revered by many of the devout. As Flik learns to trust him, so does the audience. The problem here is that for most of the story we are led to believe that how Flik is growing up and who he should look up to are of primary importance as to where Lee is taking us.

The character of the preacher is righteous and deals out condemnation severely but fairly. On the sidelines are the colorful characters of the neighborhood, poor but soulful people that Flik has been missing out on in the suburbs. They teach him lessons about how truly rough life can be but also how good friends can make it better. While it is true that he comes from a life of luxury (carrying around an iPad 2 everywhere), Flik has a wild soul. He runs around with a girl with an asthma problem and together they write in wet cement and steal bags of potato chips from the church pantry. The child actors deliver lines with spunk, so it’s a shame that oftentimes their acting seems stilted. The rest of the actors have lines that flow or stutter but never miss a beat. Conversations feel as if they are organic and everyone stumbles from one topic to another, always with a hint of faith in the all powerful or a bitter lack thereof.

Lee doesn’t want people to think that this is in any way a sequel to Do the Right Thing (although his character Mookie makes numerous appearances here) but it is still a movie that – like Right Thing - fundamentally speaks to what brings a community together and what can tear it apart. Red Hook starts out quite honestly touching upon the need for positive black male mentors but then sabotages itself with a detour into another film entirely.The audience remains captivated with Flik and his run-ins about the neighborhood until there is a sharp curve in the plot. From that point on it is hard to tell what Lee is trying to say about what exactly the neighborhood needs, the nature of redemption and what can be forgiven. Are there some things that are unforgivable or beyond putting firmly in one’s past? Rainbows literally appear at the very end of the story as if Lee has dismissed the abrupt revelations and everything disturbing can be put to rest without further discussion. Lee loves tackling controversial subject matter but basically derails and ends Flik’s summer of learning with a enormous question mark. We know that Flik has had life changing experiences but we hear no judgement from him about the last set of events. For Flik and the audience the issue brought up is serious enough that it creates a wound that warrants decoding, making sure we know what Flik feels about this and what his community will go on to do. Instead of healing us, Lee leaves us speechless and with an open wound.

“Who are young boys to look up to if even their trusted neighborhood protectors and defenders of?”

- Mookie from Do the Right Thing 

Lane Scarberry

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The Wicker Tree
Written by Robin Hardy
Directed by Robin Hardy
UK, 2011

Fans of British writer/director Robin Hardy’s 1973 film The Wicker Man will likely be nonplussed by his newest effort The Wicker Tree. Neither a sequel to nor a remake of the first film – and completely unrelated to the laughably awful Neil LaBute version from 2006 – The Wicker Tree tries to follow Hardy’s earlier work in spirit, but it completely loses the thread early on.

American Brittania Nicol makes her acting debut as Beth Boothby, a born-again Christian pop singer who takes her boyfriend Steve (British newcomer Henry Garrett) with her on a mission to convert souls in Scotland. They find themselves in a small village which has a strange attachment to the old Celtic gods. This is the same basic structure as the 1973 film – devout Christian runs up against mysterious pagans – but the older film had Edward Woodward as a policeman trying to find clues and punish the guilty. Beth and Steve simply wander through this film allowing events to happen to them, which strips all of the mystery out of their story.

Nicol performs her own songs beautifully with support from the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, but she just doesn’t have enough gravitas for her other big dramatic moments. Garrett has it even worse: his accent is not Texan but TEXAN!, like a central-casting Dallas cowboy. He shows some chops in exactly one scene, where he is wracked with guilt over a betrayal of Beth, and in every other minute of the movie he seems like a lunkheaded parody of a young American evangelical.

This film would like to say some interesting things about religion, but before it can even get there it fails on a more basic level. It has the same pacing problems that the LaBute version had, where the first three-quarters of the movie are aiming for a slightly off-kilter realism before accelerating to full-speed crazy. The evil plot at its center is never adequately explained, despite the presence of an awkward “let’s dump a ton of villainous exposition while driving in the car” scene. Where The Wicker Man used an atmospheric thriller plot to suggest that there are forces in this world too strong for faith to stand up to them, The Wicker Tree merely terrorizes two naive children.

Mark Young

The Theatre Bizarre

Directed by Richard Stanley, Buddy Giovinazzo, Douglas Buck, Karim Hussain, David Gregory, Tom Savini and Jeremy Kasten

USA/France, 2011

A horror anthology in seven parts, The Theatre Bizarre is a throwback to the tradition of the port-manteaux films of the `60s and `70s. The main exponent of this type of film then was Amicus Films, a small British production company established by two American ex-pats (Max J. Rosenberg and Milton Subotsky) who wanted to take on the mighty (at the time anyways) Hammer Films at their game. The Theatre Bizarre, then, is a deliberate callback to that era, but with a contemporary sensibility that could only come from these directors having been exposed to myriad horror films by the likes of Fulci and Argento, and their own previous works of course; a true cross-pollination of styles and moods that is as refreshing and revolting as one might reasonably expect.

The film starts with a wonderful little enveloping piece (directed by Jeremy Kasten) that has a young girl venturing into what appears to be an abandoned cinema, only to be greeted by a wax puppet automaton (beautifully played by Udo Kier) who proceeds to segue us into each story. Each time we will see him, he becomes more human-like, and the visiting girl becomes more puppet-like.

“A very satisfying anthology film that should re-invigorate the genre…

The first story, The Mother of Toads, is directed by Richard Stanley (of Hardware and Dust Devil fame); a perfect little tale about a couple who purchase earrings that may have some ancient magical qualities from a shop owned by an old hag (not unlike Peter Cushing`s turn in From Beyond the Grave as the antique shop owner). Potions that make one hallucinate; late night strolls through old pagan-looking grounds; nature unleashed and uncontrolled; all aspects that we have come to expect from Stanley`s close connection to old mythologies. The couple are put through some horrifying moments that culminate in a tragic ending worthy of H.P. Lovecraft (whose spirit inhabits most of the stories here).

I Love You, directed by Buddy Giovinazzo, ably portrays the disintegration of a relationship between a French woman and her German boyfriend. The man is desperate to keep this woman in his life despite the fact that she confesses to him that she has never been sexually satisfied with him, and that she has been seeing various other men during their entire time together. Giovinazzo consistently toys with perspective, leading up to the story`s bleak ending. From the man who brought us Combat Shock and Life Is Hot In Cracktown.

“This crew of filmmakers have produced what is possibly their best work by keeping to their self-imposed limited parameters of production…

Next is Tom Savini’s Wet Dream, which is a similar story of a sexually dysfunctional relationship which could be a dream or reality. It has always been a hallmark of anthology films such as this one to have a few lighter vignettes, and this Savini piece is that link in this chain of the bizarre. Douglas Buck’a The Accident is a soft, heartfelt meditation on life and death from the point of view of a young girl who has witnessed it first hand in the aftermath of a road accident, leaving her mother to try and explain the unexplainable almost as if this horrible reality were a night-time fable; a wonderfully shot and score little respite from the next two hard-hitting pieces to come.

Karim Hussain gives us Vision Stains; a young woman`s attempt to discover the meaning of life via the experiences of other women by injecting fluid from the eye of these other women, whom she kills, into her own to see what they saw during their life. She considers herself a chronicler of past lives, which she has written down in various manuscripts kept in a dilapidated library reminiscent of a Terry Gilliam nightmare. Seeking the ultimate answer, she manages to get ahold of the fluid of an unborn child, and all is finally revealed to her, albeit not what she had expected. This particular entry is brutal to watch, bringing to mind the director`s first film Subconscious Cruelty in some respects. There is a scene where a female junkie injects herself with drugs that is brilliantly edited, putting into images what has been described many times in books or articles as to how a junkie experiences the hit of the dose of heroin; like sex and/or orgasm.

The last item on the menu is David Gregory`s Sweets, in which a couple, on the verge of splitting up, agree to a last meal together. To say more would spoil the surprise. All I will say is that there is a great reference to an old 70`s Vincent Price vehicle entitled Theatre of Blood. Enough said.

A very satisfying anthology film that should re-invigorate the genre (one can only hope). This crew of filmmakers have produced what is possibly their best work by keeping to their self-imposed limited parameters of production.

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- Mark Penny

The Wicker Tree

Written by Robin Hardy

Directed by Robin Hardy

UK, 2011

Made nearly 40 years ago, Robin Hardy’s The Wicker Man has become so engrained in the public imagination that spiritual and religious beliefs have actually sprung from his creation. There is nothing redundant in his revisiting of the small Scottish community of Summerisle, and his “sequel” engages and challenges aesthetic and thematic choices of the original film. Much as Werner Herzog creates a dialogue through pastiche and excess between original and remake in Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, Hardy employs similar techniques in his 21^st century revisiting of religion, sex and oppression in adapting his novel Cowboys for Christ.

For those familiar with The Wicker Man, it is immediately evident that our two “innocent” youths on a missionary quest will meet a dire end. They represent the complicated image of modern purity, conflicted by the desire to indulge in the hedonism of contemporary society and a desire for eternal life. With no loss of irony, Beth Boothby (Brittania Nicol) tries to save the immortal souls of the Scots as she grapples with her former life as a promiscuous teen pop-star while continually aiming to expand her Christian audience. Her conviction for God rests in her appreciation for her own musical talent, and her worship for a higher power is little more than the worship of the self. Played mostly for laughs, this conflation between the self and God is as desperate and pitiful as it is hilarious.

“The film’s over-lit, commercial look adds to its success as a social satire, as it utilizes an apparently disposable aesthetic to great effect…

The film’s over-lit, commercial look adds to its success as a social satire, as it utilizes an apparently disposable aesthetic to great effect. The Sun God of the original film has been replaced by the glowing power of radiation, a merciless and infinitely powerful man-made replacement that looms as a constant threat to the future of the human race. The glossy finish adds an impossible and ironic light to our All-American Stars who, with their saccharine enthusiasm, attempt to instill the fear of God in modern man. Their complete ignorance of the text they worship is a direct dialogue with the presentation of Christianity in the original film. Seargeant Howie may have been far more well versed with the Bible than our modern day cowboys, but he is similarly confused by the boundaries between the word of God and the Law. His extreme repression, seemingly borne from his Christian roots, rarely finds root in the Bible. He misinterprets cultural and social traditions as being rooted in his beloved text, when they are in fact clear misinterpretations or blatant falsifications. Both figures seem completely ignorant of their function within the social order and their importance in maintaining the status quo. While Sergeant Howie stepped into a dark world of pubs and rain, our American heroes walk into a Scotland with a constantly shining sun, but both are naive to the contradictions of their own oppressive faith.

The final image of The Wicker Man is spectacular, perhaps one of the greatest shots in all of film history. The wicker man’s large head, completely in flames, topples out of the frame. The raging fire matched against a sinister yellow sky disappears to reveal an impossibly red sun. This iconic image of the “straw man” being torn down amidst the sound of crackling fire and a tirade of religious rhetoric seems cruel rather than desperate in this final hour. In Hardy’s re-imagining, this image is replaced by the twisted, extended limbs of the Wicker Tree. Its arms, mangled and reaching to the heavens, glow in the afternoon light, and it is less an image of horror as much as it is one of misplaced hope. This darkly ironic connotation is perhaps even more disheartened than the image from the original film. In fact, most of the paganism on display in The Wicker Tree seems to be a kitsch parody of the rituals of the original film. It is as if time has robbed us of the power of the image, and what we are left with are strange, empty impressions of ideas that once held meaning, however misguided they may have been. Should we revel in or regret the fact that these beliefs that motivate “sin” no longer seem heartfelt, and are easily broken in a moment of impulse? Regardless, the answer seems aimless and cynical, and humanity does not fare particularly well.

“This is not only a great genre film, but a film that pushes the boundaries of cinema itself, easily on par with the works of our greatest contemporary filmmakers…

The film’s wicked sense of humour cannot be emphasized enough, nor can the film’s strong sense of aesthetics. Most of the joy that the film supplies can be found in its colourful pastiche of symbolism (notably, the raven, a fine match for the hare), music (celtic meets cowboy hymns) and panoramic landscapes. Only time will tell if The Wicker Tree will live up to Robin Hardy’s first pagan horror film, which has been unofficially dubbed in some circles the “Citizen Kane of Horror,” but it stands out in this year’s Fantasia line-up as a fully realized work of a cinematic visionary. This is not only a great genre film, but a film that pushes the boundaries of cinema itself, easily on par with the works of our greatest contemporary filmmakers.

Justine Smith