Clerks 2 (2006) (Kevin Smith)

Almost everyone is familiar with the indie sensation, “Clerks” that transformed Kevin Smith from a struggling new director into a cult hero amongst detached and world-weary young adults. If not there’s always “Chasing Amy, “Mallrats”, “Dogma” and “Jersey Girl” (which I believe even Smith wouldn’t even want mentioning). No longer an unknown quantity, we pretty much know about his modus operandi in his movies. With a repeating menagerie of quirky slackers and his incredible knack for persuasive patois, it’s much like observing cinematic vaudevillians staging hijinks in everyday situations.

Indeed, Smith still preaches the same iconoclastic ideals in his entire oeuvre as he did in his debut. Now he returns to his most beloved stomping ground in the View Askewniverse with his tried and trusted caboodle of key characters in Dante (Brian O'Halloran), Randal Graves (Jeff Anderson), Jay and Silent Bob (Jason Mewes and Kevin Smith). He brings aboard veteran (in these circles at least) performer, Rosario Dawson as Becky, Dante and Randal’s boss at their new burger flipping jobs, and Smith also brings along a couple of new performers in Trevor Fehrman and Jennifer Schwalbach (Smith’s wife), who are unfortunately the weakest links in this retrospective self-justification. Smith’s stroll through his past brings back the laughs that’s unseen in his later works, but leaves a lot of the heart behind in lieu of loftier ambitions.

What “Clerks II” has going for it is its vintage, ubiquitously ribald humour being delivered and scripted by its master vulgarians who don’t seem to have missed a beat even a decade on. It’s pretty much a jazzed up (budget wise), more sophisticated jaunt with its manchilds through the tedium of minimum wage jobs, all in the space of a day. More elaborate gags, unconstricted by singular locales and a much more rounded soundtrack are welcome additions. “Clerks II” has substantially more plot than its predecessor, making the humour and characters much more significant in their presence, not just participants in episodic events staged about specific punchlines. This obviously offers a chance to craft a suitable bookend to the lives of these characters as well as possible openings for further ventures in the future.

Randal takes the centre stage in this film, much like Dante did in “Clerks”. He’s possibly the best and most elevated character within the cartoon cutouts that the rest of his cadre appear to be. He’s the biggest manchild of them all but also the one who seems to be the most self-aware about his situation, keeping his insecurities hidden just long enough to belt out another diatribe to strangers about the changing world that is adamant on leaving him behind. Compare this to the uneven characterisation of Randal’s fellow burgershack colleague, Elias (Trevor Fehrman) who’s a devout Christian, a “Lord of the Rings” and “Transformers” fanboy virgin that happens to believe the most inane lies told to him by his peers. Oh, and he’s also a mama’s boy.

Perhaps the most unforgivable misstep for Smith would be his indecisiveness in actually settling on a message. 10 years ago, leaving it open was a great setpiece for the rest of Dante and Randal’s stunted lives. But how was he to know that he’ll be revisiting the Quick-Stop once more and now, conclusion is needed especially in the midst of potentially life-changing revelations.

Rating: 3 out of 5

Exiled (2006) (Johnnie To)

What an interesting double bill this would be with “The Departed”. As opposed to that film’s approach of visceral, unflinching violence, Johnnie To brings a sophisticated chic to battles in his newest thriller, “Exiled”. To is fast becoming the most dependable Asian director in this genre today, after coming off a string of acclaimed hits with the complex and purposeful Election films. This could seem a return to a style that first garnered him critical attention and gifted him the nickname of Hong Kong’s “Sergio Leone”.

With the handover to China looming just a year away, reverberations are being felt throughout the Macau underworld. There’s a strong need for scores to be settled and feasting eyes of the mobs from the nearby territories are directed at the southern island. With this political realignment as a backdrop, To urges an intrinsic race against time as old friends and old enemies take their places in order to topple impending gangland regimes and secure their final paydays. Like démodé dinosaurs trapped in a world of lawlessness, friends sharing the same childhood are pitted against each other, silently contemplating their options in midst of divided loyalties as the clock ticks down.

These steely-eyed men, with determined and hardened exteriors each hide a sentimentality that does not go unnoticed. The film does not make any apologies for their line of work, nor does it give excuses or consolations for the acts they’ve committed. But you don’t need to like them in order to root for them. Their reticent features and certain resignation to the twilight of their era are telling enough of their fates.

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My Summer of Love (2004) (Pawel Pawlikowski)

It’s a cruel summer indeed. “My Summer of Love” stands as almost a scornful swipe against its title. Writer-director Pawel Pawlikowski shows the impudence of being that age when romance is almost as grave as life and death and important enough to be swept away in a tide of hormones and irrationality. In a small idyllic village, just north of England, a snapshot of an intoxicating and sultry femme relationship between a naïve native and a worldly, cultured out-of-towner starts to bloom just as the hillside flowers start to.

Seductive and sensual, Pawlikowski’s naturalist tones and earthy colours complement the summer’s languorous transience. Class warfare, religious transgressions and misandry bubble below the surface but strong performances from each of its main cast give a trenchant sense of knowing of painful adolescence to the film during a fateful event of a young girl’s life.

Gravelly voiced, booze-guzzling young Mona (Nathalie Press) craves for a distraction this season. Her brother, Phil (Paddy Considine) is an ex-convict, born-again Christian seeking emotional refuge in the town’s sect of charismatic Christians. When we first meet him, he drains the bottles of alcohol, intent on making their bar a new haven for his religious congregations. Naturally, Mona spends more time with the girl she met during a balmy afternoon on the grassy knolls. Almost chivalrously plucking her out of the dense reality she faces during the summer, Tamsin (Emily Blunt) strides up to her on a white horse and introduces her to a different life.

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The Anti-Extortion Woman (1992) (Juzo Itami)

The rumours go that the Japanese director Juzo Itami was attacked by the Yakuza due to the realistic and disrespectful portrayal of them in his 1992 comedy “The Anti-Extortion Woman” or more commonly known as “Minbo”. Realistic? I can’t say for sure. But was it disrespectful? Absolutely. Itami crafted a niche for himself in the early 80s and late 90s with off-kilter comic gems that reveled in their absurdity and dealt with unusual subject matter, starting with his hit, “Tampopo”. This feature definitely extends that offbeat sense of humour coupled with his darkly tailored undercurrent of social criticism in a simple plot that unfortunately is neither biting nor potent enough to warrant its lengthy runtime and exaggerated mode.

Minbo according to the attorney Mahiru Inoue (Nobuko Miyamoto) is slang, a truncated term for something that lawyers understand as the gentle art of extortion used by the Yakuza. She’s somewhat of an expert in these matters as we see in a promising first scene at the poolside in Hotel Europa, a first-rate hotel competing for the attention of foreign delegates. However, the hotel’s reputation is tarnished with the continued presence of the different Yakuza families who use the grounds as either meeting/exchange places, lounging areas or even to cheat the hoteliers out of some yen. The boardroom decides on taking action by assembling an Anti-Yakuza force from within but only manages a schmuck accountant and a meathead bellboy, both with plenty to learn about the world they live in. After an inspired introduction to both of them, the film gets down to the nitty-gritty of them failing to get rid of these foul-mouthed, shrewd gangsters. Well, this movie isn’t called “The Anti-Extortion Woman” for nothing. And after about a dubious quarter of the film, we finally get to be truly acquainted with Miss Inoue, which really puts the opening scene’s purpose into perspective.

She’s here for a reason and that’s to help the hotel and in the process teach these men a thing or two about being men. The film is strongly attuned to its titular character with her presence alone driving the film forward in terms of its comedy and plot. She faces up to overly confident mob bosses and talks them down to the hilt with her legal expertise and well-prepared plans that rely on surveillance and the need to be vigil in the face of overwhelming threats. It’s novelty wears thin after awhile though, when she uses the same strategies over and over again with the new gangsters that show up. However, it can’t be understated that the film’s bulk of coherence lies with these scenes as she mentors the hotel into self-defending itself against these thugs.

Nobuko Miyamoto, Itami’s wife is often cast in his films in a variety of roles. Her role as Inoue is by far the strongest in the cast that is usually prone to overacting and embarrassingly over-the-top theatrics that can actually be described as vaudevillian. She brings a deep sympathy and caring into her role as a confident but never hubristic seasoned attorney that specialises in Minbo. She never talks down to the dolts in the casts and is believable in her persuasiveness with the Yakuza and Itami wisely revolves an inert comedy around her pint-sized figure being surrounded by pompous, large men that inevitably fall to her knees. She even changes a massive shift in tone by coming up strong in an uneven denouement at the end, finally wising up everyone else to the virtues of being strong even in the face of hardship.

Rating: 3 out of 5

The Departed (2006) (Martin Scorcese)

As darkly comedic and resonant as “Goodfellas” (if they had mobiles and wireless Internet) and as virile and gritty as “Mean Streets”, Scorcese scores a winner by all regards in “The Departed”. And yet the closest description for a story of this magnitude that spans across the generations and multiple complex characters would be “L.A. Confidential”. Rarely does a film work on every level that it aspires to and there’s really not much to say that contradicts it. It’s a potboiler crime fiction of epic proportions with every strand of intersecting plot brimming with rising conflict.

The coarse dialogue, contextual environments and masculine anti-heroes are straight out of Scorcese’s playbook, transposed from mobs to cops. The frissons of being mucked in such a ravenous war zone of conflicting ideals is slowly transformed into a deeper sense of apprehension when it becomes an operatic thriller that closes in on the deception and betrayal between the men caught on the frontlines.

Let me just begin by assuaging fears of a slavish copy of the original as Scorcese, who is arguable the master of the modern gangster genre (including the inspiration for Hong Kong’s wave of gangster films) makes this revision very much his own and all but seals his accolades come award season. The premise and plot structure remain true, but key sequences have been given a new treatment and there are different assertions and idiosyncrasies in the characters which are created by their respective actors.

It’s a welcome difference in the locale from Hong Kong to Boston. It allows for more elaborate setpieces with clever use of racial prejudices and homophobia in the language that adds another dimension to the politics involved. And of course a much more vibrant Boston landscape in the film’s brooding atmosphere that plays a bigger part in the film’s scope with its flagrant bending of time and space. And as usual, one actor stands out playing his role the way audiences have always recognised him. He brings a crucial, unrestrained element to his larger-than-life character that one might suspect is unseen in the script.

Nicholson’s Costello is an expanded takeoff from Eric Tsang’s supremely underdeveloped but scene-stealing role as the mob boss Sam in “Infernal Affairs”, just one of Scorcese’s prerogatives that was undertaken with the glut of talented performers he was presented with. Nicholson forces himself into the foreground with yet another of his quintessential performances that borders somewhere between paranoia, rage and aloofness. But Scorcese burdens the film’s strongest scenes by placing Nicholson in the centre stage, letting him pull the emotional strings with nervy self-reliance by sheer presence alone. Of course, this can be a masterstroke at times, but an overdose of Jack can betray a scene’s natural gravitas.

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Ong-Bak (2003) (Prachya Pinkaew)

Evoking the duality of good and bad through the pastoral simplicity of the Thai countryside and the seedy underbelly of Bangkok’s prostitution and drug trade, “Ong-Bak” argues its principles with a brutally honest knee to the face of the West’s creeping cultural domination of Asia. The filmmakers present this as a homage to the visual masters in Besson, Spielberg and most of all the glut of Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan fighting vehicles that saw them fleeting from hordes of non-descript assailants through literally tight spaces. Tony Jaa’s prototypical monastic role as an avenging warrior for the lower rung of Thailand is no different from his role in this film’s follow-up international moneymaker, “Tom Yum Goong” or more particularly known as “The Protector”.

Other than its similarities in characters, Jaa has to retrieve his temple’s talismanic Buddha statue head (the titular Ong-Bak) that is being held for ransom by Bangkok druggist, Don instead of being commissioned to rescue his elephants from animal traders in its structural and thematic progeny, “Tom Yum Goong”. The stoic (by choice?), reticent country boy is thrust into a dodgy and faced with dangers at every corner, mostly by evil and greedy men trying to make a quick buck from Jaa’s expertise with his elbows and knees.

The most apparent hint of the veracious nationalism that “Ong-Bak” suffuses between its prolonged chase sequences and high kicks to head are set in the dingy underground fighting club where patrons of all nationalities and races huddle together, hand on each other’s shoulders while corralling a motley collection of ribald pugilists hoping to best each other blow for blow to receive that plate of prize money.

In steps Jaa with his tattered temple habits, unaware of the monetary reverence for such an occasion. As the newly crowned fighting champion rushes towards Jaa with his fists clenched, up goes Jaa’s knee to deliver a knockout that silences the raucous crowd. In yet another scrap at the same club, a brawny Aussie lout bellows across the room to Jaa’s disinterested character after nearly decimating his previous opponent who jumped in to rescue a damsel as said lout was groping her repeatedly. Rounding off his character as best the writers could, his soft spot for rescuing distressed women prevails and Jaa unleashes a torrent of body blows onto the racist, sexist and eventually vanquished miscreant, resulting in the long overdue return to the main plot.

Playing as though through a series of videogame levels varying in difficulty, the settings and pliable environments start to change but not the fighters. Each opponent are nothing but fodder to the invincible Jaa as he dispatches each one of them with astonishingly legerdemain and a refreshingly straightforward temerity unseen in any city boy that knows what’s best for him and his limps. This machine of a man probably leaves behind a hundred men in his wake until he reaches the tough final boss stage, the right hand stooge of the villainous old man with a neat idiosyncrasy suggesting either a barely breathing, handicapped warning label or a “live every moment till life crashes down on you” type of attitude. “Ong-Bak” is appropriately billed as brilliantly choreographed escapist fare that presents to us a man without personality and without emotions, just a moral imperative that transcends life and death.

Rating: 3½ out of 5

Général Idi Amin Dada: Autoportrait (1974) (Barbet Schroeder)

In anticipation of a career best perfomance by Forest Whitaker in “The Last King of Scotland”, I hunted down the Criterion of this remarkably pieced together composite of General Idi Amin Dada, the forgotten Ugandan tyrant who seized power in the early 70s and ruled it with a murderous fist until his eventual ouster. The records speak for itself. The genocide, the corruption and the paranoid executions of his confidants find its way into the documentary but Barbet Schroeder's unique and darkly humourous focus always stays on the hauntingly paradoxical look at the avuncular disposition of the despicable despot.

Essentially, and with the need to be succinct, the General comes across as a child trapped in the man’s body. His small-minded view of the world, his brio for military games and his risible ballroom antics show an incomprehensible rationale for his iron grip. His scheming seductions to the media and to the outside world come through in full force as he looks for the camera before speaking. Idi Amin does not deny his Machiavellian approach to establishing his order but chooses not to dwell on them as he thinks his answers through carefully and elaborates on his imagined successes. Often, he trails off into a deranged rail on foreign countries and other African establishments but conducts himself with a manner of undeniable presence that’s as compelling as it is repelling.

Like a playground bully, Idi Amin is competitive and largely insecure. He is blissfully unaware of his own people’s struggles and abhorrence for his policies. Everyone else except the emperor realises that the emperor has no clothes on. His need for validation from his people belies the issues of trust that he has for those around him as he administers his version of tough love, much like a child and his pets. But ultimately it is seen that he has become out of touch with the very citizens he boasts that he goes out and gregariously meets each day.

The Iranian born director of German extraction is ironically simpatico with Idi Amin’s preference of people as Schroeder prods him ever so gently with nervous laughter, like one might daringly try to interest a grumpy Doberman in a game of catch. Schroeder’s discernment of the situation he was in with the vain General and his eventual manipulation of him allowed his documentary crew access to a conclave of the state’s ministers and military higher-ups. It is where Idi Amin, although aware of the camera’s burning gaze, warns death on spies and warns “removal” of inept ministers, leading to Schroeder’s unnerving revelation as his camera lingers on the cold, brutality of a killer.

Much of the documentary’s humour is inherent. Schroeder does not make any allusions to satire, or even impose a caricature of the man. No, Idi Amin does that all by himself. Armed with a razor sharp wit, he jokes with rooms of people, even resorting to self-deprecating humour that really only he could make. A natural charmer, he comes across early on as the jovial sort, with a disarming innocence that’s staggeringly shattered when he takes up arms and spews anti-Israeli sentiments. While extolling the virtues of his mind-boggling economic and military policies, he does it without understanding how and why they do not work. And no one dares to advise him on that either. Very telling is the scene on the boat when he asks the camera crew if he should “ask” the crocodile to leave.

With an ambition the size of Napoleon, Idi Amin considered himself a major leader in the world stage but there’s something so terribly amateurish about his regime, much like many other African regimes back then. We don’t get to know his precise political thought, he does mention not entirely following the rigidness of communism and capitalism but all it does is underline his resolve to control his country by his terms. Although he lived mainly through the atavistic displays of force, he did show some progressive ideas such as implementing more women in the managerial workforce, albeit only in the hospitality industry. Mixing his awe of modernisation (risking his country’s reserves) and grandiosity with his reverence for his region’s tradition, Idi Amin saw himself as a revolutionary.

The back-story of this documentary is almost as gripping as the film itself. Schroeder befriended Idi Amin, although a tenuous relationship, he gets him to open up about the things that he wouldn’t tell his own cabinet of ministers. He partakes with the General in admittedly staged scenes of overt celebrations and letting him direct himself in exchange for getting him in every shot aside from the scenery (masterfully photographed by Néstor Almendros).

After the filming, Schroeder found himself in a predicament when word got back to Idi Amin after its initial release in France and London that its audience found it to be “funny like a comedy”. When his demands for cuts were not met, Idi Amin rounded up the French living in Uganda and threatened their lives if Schroeder did not relent. And of course, he did. Thankfully it was restored after Idi Amin’s exile from the country. Even under the restrictive guise of a self-portrait, Schroeder masterfully instills a subtext that even before the cuts, Idi Amin could not properly discern because of his ego. The awkward gazes and listless looks of his employees and citizens are an inside joke for us but a reality for the megalomaniac. Schroeder lets Idi Amin present to us his own insanity within the smiles and guffaws.

Even as the film fails to fully structure the whys and hows of Idi Amin’s maniacal views on the world, it does hint at the harsh bleakness of colonialism leaving a bloodstain with each of Idi Amin’s actions. But what makes this documentary much more compelling than any straight observation of a tyrannical authoritarian is its own fascination with the subject. Captivated by Idi Amin’s charisma, and the creeping sense of dread when the truth is finally mined, the crew found a goldmine of ideas relating to violent dictators throughout history as this documentary shaped up to be a portrait of not just Idi Amin but of all rulers. Controversial and foreboding scenes of him inviting Palestinian terrorists bore fruit years after the release of the film and a chilling symmetry with George W. Bush’s war on terror is gleaned when Idi Amin exclaimed that dreams vaticinated his wars.

Rating: 4 out of 5

The Wind That Shakes the Barley (2006) (Ken Loach)

“The Wind That Shakes the Barley” is Ken Loach’s latest ode to those that had to betray their better angels for something they more or less believed in. Staunchly socialist and drawing criticisms for his success in Cannes, Loach thankfully refuses to pander to both sides. He sticks to his figurative guns by unapologetically crafting a one-sided view on a subject that he feels confident in, much like “Land and Freedom”. It does not support so much as condemn and shows how the violent trajectory of the IRA’s policies and actions throughout the years came to be. In the end, it is not so much the political polemic as many as claim or hope it is, but a pointed political examination of the dread that war drums up amidst the quixotic ideals of patriotism and martyrdom.

“Hope is the worst of evils, for it prolongs the torments of man.” – Nietzsche

An occupation starts to take shape in 1920s, Ireland when the British send in their military squads known as the Black and Tans. The film is keen to point out that these soldiers are remnants of the cruelty that World War I had left in its wake. The much-reviled British soldiers are caricatured as brutes, but in truth, they give off a sense of desperate senselessness by reluctantly laying their humanity on the line for a cause not all of them believe in. And that can very well be said for the Republicans as well. There are no winners. There are no saviours. There are only choices to be made. The lines that are crossed define these characters.

Damien (Cillian Murphy), a young trainee doctor abandons a potentially fruitful career in London to join up with his brother, Teddy (Padraic Delany) a political firebrand for the local resistance movement, the last bastion of hope for many. After certain events, Damien is urged to join up and relent working for the Brits. Though sensitive and acquiescent in disposition, he gradually numbs himself to the sanguinary nature of rebellion and gives up his tourniquet for a rudimentary rifle.

The full-blooded cinematography is in stark contrast to the gray, bleak world that is being depicted. A quick check shows the unsurprising inclusion of frequent Loach collaborator, Barry Ackroyd, responsible for its masterful cinematography. Its pastoral simplicity is engulfed in a complex battle of principles as blood is shed indiscriminately upon its meadows. Hillside ambushes amidst the foliage lead to stained verdure and the deathly calm aftermath as the survivors tally the casualties. It starts to eat away at the vigilance of these men as it hauntingly signifies what’s to come.

Soon the subterfuge, clandestine assassinations and abuse their womenfolk receive by protecting them start to take their toll on these men. As soon as a truce is called, many of them rejoice even though they know that they are still not truly sovereign. But at least the violence ceases and the impunity lifted over the despicable abuses of power. The Anglo-Irish Peace Treaty is signed, forming the Irish Free State that remains under the dominion of the British Empire, and strictly loyal to the monarchy. Teddy, jaded from fighting the good fight, chooses the respite from the constant struggle. To complicate matters further, Damien is adamant that a truly independent state will only come if they shake off the British shackles. They are pitted against each other’s perfidy as tragic and powerful metaphors fuel the backdrop of their waning ambitions, slowly finding themselves fighting against something and forgetting what they were initially fighting for.

It rescinds on Michael Collins’s historical role in establishing the Irish Free State, Loach takes the unorthodox approach in dismantling the self-serving romanticised paradox of freedom fighting from within. The terms, oppressors and victims are routinely switched around. Casual as that sounds, it truly signifies the futility of violence for the sake of ideology. They constantly feud while on the same side as the gasconading bravado of its masculine characters threaten to implode their united and spirited response towards their occupiers. It does begin by not fully romanticising the idea of rebellion and justice being served swiftly and without recrimination. But the temptation to do so never full dissipates as a burgeoning romance grows between Damien and Sinead (Orla Fitzgerald), a fiery character opposed to the aggression that ensues on both sides. Loach lingers on the violence and the cost of uprising against a battle that is there to be lost. The shots are measured from a distance, mourning the circumstances. Gracefully mixing up a downbeat sense of loss with a blend of impassioned rhetoric and cinematic brutality, it accomplishes an appropriately funereal atmosphere in each of its scenes.

Time passes arbitrarily, while observing the ad hoc building of plans and situations, which is viewed with underwhelming anticipation. There is something so disconnecting in its quick scene after powerful scene. While the dialogue is seemingly crisp and natural between the Republicans, it is also unusually fast and highly derivative, commanding all attention. The dependence of the dialogue and inherently dragging pace threatens to overpower the raw intensity of the actions. The latter half does tend to veer towards melodrama, and over-wrought scenes of verbose, passionate speeches strangely switches allegiances of the fighters at the drop of a dime. It is most convincing, not by its words but by its actions as clearly seen in its opening minutes. That single event polarises young Damien into the politicised man we follow throughout the film.

While the address on ideologies tends to overshadow the film itself, it does accomplish many moments of clarity with the strength of its performers. Loach’s intimidating political affiliations aside, it is generally well made. Recreated with such insight and groundwork, his commitment shines through at every level. As with all his films, the ardent and sincere look at politics through his characters distinguishes them as people caught in a whirlpool of despair. They show lament, fear and even some apathy to the choices they have before them.

It draws undeniable parallels to contemporary deliberations about the conflict in the Middle East and insurgency against the US and Britain. There is a distinct disgust at the idea of militarism and clerical influence in the state. The urban guerilla freedom fighters are just ordinary folk caught in a landslide of activism, straddling the thin line overflowing with brutality and the excruciating agony of guilt while not becoming intoxicated by the violence. Entrenched with the “an eye for an eye” dogma, it signifies the mutually ruinous end of all. By accentuating the power of choices, it prods us to witness the inner struggle of finding a footing in the slippery slopes of warfare.

Rating: 4 out of 5

Monsieur Hire (1989) (Patrice Leconte)

Patrice Leconte's talents as a comedic filmmaker are no doubt renowned but he takes the dramatic, tragic reins on Georges Simenon's brilliant story "Monsieur Hire", a decidedly different approach to "Panique" which handled the same subject matter with the same characters. This involves sinister trappings of the utmost order.

A murder of a young girl in his neighbourhood sparks off rumours. Hire's neighbours talk while the inspector listens. Very often he claims, the one that seems guilty, is guilty. Monsieur Hire is not remotely intimidated; he rightly attributes their suspicions to his seemingly misanthropic persona. Living alone, he dresses in the same suit each day, goes to work while strictly keeping his greetings formal and uninformative, and comes home to a simple, inelegant dinner of a hard-boiled egg. You see, Monsieur Hire is not a hermit; he does not suffer from agoraphobia nor does he fear people. It's a lifestyle that he's taken up, due to mistrust of others, even perhaps a snobbish contempt of others. As per the inspector's investigations, he finds Hire bowling rather flamboyantly, entertaining the rest of the bowlers. He's their king. But when returning home, he is ridiculed by the children (he stays annoyed but does not grow scornful of them). One can still detect that he's more open to them than the adults.

The murder mystery takes a backseat to Hire. It’s a taut, compelling character study that flows beautifully. It’s structured so well and acted on so marvelously by Michel Blanc (who helmed “The Escort”, my next rental) who effuses such a subtle, sad anger that defeats the man Hire obviously wants to be. And subtly is something “Monsieur Hire” does brilliantly when he’s allowed to see, but not touch and allowed to touch but never feel. There’s so much to be said for composing shots that hide behind exteriors, afraid to discover the intricacies of their maiden relationship. Leconte observes on the level of Hire. He photographs and captures a scene in its absoluteness, lingering just long enough for us to absorb its significance but switches it fast enough for us to want to know more.

Hire has a rather unsettling past-time involving the woman who lives across from him, a floor below. Like clockwork each day, he looks and sees everything she does, as though entranced with her life. She does notice him one day, shocked initially but then becomes interested in him. He does not want to admit that he’s finding her company pleasant. Complicating their relationship is her boyfriend, oblivious to Hire but obviously no less painful for Hire to see. It’s such a sensual affair; poignant as anything you could hope to see. Look for the scene on the bus that encapsulates their relationship in a glance. My only regret is that we don’t learn more about Monsieur Hire before the film rolls to a close, but I believe we would have learnt more than we should about such a man.

Rating: 5 out of 5

Lemming (2005) (Dominik Moll)

A childless, young upwardly mobile couple have recently moved into Bel Air, France after the breadwinner, Alain Getty (Laurent Lucas), is offered a prominent engineering post at a home automation development firm. His waifish plain-jane wife, Benedicte (Charlotte Gainsbourg), stays home to fix up the new house for their idyllic and promising futures together. On the other end of the age and marriage spectrum are Alain’s boss, Richard (Andre Dussollier) and his wife Alice Pollock (Charlotte Rampling) who are bitterly unhappy, jaded and loveless.

Rampling, who ages beautifully here, is the film’s undisputed ace in the hole. Alice’s dour disposition, invective barbs and countenance bears years of experience and portrays a failing resilience. She unsettles the characters and audience through sheer concentration in her eyes, fueled by sexual psychosis and misanthropic menace. She proves indispensable in Dominik Moll’s “Lemming” by embodying the essence of the film’s desire to be inscrutable, sinister and haunting.

After a riled dinner invitation from the Gettys’ to the Pollocks’, their conversance brings together unexpected revelations and nasty consequences for the young couple. Much like Mike Nichol’s classic 1966 meditation on adult relationships in “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”, there is so much more to be said for what stays undisclosed than what is eventually revealed in this tense chamber piece when the worlds of these contrasting marriages collide. I would go amiss if I didn’t offer up a caveat before anyone embarks on this film, since one should not go into this with preconceptions of the plot from mere synopsis and should shed presumptions about its utterly fluid and amorphous genre.

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Viva Cuba (2005) (Juan Carlos Cremata Malberti)

Having only seen a handful of Cuban films in my day, I was starting to get familiar with the heavy-handed approach that wielded together both the narrative and its requisite reflection on Cuban politics. However, with Viva Cuba I was surprised to find a relatively low-key and touching portrayal of a group that has been largely ignored by its native filmmakers. It’s about the current Cuban exodus that is observed through the eyes of 2 children.

While acclaimed in the festival circuit, it most notably won the Grand Prix at Cannes for the best children’s fare and was Cuba’s official submission to the Academy Awards last year. Helmed by Juan Carlos Cremata, a successful Cuban director with a controversial past, Viva Cuba is less an indictment of flawed USA-Cuban relations than it is about the lives of its characters, the duo of Malu (Malú Tarrau Broche) and Jorgito (Jorge Milo). They are 11-year-old classmates and best friends at the brink of their burgeoning adolescence who are being kept apart by their families. Jorgito comes from a poor, working class background with strong roots in the Cuban communist revolution while Malu’s family is staunchly Catholic, well-off and relentlessly bourgeois.

As circumstances unfold for Malu starting with her grandmother passing away, her mother makes a decision to immigrate to the US to marry her boyfriend. Unwilling to give up her life in Cuba and her friendship with Jorgito, Malu resolutely makes up her mind to travel to the other end of Cuba to convince her estranged father to refuse signing the obligatory papers for her impending migration.

Fundamentally, it’s a sincere ode to a simple time in everyone’s lives, when nothing was impossible with the innocence and sincerity of youth. The director stoops down to the level of the young protagonists, seeing everything as they do with the crystal-clear ingenuousness in which the film is handled makes this a very accessible and has a universal film.

Although it does not hit you over the head with its political messages, the atmosphere is heavy with topical issues such as immigration, segregation and what it means to have personal liberties. The localised issues are used as a backdrop for the 2 friends to balance their own developing perceptions of life against the reality they live in. The polarising dimensions of Cuba are evident in the families the children belong to with each having a strong, disparate political leaning and opinions of how the country should be run.

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Crónicas (2004) (Sebastian Cordero)

As I watched the opening 10 minutes of this film with budding fascination, a maniacal lynching sequence and a torrid depiction of Ecuador starts to take shape. Slowly the set pieces are positioned amidst the self-possessed ethos of the crowd, with Manolo Bonilla (John Leguizamo) being the sidestepping knight along side his gutsy rook, Ivan Suarez (Jose Maria Yazpik) who rushes headlong into the mob on a mere command, while their queen, Marisa Iturralde (Leonor Watling) is being kept out of harm's way by the men. But this television crew is in essence, just pawns to the machinations of the news media’s escalating demands.

Bonilla dithers on the sidelines until he finally intervenes. All I’m reminded of is the tragic circumstances surrounding the award winning South African photojournalist, Kevin Carter when he snapped the Pulitzer Prize winning photograph of a emaciated Sudanese girl being descended upon by a ravenous vulture. He later described himself as yet another vulture, a predator in the midst of suffering. “Crónicas” is a depressingly cynical look at the state of affairs in a third-world nation and the ersatz concerns that the foreign news media shows in order to exploit its people. Everything that is done carries with it the terrible feeling of ulteriorities as a faux smile and a warm handshake (sometimes tucked in with a bit of cash) manipulates situations and opens doors that should have stayed closed. It is very much an unforgiving indictment on the news media and its dogged pursuit of a ratings goldmine.

Threading on the same lines as “Network”, it crosses its fictitious coverage with a compelling thriller involving the ‘Monstruo de Babahoyo’ (Monster of Babahoyo), a serial killer who has raped and murdered over a 150 young children. Bonilla, a self-involved tabloid television reporter and his crew belong to a Spanish language news network stationed in Miami that airs throughout Latin America. He walks about with a swagger, signing autographs and stays on the sidelines waiting for the right moment to turn on the spotlight. But he’s not a hack by any sense of the word. He understands that duplicity is an asset in his line of work, a tool to dig out the information he needs. In this case, he wants to uncover the identity of the Monster for a scoop of a lifetime and potentially his own show. Leguizamo gives the best performance of the cast in his understated portrayal of a well-worn reporter haunted by his guilt and questioning the price of his celebrity. And that’s saying plenty considering that every performance in this Foreign Oscar submission by Ecuador is worth its own weight in dramatic gold.

With the backdrop of rampant institutional corruption and those only too willing to exploit it, it paints a harsh and gritty landscape of living in a country of poverty and injustice where everyone has slippery fingers when it comes to the truth. It’s further amplified with a strong sense of visual authenticity, which does not accentuate the grungy dwelling areas, the shantytown slums and frenzied lawlessness of communal disagreements, but instead captures it with an unattached verite style technique.

Director Sebastián Cordéro peels back the layers of verisimilitude to slowly reveal the grim, unsettling actualities of his thriller. It shocks and daringly pushes the boundaries of audiences in some ghastly scenes. He constantly pounds us with the ethical dilemmas of journalism such as the validity and protection of sources, the emotional involvement with subjects and brokering of deals that have more to do personal gain than journalistic integrity. The more complicit that Bonilla and his crew become, the more they lose of their conscience. The throwaway lines in particular, divulges much about the inner workings of television journalism and network politics. The conversations between subject and interviewer pose the most perplexity and intrigue, as their insinuations and silence reveal more than words ever could.

Rating: 4 out of 5

Murmur of the Heart (1971) (Louis Malle)

It’s high comedy. It’s French bourgeois lifestyle. Louis Malle’s delicate style of working with taboo subject matter reached a personal plateau with a dysfunctional household in “Murmur of the Heart”, an early reach back into his own garden of memories and familial idiosyncrasies that he has stringently plucked from over the years. He approaches it with an innocent intent, cheeky, but still innocent nonetheless. Through the nostalgic and mean-spirited jibes at the domestic help, clergy and stiff-lipped crust of high society, it commences on a journey of an adolescent male, Laurent Chevalier (Benoit Ferreux) in Dijon, France circa 1954. He longs to break free to that stage of enlightened adulthood that seems just within reach but yet so very far. But within its pith, it’s the very antithesis of melodrama. Taking on its inviolable subject matter’s horns with both hands, it wrangles it to the ground while giving us something to think about. It’s definitely not about exorcising ghosts of the past but to let them regale us with stories of unforgettable youth.

After 35 years, “Murmur of the Heart” still rings truer and closer to home than most contemporary comedies (and even dramas) revolving around the “coming of age” and “sexual awakening” in a young teen. It’s also more daring and liberal in its construction of key family members being part of that very natural formation of sexual DNA and identity. They discuss philosophy. They discuss suicide. They discuss “The Story of O”. Laurent and his 2 older brothers consort in disrespectfully petty behaviour contrary to what their upbringing holds sacred. Laurent’s a top student, an intellectual that sees the world around him as a playground. It’s a smalltime superiority complex as he defines his sensitive sensibilities with discernment beyond his years and a haughty disregard for divergent thoughts with a self-important air.

Revolving primarily about Laurent and his mother, Clara (“L’ avventura’s” Lea Massari), it’s a refreshing look at a parental relationship based around adoration and fondness (coming under constant mocking by his brothers) than the contemporaneous and contemptuous notion of disdain and rebelliousness surrounding the authority figures and generational gaps. It underlines the idiom of a mother being her son’s first love. In its essence, it encapsulates many complicated mother-child relationships including the emotional Oedipal issues that do crop up. And through that, a lovely parallelism is wrought with its interpretation of a woman who wants to be a girl and a boy who wants to be a man.

Conforming to an almost sitcom style, its self-dependent, autonomous scenes and situations just about start to border on farcical proportions. Its characters place sex and carnality high up on a pedestal, while Malle condescendingly films it as something so pedestrian and run-of-the-mill, not worth the hype and excitement over it anyway. He makes the patient, inevitable buildup to a key sex scene that had caused controversy when it was first released, to seem more natural and accepting than he does the sexual encounters that actually do seem the norm in society.

Rating: 5 out of 5

My Super Ex-Girlfriend (2006) (Ivan Reitman)

A romantic comedy with a superhero is a great concept. “My Super Ex-Girlfriend” is written by television-writer Don Payne (which makes sense) and directed by veteran comedy director, Ivan Reitman (“Ghostbusters”, “Evolution”), who’s no stranger to mixing up the genres. With a premise as great as that, it manages to succumb to its lofty ambitions and become an adequately interesting story that was jazzed up by a creative mind and a fantastic performance. Although plagued by formulaic set-ups and the well-worn banality of predictable characterisations, it still manages to deliver a fun little flick.

It adopts the superhero and romantic comedy clichés and makes it a hybrid that’s intriguing in how it plays out but is not exactly inspired material. It just takes a tired genre and gives it an exciting new makeover in the form of G-Girl (Uma Thurman), a carbon copy of Superman right down to her Clark Kentish alter ego, the frumpy bookish curator Jenny Johnson. She meets Matt Saunders (Luke Wilson), a blander-than-vanilla, all-round nice guy architect who ‘saves’ her handbag from a mugger. From there, we get the bittersweet getting-to-know-you stage where he finds a paranoid, jealous and overly neurotic side of her.

After he dumps her, he becomes victim to her constant annoyance and you never ever want to get a superhero aggrieved. Uma Thurman is an absolute delight in the movie. Although you could argue that her titular role is mildly supporting, with Luke Wilson’s being the central chump, her commitment to her character’s neurosis is undeniable and often illuminating. Throw in a subplot with an evil villain and you’ve got yourself a silly film with the right mixture of screwball and sentiment.

Rounding off the cast is the more annoying than usual horny but clueless best friend (Rainn Wilson), the coquettish new girlfriend (the always charming Anna Faris) and top-drawer comic talents in Wanda Sykes (in absolutely pointless scenes) and Eddie Izzard playing Matt’s boss and G-Girl’s arch-nemesis respectively. The ace comic talents and seasoned rom-com performers seem bored and jaded by their roles, but still pull off an ample job.

So despite a few faults, it manages to graft out some heartfelt and genuinely amusing chuckles. If you think you know what you’ll be getting with this film, you’re not bound to be surprised (unlike “Click”), it’s like Coke with its new lime twist, a familiar but interesting taste.

Rating 3 out of 5

Lady in the Water (2006) (M. Night Shyamalan)

I think the critics had a problem with it from a film theory point of view because it didn't build on the characters, often leaving them stereotypes to work with and unexplained backstories. You can't say that any of the characters have relevant depth. At least thats what I get when they say Shyamalan has no narrative cohesion which was arguably Sixth Sense's most notable point.

But from a perspective of a film-going experience, I can see see why I like it and why its advocates might have liked it as well. It is a bedtime story come to life which is why the overwrought scenes work. It's like something you might have daydreamed about after reading a fairy tale anthology. It's so visceral and in the moment for the greater part of the film, when you're on your toes to find out what he's going to pull out of his hat next. Maybe a witch? Perhaps a character reversal that was not hinted at? It does seem like a story he made on the fly which somehow made sense in the context of the tale.

It's also a beautiful picture that puts you right in the atmosphere of the apartment complex that it hardly departs from, imaginative angles and the intriguing dialogue is something I've come to expect from his films. He's also tried out humour this time round with the critical inclusion of Paul Giamatti which I felt was its biggest asset. He manages to switch between drama and comedy with such ease that his character is rightly the centre of the entire film.

I also don't see the big hullabaloo about Shyamalan casting himself as the future's intellectual saviour, he could have easily casted somebody else but its not like his acting ruined the film. He wasn't Sofia Coppola bad by any stretch of the imagination. It's a personal project for him, especially with the critic character's inclusion. It's an audible F**k You to those that can his films after Sixth Sense like they were the biggest creative flops ever made. If they failed to see some humour in that then they do deserve to get flipped off. Director's have egos, some have vast vanity projects, and people need to understand why thats interesting not insulting.

I really do feel like watching the movie again, I would think it'd be better the second time around. Like being told a bedtime story again and again or playing through a role-playing game again just because the glut of characters and mythos were so exciting the first time round.

Rating: 4 out of 5

Pretty Persuasion (2005) (Marcos Siega)

Evan Rachel Wood stars as Kimberly Joyce, an aspiring starlet gifted with an amazing intellect and killer sex appeal - all while being a high-school student in a private school. An apparent culmination of a broken home, a privileged lifestyle and a lack of parental boundaries, "Pretty Persuasion" maraudes as a satire that cuts right down to teenage sex issues, racism and media irresponsibility but its really just a drama with an unhealthy fixation on comedy and no particular place to direct its send-up at.

Armed with an acumen for persuasion, Kimberly uses it on everyone, from her uncouth businessman father (James Woods) to her best friend, Brittany (Elisabeth Harnois). Lying and manipulation is second nature to her, she even manages to convince herself from time to time. She’s an anti-heroine, who you’d never root for. Not even when you learn her motivations. She knows her beauty, although good-looking, is limited, and does not set her apart from the competition when it comes to auditions and screen roles. Kimberly’s not the most popular girl either, as she dispenses insults and backhanded compliments with razor sharp proficiency but she is promiscuous, trading sexual favours for actual favours. Wary of her ‘talents’ are her teachers and principal, as they appear malcontented at her strong and formidable disposition.

Unfortunately, the English teacher, Percy Anderson (Ron Livingston) draws her ire when he punishes her and a new student, an immigrant Arab girl, Randa (Adi Schnall) who was unfairly reprimanded because of a defiant Kimberly. Randa sticks with Kimberly and Brittany, although uncomfortable with their licentious behaviour and oh-so insipid American ways, a true innocent to their immoral antics. At a slumber party, Kimberly schools them in order to enlist them in corroborating an accusation of sexual assault at the English teacher. They go along unwillingly, with the realisation of instant feminist heroism and increased exposure, in the case of Kimberly even if they lose. This incident sets off a media frenzy led by Emily Klein (Jane Krakowski), a lesbian reporter who finds herself in dangerous Sapphic territory with a master seductress in Kimberly. Allying herself with her, Emily sets out on a one-sided crusade against Percy.

What it does well is its careful unwrapping of the truth behind Percy’s accusation. It keeps us in the dark on whether he is indeed guilty. Various instances of Percy’s behaviour with his wife (Selma Blair) and furtive looks at girls in the school make us question the validity of those claims.

There’s a sense of irony in this film, when the filmmakers themselves make caricatures of the characters in the script. It’s so conceited and self-aware that it lampoons everyone and everything, from the Columbine shootings to the war in Iraq. The high-schoolers are either presented as brain-dead but attractive or sex-obsessed losers, adding to their self-parody. Everyone’s a victim in this film and everyone is an object of comtempt. Just as “Saved!” (with another rising starlet in Jena Malone) did it heart and humour, this film did it with condescension and disrespect.

Despite an uproariously hilarious portrayal by James Wood, in a role that you might think is actually James Wood as he is, it’s still a weak and offensive film that just does not know what it wants to be. It’s social commentary gone the way of opine bashing. Shame, considering Rachel Evan Woods actually gives a great performance in this, even more impressive than in “Thirteen”. Undeniably, she’s one to look to out for in the future.

Rating: 2 out of 5

Akeelah and the Bee (2006) (Doug Atchison)

“Akeelah and the Bee” (Starbucks Entertainment’s first feature) is another feature focused on the tough and extremely vexing sport of competitive spelling better known as The Spelling Bee Almost becoming a sub-genre of sorts, the most prominent of these eponymic features include the tense and awesome documentary “Spellbound” and the drama “Bee Season” with Richard Gere. It has a sort of unsettling charm in the idea of harried kids pushed into the spotlight for the “most important thing” (according to their parents and peers) that they’d ever do in their lives. It makes looking at that one nervous guy before final exams pale in comparison.

Akeelah (Keke Palmer) is the customary template for youngsters that break the environmental mold from which they come from. The perennial nurture vs. nature debate rages again as Akeelah finds herself pitted against privileged and wealthy kids her age that are all vying for the same prize. As she’s an African-American girl who depends on her single mother, and looking out for her wayward siblings in a troubled neighbourhood, she also has the distinction of being the smartest girl in her middle school. She also has a prodigious affinity for words and the English language.

She spells these words magnificently, surprising everyone but her mother (Angela Bassett) who’s too busy to notice. As incidents naturally leads to circumstance, she finds herself pushed to represent her disadvantaged school in the state Spelling Bee competition to not get left behind. Under the tutelage of Dr Larabee (Laurence Fishburne), she finds the necessary strength of character to raise her up from her inhibitions. Predictable right? Undoubtedly, it is. But therein lies its main draw. It does not deny what it is, which is a family drama that’s inherently preachy and sugarcoated at the end. Beneath its sentimentalities is a film full up with heartfelt messages that are inspirational whether or not cynicisms get in the way of it. Its ardent conventionality needs the categorised supporting characters such as the well-meaning competitor and the Machiavellian adversary with a secret.

In many ways, Akeelah is lucky to be who she is. Non-descript characters come and go around her neighbourhood but it’s easily discernable that she’s not as bad off as we are led to believe. Compared to her peers in Woodland Hills and Beverly Hills, she’s just the “little black girl” but she’s also the girl who’s richer in the bank of love as it were. The alienation she feels at home in her neighbourhood is as potent as the alienation she feels shoved in the spotlight of America’s affluent. As she finds her place in one, she finds her place in the world by realising that winning is an important goal to have but having the courage to try is the real achievement.

Something admirable about writer-director Doug Atchison’s pitch in crafting these social issues is that he doesn’t raise class prejudices and racial stereotypes onto the pulpit but never waters down the issues by blatantly whitewashing it. He reinforces these stereotypes by lighting dapping them with observations and pragmatism but never creates caricatures of them. The formidable Fishburne and Bassett team seen in “Boyz n the Hood” and “What’s Love Got To Do With It” still exudes the intensity we’ve come to realise from the pairing. As the two central parental figures in Akeelah’s life, they tear her down with their demons and prop her back up with their better angels. Keke Palmer must have given the best performance by a youngster this year with Akeelah. She upstages her more magnetic co-stars with erudite resilience having carried the entire film on her deceptively scrawny shoulders. She makes this film a testament to the potential of adolescents.

An unapologetically schmaltzy affair, “Akeelah and the Bee” is a film about messages. It’s a homily about shaking free the shackles of apprehension through knowledge. By showing the willingness of people who want to change and see the potential that they’ve lost in those around them, it’s ultimately about forgiving the misgivings of others and most importantly forgiving one’s self. As far as “feel good” movies go, this one is a definite keeper and is definitely one of my favourites this year. I-n-d-u-b-i-t-a-b-l-y.

Rating: 4 out of 5

Shall We Dansu? (1996) (Masayuki Suo)

With a deft sleight of hand, Masayuki Suo infuses comedy, romance and criticism of Japanese conservatism into the foreign world of ballroom dancing in the land of the rising sun. Treated with suspicion, this form of dancing carries with it a certain sense of shame, like online dating or personal ads. As if finding himself in a seedy part of town, our protagonist, Sugiyama (Kôji Yakusho), looks left and right while covering the best part of his face with the requisite nippon salaryman manila folder before heading up the stairs to continue his lessons. We're not to realise his motivations until he does as he reminisces his first urge to seek out a change and battle his midlife demons.

Just as every other day he takes the train home, where he gets on his bicycle and rides back to his newly bought house, complete with the large mortgage, the homely wife and cherished teenage daughter. One day, after a boring after-work dinner with his colleagues he first takes note of a beautiful young woman, staring out the window of a dance studio. Sugiyama takes the train each day after that, pondering why that woman's mirthless expression haunts him so. He decides reluctantly to join up after his wife tells him that he doesn't go out enough. Even with her unknowing encouragement, he keeps his past time a secret from his family as he joins a beginner group consisting of a loudmouth with good intentions, an overweight man finding some self-esteem and a kindly seasoned pro who teaches them the heart and soul of ballroom dancing.

He keeps an eye on the beautiful, sorrowful woman, Mai who harbours her own set of problems. At first staying out of Mai's way, Sugiyama grows more confident with his repertoire of moves and starts to become attached to the dance as Mai silently takes interest.

This is a story of characters, each with their own history and reasons for taking up the dance. Some noble, while some, not so much. But what's constant is their burgeoning passion for what they do, while staying in the periphery of society's glare. Sugiyama is a tacit individual who holds his fears, insecurities and inhibitions close to his heart. His family, although the most important things to him are mere ideals and goals that he has achieved in his life as a Japanese working man. Without any more goals to look towards, he finds more than he bargained for when he embarked on deciphering Mai's secret grief.

With a happy ending, comedy with its supporting characters and numerous subplots, its a light and underplayed (but not without some measure of stinging depth) look at the heavy upheavals of life's tedious banalities and doldrums. Showing how unbalanced we might be with monotony, trust and loyalty are always key virtues in succeeding in our newer endeavours.

Rating: 3½ out of 5

La Luna (1979) (Bernardo Bertolucci)

There's some really heavy themes in this, most notably and controversially incest between the mother, an opera singer (the whole movie is quite operatic in the setting of Rome) and her son, a teenager slowly being sucked into a world of drugs as he slips away from his mother. It doesn't cross the line all the way, instead hovers back and forth between a loss they've shared and a promise of being together at any means, albeit not in the conventional sense.

Lovely, epic music lacquers the scenery and intensity between the parent, who finds it a duty to be closer to the son thats torn between guilt and anger. Note though, that the physical incest is not as strong as the theme of emotional incest, which is usually the more pervasive of the two. It's main focus seems to be the mending of a mother-son relationship when both mother and son are wrecks to begin with. This film is quite the rarity. I bought my DVD at a garage sale. Might be Italian though, the wordings' are a bit wrecked on mine, but a splendid cover art, it's why I even noticed it underneath a clutter.

It's quite a heavy subject matter to tackle, plenty for the psychoanalytical of us to ponder over. Quite typical of Bertolucci to polarise his viewers. I would agree that the film is a task especially its beginning but its fruitful with much symmetry composing the parent/child relationship regarding the inexplicable quandaries of love and sexuality. Oedipal complexities are never fully explored physically thankfully, it doesn't go the distance like "Spanking the Monkey" did but what isn't shown is much more primal and imperative than what is shown. I've read many stinging criticisms of the film and its incomparable director of trying to shock his way through the auds. But I honestly am too blind or refractory for lack of a better word to subscribe to that.

Bertolucci has a fond place in my heart. As simple as this sounds, he makes films that are memorable and have something to tell us - usually about politics and human sexuality. This film is one of his earlier works and its absolutely gorgeous. Speaking of gorgeous, Jill Clayburgh shows why she's so unsung, in this she plays a woman who's so respected to everyone but yet in shambles inside. I would love to see her in more and thank god I now have something to supplant her as Ally Mcbeal's mom.

Rating: 3½ out of 5

Brokeback Mountain (2005) (Ang Lee)

It’s easy to be superficial about a movie such as Brokeback Mountain, a film adapted by Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana from Annie Proulx’s 1997 short story. Its content draws mixed reactions from every generation and social strata, all carrying weighty and complex opinions. Branding this film as just another gay-themed movie that Hollywood churned out would be downright ignorant. Its final act forces us to consider that the backdrop of homophobia being unavoidable is as potent a notion as the film’s statement of unconditional love being unrealisable.

Although far from being a trailblazer in its controversial content, this is one of the most important love stories told for the past 3 decades, and refreshingly, it is not left to European arthouse cinema this time. This taboo topic was earlier breached in 1969’s acclaimed Midnight Cowboy with its original rating of X and 1992’s Oscar nominated The Crying Game that sparked a furore among censors and critics for its then shocking twist.

Fast forward to this year’s celebrated alternative cinema offerings such as Transamerica (winning Felicity Huff an Oscar nod), Breakfast on Pluto (Cillian Murphy, from Batman Begins was exceptional as a out-of-touch transvestite) and the underrated comedic film-noir, Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang. All will be screened in Singapore in the coming weeks, hot on the heels of the Oscars.

This movie defines the year’s cultural zeitgeist, a year riddled with polemising gay rights issues and the ensuing fallout of not being taken seriously enough. The majority of moviegoers deal with it by cracking jokes and nervous laughter while discussing the film’s merits, evident by America’s late-night comics using it as fodder in their tired comedy routines. It has galvanised the gay community so strongly that a movie critic, Gene Shalit was condemned by gay rights activists for referring to 1 of the main characters as a “sexual predator” during his review. Has any review of any other movies drawn such a fierce response for its assessment of a character?

Celluloid romances and rugged Western terrains complete with cowboys have never appealed to me, even as 2 separate genres. Although appreciative of both genres’ successes and appeal, I’ve always seen them as a byproduct of heightened cinematic sentimentality and gasconading bravado of its masculine characters. With Brokeback Mountain’s immense buzz and hyped up performances of its leads coupled with 8 Oscar nominations, I was inclined to think, before watching the film that its publicity machine was merely working overtime. I was wrong.

During the summer of 1963, 2 men discover their futures in Brokeback Mountain, Wyoming. It’s where they met and it’s where they found themselves. At the tender age of 19, Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger) and Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhaal) are paired up by Joe Aguirre (Randy Quaid) to herd his sheep through Brokeback Mountain to market. It slowly starts as a friendship established on a mutual understanding of making their way through the hardships of their world, but somewhere along the way things became complicated. A cold rainy day forces the 2 cowboys to shack up in a single tent, which leads to the first unflinching expression of their attraction. As both cowpokes leave the mountain early, they ambivalently acknowledge their burgeoning affection for each other.

These first 30 minutes gave us the incredibly subtle courtship rituals between the 2 sheepherders as their attraction starts to simmer with the furtive glances while their macho swagger turns into amorous endearment. Even while we knew what was about to transpire, it is all the more important for us to realise why both men needed each other.

It was definitely an affair to remember, complete with the obligatory first full-fledged, if brief, sex scene, accompanied by several moments of ardent, soulful stares and a final self-sacrificing moment in which Jack drives away from the love of his life. Those well-wrought scenes built the foundation of the remaining film by arresting our attention to the untouchable desire Ennis and Jack feel during the long droughts in their romance.

The cowboy that initially reveals his advances first did not necessarily make it as clear-cut as we would have liked. It is often said that men have sex first, and then they fall in love later. The film keeps us wondering even on the way home or as we brush our teeth, about which of the 2 men fell in love first and what might have been if they had consolidated their relationship before they complicated it.

The film’s second act continues with the men moving on with their lives during the next 4 years by marrying wives (Michelle Williams and Anne Hathaway) and siring children. A fateful postcard from Jack sets off an illicit affair between them for the next 20 years under guises of fishing and business trips while their marriages and relationships with women falter and fail. Their preferred hideaway remains Brokeback Mountain.

The titular location is stupendously photographed, and its majestic panorama fits in well with director Ang Lee’s delicate tact in creating a gentle coupling of lonely spirits instead of a raunchy flaying of clothes and assembly of limbs. A singular guitar chord manages to invoke the sharp pang of hurt and empathy for the unrequited lovers each time another obstacle is thrown their way. Nothing is done just to simply elicit emotions as each action is presented as pure and unbridled. The interactions between the 2 leads are always sensitive, and never unnatural or overly sappy.

Compassionate and provocative over the bleak landscape of Wyoming (except that it’s really Canada) and the deafening sound of silence, Ennis and Jack treasure their solitude as much as they dread hiding themselves from the world. The idea of 2 lost souls connecting, exploring each other’s truths is common, yet its subtext is usually only explored on a physical level. However, with Lee’s interpretation of the 2 men’s initial ambivalence towards their feelings and resulting wrong turns while traversing through their sham lives is clearly evident through his 2 wholly convincing male leads.

Ennis is a closed-off, stoic rancher who’s torn between the love of his life and his idea of continuing traditional romances with different woman to avoid acknowledging his homosexuality. Ledger is note perfect as he delivers a thoughtful and true performance in each scene. He hermetically seals himself in his character’s turmoil by giving an incredibly nuanced portrayal of a torn human being. It stays remarkably restrained and through his implicit reactions, shows the true introvert Ennis is, even as the closet gets too small for him to hide in.

With a runtime of just over 2 hours, the movie will start to nag at and bore through those that didn’t start watching it with an open mind. Its patient and deliberate pacing involves us at every juncture, but its apex lies in its rapturous opening scenes and its scenes set in Brokeback with Ennis and Jack. Nothing else in the movie manages to approach its untainted exploration of each cowboy’s emotional states when they are together. Perhaps that’s the film’s sole limitation when it fails to transcend the inescapability of both men’s magnetising screen presence or maybe it’s the film’s strongest aspect as we’re drawn to their devotion to each other while constantly peppering us with the realisation of a possible unhappy ending.

It’s a story about the cowboys’ future, not their past as we hardly get a glimpse of their lives before that fateful day at Joe’s except for references of childhood experiences. We follow them through their tumultuous marriages and the self-destructive decisions they make. Their romance becomes a quicksand that they struggle in as they consider their homosexual relationship for the rest of their lives. It pulls no punches, literally, as their onscreen romance plays out as real and ugly as the emotions they feel.

The women in their lives play an auxiliary part, plastering over the cracks in the men’s agonised souls. Their love for the men may have been transient but not the impact they had in their husbands’ lives. Williams gives her all in her role as the long-suffering wife of Ennis. In a tableaux set in a kitchen, she fires off her frustrations in an intense scene that all but seals her Oscar nomination and puts her as the front-runner at this year’s awards.

Both Ennis and Jack are 2 of the most memorable characters in cinema this year. While it’s lauded as one of the greatest love stories ever told, its distinctive gay themed romance is made even more laudable when it stretches beyond our intrinsic societal boundaries and tremblingly touches our hearts with its unifying resonance.

Rating: 4 ½ out of 5