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NYFF Review: Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story

Can one successfully create a film adaptation of Laurence Sterne's Tristram Shandy, the 18th century novel that was (as Steve Coogan tells us) postmodern before there was any modernism to be post about? Well, director Michael Winterbottom and screenwriter Martin Hardy have given it a shot, and the result is a masterpiece of self-reflexivity that is easily one of the most intelligent comedies of the year. Much in the same way that Sterne's novel is written as a fictional autobiography, Winterbottom's film can be viewed as a faux-documentary on the making of the film. When not recreating the funnier bits of the novel (including Tristram's accidental circumcision), the film pulls back to reveal the behind-the-scenes details -- from costume selection and makeup, to nervous producers fretting about the ever-increasing budget and commercial viability of the film. And like Tristram, the filmmakers themselves are at odds with how best to tell the story. When not playing the roles of Tristram Shandy and his uncle Toby, Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon are playing fictionalized versions of themselves on the set of Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story, as directed not by Winterbottom, but by Mark (Jeremy Northam). The blurring between truth and fiction is complicated by the inclusion of some very real details of Coogan's life, including a handful of Alan Partridge references and a scandal regarding an illicit affair with a lap dancer. Coogan is portrayed as both insecure and self-centered, and he's a sport for allowing his real-life persona to be depicted in this way. Whether worrying about how much screen time he has, arguing why he should appear taller than Brydon in the film, or simply avoiding a tabloid journalist, Coogan does a remarkable job of parodying himself. Though Winterbottom and Coogan have flirted with self-reflexivity before, the small diversions in 24 Hour Party People are but mere conceits when compared to the many layers at play in Tristram Shandy. Winterbottom, who with each film manages to reinvent himself, seems to enjoy turning the camera onto himself (as it were) and the craft of filmmaking. But unlike other films that have dealt with "the biz" (such as Altman's The Player), there isn't a shred of cynicism to be found here. "Life is too rich to be captured by art", says one of the characters, and Winterbottom seems to revel in that sentiment. Music is often a key factor in Winterbottom's films, and Tristram Shandy is no exception. Yet this time the soundtrack consists entirely of music from other costume dramas (The Draughtsman's Contract, Smiles of a Summer Night, Barry Lyndon) as well as several cues from Nino Rota's score for 8 1/2, which Tristram Shandy obviously owes a slight debt to. Coogan and Brydon make a wonderful comedy team, and the improvised riffs between the two are brilliant (especially when we find them arguing over Al Pacino impressions). With wonderfully wry humor from start to finish, Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story is a major triumph for the prolific director -- think of it as The Wedding Crashers for the literary set.

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: A Pair of Round 5 Winners + A Tiebreaker

He was the 2nd place winner in Round 4, and now, with a score of 14 out of 15 (including bonus points -- missing only the Godard actress, who nobody knew), harakiwi can easily be proclaimed a master of recollection. Be it rarely-seen Robert Downey Sr. or Australian musicals, not a single film tripped him up. Filmbrain is well impressed! Though the actual 2nd place winner is Aaron Hillis (with a none-too-shabby 12 points), he has graciously bowed out of the running. As ruler over his own quiz, and Filmbrain's partner in crime at the NYFF, there were concerns about ethics and the like. (Aaron is no Tom DeLay.) This means that Jonah V is the second place winner, with 11 points. Well done Jonah! Both you and harakiwi can pick any DVD used in this round as a prize (provided the DVD is still in print). For third place we have a several-way tie -- a bunch of you with 10 points (including the Esoteric Rabbit himself). As a tiebreaker, Filmbrain thought he would seek out the true Marxist of the bunch. Which one of you can name the film? Submit your answers to this address. Check back next week for the start of Round 6! [Addendum: As Steve C. pointed out in a comment below, Filmbrain neglected to say that "The Truth Shall Make You Free" (from last week's quiz) can be found on a statue in the lobby of the Ministry of Information in Terry Gilliam's Brazil.]

Sniff, ache, repeat

At yesterday morning's press screening of the newly restored The Passenger (a treat beyond words), the sound of sniffling and nose blowing by many a film critic could be heard. Seems that there is a bug going round the festival, and spending several hours a day in a windowless, air-conditioned environment has just aggravated the matter. Though chills, body aches, and even a slight fever didn't deter Filmbrain from dining with The President's Last Bang director Im Sang-soo last night, his body refused to cooperate this morning -- he would simply have to miss the screening of Sokurov's The Sun (which, fortunately, he caught in Berlin earlier this year). After several aborted attempts at writing reviews of I Am, Tale of Cinema, Who's Camus Anyway, and The Squid and The Whale, Filmbrain realized the illness was winning, and sleep would have to be the priority. However, he did want to share with you this passage from Theodore Roszak's Flicker that made him chuckle -- a novel that is a must-read for any and all cineastes. A guilty pleasure that brilliantly blends true cinematic tidbits with false, and one that will have you checking IMDB every second page: Clare had lots of reservations about Breathless. They seemed to stem from insults she'd once traded with Jean-Luc Godard when they crossed paths at the Cinémathèque. His impish decision to dedicate his film to Monogram Studios, that epitome of gutter culture, was one of those gestures of reverse snobbery that Clare deplored in the French. [. . .] But Clare hadn't gone to Paris to hawk papers along the Champs-Elysées. She'd come on an intellectual pilgrimage in search of French cineastes who could discuss the films of Renoir, Cocteau, Bunuel. Much to her surprise, when she found the mentors she was seeking, they were as often as not more eager to talk about John Ford and Joseph Lewis and Raoul Walsh. Oh yes, the Americans were hopeless philistines, little better than savages actually. That went without saying. But when it came to film, that was a different matter. Hollywood, which was run by a collection of capitalist bandits, had nevertheless invented the western, the musical, Donald Duck. It had turned the rarefied art of cinema into the people's art of movies. And such good movies! To be sure, the Americans themselves had no idea what they were doing. Like true savages, they hadn't the ability to appropriate their own culture. That required the services of European, ideally French, intellect. It was all very dialectical -- how something of such charm and fascination could issue from such a debased source. Back tomorrow with the Round 5 Quiz results, and a review of something on Thursday.