Change Your Image
Ruvi Simmons
Reviews
Trolösa (2000)
A shallow rendition of a familiar story.
Faithless, although directed by Liv Ulmann, is undoubtedly a work stamped with Ingmar Bergman's approach to film-making. Equally, however, it is freighted with the pitfalls that many of his pieces fall prey to, and which make him, at time, an extremely frustrating artist. Occasionally, as with the Seventh Seal, one feels he truly is penetrating his subject, delivering a lyrical, profound meditation on the struggle for life and, conversely, against death. At other times, however, it feels as if he is not delving deep enough. Examples of this can be found in Summer With Monika and, to a lesser extent, Fanny and Alexander. The visuals are there, the story, the ideas, but no penetrative insights. Unfortunately, Faithless is marred by the same problem. To watch is like witnessing a pebble skimming the surface of an ocean; each time it looks and seems as if it will break the water and penetrate into the dark sea, it simply glances off the surface and skips onwards.
One of the main problems with Faithless is the depth and fullness of the characters. This, of course, is absolutely crucial to the success or failure of a film or play, where there is no omniscient narrator who can illuminate the inner workings of the protagonists. One must rely solely on dialogue and action for insight into the inner workings of the characters, and hence as a means of developing sympathy and an emotional attachment to the events of their lives. In Faithless, the protagonists are never fully developed. Marianne, the female lead inexorably drawn to adultery at the expense of marriage and parenthood, David, her self-deprecating, destructive lover and Markus, her unstable husband, are all depicted as merely reactive, shallow individuals. Since they themselves have no insights into their actions, even when given the opportunity to soliloquise, their actions hold no interest, become tedious to witness, and convey no broader conceptual meanings. The viewer must merely watch them commit deeds without reason, react without reflection, and recall without observing.
In addition, the plot of the film is, treated on its own, unremarkable, and covering ground already well trodden, not least of all by Bergman himself. It struck me as strange when viewing this film that a man as advanced in years and as seasoned as a cinematic artist should produce a piece so deeply pedestrian, particularly when some of his prior works have displayed obvious skill, intelligence and passion. Faithless could, irrespective of its bare bones plot, have been elevated beyond the level of mediocrity by the conveyance of a deeper level of meaning, but without this, it is little more than a well-crafted rendering of a familiar story. By no means bad, and certainly better than many films, it nevertheless fails to attain the level of excellence set by Bergman and other masters of the cinematic arts in the past.
One Day in September (1999)
Deplorably biased and dangerously manipulative - documentary film-making at its worst.
A documentary based on the seizure of members of the Israeli Team at the 1972 Munich Olympic Games could have been an informative, intriguing piece exploring the complexities of the Middle Eastern conflict. One Day in September, however, concentrates more on the human interest of the event itself, neglecting background information in order to convey a one-sided and grossly biased perspective on a tragic occurrence.
Viewing the film with all magnanimity, Kevin Macdonald probably never intended to create a deep or balanced work. One Day in September recounts events in the style of a Hollywood suspense film, replete with a ticking clock for added suspect, a bombastic rock soundtrack and the narration of Michael Douglas. This approach, by reducing events to those one might find in a facile thriller, serves only to trivialise a grave and real happening.
The most glaring problem with One Day in September, however, is that it neither explores the underlying issues behind the Israeli-Palestinian tensions or endeavours to explain the motives of the terrorists responsible for the hostage taking. Instead, it villifies them and, more offensively, the German authorities who were understandably loathe to use force as a means of freeing the hostages.
There is no doubt that the events of the 1972 Munich Olympic Games were brutal and atrocious, but that is not a reason to automatically venerate any attempt at their portrayal. This seems to be a mistake made by some, however, including the Academy, which awarded One Day in September an Oscar in preference to the far superior Buena Vista Social Club. A documentary that manipulates narrative content as a means to propagandising the creator's opinion is, in ways, more deplorable than the tritest of films, and thus there can be no excuse for this sort of biased, unbalanced work.
Gouttes d'eau sur pierres brûlantes (2000)
A dark psychological exploration of the most base, and destructive, elements of human relations.
Based on the Fassbinder play, Water Drops on Burning Rocks is an acutely observed exploration of relationships, successfully mixing burlesque absurdity with grim truths to create an enjoyable and insightful film.
The film's characters revolve around the life and whims of Leopald (Bernard Giraudeau), an ageing swinger whose laissez-faire suavity seduces the callow Franz (Malik Zidi). By the beginning of Act II, the latter's boyish confidence has been replaced with the willingness to selflessly submit himself to the whims of his irritable older lover. With the arrival of Anna (Ludivine Sagnier), Franz's subservient fiance, and Vera (Anna Levine), Leopald's former partner, the latter's apartment becomes the home to both farce and tragedy, as desires, attachments and caprices play themselves out in a confinement from which there is no escape. Ozon's consummate direction and the 1970's setting give the film and ostensible gloss which makes its underlying darkness even more striking. This is no less aided by the effortless confidence exuded by Giraudeau and the desperate neediness that is excellently portrayed by his three lovers. What makes Water Drops on Burning Rocks a memorable work is the power of its insights and the originality of their portrayal; it is a film whose exterior is humorous and playful but whose interior contains a bleak vision, in which relationships mean little more than a repetitive vacuum of need, where libidos and routine hold more weight than deep affection or care.
A finely crafted examination of the traits that can be most destructive and tawdry in relationships, Water Drops on Burning Rocks is saved from being dogmatic or overwhelming by the subtlety and wit employed by Ozon and his cast. It is an example of understated film-making that conveys real insight on a subject that has been much maligned in other films, such as the appalling Romance. Highly recommended to those who wish to a covertly intelligent, beguiling work.
Rosetta (1999)
A harsh but superb portrayal of the brutalising effect of human hardship.
The Dardenne brothers were not incorrect when they called their Palme D'Or winning work "a war film.". It is an unremitting portrayal of the most dire hardships, centred around Rosetta (Emilie Dequenne), a young, spirited girl who battles with desperate tenacity to find a job and not so much escape as merely survive in her surroundings. Her life is a bleak struggle for subsistence in a world devoid of tenderness, in which her mother (Anne Yernaux), a quasi-prostitute more concerned with the source of her next drink than her daughter, stands as an example of the potential results of such continued deprivation. When she is befriended by a waffle vendor (Fabrizio Rongione), her prior existence leaves her unsure of how to act in the presence of an affectionate, concerned face, and when he attempts to teach her to dance, she can do no more than move jerkily without rhythm, uncomfortable in the arms of another human. The arisal of an opportunity to take his job forces Rosetta to confront whether physical necessity can ever be an excuse for the betrayal of others.
What follows is a superbly wrought piece of social realism, unsentimental in its examination of the dehumanising effects of poverty. For Rosetta and many others in analogous situations of the most dire physical hardship, their material deprivation leads to an erosion emotional and mental qualities. The Dardenne brothers' ruthless directional style, laced with close-ups and unpleasant details, tangibly conveys the dirt and drudgery of Rosetta's impoverished life. Indeed, the film is palpably cold, almost painfully explicit in its depiction of an uncaring world. In addition, Dardenne's performance, for which she won the Best Actress Award at Cannes, brings to life with understated excellence her fight, not to live well, but simply to survive by any means in a world that, for her, contains few hopes and no love.
The Dardenne brothers make no excuses or apologies for their presentation of Rosetta's base strivings, delivering a film that charts how far individuals can fall. Consistently raw and at times brutal, the film nevertheless proposes no answers, expects no sympathy, it merely conveys and evokes with a clear, uncompromising eye the bleak struggle for existence that is, for some, the total of what life has to offer. Harsh, but utterly compelling viewing.
Dancer in the Dark (2000)
A cinematic masterpiece which brilliantly conveys the depths of human tragedy.
As a haunting evocation of human tragedy, Lars von Trier's neo-musical is the sort of singular piece, over-flowing with warmth and pathos, that re-affirms one's faith in the medium's ability to create beautiful, affecting pieces of art.
At its heart and soul is Selma (brilliantly portrayed by Bjork), a passionate young mother steeped in the drudgeries of factory work. She toils night and day, secretly setting aside her wage to pay for treatment that will prevent her son from going blind (all the while suffering from failing sight herself). When her neighbour (David Morse), a police officer torn between humanity and desperation, steals her savings, a train of events is set into motion which does not cease until Selma's perdition is complete. Von Trier elevates this simple plot far beyond the realms of mere tear-jerker by unflinchingly conveying the harrowing reality of Selma's destruction without any palliatives. The lavish, colour-saturated musical set pieces of her fantasies distinguish between her rapidly darkening external life and her hopeful, loving imaginary world in such a way as to develop even deeper sympathy for her plight.
A further aspect of the film that greatly enhances its power are the superb characterisations, not only of Selma, but also the supporting roles of her best friend Kathy (Catherine Deneuve), admirer Jeff (Peter Stormare), and prison warden Brenda (Siobhan Fallon). The presentation of all three as kind, sincere people makes it more affecting to watch Selma's approaching doom, in the knowledge that she remains loved and cared for. Indeed, even the police officer who ultimately condemns Selma to destruction, is no mere villain; he is a character enduring his own torments, a man not without compassion but provoked to desperate acts through his own sufferings.
The screening I attended of this film was at a mainstream cinema, one which usually shows such meaningless fair as Mission Impossible and its atrocious, damaging ilk. The audience, neither expected nor wanted to see a serious, emotionally charged piece. Indeed, other pieces I have seen in such theatres which likewise attempt to deal with solemn, grave issues have been marred by the audience, which laugh when there is no cause for laughter, and reject profundity and empathy by seeking amusement in shallow appearances. Thus they lighten the tone and debase works of seriousness. It is testament to Dancer in the Dark's power that, once it had ended, at least half of the audience were tearful, while one woman had to be physically helped out of the theatre, such was the extent of her weeping. There was no laughter, nothing in the feel even remotely possible of lightening its mood. Few films contain such potency.
Dancer in the Dark is, in future years, destined to be considered a classic. To watch it is to enter into palpable anguish; the inexorable destruction of a good, ingenuous individual. It is a film that builds in intensity and power, becoming a despairing yet mesmeric depiction of the rain falling on the just and unjust alike, and an experience that is not easily forgotten.
The Night of the Iguana (1964)
One of the masterpieces of American, and indeed world, cinema.
It is possible to watch a film on a wide range of emotional and intellectual levels. One can pay attention only to the visuals, only to the minute trivia related to actors and actresses, to the most obvious displays of physical action, to appeals to one's sympathies, or to the underlying content and profundity trying to be expressed and communicated to the viewer. Thus, films can be judged to fail on the one hand when they succeed on the other, and this, I think, explains the lukewarm response to what is the finest films ever made in the English language. Whether or not Richard Burton always plays a drunk, whether or not it should have been in colour, are not in the least bit relevant to the significance, the concepts and the issues at play in this brilliant film, this monument to the resilience of human souls, to the compassion that can bring such succour on long, tortured nights, to the precious decency that is for some a perpetual struggle to attain, and the search, the life-long search, for belief, love and light.
The backdrop to the exploration of these issues that are so fundamental to individual lives is a Mexican coastal hotel. The central character is a de-frocked and unstable priest, T. Lawrence Shannon (Richard Burton) who, like the iguana that is tethered up in preparation to being eaten, is at the end of his rope. He walks alone, without the crutch of facile beliefs or human companionship beyond sterile physical conquests which only serve to heighten his own self-loathing and isolation. He arrives at the hotel in search of sanctuary in light of his mental deterioration. On his arrival he meets his old friend, the lascivious but no less desperate Maxine (Ava Gardner), a poet on the verge of death who is nevertheless striving for one last creative act, one last stab at beautiful self-expression, and his grand-daughter Hannah (Deborah Kerr), a resilient woman painfully trying to reconcile herself to loss, loneliness and the bitter struggle she faces with her own personal demons. They are united in that they are divided, in that they are all tortured souls seeking beauty, life, meaning and engaged in battles to stand tall, to live with integrity and love. On a hot, cloying night, a night of the iguana, when all their ropes snap taut, they meet.
The pivotal and most crucial part of this film is the conversation between Lawrence and Hannah. The former is in the throes of a nervous breakdown, the latter has survived and endured through the same. They are kindred souls that aid one another through the therapy of human connection, of empathy in the long, lonely walk. It is in this conversation that Tennessee Williams explores the issues make this film so important: through his characters, who are throughout depicted not as mere shallow cliches but individuals with histories and feelings that run deep, with subtleties that bring them to life, he meditates upon the struggle to find meaning in one's life, the need for companionship, the importance of compassion, and the way in which people endure, all the time grasping at what dignity they may have, and which may be forever threatened by trials, doubts and pain. These are not issues that date, that diminish in relevance, or that relate only to certain people - they are concepts that are universal, that speak to each individual and relate to fundamental facets of the human mind and spirit.
Because Night of the Iguana sets out to tackle such issues, it is elevated far beyond the level of most films. It is profound, but also deeply emotional, made more so by the superb characterisations (aided, in addition, by universally superb performances). One is afforded an insight into characters, into people, who live, breath, cry, shout, scream, and endure. They are fallible, capable of spite, caprice, and baseness, but they are also thoughtful, courageous and strangely noble. To watch them interact, thrown together as they are on a Mexican veranda, is affecting both emotionally and intellectually, and it is this interaction which is responsible for creating a film that stands (tall and dignified) above nearly all others.
Woman on Top (2000)
A truly abhorrent and pathetic film.
One of the hallmarks of independent cinema is that the filmmakers do not under-estimate their audiences, who tend to be better informed, more intelligent, and more demanding than those who view only Hollywood's outpourings. Thus, they are emancipated from the necessity to be blunt. They can create films of integrity, subtlety, and convey emotions and intellectual content that is never present in more mainstream films. However, this is not the case with Woman on Top. Despite being an independent film, distributed by Searchlight, who also handled the excellent Boys Don't Cry, it seems to want nothing more than to be a mainstream film. This is, perhaps, what is most offensive about it.
It is at this point that I ought to inform you that in the proceeding paragraphs, there are comments which may reveal elements of the plot of this film, such as it is.
In the hour or so that I managed to stomach of this unrelentingly vapid film, the plot barely managed to limp forward from its starting point. The characters were not developed beyond their appearances. The primary character, a female chef from Brazil who moves to San Francisco after the breakdown of her marriage, and all her actions, seem based solely on her aesthetic appeal. Indeed, this is also one of the few sources of the tired humour present in the film. These comedic moments are, without exception, crude and desperately unfunny. Listless slapstick moments rub shoulders with endless scenes of men drooling over the young Brazilian woman and staring in disbelief at her transvestite friend, evidently present to add some essential uniqueness to the film and because, as everyone is aware, anyone who lives in San Francisco is either an intellectual or a transvestite.
Cinema, without doubt, has huge potential as a medium for artistic expression, and there are independent films that are intelligent, well-made and engaging. However, Woman on Top, in striving desperately to be a mainstream success, sacrifices any shred of dignity or integrity one could hope to see in a film. Thus, and in sum, it is nothing more than a lazily made, dim-witted film, painfully unfunny and, if taken as an indication of the drift of independent movies (which, incidentally, I don't think, or at least hope, it is) rather worrying, and certainly sickening.
The War Zone (1999)
A captivating work of art.
A film dealing with the subjects of rape and incest could easily be sensationalistic and, consequently, undermine the very issues it supposedly tackles. It is, therefore, highly commendable, and testament to Tim Roth's skill as a director, that the War Zone does not cheapen its plot by doing this, but instead, provides a sensitive, dignified and beautiful treatment of the devastating effects of a father's depravity on the rest of his family, and, indeed, on himself.
One of the most striking aspects of the War Zone is the stunning and epic cinematography. Filmed in Devon, on the southwest coast of England, bleak, grey skies, the vicious sea and jutting cliffs frame the desolation of the central characters of the movie: Tom, the son, and Jessie, the daughter. The former, a withdrawn teenager, is devastated when he unwittingly discovers the secret relationship between his sister and father, and struggles with hatred and horror for them both, as he endeavours to find out the depths of the depravity he is privvy to. Jessie is equally, though differently, affected by the actions of her father. As she attempts to hide the truth from mother and brother, while also in turmoil over her own part in the secret, she feels a burden that manifests itself in moments of self-loathing, anguish and despair. However, the true depths of these emotions are never laid out for the audience, never portrayed in such a way that they could simply wash across our path and be discarded; they are merely hinted at, shown in fleeting moments. The fact that the protagonists in the film are being tormented by the events they are part of is obvious; it is left up to the individual to interpret and imagine the depths of the feelings being felt. This subtlety serves to add realism to the film, and also heightens the harrowing effect of it, as the events and feelings hinted at, or partly displayed, are absorbed and twisted by the mind of the viewer, almost contaminating him by forcing him to do the work in fully comprehending the goings- on in the family; making him empathise with Tom.
Although the emotions and feelings the characters in the film undergo are shown in an equivocal manner, several scenes are, in contrast, stark, with events lain bare to the audience. Again, this could be a point at which the War Zone sensationalises the subject matter. However, even the supposedly shocking scene between Jessie and the father is portrayed with sensitivity through the dignified direction. Indeed, in a film made as the War Zone is, it would undermine the very realism of it to avoid showing what goes on between the father and daughter. It is a movie that endeavours to show the realities of abuse in a family, and to gloss over an aspect of this would lead to an unfulfilling exploration of the subject. To re-iterate, though, it is testament to the skill of Tim Roth, that while not hesitating to show the full horror of abuse on screen, he does so in a way that does not cheapen the feelings of those involved. Indeed, there is almost an air of gentleness in several of the more harrowing scenes; despite stark images being portrayed, one feels they are being shown in a highly respectful manner.
The War Zone is, in sum, a beautifully artistic piece of cinema. The cinematography, solemn, despairing music, slow yet strong direction, and fine acting contribute to a film that, though harrowing, is highly rewarding and enjoyable. I think the fact that it offers no answers or "satisfying" resolution to the events it has portray is again something the serves to add realism to the subject matter. After all, abuse is not a topic to be resolved without reducing it to trite concessions to viewers keen not to be forced to realise that some facets of life are not rounded, with simple answers and easy reprieves, but jarring and jagged, with no answers, resolution, or simple end.