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alison-jasonides
Reviews
Don't Look Now (1973)
Not Just a "Horror" Flick: A Testament to 1970s Film Craft
Few directors create the degree of tension that Nicholas Roeg does in "Don't Look Know" purely by prolonging the pace of his story-telling and drawing the "eye's" attention on seemingly innocuous images of supposedly inanimate objects: an ornate door, a crumbling wall with peeling paint, sheet-covered furniture sitting in an empty room, a ring on a finger. It is this pace at which the viewer is shown these objects that allows us to understand there is an ambiguous importance to these things. The animist treatment of the main protagonist, the city of Venice, and of all the objects that make her up, create an eerie sense that all things have a soul and sight and significance and, as a result, that all moments mean something and are pre-ordained and fated. It is this materialism that stands above the human characters of this story. After all, the viewer begins to understand early on that the various characters' pre-mature deaths are already fated and foretold, and that it's only a matter of time before the characters understand this (save for the blind sister-- and too late at that). "Don't Look Now" is a thing of beauty, a must for anyone in love with the visual styles of the '70s, with the singular tone of movies made in Italy in that decade, and with a detailed attention and love for a soundtrack, cinematography and production that would be much more at home in a movie that does not call itself "horror."
Medicine for Melancholy (2008)
One night stands lead to profound connections
The premise of a man and woman rushing through all the phases of falling in love in one twenty-four hour period with the backdrop of a great city is a popular one. Nonetheless, it is a formula I never tire of, especially given the three main characters of "Medicine for Melancholy": Micah, Jo and the city of San Francisco. An awkward introduction in the light of day after a drunken one-night stand leads to an inauspicious "date" spent biking and cabbing around San Francisco. Unlike the relentless (but entertaining) dialogue of the Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy characters in "Before Sunrise," or the charming tension between the mis-matched and ill-fated Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck in "Roman Holiday," the couple in "MFM" spend long moments of non-verbal connecting that is tinged by an overt sadness. This melancholy is confirmed by the sad dog eyes of Micah, the initially cold reaction of Jo and the lovely washed out hues of James Laxton's cinematography as he records the events of the single day shared by the couple. This movie is not driven by a narrative per se but by a series of moments that show a real emotional ballast many cinematic long-term relationships could not convey. Yet, the inevitability of the day's end and thus of the relationship's (mirrored by the fate of the city itself as it succumbs to a gentrified, character-less version of its fabled self), create a longing I felt hours after the movie ended. The soundtrack certainly contributed.
Der Baader Meinhof Komplex (2008)
Idealism Now
I don't profess to have a detailed knowledge of the RAF, and my prejudice against their ideology is very strong. Still, I was curious to see how the filmmakers would treat the subject, especially within the context of the political climate of the past 10 years. Which side of the line would they toe? I was impressed to see an even-handed exploration, one that showed how the warranted injustices stoked the idealism of these young people but ultimately created a cynical and inhuman cancer that spread through a peripheral segment of German society—the well-meaning, liberal youth portrayed in this film that ended up having no compassion or respect whatsoever for human life, including their own. The physical violence of the film could not compete with the psychological violence portrayed. After all, the terror of terrorism is that it is a constant but unspecific threat; one doesn't know if one moment they will be shopping, or at work, or on a plane back from holiday, and the next, dead. In my view, the state of terror German society endured during the active years of the RAF paled next to the emotional murders the two female protagonists committed. Both Meinhof and Ensslin give up their children, and especially torturous is that Meinhof (who is portrayed as a more cautious convert to the fold) states emphatically early on in the film that she would never give up her daughters. Of course she does, to the point of severing contact with them and agreeing to send them to a refugee camp for Palestinian orphans rather than release them to the care of their father, someone she now terms a "fascist." Her decision to reject humanism for ideology shows the pivotal flaw in so many "action"-based, revolutionary movements. And the film shows this. By the end, the characters that make up the second and third generations of the RAF, are nothing but two-dimensional, rabid, cliché-spewing, pretty young things. Though this could be seen as a lack of characterization in the screenplay, I believe it shows how hollow ideas are if they do not take into account that society is made up of individuals with all their frailties and not merely by various groups representing philosophies we may or may not agree with. "Der Baader-Meinhof Komplex" presents its audience with an elucidation of the dangerous binary "you are either with us or against us."
4 (2004)
An effort that pays off
Firstly, this film was a gorgeous object. The way shots were set up and filmed deserve praise. Perhaps its nothing new to explore the grotesqueness of the babushka's wrinkled, hollow faces, or the eating etiquette (or lack there of) of peasants in close quarters on a train. I kept thinking someone must have just been watching a Fellini movie marathon-- or even some Sergio Leone spaghetti western before filming these scenes. However, behind every image that seemed repulsive or bleak or even hackneyed, I could not stop watching or being in awe that I was seeing such beauty. The sound-- not just the music and the singing and wailing of the characters, but the sound scape of each scene-- trains, drills, boots marching in thick mud, insect chirps-- had me watching the movie with the volume way up. The story was initially engaging, and as many of the reviewers here state, it seemed to unravel from a tightly set-up premise into some sort of meditation-- which was fine with me. Granted, I was confused at times, wondering where Marina was going after watching her trudge through the decaying Russian countryside for fifteen on-screen minutes, or what revelation would come out of Zoya's wake scene or the drunken feast scene. It was challenging to watch it all in one sitting, solely, i think, because most movies have trained us--definitely me- to look for action-reaction, immediate gratification in their storytelling. I had to view this two hour movie in three increments. It was well worth it. I'm not sure what everything means: is Marina one of the four "Doubles", one of the diseased ones that her drinking partner in the bar described? What is the significance of the dogs verses the machines? What changes so that Marat begins selling ground beef (thats incidentally nine years old)? I don't know, and really, does it matter? I kept thinking of "Amores Perros" as I watched "4": the dog motif, the intertwined stories, the life-altering connections to strangers, the revelatory windows on a culture which both these movies are. But "4" seems rougher, less slick and more of a feat to have completed. The voyeur in me was very excited to see two versions of the female body. The sisters naked in the sauna contrasted so deeply with the old crones' drunken striptease and breast-play, not only for the obvious reason that younger breasts and flesh are more aesthetically pleasing than the expired, sagging skin of aged peasant ladies without moisturizer, but also because, even with their taut beauty, the younger women seem to find no pleasure whatsoever in their bodies-- one selling hers even-- while at least the babushkas find humor and even delight in what is under all those layers of raggedy clothes. Bravo to the women who agreed to film those scenes!
The Giant Buddhas (2005)
A Privilege to Have Seen
Feeling tired and spent after New Year's Eve festivities, I was scanning through channels and my eye caught the opening credits of this documentary. An impressive roster of composers were listed under "Music", making me pause and wait to see. What followed was an unexpected aesthetic, intellectual and visceral experience. Perhaps, as some other commenters have written, "Giant Buddhas" suffers from an identity crisis, alternating from straight documentary style to indie "art" movie. Visually, it does the same, presenting some sequences in a reportage style, as if shot using unglamorous digital, and others filmed as is David Lean was directing. This vacillation was not a hindrance to me: the bounty and quality of information and imagery confirmed the idea of how rich and deep this story of Afghanistan's Buddha's is. It is useless to summarize or highlight the flow and peaks of this epic poem to Afghanistan; devote an evening to it for yourself.