Like Anna Karina's Sweater

Twenty-Ought-Six

Bluntly stated, 2006 was a shitty year. And not just for film. The death of my father in February was the first in a disturbing number of deaths that touched me this year – seems that a month didn't go by without hearing of somebody's loss – from friends, associates, fellow bloggers, etc. It was a year shrouded in an air of dolefulness. Yet these events were not the only reason I saw fewer films theatrically this year than any other in recent memory. There just wasn't that much that inspired me; it was a year where mediocrity ruled and the critical response to nearly everything was a qualified 'meh'. There were the grand disappointments (The Black Dahlia), the head-scratchers, or "why-is-this-so-successful-again?" (Little Miss Sunshine), the missed opportunities (Babel), and the outright awful (Little Children). (Todd Field should be prohibited from ever getting behind a camera again, lest he turn yet another work of literature into a ham-fisted piece of condescending crap.) Then there are the films that I just couldn't bring myself to place on my top ten. Inland Empire -- the film that brought out the poet in many a critic, which was showered with praise and (occasionally purple) prose by critics I deeply admire – just left me cold. I didn't dislike it, quite the opposite in fact, but I found it difficult to buy in to many of the arguments being put forth in its defense, particularly those surrounding the film's lo-fi appearance. I couldn't stand the look of the DV, and found the endless, unflattering wide-angle close-ups irritating. Still, it's a film not easily forgotten, and perhaps repeated viewings will arouse in me the kind of passion felt by others. There's a part of me that wants to include Dreamgirls in my top ten – a musical in the grand Hollywood tradition – yet somehow I lack the conviction to do so. Maybe my reaction is nothing more than my unabashed love for musical film, or the fact that this big, flashy, and oh-so-alive production is everything Chicago wasn't. Still, I was simply enthralled from start to finish, and hearing the thunderous applause after many of the songs brought me back to the days of the Regency revival theater, where thirty and forty year-old MGM musicals never failed to get hands clapping. Most (if not all) of the negative reviews are focusing on its lack of socio-political commentary, poor character development, and songs that aren't as good as Motown hits. Duh. It's a musical. From Broadway no less. And while Henry Krieger is no John Kander, director Bill Condon takes full advantage of the medium, giving us on screen what can't be accomplished on stage – exactly the opposite of Rob Marshall's stiff and wooden Chicago. Yet is this reason enough to include it in my top ten? I guess not. What follows is a list of my top ten favorite distributed films, as submitted to Dennis Lim's 2006 Critics Poll over at IndieWire. It doesn't include my actual favorite film of the year, Spike Lee's When the Levees Broke, for it didn't qualify (owing to a lack of theatrical release). Easily the most important film I saw this year, and probably the most scathing and damning portrait of the Bush administration, this is a major document that will live on for ages. Though the media had wall-to-wall Hurricane Katrina coverage, none of it comes close to the power of even a single minute of this four-hour masterpiece. In reverse order: 10. Battle in Heaven (Carlos Reygadas, Mexico) I found the director's debut feature, Japón, to be both pretentious and calculating in its button pushing. Yet this, his (equally, if not more controversial) follow-up is a thing of beauty. Reygadas' non-actors often seem uncomfortable, which only enhances the already tense atmosphere. Best use of sound in a film this year. 9. Pan's Labyrinth (Guillermo del Toro, Mexico/Spain) This psycho-politico-fantasy trip is the film that most made me feel like a kid again, and a reminder that cinema's possibilities are indeed limitless. My review here. 8. Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story (Michael Winterbottom, UK) Leave it to the chameleon-like Winterbottom to make postmodernism both hip and funny again. A word to any over-zealous screenwriters thinking of trying something similar – don't! My review here. 7. Yaji and Kita: The Midnight Pilgrims (Kankuro Kudo, Japan) Two of this year's funniest films came from Japan – the criminally under-seen Yaji & Kita and the as-yet-undistributed Funky Forest: The First Contact (see list below). Anarchic, chaotic, surreal, and terribly clever, they represent a new wave of Japanese comedy that defies description while it skews multiple genres. Sure, some of the jokes are lost in translation, but there's more than enough to keep you in slack-jawed amazement. My review here. 6. Inside Man (Spike Lee, USA) Universal did their best to bury the director's name on this one, and to be honest I expected to see Spike's great sellout film. How wrong I was. One of the best screenplays of the year, this is both a throwback to great 70s heist films, while at the same time offering one of the most honest and accurate portrayals of a post 9/11 New York City. Issues of race are found in nearly every frame of the film, yet there's a wonderful subtlety to it all. 5. Children of Men (Alfonso Cuarón, UK/USA) The bleakest film ever to be released on Christmas day. A cinematographic dream of a deeply disturbing dystopian nightmare. Chilling, haunting, and unforgettable. Full review to follow. (Hopefully.) 4. A Prairie Home Companion (Robert Altman, US) Though he never intended it to be his final film, there's a funereal spirit that pervades over this ensemble comedy-musical. A film that could easily have been made in the 70s, Altman's swan song finds the great director going out on a high note. Be Bop A-Ree-Bop Rhubarb Pie! 3. Sympathy for Lady Vengeance (Park Chan-wook, Korea) Now that torture has become America's newest form of entertainment (Hostel, Turistas, etc.) and seemingly more acceptable (Guantanamo, waterboarding), Park's final film in his vengeance trilogy is even more disquieting than it was when I first saw it back in 2005. My review here. 2. The Death of Mr. Lazarescu (Cristi Puiu, Romania) Diclofenac. Distonocalm. My review here. 1. Climates (Nuri Bilge Ceylan, Turkey) Ceylan's portrait of a relationship slowly dying is a quiet, unassuming little film that went straight for the gut. A good friend described it as A Modern Romance without the laughs. You know what? He's right. My review here. Favorite films seen in 2006 without distribution: Funky Forest: The First Contact (Katsuhito Ishii, Aniki, Shunichiro Miki, Japan) Der Freie Wille (Matthias Glasner, Germany) Coeurs (Alain Resnais, France) Woman on the Beach (Hong Sang-soo, Korea) Magicians (Song Il-gon, Korea) King and the Clown (Lee Jun-ik, Korea) L'Enfer (Danis Tanovic, France) Hanging Garden (Toshiaki Toyoda, Japan)

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 10, Week 12

What is it about that tree that just screams Bergman? It makes but a brief appearance in the film (less than I had remembered) yet virtually nobody had difficulty recognizing it as coming from Yentl and Crockett Fanny and Alexander, arguably the Swedish master's greatest film. Somebody wrote in suggesting that this should become part of the Christmas movie cannon, and I couldn't agree more. If you haven't yet treated yourself to the full five-hour version, you simply must. The Criterion disc is a treasure, and well worth owning. (Yes, it's available as a prize for this round!) I hope everybody's Christmas was merry and bright -- one thing it certainly wasn't was cold, at least here in NYC, and it just didn't feel Christmas-y enough. But remember, there's no such thing as global warming. . . It's somewhat appropriate that this, the final quiz of the round, should land on the closing week of 2006. Naturally, a film with a New Year's Eve setting is called for, but like last week, I had a difficult time finding one. Though the film is well known, this particular scene isn't terribly memorable. Give it a shot nonetheless -- you'd break my heart if you didn't. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck, and be sure to check back next week for the Round 10 winners!

Growing up Woody

Beginning tomorrow, and running through the 11th of January, Film Forum will be presenting a Woody Allen retrospective, including twenty-five of the director's features, two films he's acted in (The Front and Play it Again, Sam), and the documentary Wild Man Blues. Filmbrain's alter ego (writing under his nom de plume) has a piece over at The Reeler about the influence the nebbishy director's films had on the emotional development of this New York City street kid. It's part of larger package that includes quotes from such notables as Manohla Dargis, Philip Glass, James Toback and Harvey Weinstein on the septuagenarian director. The New Year's Day double feature of Sleeper and Bananas sounds like a perfect way to work off that hangover. Hope to see you there!

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 10, Week 11

With last week's quiz, I completed the trifecta of directors that were responsible for the (sadly) disappointing New York Stories. We had Woody, Marty, and now Francis. Yes, that's Colonel Kurtz's bedtime reading pile from Apocalypse Now, and if you dip into Frazer's The Golden Bough you'll find the origin of some of his ideas. As for the alt-text clue, the reference was to that oft-quoted line from Conrad's Heart of Darkness, "Mistah Kurtz - he dead." I've been terribly busy this week (as I'm sure most of you are) with both preparations for the holidays and playing catch-up with a few 2006 films that I missed earlier in the year. So far, there's been one late entry into the top ten (Children of Men), and who knows....there may be others. This week -- I desperately wanted to do a Xmas-y screen grab, but drew a blank as to films with appropriate scenes. So, for the first time, I've selected a film that I've used in a previous round (although it was a long time ago.) In what film will you find this particular Yule tree? Name the film, and have a very happy holiday. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!

Love in the Time of Cholera

The Good German isn't the only film this holiday season steeped in the golden age of Hollywood. Though not a technical exercise like Soderbergh's latest experiment, John Curran's The Painted Veil, starring Naomi Watts and Edward Norton, simply feels like a late-40s studio picture. Everything from the lighting, performances, to the particular way the narrative unfolds – it's as if the ghost of Jack Warner was presiding over the production. This is the third filmed version of W. Somerset Maugham's novel of the same name, and the only one that uses its China setting as more than mere exotic backdrop. And while it is closest in spirit to the source material, there's still some third act tweaking (initiated by Norton, from what I've heard) that veers quite a bit from the novel. Like Curran's last film, the magnificent We Don't Live Here Anymore, The Painted Veil once again has the subject of marital infidelity at its core. Spoiled socialite Kitty (Watts) is a thoroughly modern 1920s woman (she plays Satie on the piano and prefers to have sex with the light on – shocking!) who marries the prim and priggish biologist Dr. Walter Fane (Norton) for all the wrong reasons. Accompanying him to Shanghai (where he is stationed), it's not long before she enters into a torrid affair with white-suited smoothie Charlie Townsend (Liev Schreiber). Learning of the affair, Walter decides to exact revenge by dragging Kitty to Mei-tan-fu, a cholera-infested village that he has volunteered to work in. The disease isn't the only threat the couple faces – rising anti-imperialist sentiment from Chiang Kai-shek and the KMT makes leaving the house a danger without a military guard. With her husband ignoring her, and left with nothing to do, Kitty is forced to accept the gravity of her situation. She befriends their neighbor, Deputy Commissioner Waddington (Infamous' Toby Jones), though he spends most of his days smoking opium and frolicking with his Chinese mistress. Naturally, Kitty begins to reflect on her own life, her marriage, and her feelings towards Walter. Like her character in We Don't Live Here Anymore, Watts is once again playing an adulterous woman trapped in a problematic marriage, although here her exit strategies are severely limited. Though there is a decidedly political subtext to the film, its approach is quite tendentious. Walter's arrogance towards the Chinese officials and his disrespect for local customs serve as metaphors for English colonial attitudes, yet not once are we given a local perspective on the events, nor is there a single Chinese character whose function extends beyond simple narrative device. It's a bit of a shame, considering the film's efforts to include the rise of nationalism as a reaction to British presence. This isn't necessarily to the film's detriment, though it certainly adds to the nostalgic Hollywood feel. Unlike Richard Boleslawski's 1934 version (starring Greta Garbo and Herbert Marshall), which placed a greater emphasis on the affair, the bulk of Curran's film is set in Mei-tan-fu, concentrating on Kitty and Walter's transformation. Unfortunately, Maugham's bleak tone isn't the stuff of cinematic love stories, and the resulting alterations to the doomed couple's relationship aren't all that convincing. The novel is Kitty's story, and I suspect Norton (who also produced the film) wanted to beef up Walter's role a bit. Both actors are well suited for their roles, though Norton's feigned (and strained) British accent occasionally results in him chewing some scenery. Curran's leap from directing a claustrophobic domestic drama to a romantic tragedy with an epic scope is impressive, and The Painted Veil is more than just your typical awards-season period film, though it's one you can still take your mom to see.

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 10, Week 10

One of the most infinitely re-watchable films of all times, Goodfellas found Martin Scorsese at one of his directorial peaks, and watching it again recently made me realize how The Departed just didn't reach those highs, though it certainly tried (and even came close on a few occasions). I had been planning all week to walk down to Smith and 9th and take a photo of how the street that once housed Jimmy Conway's warehouse looks today, but simply couldn't find the time. (I've been terribly busy lately with a handful of projects, which also explains the dearth of new content on the blog -- I hope this changes in the near future.) This week -- two books I've read, and would highly recommend, though the reader in this case seems to have taken them a bit too literally. Name the film. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 10, Week 9

Okay....Scoop wasn't that bad after all. Granted, Scarlett's sense of comic timing is non-existent, but I hardly think it's the travesty it was made out to be. A decent enough (albeit lightweight) story with a handful of very funny moments -- ideal for sofa viewing. Granted, it's no Broadway Danny Rose (the answer to last week's quiz), but it would be difficult to top that mid to late 80s period, which found the Woodman in perfect form, directing such classics as The Purple Rose of Cairo and two of his best, Hannah and Her Sisters and Crimes and Misdemeanors. Speaking of Mr. Konigsberg, New Yorkers are about to be blessed with a wonderful holiday treat -- a three week retrospective at Film Forum consisting of 28 titles from the director's oeuvre. A New Year's Day double-bill of Sleeper and Bananas sounds like a perfect way to begin '07. (Gentiles welcome as well.) This week -- still in a New York state of mind. My, how the neighborhood has changed over the years. (I expect all Brooklyn readers to get this one right away.) Name the film. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!

Speak, Memory

Though her films have been nominated and awarded prizes at festivals all over Europe, Spanish writer/director Isabel Coixet remains relatively unknown here in the US. Her English language debut, the wonderful Things I Never Told You (1996), came and went without much notice. A real shame, for this feminist variation on the quirky relationship dramedy that was all the rage in 90s indie cinema boasts a magnificent screenplay, and a great lead performance by Lili Taylor. (Plus, where else can you find Debi Mazar playing a post-op transsexual?) 2003's My Life Without Me, which featured Sarah Polley as a young woman who chooses not to tell her family that she's dying of terminal cancer, received some decent critical recognition, but did little at the box office. Though not a perfect film, there's much to admire in its direction, screenplay, and lead performance. As moving as it is, it doesn't begin to approach the gut-wrenching power of her latest film, The Secret Life of Words. Opening in Northern Ireland, we meet Hanna (Sarah Polley), a hearing-impaired factory worker with an indeterminate accent who keeps to herself and exhibits OCD-like behavior. Her sparsely decorated flat mirrors her stoic nature, and more often than not she shuts off her hearing aid to silence the world around her. Ordered to take vacation by her boss, Hanna winds up (owing to coincidence) on an offshore oil rig, working as a nurse for Josef (Tim Robbins), a burn victim left temporarily blind from an accident. In a relationship built on multiple layers of trust, the pair will forge an unusual intimacy where truth and lies are interwoven, and secrets are revealed that will change them forever. Hanna, for whom silence was something of a weapon, will allow words to break down her defenses. Coixet presents the rig as a multicultural microcosm, full of characters whose physical isolation from the rest of the world parallels Hanna's emotional one. There's a chef from Spain who dreams of his own restaurant, an English oceanographer who counts waves, and a Norwegian captain who has little use for life on land. Though only minor characters, Coixet has crafted them with as much detail as Hanna and Josef. From the film's outset, there are some unavoidable parallels to Lars von Trier. Hanna as a sensory-deprived immigrant factory worker calls to mind Bjork's Selma from Dancer in the Dark, while the shaky, hand-held camera work and oil rig on the North Sea is right out of Breaking the Waves. However, the similarities end there. Coixet's humanism is the antipode to von Trier's misanthropy (and, as some would claim, misogyny). Still, the image of Hanna as the lone woman amongst a group of lonely, isolated men is eerily disquieting. (Fortunately, Udo Kier is nowhere to be found.) Coixet reveals very little about Hanna until late in the film – a decision that has less to do with narrative structure (i.e., a simple reveal) than it does with the film's larger message. It works tremendously, and delivers a kick to the sternum with a force that few films have been able to achieve. Polley (for whom the role was written) delivers a praise- and award-worthy performance that elevates her to "great actress" stature. The direction here feels more intimate than her previous films, which no doubt has as much to do with the limited physical space (on the rig) as with the subject matter at hand. As in her previous films, her use of music is outstanding (right up there with Scorsese and Claire Denis), and she's managed to cull a selection of tracks that work incredibly well – including songs by Tom Waits, Antony and the Johnsons, Clem Snide, Paolo Conte and Blood, Sweat, and Tears. Her use of David Byrne's Tiny Apocalypse over the end credits is spine tingling. Well deserving of its four Goya Awards (including best film, best director, and best screenplay), The Secret Life of Words is without question a political film, but one that transcends its subject matter to address something far more universal. It isn't Coixet's intention to shame us, but the film is a harsh reminder of how some horrors are glossed over, or never rightfully acknowledged in the first place. This is a deeply humanist work, and its optimistic ending (a sticking point with some) reveals a rare and genuine sense of hope, free from maudlin sentimentality. That in itself is quite a feat. The Secret Life of Words opens in NYC on December 15th, and in Los Angeles on the 22nd.