CriticSociety- film reviews

Review

The Wicker Man

Director

Robin Hardy

Year

1973

Rating

Reviewed by

Gon Curiel a.k.a. Groucho

Review date

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

A film that starts with one of the most beautiful songs ever recorded, “Corn Rigs” by Paul Giovanni, in a gorgeous Scottish setting of water around a small island, is very hard not to care about from the start. The mood continues as everything in the folkloric island of Summerisle is nice, and the music, a constant of these townsfolk, is very pretty, but something’s off and not hard to sense. To the more conventional eye, these people are crazy.

It’s particularly easy to see this as the main character is a very traditional Christian policeman who’s visiting to investigate the alleged disappearance of a young girl, the daughter of a local woman, and the people are not very willing to help, and since the inquiries seem to make an impression on them at first, it’s soon clear that they’re lying or hiding something for macabre reasons.

The reasons, it soon appears, are related to the pagan religion they practice. It was brought to the island by an ancestor of Lord Summerisle (Christopher Lee), who’s as friendly as he is fanatic, and puzzles the detective, Sergeant Howie (Edward Woodward), immensely.

As the investigation progresses, or rather is obstructed and taken into deeper and darker levels at every step, the town becomes more colorful and fascinating every time. The people, while fanatics indeed, seem to live in a healthy community that exalts sex and paganism but in a way apparently so pure and positive that it makes Howie look like a stubborn man instead of the only one who sees things clearly. Scenes of sexual tension between him and gorgeous Willow (Britt Ekland) are the perfect illustration.

The script by master storyteller Anthony Shaffer is clearly polarized by these two extremist views in order to make the tale all the more puzzling. We’re constantly curious as to the truth behind the girl’s disappearance, at some point even doubting her existence, and all the while questioning whether these people are right or wrong, and whether Howie should probably get out of there and stop meddling in businesses that aren’t his own. That’s what makes this so intriguing.

Some people, though, I have read, found this to be a horrific tale, and deemed it a horror movie, clearly, I believe, because their beliefs resemble Howie’s very closely. I can see that and it talks of narrow-mindedness. It’s just as fascinating. The point of view of the townsfolk isn’t easy to take, but that doesn’t necessarily make them villains. I’m not sure, though, what in the end was Shaffer’s intention. There’s a disclaimer at the beginning thanking the actual Lord Summerisle for his cooperation in the making of the film. Does that imply that the practices that we see are real?

There are many rituals and dances that we witness along with Howie and they’re all absolutely beautiful. The music and songs by Paul Giovanni, who also provides some vocals, are breathtaking. That’s hands down one of the most awesome soundtracks I have heard in a film. A must-hear, if that’s a term.

As for the film, it’s haunting, stressing, and lovely. You might not sleep well afterwards, but you’ll find difficulty remembering it in a negative light. That’s unique, isn’t it? That’s Anthony Shaffer.

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Review

Lost Horizon

Director

Frank Capra

Year

1937

Rating

Reviewed by

Gon Curiel a.k.a. Groucho

Review date

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Lost Horizon is a work of art. It surpassed its source material and became a unique motion picture unmatched since, because not many films manage to create a unique world, make it so credible despite its obvious implausibility, give it a magical touch and easily compel us to make an effort to buy it in order to enjoy the experience fully. What’s more impressive is that the filmgoers’ experience in this way is identical to that of the characters we’re watching: we initially reject the supposedly enigmatic nature of the place we’re presented with, then we start liking it, and finally we can’t even consider leaving it, and are terrified by that very idea.

However, not everyone goes with it, I imagine, and that’s also one character’s reaction. That makes it even better to my eyes. Nobody’s perfect, and nothing is either, and there’s always detractors, and that’s what makes life interesting. I now consider Lost Horizon one of my favorite films, and the fact that it doesn’t pretend to portray “perfection”, but rather “the arguable perception of perfection”, is what makes it so good to my eyes. I go bonkers over it.

Its source which I unfairly stated to be inferior is a novel by James Hilton. Don’t take me wrong: I admire Hilton’s work and him personally, but the novel, one of his first, published ingloriously at first and later re-discovered after the bombastic success of Goodbye, Mr. Chips, though beautiful in its narrative, is self-diminishing in impact, its focus more or less tending towards the impossibility of its story, though giving the reader a hint in the end that it all could’ve been true.

Adapted by Robert Riskin and Sidney Buchman for a Frank Capra film, the story is not only more colorful in its settings but especially in its portray of human emotions. It deals with an airplane inexplicably hijacked by an Asian man who takes the passengers to the strange land of Shangri-La, where they are well-received and treated as guests, though they find out, shortly, that they’re more like prisoners, and later, that there’s no reason to leave.

The lead character is Bob Conway (Ronald Colman), a man so disillusioned with life that he finds no trouble at all in adapting to the healthier, saner land of Shangri-La, or to start to believe its incredible secret, which I won’t reveal here. The other passengers, played by Edward Everett Horton, John Howard, Thomas Mitchell and Isabel Jewell, range from incredulous to rebellious, and most have a very interesting evolution that’s soul-cleansing to watch.

A romantic interest is thankfully added to the story, played by Jane Wyatt. The scenes between Colman and her are pure magic and full of humor. I enjoyed how there’s humor throughout, and not only through the characters of Horton and Mitchell, who are hilarious. As for other locals, the most notable are H.B. Warner as Chang, the host, and Sam Jaffe, rather hammy but quite effective as the High Lama.

The gorgeous music by Dimitri Tiomkin, breathtaking photography by Joseph Walker and tight editing by Gene Havlick and Gene Milford add to the enchantment. The production design and decoration of the then-largest set ever built are extraordinary. After years of missing segments, a loving work of restoration has been done using original soundtrack and still shots. The result is haunting and, well, ageless.

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Review

Sin Nombre

Director

Cary Fukunaga

Year

2009

Rating

Reviewed by

Gon Curiel a.k.a. Groucho

Review date

Monday, May 18, 2009

Oh my, the Mara Salvatrucha… That is, as far as I’m concerned, the scariest, meanest, most badass Latin American criminal gang, which originated in Los Angeles and has spread across the continent. It’s notorious not only for its varied criminal activities and its increasing membership rate, but because of its merciless law of loyalty, which considers the slightest treason as the highest crime, sentenced with torture and death.

I didn’t know Sin Nombre dealt with that. I imagined it was about illegal immigration and I thank again my personal policy of not watching trailers or reading synopses beforehand because I loved finding it out in the theater. It does deal with immigration but only as a subplot. The main thread is about a young Mexican, Willy (Edgar Flores), who belongs to the Mara, can’t stand their ways, deserts, and is chased by them. It’s lethal and fascinating because you just can’t escape from the relentless Salvatruchas. They’re worse than The Terminator (1984).

As I said, the story of illegal immigrants on their way to the USA is told in parallel as we follow Sayra (Paulina Gaitán), a lovely Honduran who doesn’t belong at home or in this travel after her father’s abandonment years before, who has now been deported and set to take her back with him and a family that she doesn’t see as hers anymore. The first act introduces these two characters, Sayra’s story more or less conventional and Willy’s gut-wrenching as we get to know the Mara and their modus operandi.

They meet on top of a freight train, many of which the immigrants board illegally to make their way. Willy and two other members of the Mara Salvatrucha are there to mug the immigrants. The boss, Lil’ Mago (Tenoch Huerta), who previously abused and killed a girlfriend of Willy’s, tries to rape Sayra and is killed by Willy. This sets up Willy’s obligatory escape with the immigrants, and Sayra’s heartbreaking gratitude for his saving her life. She has never belonged anywhere, and she would like to belong with him.

This is Cary Fukunaga’s feature debut as writer and director and I could hardly be more impressed. Though he deals with strong subjects that suffocate Latin America, he doesn’t over-emphasize them to bring awareness to those who never give them a thought; instead, he downplays them to give special poignancy to these realities which, to some people, are day-to-day facts. I loved that artifice which treats the death of a loved one, for instance, not as a tragic event but as an unfortunate casualty which, nevertheless, must not stop the pursue of a more important objective: a better future.

The same can be said about Willy’s pursuit. He has sacrificed himself for a greater good: basic human decency. Now he’s a doomed fugitive, a nameless (hence the title) deserter that cannot be forgiven even by his own previous standards. A good manifestation of this is done through a younger boy he initiated into the Mara, a boy nicknamed “Smiley” (Kristian Ferrer) who then witnesses Willy’s rebellion and becomes obliged to be his executor. It is Willy who made Smiley, and now Smiley is the one chosen to undo him.

The two leads are refreshing and totally credible throughout. He’s touching and she’s lovely, and neither is more or less what their characters should be. Sayra is not much more than a reason of conflict for the character of Willy, both as she becomes the reason why he rebels and as her gratitude ties them together and gives him further complications to escape. Their romance, if any, is never explored; she’s just the symbol of his decency. After all is said and done, she embodies the reaction to his goodness, and that alone is enough testimony for one man who was able to pursue the good path, even if he had to witness the worst imaginable acts to realize what it was.

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Review

W.

Director

Oliver Stone

Year

2008

Rating

Reviewed by

Gon Curiel a.k.a. Groucho

Review date

Sunday, May 17, 2009

We needed this. President George W. Bush inevitably became a caricature because he was so obviously blunt and clumsy and yet so apparently Machiavellian in his actions that one just couldn’t empathize with him. Let’s first talk about Oliver Stone though. His politically themed films haven’t been that easy to take or well-greeted by critics because of their tendentious nature and their creative licenses in retelling historical facts.

One of them, Nixon (1995), is impossible to dislike as an experience, but insulting in its treatment of its main character as a man haunted by ghosts from his past, stupid in his decision-making processes, manipulated, out of control, anxious, sweaty, and in the end, completely unlikable. Hell, I’m not saying he had to become our favorite man or anything, but why did we have to be disgusted in the end? The film prompted me to do some research and I now have to agree that Stone was unfair, or let’s not go that far and state only that he exaggerated. I expected him to do just that with Bush, Jr. Did he?

Funny: in my country, they promoted the film as a comedy. Did they do that everywhere? I knew it had to be a campaign to bring people to the theater because I suspect not many people are interested in seeing a biography of this man so few like and most are tired of. Here, they even changed the title to something along the lines of “Son of a… Bush”. Anyway, I knew it wouldn’t have that approach, or at least I hoped it wouldn’t, and I was not only satisfied, but awe-stricken by the utter humanity with which the man was portrayed and the sensitivity with which his acts were explained, from the bottom and the core, and from a realistic point of view—realistic in the way that in real life, no man is a caricature.

That’s why we needed this. Not that Bush deserves redemption, ‘cause maybe he does not, and perhaps some people would argue that it’s completely unfair to judge him, anyway, who are we to say which side is right? Very few are neutral though. Some still defend him because of their then-loud pride in having voted for his reelection and their later silent regret which they’re not willing to admit. Some are life-long republicans who won’t state an opinion. All of them should remember that we’re all just humans.

Bush’s story is passionate, disturbing and heartbreaking. His life is uncommon to most of us because he was born in the midst of power, destined for great things. Like many of us, however, he wanted to break free during his youth and disappointed his father at every turn. As he grew up and realized his old man’s disappointment meant a lot, particularly since his father constantly preferred his younger brother Jeb, he fought to change that, but never quite found a way, because his weaknesses constantly got in the way. Whether these obstacles were his fault or a result of his father’s constant pointing out, is the question. Truth is, Georgie went far, as far as he could go, to change his father’s image of him, and perhaps he wasn’t ready because he was never as busy doing what he was supposed to do as he was doing it to prove a point.

That is the story that matters. The constant inclusion of scenes from his two-term administration is a mistake because it gets in the way. Sometimes it’s useful, as it shows the president as a human being, but it more or less plays like we expect it to, with Bush making a fool of himself or being taken advantage of by his advisors, and it’s painful rather than illuminating. It doesn’t help his story at all, and though I wasn’t expecting them to completely ignore this era, I found it to be no match against the scenes from his life before the presidency in shedding some very necessary light on this man that passed into history as one of the least liked presidents of the United States of America, if not the least.

That means that the third act, which deals exclusively with the war in Iraq, a subject that we know to perfection and finds nothing new here, is rather boring and repetitious. That’s not to say screenwriter Stanley Weiser’s work is not admirable. Going back to the good stuff, the relationship between George and his father, the script is outstanding. The first President Bush is played by James Cromwell in unforgettable fashion, as is his son, played by Josh Brolin, also responsible for giving W. some extra substance that we needed so desperately.

Other performers in the incredible ensemble include Ellen Burstyn as Barbara Bush, Elizabeth Banks as Laura Bush, Toby Jones as Karl Rove, Richard Dreyfuss as Dick Cheney, Jeffrey Wright as Colin Powell and Thendie Newton as Condoleezza Rice. With the exception of Wright, who exaggerates his portrayal of Powell, the cast is flawless, with the absolute standout being Dreyfuss as insatiable sadist Cheney.

The most important aspect of the film, I reckon, is Bush’s constant religiosity and his conviction that God wanted him in the position that he eventually acquired. That belief of God being behind something as big as that, no doubt, is as harmful in the USA as it is in the Middle Eastern countries. That’s the most important lesson learned from this biopic which I thoroughly enjoyed.

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Review

Knowing

Director

Alex Proyas

Year

2009

Rating

Reviewed by

Gon Curiel a.k.a. Groucho

Review date

Friday, May 08, 2009

Nicolas Cage is an actor I admire. Some of his films are among my favorite. Yet, he’s so good at doing bad movies simultaneously, and being so bad in them, that I have to give it to him: he’s remarkable. Even Michael Caine, with his famous disregard for the quality of the films he’s in, reportedly considering money and location only, fails to achieve this greatness because he’s always good in his films—and some of them, as we all know, are extraordinary.

With Cage, it’s amazing how hard it is not to hate him after such deceptions. During his bad performances in awful films, even his physiognomy seems to change. In Knowing, for instance, I found his haircut unbearable. I need a good dose of good Nicolas Cage films to get over this and Bangkok Dangerous (2008). I feel like I’ll never be cured.

Ryne Douglas Pearson wrote a story that he subsequently adapted into screenplay with the help of Juliet Snowden and Stiles White. One wonders if these people know their craft. What kind of storytellers are they, that they don’t understand the basic principles of a good story? A good story is only interesting when there’s a character or group of characters that work their way against obstacles to achieve a goal. John Koestler, Cage’s character, is just reacting from start to finish, and not even in an intelligent way, not in a way that helps the story at all.

That makes the premise even worse: a little girl writes a large string of numbers in the 50s and puts it in her school’s time capsule. The piece of paper is found by Cage’s son Caleb (Chandler Canterbury) in the present time and interpreted by Cage as a series of predictions of great catastrophes. Now he holds the key to understanding a couple of catastrophes that remain, and guess what he can do about it? Nothing at all! No, wait, there’s something he can do: witness the events, which of course shows how much money Nicolas Cage can pull into a project, because the visual effects are impressive and I’m sure quite expensive, which doesn’t mean they’re any good, because they’re so unwelcome in such an empty shell of a movie that it feels like a total waste.

It all turns out to be a big prophecy to something greater than we can imagine, and quite unimpressive by the time it happens. The addition of blonde “visitors”, weird visions, pointless chases and constantly bad decisions by many characters (especially the female lead, played by Rose Byrne) don’t help in the least. The ending is a laugh, and despite its tragic nature, it’s impossible to care about it. I totally hated this movie.

Was it a joke?

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Review

In Bruges

Director

Martin McDonagh

Year

2008

Rating

Reviewed by

Gon Curiel a.k.a. Groucho

Review date

Thursday, May 07, 2009

In Bruges is a genuine curiosity, a dramatic slice-of-life of hitmen so real yet so quirky that their antics turn out comedic in a dark way. I had more or less of a hard time trying to figure out what kind of story I was seeing. The main character, Ray, played by Colin Farrell, suffers from start to finish, due to something he accidentally did during a job, which is so poignant that it’s hard to laugh at his rebellious reactions to everything that doesn’t include women or booze. His partner, Ken (Brendan Gleeson), the more mature of the duo, sees to their accomplishment of a new and unexplained mission: to stay in Bruges, Belgium, for a few days, sightseeing while they wait for a very important call from their boss.

The story develops beautifully in Bruges vistas, constantly bashed by Ray, who doesn’t find anything remarkable about them, and admired by Ken, who’s a melancholy fellow that has struggled to find meaning and beauty in life for several years. Two hitmen with nothing to do but look around… What kind of a premise is that? It’s almost as if playwright and first-time feature filmmaker Martin McDonagh let his characters loose in this rare situation to see what they would do. I can only imagine his creative process. It must have been hard to control Ray at times.

The guy sees no point whatsoever in sightseeing Bruges, but hell, there is a reason, as we find out later. Instead, he’s interested in a film they’re shooting on location there, and falls for a girl of the crew. Played by Clémence Poésy, this girl, Chloë, adds interest to a story that still appears to have no meaning, and stays that way for a while. It’s exasperating at times, though thankfully McDonagh gives us hints about the situation that put these men in Bruges, and manages to keep us interested no matter what.

As we laugh, though we’re afraid to laugh, tension increases. We know something’s coming, but we don’t know what it could be. Perhaps something that involves the dwarf actor (Jordan Prentice) Ray treats so badly? Or maybe Chloë has bad intentions? The real reason comes up quite late, but soon enough when I think about it now, because it’s not so much how long it takes to happen but how hard it is to wait for it. Once it’s revealed, tension explodes in our faces as the knots are tied and the plot is complicated. Poignancy and drama accompanies these procedures too. Is it sill a black comedy? There’s laughs, anyway… And no matter what happens, Ray will keep saying Bruges is a pointless fucking little town.

The performances are awesome, including Ralph Fiennes, excellent in a role I better not reveal here. Farrell and Gleeson share such an interesting chemistry that it’s a treat to see them together. Plus, each in his own way is so moving that one can’t but praise them. Another strong asset is the potent music by Carter Burwell, one of his best works of late. Eigil Bryld’s photography glorifies the mystery and folklore of Bruges though the characters are doing all they can to make us hate it—which is, of course, part of the joke and much of the charm.

If I had a problem, it was with McDonagh’s direction. I think it’s one of those unfortunate cases where the writer directs his own work and is, to an extent, incapable of transmitting its power because he’s trapped in his own perception of it. Many of the suspenseful scenes are heavy-handed, the pace doesn’t always seem right, and sometimes there seems to be more intensity than it’s worth. The script, however, is flawless, and that’s no easy task.

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