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NYFF Review: Sympathy For Lady Vengeance

[Note: This review contains no spoilers of any kind. This poses quite a challenge, as it limits the ability to truly defend the film, and to fully explain why it is so damn terrific. Those who are familiar with Park's revenge films, and this blogger's love of them, will (perhaps) find the below useful and/or of some interest.] When director Park Chan-wook was at Cannes with Oldboy, he made the following statement during an interview: "With the development of civilization and the rise in education levels, people have had to hide their rage, hate, and grudges deep within them. But this does not mean that these emotions go away. As relationships become more and more intricate, the rage only grows more and more. While modern society is burdening the individual with a growing sense of rage, the outlets through which people can release their rage are becoming narrower. This is an unhealthy situation, and it's probably why art exists. In reality, however, the vengeances represented in my movies are not actual vengeances. They are merely the transferring of a guilty conscience. My films are stories of people who place the blame for their actions on others because they refuse to take on the blame themselves. Therefore, rather than movies purporting to be of revenge, it would be more accurate to see my films as ones stressing morality, with guilty consciences as the core subject matter. The constantly recurring theme is the guilty conscience. Because they are always conscious of and obsessed with their wrongdoings, which are committed because they are inherently unavoidable in life, my characters are fundamentally good people. The fact that people have to resort to another type of violence in order to subjugate their initial guilty consciences is the most basic quality of tragedy characteristic in my movies thus far." An important statement to consider when looking at the three films that make up his revenge "trilogy". (Park explained on Thursday that he never set out to make a trilogy -- his decision to do so was a spontaneous reaction during a somewhat hostile press conference in Korea.) Though his latest film builds upon ideas presented in the first two films, it ultimately winds up somewhere highly unanticipated. Sympathy For Lady Vengeance, the best and most solid film of the three, is truly in a category of its own. Lacking the bleak, almost claustrophobic nature of Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance, or the devious, playful, noir-infused cleverness of Oldboy, this is Park in a far more sublime mode, who this time takes an almost experimental approach to the material. Religion, specifically in its attitudes toward revenge, repentance and atonement, absent from the first two films, hovers over Sympathy For Lady Vengeance, though this is no way a simple lesson in Christian morality. Park relies heavily on symbolism throughout the film when addressing the uses (and even abuses) of religion -- from a Christian choir dressed in Santa suits, to the various Christ/Mary invocations (see poster, left), to priests with questionable intentions, Park peppers the film with symbols and allusions, but maintains a healthy distance from it, and rightly so. Also noticeably different in this film is the presence of the outside world, particularly the media. In both Mr. Vengeance and Oldboy the stories were contained and limited to the characters involved. Rarely was there interaction with strangers, and the media, though present in both films, never served to comment on the events at hand. In Lady Vengeance, the media is in some way responsible for creating Geum-ja (Lee Young-ae), the titular lady seeking vengeance. Her beauty captures the hearts of many, and though the film opens with her release from prison, she already has a cult following purely based on her looks. The sins of her past are washed away from the public eye thanks to her beauty -- even the church actively courts her to be a spokesperson -- the commodification of rehabilitation, of sorts. Unlike the (mostly) straightforward narratives of the first two films, Lady Vengeance avoids linearity in favor of trips back and forth in time, and by the occasional shifting of narrative focus. Fans of the series will spot allusions to the past two films (very clever at times), including a few that are clearly meant to throw us off. Choi Min-sik (star of Oldboy) is back, and though not as central to the story, his performance is once again incredible. (A comparison of this character to Oh Dae-su will make for a fascinating study, but not here, not now.) What makes Sympathy For Lady Vengeance such an overwhelming success is the manner in which Park drags us into the fray and forces us, for the first time, to consider what we would do in such a situation. For unlike the socio-political circumstances that trigger the multiple vengeances of Mr. Vengeance, or the elaborate, purely fantastical scheme that is Oldboy, Sympathy For Lady Vengeance has at its core a device that, while not original, is one that all but the cold-hearted will have some sort of personal reaction/response to. Sympathy For Lady Vengeance is far more disturbing than its two predecessors -- not for its graphic violence, but for its ability to force us to think about the difficult questions raised, and the even more difficult solutions. Can violence be used a means for the atonement of sin? Is redemption possible after such a horrific act? Park has taken great leaps forward with this film, and it's the kind of film that even those who hated Oldboy might enjoy. There's still so much more to digest (and even more to say), but, as stated above, virtually impossible without giving too much away. This is definitely not Filmbrain's last word on the film. Sympathy For Lady Vengeance screens at the New York Film Festival on Friday 30 September @ 6:00PM and on Sunday 2 October @ 8:30PM. Full details and tickets can be found HERE. A bit of advice -- if possible, avoid reading any plot description before seeing it.

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 5 -- Week 12

Filmbrain must have still been basking in a post Bubble-glow when he chose last week's screen quiz. However, he never imagined that only a mere four people would get it right. Granted, Schizopolis isn't one that rocked the box office, but it happens to be Filmbrain's pick for best Soderbergh film...ever. An odd film, yes, but absolutely brilliant. Well, here we are -- the final screen quiz for Round 5! Remember that there are prizes awarded for 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place, and though Filmbrain still hasn't begun tallying, it's very likely that a few tiebreakers will be required. After last week's stumper, we'll end the round on an easy one. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!

NYFF Review: Les Amants Réguliers (Regular Lovers)

Les Amants Réguliers (Regular Lovers), the latest from Philippe Garrel, appears to be the director's response to Bernardo Bertolucci and his 2003 take on Paris '68, The Dreamers. Shot in gorgeous black and white by William Lubtchansky (cinematographer on a handful of Godard films), it not only captures the Paris of that tumultuous year, but feels like a genuine artifact from the era. That both The Dreamers and Les Amants Réguliers feature Garrel's son Louis in a leading role is only the first of the similarities between the two. Les Amants Réguliers takes the basic structure of The Dreamers and turns it on its head. Whereas Bertolucci kept his young somnambulists holed up in an apartment until the final moments, Garrel chooses to open the film with the May riots (under the chapter heading "Hopes of Fire"), and this lengthy sequence, with its deep shadows and dreamlike landscapes contains the film's strongest moments, ending with a dawn trek across the rooftops of Paris that more than justifies Lubtchansky's recent award at Venice. With such a powerful first third, how can Garrel possibly top that in the two hours that follow? Therein lies the problem -- the remainder of the film, which follows the post-May existence of a group of friends, has some wonderful moments, but lacks the vitality (and brilliance) of the first hour. Francois (Louis Garrel) and his fellow jeunesse dorée sit around, smoke copious amounts of opium, dance to Nico and The Kinks (in scenes reminiscent of the Heroin sequence from Last Days), and discuss poetry, politics, cinema, and the failed revolution -- they have become the dreamers. Francois eventually falls in love with Lilie (Clotilde Hesme), a sculptor, and their budding relationship has a real Nouvelle Vague feel to it. Garrel romanticizes romance like no other, and the entire sequence would fit nicely in an early Godard, Rohmer, or Eustache film. Jean-Claude Vannier's piano score, which begins with quiet, melodic themes, soon turns to almost discordant hammering as the relationship both intensifies and self-destructs. Just as Bertolucci's film began with Michael Pitt's arrival from America, so Garrel's film ends with a character leaving Paris for Brooklyn. Though he hasn't explicitly stated a dissatisfaction with The Dreamers, there is a moment in the film that is quite telling. During a discussion of Before the Revolution, a young woman slowly turns to the camera and says "Bernardo Bertolucci". Could this be interpreted as a dig -- as a means of explicitly reminding us of the great director he once was? Even with its flaws, Les Amants Réguliers is still essential viewing for any lover of cinema. Three hours of moments in time, with many of them nothing short of mesmerizing.

NYFF Review: The Death of Mr. Lazarescu

It should come as little surprise that a film with an on-the-nose title like The Death of Mr. Lazarescu approaches its subject in an almost documentary-like fashion. The first in a projected series of films designed to answer Rohmer's Six Moral Tales (entitled Six Stories from the Bucharest Suburbs), The Death of Mr. Lazarescu is director Cristi Puiu's second feature -- a Divine Comedy (of errors) that follows Dante Remus Lazarescu (Ion Fiscuteanu), a sixty-something curmudgeon, across a single night as he seeks medical care for what begins as a simple headache. The black-comedic tone of the film is established early on, as Dante visits his next-door neighbors in search of medication. The bickering couple are the first of many who will simply write off Dante's illness as a result of too much alcohol, and the litany of medications they argue about borders on the absurd. Eventually, an ambulance is called, and thus begins Mr. Lazarescu's descent into the hellish world of contemporary healthcare. The issue at hand here is not a bureaucratic one -- there is no problem with Mr. Lazarescu's medical coverage, nor does he get buried in forms or is forced to wait for hours in an emergency room. (When was the last time you got to see an emergency room doctor that quick?) The humanity of those in the medical profession is what Puiu is going after, and there's far too little to be found in the characters we encounter in any of the hospitals that Lazarescu is carted off to. Some of the doctors are simply jokers (Lazarescu: Doctor, my head hurts. Doctor: Good, that means you have one), while others are arrogant, egotistical monsters without a hint of bedside manner. There's a remarkable lack of trust amongst them, and not a single doctor accepts the diagnosis or suggestion of the one who preceded them. (The amount of contradiction is staggering.) Pride is what fuels them on, as the ambulance driver (Luminita Gheorghiu) learns on several occasions when she dares to offer an opinion about the patient she has spent the last several hours with. Yet with all the abuse and insults thrown her way, it is she alone who will recognize Lazarescu as a human being, and not merely another case. The parallels to The Divine Comedy are obvious, though one would be hard pressed to locate paradise for this malaised Dante. There are two Virgils present here -- one is a brother-in-law that Dante owes money to, and the other is a doctor at Lazarescu's final hospital. (The presence of this Virgil, instead of Beatrice, is but one hint that we are nowhere near paradise.) One could argue that he never escapes the Inferno, and that the film's closing moments could be interpreted as Lazarescu in Limbo. Though two and a half hours long, and full of long takes, Puiu keeps the action moving, thanks in part to his shaky shoulder-cam, which adds to the documentary-like feel. (Comparisons to Frederick Wiseman are spot on.) The Death of Mr. Lazarescu is one of those fascinating hybrids -- funny at one moment, horrifying at the next -- and one of those films that you walk out of feeling positively drained. Let's just hope the right wing doesn't use the film as an argument against socialized medicine. The Death of Mr. Lazarescu has been picked up by Tartan, and is opening in May 2006.

NYFF Review: Bubble

Here's a prediction: there will be a handful of critics who, in their attack of Steven Soderbergh's latest offering (the low budget but high-definition Bubble), will argue that it is a condescending look at life in small town red-state USA. And like those who found Dogville to be little more than an anti-American polemic, this will be yet another knee-jerk reaction from those who aren't interested in exploring what Soderbergh was after. Bubble is quite different from Soderbergh's other "experimental" (read: non-studio) works. Set in a tiny town near the border of Ohio and West Virginia, its simple story tells of three characters who work at a doll factory. Kyle, a reserved twenty-something who still lives with his mom, works at the factory with his good friend Martha, a lonely woman about ten years his senior whose life consists of work, and taking care of her elderly father. Enter Rose, a young, attractive, single mom who joins the factory during a busy period, and who will forever upset the stasis of Kyle and Martha's lives. Much has been said about Soderbergh's approach to the project -- the wonderfully economical screenplay by Coleman Hough was written around the town (and doll factory), and the entire cast is made up of local residents, none of whom have acting experience. Debbie Doebereiner, a general manager at KFC, is magnificent as Martha, and the strength of her performance is best felt during the non-verbal moments -- there's a genuine sense of tension and unease she expresses with her piercing eyes and stilted movements. Is it acting, or simply an awkward reaction to the unfamiliarity of the camera's presence? Much of the same can be said for the rest of the cast, which leads one to wonder -- will the six films Soderbergh plans to make in this manner trigger a trend towards non-actors? It certainly would be a refreshing change from the phoned-in performances found in too many Hollywood films. With Bubble, Soderbergh has crafted a murder mystery without the mystery, and the film has a decidedly Bressonian quality to it. With its de-dramatizing of the melodrama, and the use of non-actors (a trait of Bresson's as well), the resulting emotional response is similar to what we often associate with the Gallic master. One could also argue that its exploration of morality, particularly the chilling non-reaction from the characters at the news of the murder is reminiscent of L'Argent. (A fellow critic suggested Kaurismaki as a comparison, which also isn't off the mark.) Yet Bubble is nowhere as cynical as the late Bresson, and Soderbergh's Ohio in no way resembles the moral wasteland of L'Argent. Instead, he presents us with a world where almost everything is either temporary, artificial or disposable. People live and work in mobile homes, food comes either out of a machine or a paper bag from one of many fast food establishments. Even the doll factory itself comes off more like some freakish humanoid birthing center than it does a workshop for the most innocent of toys. None of his characters are particularly happy, and though some speak of a desire to escape, even the dreams seem fleeting. It's probably not entirely coincidental that the film is set in the state that was a major point of contention in the last presidential election. But before people accuse the film of being a liberal Hollywood attack on the good working folk of Bush's America, keep in mind that Soderbergh himself was raised in Louisiana -- a state that, as we have especially seen in recent weeks, is not unfamiliar with the plight of the working class. The economic divide in this country is all too real, and Martha's reaction while walking around the wealthy home that Rose cleans shouldn't be seen as being patronizing and/or critical. Sure, there is a greater distance here between Soderbergh and his characters (when compared to his other small projects), but this seems more in line with the overall simplicity of the project. Even his cinematography (credited to his alter ego Peter Andrews) is far more conservative than usual -- the film is full of establishing shots, and the camera is fairly steady throughout. At the same time, the film does draw attention to the Christianity that, while not the center of their lives, exists just about everywhere on the periphery -- from crucifix-shaped cake molds to the sterile white church that Martha attends on Sunday. But does the mere inclusion of these details indicate smugness or contempt? Hardly. Bubble is easily one of the more interesting films of the year, and more so for what it doesn't do than for what it does. Though our attention is focused on his troop of non-professionals, it's not the narrative that matters (again, think Bresson), but rather the way in which Soderbergh allows it to play out, and the means by which he gets us there. Just as he doesn't want us to see the "acting", so it is with the directing as well -- but don't think for a moment that the film has an amateurish quality to it. Soderbergh's fifteen-plus years of experience are in there, but just really well hidden. Bubble a remarkable experiment that works far better than imagined, and is one that should definitely not be missed. Bubble screens at the NYFF on Sunday 25 September @ 6:00 and on Monday 26 September @ 9:00. Click HERE for info and tickets.

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 5 -- Week 11

Many people wrote in last week wondering about the alt-text clue for last week's quiz. Well, a Roman would most likely bring a pole and ski to the alps....get it? (Agreed....painful. Filmbrain offers his most sincere apology.) The capture is the closing shot from Polanski's early masterwork, Knife in the Water. There was an interesting phenomenon with the submissions last week -- many of you mentioned how it had been years since you'd seen the film, and though you didn't consciously remember the shot, somehow the film's title came to you. Must say something about the brain's ability to store images and to create associations, yeah? We're down to the final two weeks of the quiz, and though Filmbrain hasn't yet begun tallying, there seems to be a fair number of you hovering around first place. This week -- slightly easier than the last two, but still might not jump out at you right away. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!

NYFF Review: Haze

On an uncharacteristically hot and humid mid-September morning, Filmbrain (along with partner-in-crime Cinephiliac) raced through Manhattan streets to catch an early screening of Shinya Tsukamoto's latest offering -- a digital-video bit of minimalist horror called Haze. Hearts racing, and dripping with sweat, we slid into our seats to watch what can only be described as a nightmare writ large. Fifty intense minutes later, our hearts still racing (albeit for different reasons), the house lights go on -- the dream is over. Though Haze lacks the extreme graphic violence of the Tetsuo films, or the hyperkineticism of Tokyo Fist, it's no less disturbing. A man (Tsukamoto) awakens to find himself trapped in the confines of a concrete maze, with only a few inches of space for him to navigate his way through -- be it on his back, stomach, or even pulling himself along a jagged pipe by his teeth -- each new turn finds our nameless hero with an even greater challenge. After several hallucinations (including a giant fish) and ruminations on memory, a second character appears and....well, Tsukamoto brings on the heavy weirdness, with scenes that aren't unlike those "huh?" moments from Lynch's Mulholland Drive. Are we meant to fully understand this last third of the film, or is Tsukamoto's goal to leave us as much in the dark as his character? Is there an underlying metaphor on life, love, and death, or is he simply thriving in the ambiguity? The fact is, it doesn't really matter. Tsukamoto wants us to experience the film viscerally, and in that he does not fail. The sound design, editing, and frequent moments of darkness work wonders on the senses. On top of that, it's genuinely scary, with the real chills coming less from what's on the screen than from the depths of our own imagination. A film that claustrophobics might do best to avoid, it's a perfect fit for the single midnight showing at the NYFF.

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 5 -- Week 10

How can you not love a film with a character named Bingo Gas Station Motel Cheeseburger With A Side Of Aircraft Noise And You'll Be Gary Indiana? Answer: you can't. Yes, it was Robert Downey père at the helm of last week's quiz, the wonderfully surreal Greaser's Palace. A passion play set in the wild wild west (far better than Mel's snuff porno) that stars Allan 'the psychiatrist from M*A*S*H' Arbus as Christ, and features Hervé Villechaize, Toni 'Hey Mickey' Basil, and even a seven year-old Robert Downey Jr. The actor in the shot is Downey regular Joe Madden, who was featured in an earlier screen capture quiz. (Madden is credited as 'Man With Painting' on IMDB.) Congrats to the few that got it. For those that guessed, El Topo, you were in good company -- that was the number one guess. This week's quiz is the closing shot of.....what film? Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!

Sunday with Renoir, Ray, and a Double Shot of O'Hara

In an effort to free up some space on the DVR, Filmbrain sat down on a lazy Sunday afternoon and began catching up on some of the films he recorded in the past month. First up -- two somewhat rare titles (for Filmbrain at least) that were shown as part of TCM's Maureen O'Hara day a few weeks back: Jean Renoir's This Land is Mine (1943) and Nicholas Ray's A Woman's Secret (1949). Both interesting, but far from the best these two directors have to offer.

Described by Renoir as "my own propaganda", This Land is Mine envisions life in a French village under the Nazi occupation. Charles Laughton plays Albert Lory -- schoolteacher, coward, and mama's boy -- a man far too afraid to speak up against the occupation, even when forced to tear pages out of the history books he teaches with. He's secretly in love with fellow teacher Louise Martin (Maureen O'Hara), who is engaged to collaborator George Lambert (George Sanders), even though her brother Paul is an active member of the resistance. The film traces Laughton's rise from zero to hero -- driven by both his love for O'Hara and his realization at what must be done to stand up against the occupation. Renoir's motivation was to create a portrait of the French that differed from the typical Hollywood depiction of the time, and to show the difficult choices that every French citizen was forced to make during the occupation -- specifically exploring why some opted for self-preservation over resistance. His case is strengthened by his decision to depict the Nazis not as leather-coat-wearing, "Vee haff vays..."-threatening caricatures, but as genuinely human (though seriously deluded) followers of the tenets of National Socialism. Walter Slezak (in what might very well be his greatest performance) is perfect as Major Erich von Keller, overseer of the town. His calm manner, seemingly compassionate concern, and powerfully persuasive arguments make his character that much more frightening. (A disturbing execution scene serves to remind us what lies behind that facade.) Though as good as Slezak, O'Hara and Sanders are, the film is really all about Laughton. His growth from sniveling coward to self-sacrificing local hero is handled beautifully, and while Dudley Nichols' screenplay is a bit ham-fisted at times, Laughton's final, moving courtroom speech ranks up there as one of the all-time best. In fact, the final third of the film is reason alone to seek it out. Sure, it's no Grand Illusion, but an interesting item nonetheless for Renoir fans.

The sophomore effort from the great Nicholas Ray, A Woman's Secret was a film Ray had no desire to direct. Tricked into making it by Dore Schary, the film was little more than a way to justify the salaries being paid to the cast and crew, who were all under contract with the studio. Best described as a soap-opera-noir, it tells the story of Marian Washburn (Maureen O'Hara), a singer who takes on a young protégé (Gloria Grahame) after she is diagnosed with a rare throat infection that puts an end to her own career. Estrellita (as the young singer is called), is a dim-witted innocent who takes little pleasure in her newfound fame, and resists the constant pressure put on her by Marian. As the film opens, she announces that she is giving it all up. Moments later, a shot is fired and Estrellita is rushed to the hospital. Marian confesses to the crime, but quasi-love interest and songwriter Luke Jordan (Melvyn Douglas) refuses to believe her story. He enlists the help of inspector Jim Fowler (Ray regular Jay Flippen) and in a series of flashbacks attempts to unravel the truth. The film's saving grace is the screenplay, which was written by Citizen Kane co-writer Herman J. Mankiewicz. Chock full of those great Mank zingers, it breathes life into a film which, quite frankly, is DOA. The best lines are given to Flippen, and the fast paced back-and-forth banter between him and Douglas, or better yet his wife Mary (Mary Philips), is the kind of snappy, witty dialog Hollywood no longer cares for, and the kind of writing that makes this screenwriter weak in the knees. Watching the film, it's almost impossible to imagine that this is the same director who would bring us They Live By Night just one year later. Still, as contract films go, this is quite entertaining, and there's a nice chemistry between the three leads. O'Hara certainly has more to do here than she does in This Land is Mine, but it's still only a hint at what she's capable of. Though Filmbrain was enamored with Mank's screenplay, the drama in A Woman's Secret is frighteningly thin, and it's easily the weakest Ray he's seen so far (with just about five more to go). Both This Land is Mine and A Woman's Secret are unavailable on DVD in Region-1, though the former is available on DVD in France and Japan. Both films show up occasionally on TCM.

A Web Of One's Own Making

Filmbrain has said it before, but it bears repeating -- Korean filmmakers are damn good at genre films. Though working within the "normal" constructs of the genre, they (more often than not) add that little something extra that allows it to transcend the ordinary. Call them rule breakers or risk takers -- the results are films that are not only entertaining, but pack an emotional wallop you'd never expect from a [insert favorite genre here]. Take the case of Song Il-gon's Spider Forest -- a psychological horror film that also happens to be tremendously moving. It's a mix you rarely find (or that rarely succeeds), and as Filmbrain watched it for the second time he couldn't help but imagine a Hollywood studio executive going apoplectic as he hears of a film that begins and ends with a gruesome bloodbath that also makes you cry. It's best to know as little as possible about Spider Forest, so little will be revealed here, plot-wise. After a somewhat shocking (but fairly standard for the genre) opening, the film quickly settles into an elegiac mode that builds at a slow, deliberate pace all the way up to a satisfying conclusion. A meditation on love and loss (and loss....and more loss), its very structure is much like a spider's web -- with many different strands to unravel, but all part of a cohesive whole. Gam Woo-sung plays Kang Min -- a TV producer who has known his fair share of tragedy, and who seems almost karmically doomed to repeat it. The film traces his attempts to free himself from the web that he has created -- a journey that will lead him down many dark paths, and deep into the recesses of his mind. Filmbrain has seen three of Song Il-gon's films in the past few months, and he certainly is a director to watch. Though Spider Forest (which is sandwiched between 2001's Flower Island and 2004's Git (Feather)), is the only horror film on the director's resume, all three share a certain somnambulistic quality to them -- he's a director who firmly believes in the less-is-more approach. His storytelling, which often unfolds like a fairytale, relies heavily on symbolism, and Spider Forest is rife with Freudian allusions to sexual temptation (apples are everywhere) and birth, both literal and spiritual (one scene finds Kang-min walking down a long dark tunnel to the light at the end that will bring him into the world, as it were). There is a twist in Spider Forest, but unlike the films of M. Night Shyamalan, there is so much more at play here than simply getting us to the reveal. Kang-min's journey is both tragic and moving, and the twist serves as a satisfying closure to his story, rather than as a gimmick to dazzle the audience. Spider Forest is a haunting, disturbing film that seamlessly blends psychological horror with tragic drama, and its story will resonate with anybody who has ever loved and lost. At the moment there are no distribution plans for the US, which is a shame. Tartan should have picked this one up instead of the lackluster, Ring-inspired Phone. [Update: As NKW points out in a comment below, Tartan has indeed picked this one up for distribution, though he's not sure if it will be theatrical, or DVD only. Try and catch it tonight at the NYKFF if you can!]