NYFF: "Tahrir" You Are There

Michael C reporting from the New York Film Festival. 

In years to come there will no doubt be countless documentaries made attempting to make sense of the world changing events in the Middle East in the first half of 2011. Yet for all the context and analysis they bring to bear on the complexities of the Arab Spring I doubt any will have the immediacy of Stefano Savona’s Tahrir.

When the people of Egypy took to the streets, filling Tahrir Square, Savona grabbed his camera and marched out with them. When assembling his film he afforded himself no additional perspective. No talking heads. No title cards. No voiceover narration. If the protesters don’t have the information neither does the audience.

Without those crutches to lean on Savona goes in the opposite direction, building a picture of those days through collage - the musical repetition of chanting, the urgent, unsure spread of information, the confrontations with government enforcers. One such battle devolves horrifyingly into endless hours of rock throwing as protesters fashion makeshift helmets out of cardboard, scarves or whatever they can tie to their heads. The Egyptians we meet are a great antidote to the mainstream media’s usual representation of a sea of indistinguishable screaming foreigners. They debate the next course of action, speculate about events outside their control, and worry if it will all be worth it if in the end one tyrant is traded for another. 

Those unfamiliar with the events in Egypt last February will be more than a bit lost, even a news junkie like myself longed for a little added perspective, but with Tahrir that is beside the point. When historians set about to reconstruct what it was like to be in that square at that time, Savona's film will be essential viewing. 

✩

Previously... A Dangerous Method, The Loneliest Planet, Melancholia

NYFF: 'A Dangerous Method' with Keira Unleashed

Kurt here. I'll admit I'm not as well-versed in the work of David Cronenberg as a 27-year-old cinephile should be, but I know enough to confidently conclude that A Dangerous Method, while every bit worth seeing, won't go down as a definitive entry in the Canadian maestro's oeuvre. A bubbling marriage of the sexual and the cerebral, the material surely speaks to Cronenberg's penchant for exploring the curious links between mind and body, but the resulting film doesn't haunt, nor does it even consistently provoke, short of whatever reactions are elicited from the recurring spanking of Keira Knightley's bum. A prestige piece through and through, A Dangerous Method is the intersection of a handful of prior collaborators, teaming Cronenberg with muse Viggo Mortensen, Dangerous Liaisons and Atonement screenwriter Christopher Hampton (who here adapts his own 2002 play, The Talking Cure), and Atonement leading lady Keira Knightley. It seems an almost experimental assemblage of talent, with Cronenberg's newfound Oscar-friendliness put into the mix with some very Oscary playmates. It could be grander, it could be harder, it could be better.

But damn, is it watchable, especially in regard to Knightley's performance as Sabina Spielrein, the unhinged, yet shrewd, Russian fetishist who ultimately comes between psych titans Sigmund Freud (Mortensen) and Carl Jung (Michael Fassbender). A violently screaming Sabina is the first thing you see after some ink-on-paper credits, and it's immediately arresting, if only because you've never seen Knightley so...loud. This is easily Knightley's most impassioned and most transformative performance, one that's sure to have Oscar calling in whatever category she lands in (note to voters: it's a leading role). For a long while, I was having a hard time deciding if her turn was too shrill or dead-on, but I'm leaning toward the latter, despite the lingering sense that she's operating on a wild plane independent of the film. Ably tackling a convincing accent, and looking even more gorgeously gaunt than usual, Knightley plays the sexually-scarred Sabina like a slinky Linda Blair, her deep, dark and gyrating confessions to Jung trickling out as if part of a deep-seated, slow-motion seizure that's long been brewing in her groin. It's uncomfortably compelling, and it gains interest as the film proceeds, as Sabina proves to be much more than her demons.

Mortensen also slips deep into his character, in a performance that's also likely to have at least some amount of gold thrown at it. Behind dark contacts and a good bit of facial hair, he steps into uncommon character-actor territory, to which his handsomely-aging face lends itself well (he's also best with the movie's easy, unassuming humor, which finds a mature, yet playful, way to fool with so much clinical sex talk). Faces, I'd say, are Cronenberg's greatest collective asset here, and one he exploits like a pro. I'm avoiding a great deal of plot, because I don't feel that gripping storytelling is the movie's strong suit. But the not-quite-million-dollar mugs of Knightley, Mortensen and Fassbender, all of whom have enough uncannily symmetrical beauty to ensnare you, but enough slightly-offbeat features to keep things interesting, are what hold you from moment-to-moment and stick with you when you leave. Fassbender, bless him, is clean-cut and awkwardly dashing, yet he shares Knightley's cadaverous look, his well-formed bones exceptionally pronounced. And Mortensen gets a lot of mileage out of those wrinkles, swapping out smolder for aloof wisdom.

Of the milieu on display, I found it most interesting to consider a group of characters evaluating their behaviors while Freudian explanations were still being established. Can we imagine a world without them now? Where motivations and actions aren't looked upon with some degree of id assessment? Such thoughts make A Dangerous Method feel important, at the very least in relation to the whole of 2011's output. What burrowed into my head, though, were those faces and that feral performance from Knightley. Getting in the spirit, I kept wondering what she drew from to get into character, what conscious and unconscious Knightley demons brought Sabina to life. Whatever the answer, it worked, as Knightley's method, pardon the pun, is a dangerous one indeed.

Previously on NYFF
The Loneliest Planet brushes against Nathaniel's skin.
Melancholia shows Michael the end of von Trier's world. 

NYFF: "The Loneliest Planet" With Gael García Bernal

The first of the senses that writer/director Julia Loktev hits us with over the opening black screen is sound. We heara  rhythmic pounding/creaking/breathing that's hard to place (sex scene? construction work?). When the fade-up happens, you'd never guess what image is waiting for you. It's something both utterly mundane and alien and strange. This is only the first of the surprises that await you as you journey across the Georgian wilderness with Nica (Hani Furstenberg) and Alex (Gael García Bernal) in The Loneliest Planet. 

Hani Furstenberg could eat Gael García Bernal right up in "The Loneliest Planet"

Nica and Alex are madly in love both with each other and their mutual wanderlust. They're seeking an authentic travel experience beyond touristy paths before they marry. English is their common tongue (though neither of their native languages) and the film makes the very smart decision of subtitling nothing, as they attempt to communicate with the locales and teach each other a bit of their native tongues. They sign up with a local guide Dato (Bidzina Gujabidze), the only other major character in the film, and they're off.

The Loneliest Planet ostensibly belongs to the arthouse school of contemplative "slow" films but there's actually quite a lot happening, as we observe Nica and Alex making love, absorbing nature alone or together and alternately building bonds with their guide and ignoring him. The space between each character is more geographically interesting than the landscape surrounding them. (Whether there's enough happening to justify its 113 minute running time is a separate question.)

The movies construction is such that you're climbing its mountain of details to the peak at Act One's curtain where "The Incident" takes place. And then you're climbing back down again in Act Two, with so much new to process in stunned silence.  "The Incident" (which is all I'll call it and what the director herself calls it) is a frightening and confusing moment that's also utterly believable and gorgeously acted. It's rendered all the more potent by the lack of constant cutting that mars so many pictures in the editing stage. The Incident is the movie's guaranteed conversation centerpiece which I fear most reviews with their lazy insistence on plot-plot-plot will give away. Loktev's mode throughout is observational and her refusal to offer up any commentary or (non visual) point-of-view on the matter will surely be counted as a detriment for some and a plus for others. Put another way she's masterfully collecting details but whether or not she has something to say about her treasured collection remains an open question to be answered by future films.

All movies engage your eyes and your ears by their very nature, but seize your visual and aural imagination only with skill. Loktev gently forces a third and dominant sense into the equation. Right from the very first startling image Loktev shows an extraordinary gift for the tactile. How many movies can you feel on your skin? Cold water, the brush of fingertips, a stone in one's shoe, hair violently tossing about in the wind and so many more sensations are beautifully captured. Most tellingly in The Loneliest Planet you can absolutely feel the warmth of a lover's touch and the unavoidable sudden chill whenever bodies separate.  B+ 

Previously @ NYFF
Melancholia - Michael gazes upon the end of the world with von Trier

NYFF: "Melancholia" This Is The Way The World Ends

[Editor's Note: Our NYFF coverage begins! You'll be hearing from Michael and Kurt and me. -Nathaniel]

Hey, everybody. Serious Film’s Michael C. here reporting from the New York Film Festival. I’m jumping right into the deep end of the pool with the first title so let’s get to it.

When the world ends in Lars von Trier’s Melancholia it is definitely going to be with a bang and not a whimper. The film opens with a stunning series of images centered around a rogue planet spinning out from behind the sun on a course to smash into Earth like a wrecking ball. It’s a dark nihilistic death dance, the B-side to Tree of Life’s sun-dappled song of life. The sequence alone is worth the price of admission.

From there the film splits neatly into halves. The first concerns the wedding of clinically depressed bride Kirsten Dunst to “aw shucks” wholesome groom Alexander Skarsgård. The second concerns Dunst and sister Charlotte Gainsbourg grappling with the whole possible destruction of the planet thing. Both halves follow similar arcs with characters hoping against hope that the worst case scenario can be avoided before remembering that this is, after all, a von Trier movie.

I’m not sure splitting up the stories was the wisest choice, since the second half never recovers the energy of the wedding scenes. I could write that the second half creaks under the weight of its symbolism, but if Von Trier is willing to fill the sky with an ominous death planet named after his own depression, who am I to point out that the whole thing is a bit "on the nose"?

Melancholia would have to qualify as a minor disappointment considering the shattering impact Von Trier is capable of, but still, it's an experience worth having. The whole cast is aces. Dunst rises to the occasion with a bone deep convincing portrayal of smothering depression, while Kiefer Sutherland, to my surprise, punches through in a big way as Gainsbourg’s wealthy put-upon husband. Best of all, is the wall to wall breathtaking cinematography by Manuel Alberto Claro, which, by the way, is probably the film's best shot at awards attention. The whole thing has a cumulative effect greater than the sum of its flaws.

Dangerous Expectations

For what it's worth...

I saw A Dangerous Method last night and enjoyed it. With the New York Film Festival press events in swing (the festival proper starts on the 30th) and other screenings happening to the side we've arrived at our favorite time of year... Prestige Picture let out of the gate! As we speak, Michael and Kurt are watching Lars von Trier's Melancholia (which I've already seen and found fascinating and difficult to let settle) so you'll be hearing about these two movies shortly and later on when they open, too. Fall season is best because even when the movies aren't perfect they offer plenty to talk (and argue) about.

This adaptation of The Talking Cure (a phrase used in the movie unlike its new title) won't hit until November so my proper review will wait but I wanted to note straightaway that it wasn't quite what I was expecting -- almost stately, subtle and one might even say uptight to the point of refusing catharsis. Keira Knightley handles her difficult role well and without vanity, jutting her jaw out grotesquely and contorting her body to the point that it's even more alien and angular than one might have ever found it before. It's as if she's never read any of the critiques of her beauty. (I would like to note that I don't take kindly to the common hateful screeds about the actual looks of actors that are so popular on the web but this is rather like Sarah Jessica Parker -- who I personally love to look at -- agreeing to co-star in a picture entirely about horses.)

Freud (Viggo) and Jung (Fassy)Loved Viggo as Freud but was quite surprised to have difficulty with Michael Fassbender for the first time. I'm guessing that repression is, like depression, difficult to act in a mesmerizing way. For what it's worth my favorite male portrait of stifling repression is probably Anthony Hopkins in Remains of the Day who I would have handed the Oscar to in 1993. I am not overly fond of Hopkins so maybe I just have issues with male repression onscreen? A point of comparison: I was similarly unwowed by Daniel Day-Lewis when he made The Age of Innocence which is the picture my mind kept drifting towards.

As to Oscar speculation: I suspect that if there is Oscar play then The Age of Innocence is a far better comparison than Remains of the Day. But I suppose it all depends on whether AMPAS is in a repressed well appointed 90s period piece mood (they've kind of moved away from that lately, right?) and how the competition holds up when all the game pieces are on the board.