The Iron Linky

By now you've heard that Meryl Streep will be receiving an Honorary Golden Bear at Berlinale in February. The fun part of this news that you probably haven't heard elsewhere is this is the 62nd Berlinale Festival and Meryl is... 62! They grew up together! The best part of this news for those attending the festival? That would be festival screenings of Kramer vs. Kramer, Sophie's Choice, The Bridges of Madison County, A Prairie Home Companion and Out of Africa. I'd love to see all of those on the big screen again... even though they're not the five exact choices I would have made as a programmer (obvs you have to have Kramer & Sophie though). Coming next weekend we'll look at the Reader Streep Rankings. (Thanks for all your e-mails.)

Oscarables
The Wrap Will the Oscars move away from the Kodak Theater in two years? They're considering their options before recommitting to the contract.
Gold Derby shares the new Oscar ballots for Best Picture and accompanying instructions sent to Academy members. Voters can only vote for five favorites though more than five might be nominated given the complicated rules and thousands of ballots.

Etcetera
Antagony and Ecstasy rips into Phyllida Lloyd's The Iron Lady. Only Streep survives.
Low Resolution rips into Albert Nobbs. Close survives. Sort of.
Paper Mag Matthew Modine turns to short filmmaking with Jesus Was a Commie. May also battle the Batman but won't confirm it.
Guardian Swordsman Bob Anderson, who staged fights for massive beloved franchises Lord of the Rings and Star Wars, has died. 
24 Frames talks about a quartet of movies with ambiguous endings. Spoilers obviously. Strangely the author chastises you for not having seen Rampart. Not that the distributor will let you!
Stale Popcorn thinks Rooney Mara is The Girl With the Ungrateful Stuck Up Attitude.  
Cinema Blend Demi Moore will cameo as Gloria Steinem in that Amanda Seyfried Linda Lovelace biopic which keeps getting starrier. 
In Contention interviews Jeremy Irvine and Richard Curtis on War Horse 

Best of London: Weekend, Snowtown, Martha, and More...

[Editor's Note: Thank you to Craig and David for their reporting from this year's London Film Festival which concluded two days ago. Here they are with a final chat about their treasures and pleasures. -Nathaniel]

Craig: So, David, I guess it's time to mull it over and decide on our "Best of the Fest". Top tens, top fives? More, less? I wonder what we'll agree and disagree on...

David: It's always sad to say goodbye. It might not be the most glamorous or revelatory event on the festival circuit, but it has such a nice atmosphere strewn across Central London, flirting with megastars every so often, but giving equal red carpet steps to the little gems you speak of. A top five definitely isn't enough for me, but I'll give restraining myself my best shot. I've been there most days, and often packed in four in a day (my eyes are paying the price!), so I'd wager I have seen more than you - quality over quantity, though! 

Dendera

In my stringently ordered, agonisingly compiled list that I just came up with, my number five slot would go to Oslo, August 31st, which I offered up some thoughts on just the other day - so I'll give conversation space to a glorious runner-up instead. Dendera – one of the most enjoyable experiences of the fest – is a gloriously demented twist on a Japanese myth invented in Imamura's The Ballad of Naramaya; in this new film, his son Daisuke Tengan explores the afterlife of the elderly who've been put out to pasture. One old woman decided she didn't want to die, thank you, and set up a community on the other side of the hill from the village that cast her out. In short: it's the sort of bloody batshit horror movie you'd have seen in 1980s Britain, not least because of hilariously dreadful bear puppetry that's very similar to Attack the Block.

Craig: I’ve heard variable things on Dendera, but your description makes it sound like great fun. Sad I missed it now. And due to timing I had to choose another film over Oslo, sadly. Quite unintentionally I saw a lot of  rather grim confrontational dramas although the lighter titles were a delight, so I should first give credit to three not at all violent films which won me over immensely. Weekend was a beautifully played affair that grabbed me from the first frame. Loved its naturalistic dialogue, likeable performances and wistfully hopeful (would you agree?) overall tone. How sweet to finally have a gay take on the Before Sunset/Sunrise 'will they or won't they?' film! Pariah, another excellent gay-themed romance, was moving and featured a great central turn from Adepero Oduye. The photography stood out as some of the fest’s best, too. (I wrote about both earlier) Terri, a cheering and good-natured film about an overweight high school loner made, was made with easy style and without sentimental cliché. It snuck up on me in a big way; its emotional impact worked during the film and later, on my way to the tube, it made me smile in the way that obviously quirky indie films of its ilk rarely do. John C. Reilly gave one of his best performances and the humour was well-timed. What gems delighted you, David? I ask this now, before we get to the inevitably gloomier stuff...

David: Weekend is so good it deserves repeating. [MORE AFTER THE JUMP ON SEVERAL TITLES...]

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London: "The Deep Blue Sea"

David here with one last report from the London Film Festival. Master British filmmaker Terence Davies provided a suitably British closing film, with Rachel Weisz lost in The Deep Blue Sea...

"Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea," Hester Collyer (Rachel Weisz) remarks at one point, naming the title of Terence Davies' latest feature, an adaptation of a Terence Rattigan play. It's Hester's voice that opens the film, too, disembodied over the dark blue background of the credits, reading a suicide note to her lover, Freddie Page (Tom Hiddleston of Thor fame). Hester is drowning in the deep blue sea of her own adoration, because Freddie's love isn't strong enough to reciprocate and pull her back to the surface.

The Deep Blue Sea betrays its theatrical origins from the first shot, panning smoothly across the front of a row of houses, the edges of the frame misty as though the smoke machines have been humming for hours. Davies has never been one to shy away from formalistic filmmaking, though, and like his best work, this film finds emotional power in and despite of the thoroughly artificial surface, which cracks itself between theatrical mannerisms and the sort of dissolution of temporality that dominated Davies' feature debut Distant Voices, Still Lives. The couple's flat houses much of the action, lit with a curiously indistinct glow through the windows, and the dialogue, particularly Hester's verbalisation of her feelings, is more narrational than conversational. But only minutes in, her memories spin, and black dissolves glide through her memories with a ghostly implacability.

As we meet her, Hester is trying to commit suicide - an indication that her story is not set to be a cheerful one. Handy with the sort of observational intimacy he practiced in Distant Voices and The House of Mirth, Davies again tells a deeply personal story without giving his filmmaking over to a singular point of view. It's due to Weisz's superb performance - besting her Oscar-winning work in The Constant Gardener - that we understand the moments of worldly perspective, from every mention of the war to the words of her landlady Mrs. Elton (Ann Mitchell), are Hester's own realisations of how selfish and narcissitic her dramatic emotions are. Despite the stilted dialogue, Weisz's is a very physical performance, the overwhelming nature of Hester's love and her attempts to quash it apparent in the cadences of her voice and the limits she puts on her movements.

The Deep Blue Sea is often too mannered, too ponderous, and Davies' technical mastery of the camera has the faint scent of pomposity to it. The pitch of Weisz' vivid passion is never as apparent as it needs to be in this environment;  a breathless swoop of the camera onto her face is notable for its alertness, a crack in the fusty air around her. But finally, though rooted in British history (as the final shot insists), this is an irrefutably personal story in a world that emphasised the communal. Hester, unfamiliar with the song the patriotic drinkers around her sing, softly sings the chorus only to Freddie, shifting the words into her own narrative. Selfish, but after all, her passion is just a drop in the deep blue sea. (B)

London: Early One Morning, Snowtown and Last Screening

Craig here (writer of Take Three) reporting for Nathaniel from the BFI London Film Festival. Today's round-up features three dark explorations into violent minds. Perfect for Halloween week then!

If disquieting French drama Early One Morning were a comedy it would need to hijack the title of another recent office-based film: Horrible Bosses. The financial suits upstairs are the cause for middle-aged everyman-exec Paul’s (played to fraught perfection by Jean-Pierre Darroussin) consternation in Jean-Marc Moutout’s film. What a total bunch of bankers! But Paul takes matters into his own hands in an explosive, very personal way. It starts with a coldly curious, matter-of-fact sequence: Paul gets up and ready for work, kisses his wife, gets on a bus and arrives at the office. The immediately perturbing vibe suggests that something terrible is inevitable. As it turns out, he shoots his bosses dead and then sits down at his desk. The film then flashes back to an earlier time to try and work out why Paul goes full nutjob with a handgun. It's clear from the finger pointing at the highly unsporting, self-regarding pair of CEOs (one played with pompous relish by Xavier Beauvois, the director of Of Gods and Men) and the hot potato topic of the recession that the film is trading on being a seasonably pertinent and bold exploration of current themes people will feel a kinship for. The film’s drastic actions are worrying, but maybe the Pauls of the world need a vicarious fictional mouthpiece to do the undoable acts on their behalf. After all, we like a David vs. Goliath tale. This one just goes one furious step further and attempts to annihilate its Goliath for all previous unfair dismissal. Early One Morning is mostly gripping viewing. Best avoided by those who’ve just been fired, mind. C+

The terrible bursts of violence in Early One Morning came fast and furious, but that’s nothing compared to what we get sporadically, intensively and with gut-churning abstraction throughout bold Australian drama Snowtown. [More after the jump.]

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London: W.E., Oslo and Japan

David here, reporting from the final week of the London Film Festival. If there's one name guaranteed to grab my attention, it's...

The sight of Madonna's name heading up movie credits is a slightly surreal one, and it's difficult to imagine the icon standing behind a camera, and so W.E.'s worst foible is an understandable one from such a deified person. Re-edited after a poor reception at previous festivals, there is a fair deal to admire here, but all those flashbulbs must have gone to her head, because the photography is stuffed with dramatically posed shots, as if its being filmed with a still camera. Yet it's in the camera work that the film digs up shards of emotional truth amongst the narrative cliches, suggesting that Madonna might prove a worthwhile director. When the camera moves, it does so with a defiant tactility, a visual sense alive with feeling and clarity. This story of a late-'90s neglected wife (Abbie Cornish) in New York turning to the story of Wallis Simpson (Andrea Riseborough, superbly poised) for comfort and reflection is the stuff of clunky parallels with little sense of historical ambiguity. The soundtrack is alarmingly overloaded. But the immediate, reactive sense of the photography delves through the physical to the emotional roots, scoring unpredictable truths. (C) more articles on W.E.

Oslo, August 31st is like two pages ripped from a diary; one covered with words, the second blank and sodden with tears. After his first feature, the textured novelistic Reprise, director Joachim Trier follows in Louis Malle's footsteps by adapting Pierre Drieu La Rochelle's Le feu follet, a melancholy tale of a man debating suicide. Anders Danielsen Lie, one of the two leads of Reprise, is given the luxury of a film to himself ...only his character, Anders, isn't one to luxuriate. The film's first half is full of words. Anders attempts to spread his wings, testing the waters of the outside world as he breaks from a spell in rehab. A discussion with his friend Thomas (Hans Olav Brenner) stretches imperceptibly to twenty minutes, dense with completely natural musings, arguments, and agonising admissions that absorb both characters and viewers. As Anders spirals into the night, and into August 31st, the film shifts into sensory expression, the lens focus shifting lucidly, the soundtrack slowly emptying to mournful desolation. Far from easy to watch, and tearfully inconclusive, this is nonetheless another quiet triumph from Trier. (A-) more articles on Oslo August 31st

two brothers in "I Wish"

Two brothers on a quest to repair their family. It's a story out of 1980s Hollywood cinema, and I Wish does ring with the cliches of quest narratives like Stand By Me or The Goonies. Hirokazu Kore-eda, a festival favourite thanks to films like Nobody Knows and After Life, directs this bright tale which centres around the supposed miracle that occurs when two bullet trains pass each other. Koichi and Ryu, each stuck with a parent on opposite sides of Kyushu, plot a voyage to witness the miracle and wish their family back together. Where Kore-eda betters his Stateside influences, though, is in his generous characterizations of the adult characters, who lack the intimacy we're granted with the vibrant kids but feel alive with both warmth and foibles. Inevitably, the film cycles through familiar ideas, but the wheels are so smooth it scarcely matters. The achievement of the quest isn't the thing, but the journey, and you're unlikely to find a more heartwarming, vibrant trip all year. (B+)