Kore-eda’s The Truth

Fabienne Dangeville was no Joan Crawford, but she wasn’t the paragon of maternal virtue her new memoir makes her out to be. Instead, she has always been more interested in career than anything else. That is how her daughter Lumir remembers their family history, but her memory is also subjective. No matter whose recollections are more accurate, family is still family in Hirokazu Kore-eda’s The Truth, the first French-language production from the Japanese auteur, which opens today in very select cities and also releases on VOD.

Lumir has returned to Paris with her TV actor husband Hank and their daughter Charlotte, to celebrate the publication of her mother’s book, but Dangeville’s reluctance to send her an advance copy has aroused her suspicions. Meanwhile, the great actress struggles to relate to her latest film role, playing the aged daughter of a terminally-ill woman, who has used the relativity of interstellar space travel to stretch her time, but as a result, she has been almost entirely from her husband and daughter’s lives. Frankly, she only accepted the part to work with Manon Lenoir, the daughter of a former friend and colleague, whom she may have done wrong, at least according to Lumir.

If that premise sounds familiar, it is because associate producer Ken Liu’s story “Memories of My Mother” was previously adapted as the short film Beautiful Dreamer before becoming the source of Kore-eda’s film-within-the-film. It is quite a unique distinction for Liu among his fellow sf writers, but it is easy to see how the themes of his story overlap with those of Kore-eda’s family drama (and his entire oeuvre).

Of course, patrons of French cinema will be much more interested in the first-time pairing of Catherine Deneuve and Juliette Binoche as the mother-daughter tandem. They will not be disappointed. Admittedly, Deneuve is playing with her own image to some extent, but her grand diva act is certainly entertaining to behold. She also has some terrific scenes with young Clementine Grenier, as her granddaughter. However, Binoche is totally believable as the down-to-earth Lumir, who nurtures her resentments without wallowing in them. She plays Lumir as a functional adult rather than an over-the-top cliché. (Thank heavens, Meryl Streep is not in this film.)

Polina: Juliette Binoche can Dance

Not much has changed in Russia. The president is a former KGB officer and the Bolshoi Ballet is still the nation’s most prestigious cultural institution. For an aspiring dancer like Polina Oulinov, rebelling against the Bolshoi is like any other Russian rebelling against Putin. Yet, she will risk a brilliant career to pursue modern dance in Valérie Müller & Angelin Preljocaj’s Polina (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Oulinov is not a superhero, but she can endure great physical pain and she was first brought to life in the pages of Bastien Vivès’ like-titled graphic novel. Although she was supposedly never that “supple,” young Oulinov was still admitted to the ballet school of the great Bojinski, a legendary choreographer who ran afoul of Soviet censors from time to time. He is hard on her, but he also helps her find the key to ace the entrance exam for Moscow’s leading ballet high school.

During her teen years, Oulinov steadily develops her art, but she still returns for tutoring from Bojinski. As a result, she easily aces the Bolshoi audition, but a special performance from a visiting French modern dance troupe convinces her to forsake the venerable ballet company to pursue modern dance in Aix-en-Provence. For a while, she makes progress under Liria Elsaj’s tutelage, but her prima ballerina attitude eventually clashes with the troupe’s cooperative ethos. Thus, begins a period of scuffling across France and Belgium.

Evidently, Juliette Binoche really can do it all. A few years ago, she performed in a legit dance production choreographed by Akram Khan, so it makes perfect sense to cast her as Elsaj. In fact, most of her on-screen performance comes through her dancing, which is impressive. Yet, her straight talk to Oulinov also leaves a lasting impression.

Likewise, Anastasia Shevtsova, a member of the Mariinsky, has all the chops you would expect. She is also quite a good screen thesp, making us despise and yet sympathize with Oulinov, in equal measure. Jérémie Bélingard (of the Paris Opera) compliments her perfectly, both in terms of dance steps and romantic chemistry. Yet, it is Aleksei Guskov who really gives the film its soul, even though Müller and Preljocaj have too much integrity for any tearful summation scenes between teacher and former pupil.

In fact, Müller the screenwriter and Preljocaj the acclaimed choreographer share duties at the helm without any apparent Jekyll-and-Hyde effects. They stage the performances in visually interesting ways and bring out the characters’ passion for dance. Their primary cast-members are used quite shrewdly, but they also get a key assist from Yurie Tsugawa and her partner, whose pivotal performance of Snow White is so arresting, we can believe it would send Oulinov off packing to France.

One thing comes through loud and clear during Polina: a dancer’s life is not for the weak of heart or limb. Despite a few melodramatic indulgences, it is a surprisingly honest and even gritty film. Plus, Juliette Binoche has space to show off talents many of her admirers have not had a chance to appreciate. Recommended for patrons of French cinema and modern dance, Polina opens this Friday (8/25) in New York, at the Angelika Film Center downtown and the Lincoln Plaza uptown.

Dumont’s Slack Bay

Belle Époque France never looked so grotesque. The idle rich still come to the Opal Coast to be even less productive, but this time it is they who will become fodder for the rustic locals. Class distinctions and gender roles will take a bizarre thrashing in Bruno Dumont’s Slack Bay (trailer here), an absurdist comedy with the emphasis on the absurd, which opens this Friday in New York.

The Van Peteghems have come to summer at Slack Bay, because that is what respectable people do. Unbeknownst to them, the clam-digging, muscle-harvesting Brufort family has been killing and eating obnoxious bourgeoisie tourists, both for reasons of class consciousness and to put food on the table. Stoop shouldered André Van Peteghem sets a whole new standard for condescension and his sister Aude might be even snobbier. Yet, somehow the Peteghems could be too ridiculous for the Bruforts to kill.

Of course, it does not hurt that oldest Brufort son Ma Loute has fallen head over heels for Aude’s daughter Billie. Technically, the local police chief Alfred Machin and his deputy Malfoy are still investigating the missing tourists, but they inspire less confidence than their obvious inspiration, Laurel and Hardy. When the rotund Machin tips over on his side, it requires quite a laborious effort to right him, so they should not pose much threat to the Bruforts. However, Ma Loute has yet to see Billie when she is in the mood to pull back her hair and don her Annie Hall wardrobe. Her family always accepted he gender playfulness rather casually, because they simply aren’t the sorts to get worked up over anything, but her new proletarian boyfriend is cut from a different cloth—in just about every possible sense.

It is almost impossible to convey the tone and viewing experience of Slack Bay. In many ways, it looks stylistically akin to Dumont’s sly and shocking endearing Li’l Quinquin, but it retains undercurrents of the old, grimly fatalistic Dumont who helmed laugh-a-minute films like Hors Satan and the unremittingly punishing Flanders. In Slack Bay, human nature is irredeemably tainted, but it’s a lovely day, so let’s go to the beach.

At times, the slapstick humor and wacky fantastical realism of Slack Bay makes Tom & Jerry look subtle, but you have to admire the dogged determination with which it is plied. To be honest, there are scenes of such lunacy it made your correspondent laugh out loud, but he was the only one laughing during the screening. Indeed, Dumont’s visuals can be overwhelming. Think of the film as day-to-day scenes from The Village in Patrick McGoohan’s The Prisoner, as rendered by Bill Plympton collaborating with Honoré Daumier.

You have probably never seen Juliette Binoche act so Meryl Streepy over-the-top, but she just doubles and triples down as the stately Aude Van Peteghem. On the other hand, Fabrice Luchini is totally in his element as the Van Peteghem patriarch (sort of like Frasier Crane raised to the power of one hundred). Brandon Lavieville’s Ma Loute (the titular character in its original French release) is rather dully brutish, whereas the economically-named Raph has a bright but suitably ambiguous screen presence as Billie Van Peteghem. Yet, Didier Després and Cyril Rigaux steal the show over and over again. As Manchin and Malfoy, they are a spectacle unto themselves.

It is nearly impossible to believe the gleefully anarchical Slack Bay was crafted by the same filmmaker who helmed the dreary, didactic Hadewijch, but here it is. This is the sort of film that has to be seen to be believed. Every critic compares this magnum peculiarity to Buñel, but the grand set pieces of Terry Gilliam and Mel Brooks’ buckshot-scattergun approach to comedy are nearly as apt. Everyone really should see Slack Bay, just so they can disbelieve their own eyes, especially if they have restively sat through previous Dumont films. Recommended for those who appreciate eccentricity on an epic scale, Slack Bay opens this Friday (4/21) in New York, at the Quad Cinema downtown and the Film Society of Lincoln Center uptown.

L’Attesa (The Wait): Easter with Juliette Binoche

A young man has died, leaving behind a saintly mother and a morally compromised girlfriend. Does that give you any kind of archetypal inklings? How about the fact it takes place in the days leading up to Easter? Giuseppe is dead, but who knows? Giuseppe just might come again in Piero Messina’s L’Attesa (The Wait) (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

The details are sketchy (better get used to that), but the upshot is clear. Anna is devastated by her son’s premature death. She had resigned herself to her grief until Jeanne comes knocking. Evidently, Giuseppe invited his French ex for Easter before his destiny took a tragic turn. Clearly unaware of his death, she eagerly hopes to patch up their relationship. Instead of breaking the bad news, Anna lets her continue to expect Giuseppe’s imminent arrival. It sounds terribly cruel, but it seems to allow Anna to feel some sort of connection to her son through the stunningly unintuitive Jeanne.

Nobody wants to call Jeanne an idiot, but she walks in on the funeral reception without picking up on any mournful vibes. Still, it should be conceded Anna is quite persuasive. Like any Sicilian mother (in her case, formerly French), she will serve up plenty of food for Jeanne.

Juliette Binoche is at the top of a short list of maybe two, who could play Anna with the grace and dignified reserve she demands. We can see how deeply she is hurting and how loathe she is to show it. On the other hand, Lou de Laâge is an open book, broadcasting her yearnings and insecurities with the fervency of youth. Those contrasts play well together in their many shared scenes.

Having served as assistant director on The Great Beauty, Messina is often considered a protégé of Paolo Sorrentino. You can see Messina has a similar affinity for bold visuals, particularly the grand, sweeping tracking shot. However, the effect on viewers is mostly distancing in L’Attesa rather than giddily intoxicating, as in Beauty. Regardless, Francesco Di Giacomo’s cinematography is wonderfully lush and heavy with the suggestion of otherworldliness.

Messina also builds to an is-it-or-isn’t climax that ought to be intriguing for its ambiguity but is really just frustratingly coy. Frankly, so many films have led us down this opened-ended road before, most cineastes would find concrete certainty much more interesting and novel.

Still, there is Juliette Binoche, riveting as always. While she does not reach the lofty heights of Blue, Flight of the Red Balloon, Certified Copy, or Clouds of Sils Maria that is largely due to L’Attesa’s weaker script, credited to Messina and a trio of co-screenwriters: Giacomo Bendotti, Ilaria Macchia, and Andrea Paolo Massara. It is all a bit over-ripe, but at least Messina and his cast are reaching for something. Recommended for Binoche’s fans, L’Atessa or The Wait or whatever they’re calling it on the marquee opens tomorrow (4/29) in New York, at the Landmark Sunshine.

1,000 Times Good Night: Getting the Shot, No Matter the Cost

Yes, women have also become homicide-suicide bombers in Afghanistan. An Irish photojournalist with the hints of a French accent has the photos to prove it. In fact, she could not stop taking them, contributing to a premature detonation while she was still within the general blast area. She survives, but the damage done to her family unit will be harder to patch-up in Erik Poppe’s 1,000 Times Good Night (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

If you find it problematic to compulsively document (and consequently somewhat fetishize) a terrorist bomber’s final hours, than congratulations. You had the appropriate human response. On the other hand, Rebecca argues she is bearing witness to the inhumanity of the world, but at some point bearing witness will come to resemble abetting through inaction.

Good Night’s opening sequence consists of some truly provocative, visceral stuff, but to really understand it, you also have to see the symmetrically related conclusion. Ultimately, the film forces Rebecca to confront the ethics of her calling in gut-wrenching, soul-churning terms. However, to reach that point, we have to slog through some just okay family drama.

When Rebecca is finally discharged from the hospital, she has clearly lost a step physically and might be gun-shy for the first time in her career. Her marine-biologist husband Marcus is ready to divorce her and their daughters are emotionally reeling from the near permanent loss of their often absent mother. Frankly, the youngster bounces back faster than moody teenaged Steph, perhaps because the older girl better understood the circumstances. For the sake of her family, Rebecca resolves to retire, but maybe she can be convinced to take Steph on a bonding tour of a Kenyan refugee camp, because it’s absolutely, positively safe as houses.

If Juliette Binoche ever gave a bad performance, the sun might start orbiting the earth. In fact, she is admirably restrained, given the horrors her character witnesses and the bodily and spiritual wounds she suffers (had Meryl Streep overacted the part in her place, she would have been rending her garments and howling at the moon). Instead, Binoche smartly and convincingly portrays a woman forced to emotionally blinker herself, for survival’s sake.

While the mother-daughter melodrama becomes tiresome over time, Lauryn Canny is still quite impressive as Steph. Likewise, Game of Thrones’ Nikolaj Coster-Waldau does his best to scratch out something as the long suffering hubby. U2 fans should also keep their eyes open for Larry Mullen, Jr, who is perfectly respectable as Tom, a friend of the family.

Good Night is an uneven film, but when it does connect, it is with a haymaker. You have to keep with it, but it is worth it if you do. Recommended on balance, 1,000 Times Good Night opens this Friday (10/24) in New York, at the Quad Cinema.

NYFF ’14: Clouds of Sils Maria

Taking stock of German filmmaker Arnold Fanck is a rather complicated business, considering he was a close associate of Leni Riefenstahl. Still, he remains one of the most accomplished mountaineering filmmakers of the silent era, so it is not outrageous when his documentary short Cloud Phenomenon of Maloja assumes a prominent place in Olivier Assayas’s Clouds of Sils Marria (trailer here), which screens as a Main Slate selection of the 52^nd New York Film Festival.

Fanck’s silent film never ceased to fascinate the soon-to-be-late Fassbinder-ish Wilhelm Melchior, who titled his most famous play The Maloja Snake in reference to the serpentine cloud formation it documents. Maria Enders’ career ignited when she appeared in the film version, also directed by Melchoir, playing a ruthlessly manipulative young woman engaged in a lesbian relationship-slash-power struggle with an older, more sophisticated woman. Although many years have passed, she is reluctant to accept the more mature and tragic role, for a variety of reasons rooted in insecurity and superstition (the actress who starred opposite her died shortly thereafter). However, her personal assistant Val thinks it is a fine idea, because of her respect for the innovative director, Klaus Diesterweg, and her prospective co-star, the Lindsay Lohan-esque Jo-Ann Ellis.

Val and Diesterweg apparently prevail, but Enders constantly threatens to pull out of the production. She is profoundly uncomfortable with the different meanings she finds in the text after her reversal of roles. In fact, it seems to speak directly to her relationship with Val, especially when they rehearse her lines. The tabloid circus following Ellis also spooks the extremely guarded Enders.

If the Weinsteins had picked up Clouds, Juliette Binoche would have been an instant Oscar frontrunner. It is a performance of strange and understated power, befitting the character clearly modeled to some extent on herself. The implied self-referential nature of the film thereby makes her scenes with Kristen Stewart’s Val feel even bolder and revealing.

Unlike the clumsy play-that-becomes-real in Polanski’s wildly over-praised Venus in Fur, Assayas stages the uncomfortably charged rehearsal sequences with such subtle ambiguity, we often lose our narrative bearings within the film, despite being on guard against that very contingency. Of course, everyone has known Binoche is one of the best in the business for some time, but the degree to Stewart matches her intensity is almost revelatory. It is an especially bold performance for her, given the added meta-dimensions, such as Ellis’s affair with a married writer that echoes certain media feeding frenzies Stewart would probably like to forget.

While the film works best as a two-hander, Hanns Zischler is devilishly effective as the older actor with whom Enders once had an ill-advised affair, whereas Chloe Grace Moretz looks the part, but never really adds to our understanding of a hot mess like Ellis. Arguably, the third act is somewhat flat compared to the action that came before, in large measure due to Val’s deliberately mysterious exit. Yet, it is still fascinating to see Binoche’s Enders navigate the world of international celebrity they both know so well. While all signs seem to indicate her time in the spotlight is coming to a close, the Ellises of the world might just be playing Enders’ game after all.

Even with its late pacing issues, Sils Maria is a quite a wry valentine to actresses and the personal assistants who put up with their diva-ness. It is unusual when a film this smart is also so forgiving of human weaknesses. Helmed with considerable sensitivity, it also represents a return to form for Assayas after the messy and somewhat didactic Something in the Air. Recommended for fans of Binoche, Assayas, and Stewart (which really ought to cover just about everyone), Clouds of Sils Maria screens this Wednesday (10/8) and Thursday (10/9) at Alice Tully Hall, as part of this year’s NYFF.

Dumont’s Camille Claudel 1915

Camille Claudel is a woman of extraordinary associations.  She was the sister of playwright Paul Claudel, the mistress of Auguste Rodin, and was once erroneously thought to be the lover of Claude Debussy.  In the cinema, she has been played by Isabelle Adjani and now Juliette Binoche, but in reality, she led a deeply troubled life.  Bruno Dumont picks up with Claudel two years after her family institutionalized the sculptor, dramatizing three anesthetizing days leading up to her brother’s visit in Camille Claudel 1915 (trailer here), which opens this Wednesday at Film Forum.

Her brother blames the artistic temperament and perhaps he is right.  Regardless, his sister clearly suffers from paranoia and a persecution complex.  Unfortunately, her commitment rather vindicates the latter.  Since she is convinced her food is constantly poisoned by her multitude of enemies, Claudel has special dispensation to cook her own meals.  Given her mostly calm demeanor, the sisters give her relatively free reign at Ville Evrard and even recruit her reluctant help with more quarrelsome patients. Nevertheless, if you ask her about her situation you will get an earful.

1915 is easily Dumont’s most accessible film in years, but it still bears the hallmarks of his aesthetic severity.  If you hum a few bars of anything during the film, you will become the soundtrack.  Color is also rather scarce.  However, there are plenty of static shots framing Claudel as her spirit slowly ebbs away.

Having previously invited sympathy for the Devil with Hors Satan and suggested all devout Christians are a wink and a nod away from becoming Islamist suicide bombers in Hadewijch, Dumont will not surprise anyone with his unforgiving view of Paul Claudel, the devout Catholic dramatist. He sharply contrasts the ascetic austerity of the writer with the more sensual feeling of the sister.  Yet, given his affinity for extremity, the rigidly disciplined Claudel ought to be more in his wheel house.

Jean-Luc Vincent duly plays Frere Paul as the cold, clammy caricature Dumont requires.  It hardly matters. He is a distant second fiddle to Binoche’s title character—a role perfectly suited to her strengths.  Nobody could better convey the roiling passions submerged beneath her glacial exterior or convincingly erupt in pained outrage when provoked.  She is a force to be reckoned with, nearly undermining Dumont’s feminist-victimization narrative. Somehow thanks to Dumont’s powers of persuasion, 1915 was filmed with real nursing home patients playing Claudel’s fellow residents and their nurses playing the nuns, adding further dimensions of authenticity and exploitation into the mix.

Ironically, it is the work of Paul Claudel that is most ripe for re-discovery (as the Black Friars Repertory demonstrated in New York with their Claudel revival project), whereas reproductions of the sculptor’s La Valse are widely available.  Regardless, Binoche delivers a remarkable performance in an otherwise flawed film.  Best reserved for her loyal admirers and hardcore French art cinema enthusiasts, Camille Claudel 1915 opens this Wednesday (10/16) at Film Forum for all of New York.

Kiarostami at FSLC: Shirin

If a pre-Islamic Persian king and an Armenian princess cannot make love work, than what hope does anyone have?  Considered the rough Persian equivalents of Romeo and Juliet, Khosrow and Shirin ruled their respective kingdoms, but their love was always beset with complications.  It would be fascinating to see Abbas Kiarostami take on the legendary romance, but he tells the tale immortalized in Nizami Ganjavi’s epic poem rather obliquely in Shirin, which screens tonight as part of the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s retrospective series, A Close-Up of Abbas Kiarostami.

Perhaps someone has adapted Khosrow and Shirin for the big screen, but it was not really Kiarostami.  Instead, he filmed over one hundred Iranian actresses and Juliette Binoche as they watch that hypothetical movie.  At least it has a soundtrack, so viewers can follow the story that has tears flowing almost right from the start.  The two protagonists fall deeply in love with each other before they even meet properly.  Naturally, their star-crossed love never runs smoothly.  Eventually, Khosrow marries Caesar’s daughter to secure Rome’s military support retaking his former throne.  It is a long marriage, complete with kids.  Meanwhile, Shirin abdicates, moving to Iran to live a life of self-denial and waiting.  However, the plan almost veers off into left field when she meets this smitten stone-carver named Farhad.

It sounds like great epic stuff, but that’s as far as we can tell.  Shirin is another example of Kiarostami subverting and de-privileging narrative.  For Kiarostami, what the epic romance means to the famous viewers is more important than the tale itself.  The results are rather more interesting in theory than as a sustained viewing experience.

To be fair, Shirin offers a parade of familiar faces for those well versed in Iranian cinema.  Indeed, it is rather significant who is present and who is not.  For instance, Golshifteh Farahani appears late in the film, but she would soon find herself disowned by her country for appearing in a Western film, Ridley Scott’s Body of Lies.  Of course, Shohreh Aghdashloo, the star of Kiarostami’s pre-Revolutionary The Report was long gone.  Also missing from the proceedings is the then lesser known Marzieh Vafamehr, who would later be sentenced to ninety lashes and a year in prison (an insane judgment even by current standards of the Islamist regime) for appearing in My Tehran for Sale.  However, Leila Hatami of the future Oscar winner A Separation is present and accounted for.

Often feeling rife with meaning, Kiarostami’s films seem to spur deep tealeaf reading.  Arguably, the auteur gives the epic a pronounced feminist spin, emphasizing how much Shirin sacrificed compared to Khosrow’s relative comfort.  It is a reading encouraged by the actresses’ heavy emotional responses to what they were not really seeing.  Yet, there is just as often a lingering doubt as to just how much is wishful interpretation with Kiarostami, who has never taken social criticism as far as his former protégé Jafar Panahi. 

Shirin never comes across gimmicky, thanks to Kiarostami’s sensitive hand on the rudder, but it still overstays its welcome as a feature.  Half an hour or so would have been sufficient to create the desired effect, even if it would have required a shorter tragedy.  Interesting at times, but not essential, Shirin screens tonight (2/16) at the Francesca Beale Theater as part of the FSLC’s Kiarostami retrospective, which concludes tomorrow.

Elles Belles

Sex for money can be so liberating.  At least, that is what some guys always say.  A similar position is staked out in a rather mature new film produced and directed by women and featuring a largely female cast.  Even if they adore Juliette Binoche, this is not a film to watch with your parents.  However, a lot of people saw it with other people’s parents when it screened at the 2012 Tribeca Film Festival.  Mere days later, Malgoska Szumowska’s Elles (trailer here) has opened its conventional theatrical run in New York.

Anne is a wife, a mother, and a freelance writer.  Her latest story is a confidential profile of student prostitutes.  The assignment came at an awkward period in her marriage, around the same time she busted her husband for a certain kind of net surfing.  As she talks to these confident young women, she becomes obsessed with their explicit stories.  According to Charlotte and Alicja, their approach to sex is healthier, because there is no hypocrisy.  They make a comfortable living exploiting men’s weaknesses of the flesh.  Maybe so, but liberation never looked so demeaning.

Films exploring the jujitsu empowerment of prostitutes are nearly as old as the profession itself.  One obvious comparison is Steven Soderbergh’s The Girlfriend Experience, which also screened at Tribeca three years ago.  Yet, that film, starring an actual pornstar, is far more circumspect in what it depicts.  In fact, there is no on-screen sex and only a spot of nudity is to be seen here or there.  It is the emotional entanglements surrounding sex that concern GFE.  In contrast, Elles jumps right into some of the more explicit scenes you will see in a public theater.  It was not tagged with an NC-17 rating for no reason.

Frankly, Soderbergh had the right idea.  Even if Szumowska had a razor sharp analysis of sexual politics to offer, it is hard to get past some of the things she shows the audience.  However, the film’s feminist themes are pretty threadbare and the drama is more frustrating than absorbing.

Normally a bedrock of reliability, even Binche seems a little off here as the journalist.  Her reactions to everything often seem wildly disproportionate to the circumstances at hand.  Still, Anaïs Demoustier and Joanna Kulig both bring smart, attractive presences to bear on this material.  For the record, I briefly met Kulig on the way to a post-screening Q&A and she seems like a lovely and engaging person.  I imagine the audience had a lot of questions for her, but whether they had the guts to ask them is another matter entirely.  It is also worth noting, the legendary Krystyna Janda (whose credits include Andrzej Wajda’s Man of Marble and Ryszard Bugajski’s The Interrogation) also co-stars in the largely thankless role of Alicja’s mother.

Something about Elles simply does not click.  It is not necessarily because of the subject matter, but it makes the lack of depth and cohesion more conspicuous.  Due to the accomplished cast, cineastes should have on their radar, but it is not recommended as a satisfying theater-going experience.  After its high profile Tribeca screenings, Elles is now open in New York at the Angelika Film Center.

Kiarostami’s Certified Copy

It is a major international auteur’s first production outside his native Iran, featuring a British opera singer in his on-screen acting debut. Fittingly, their efforts were in service of a film that explicitly challenges notions of authenticity. While there is indeed a bit of narrative gamesmanship afoot, the sophistication and seductiveness of Abbas Kiarostami’s Certified Copy (trailer here) is such that it may be easily enjoyed (savored even) at face value (if you will) when it opens this Friday in New York.

The first sight the unhurried Certified slyly offers the audience (both in the theater and within the film) is an empty chair. Eventually, it is filled by British author James Miller, unapologetically late for his own book talk, cheerfully admitting he has no reasonable excuse. No matter. His baritone voice and erudite charm quickly wins back the restive crowd. However, one woman in the front row reluctantly leaves early, literally pulled away by her hungry son. Clearly, she has also fallen under the speaker’s spell, though she vehemently disagrees with Miller’s premise.

An amateur art historian, Miller wrote a treatise extolling the virtue of replicas, de-coupling notions of value and authenticity from each other. As an antiquities dealer, the unnamed woman sees things more conventionally, but even her son perceives her interest in the writer. In fact, she is visibly nervous when the writer agrees to meet her before his evening flight. They spar good-naturedly over aesthetics and soak up the stunning scenery—so far, so good.

Shortly after a woman mistakes them for a married couple though, the dynamic abruptly changes. The woman is now much more forceful, while the formerly suave man is suddenly petty and petulant. Are the characters play-acting or is Kiarostami playing with us? Either way, we are listening to some very smart discussions about grown-up issues, against an evocative La Dolce Vita backdrop. Kiarostami certainly made the most of his romantic Tuscan locales, which genuinely sparkle through cinematographer Luca Bigazzi’s lens, while also hinting at the mysterious.

One of the world’s finest (and most beautiful) screen thespians, Binoche again demonstrates women can be sensitive and vulnerable, without being weak or compliant. As the nameless woman, she essentially takes on a number of roles so convincingly it makes it difficult to truly know what to make of Certified. In his first screen outing, opera singer William Shimell is very nearly as impressive. He projects an elegant but manly presence quite befitting the character, while his rich voice carries the film’s heavy dialogue with élan.

It is worth noting both Kiarostami and Binoche condemned the Iranian government’s arrest of their mutual friend, Jafar Panahi. In fact, the distraught Binoche’s tears made worldwide headlines during the 2010 Cannes Film Festival, where she justly won best actress honors for her work in Certified. One wonders if Kiarostami, who has collaborated with Panahi on several films (including Crimson Gold), will have trouble shooting future projects outside the Islamist prison of Iran, after forcefully speaking out against his persecution. At least, he made his Italian foray count.

Ultimately, Certified is such an intelligent and inviting encounter, it overcomes any viewer resistance to its rather slippery internal nature. Indeed, it is a strange pleasure to submerse one’s self into, thanks to the exceptional charm of its leads and the artful craftsmanship of Kiarostami. One of the best selections of last year’s New York Film Festival, Certified opens this Friday (3/11) in New York at the IFC Center.

Ferrara at AFA: Mary

Abel Ferrara’s Passion of the Christ? Lord, have mercy. Actually, those prayers were partly heeded, if not fully answered. Despite his delicate subject matter and a proven willingness to offend, Ferrara’s Mary (trailer here) is nothing like the outrage one might expect. Perhaps that is why there has been so little theatrical love for the film, even with its Venice and Toronto festival credentials. Fittingly, it screens tonight as part of the Anthology Film Archives’ Abel Ferrara in the 21st Century retrospective of the director’s recent unreleased or under-distributed films.

Juliette Binoche plays actress Marie Palesi playing Mary Magdalene in risky new cinematic life of Jesus directed by and starring the self-absorbed actor Tony Childress. However, when production wraps, Palesi refuses to snap out of it. Since she already has a form of Jerusalem Syndrome, she sets off for Israel rather than returning to Hollywood.

Loving the sound of his own voice, Childress hits the publicity circuit hard on behalf of his film. He accepts an invitation to appear on Ted Younger’s television talk show, a Charlie Rose for liberal theologians and religious writers. Though he discusses faith every night, the TV host has lost his own, succumbing to a myriad of worldly temptations. Of course, this being an Abel Ferrara film, he is in for a long night of the soul.

Though there are potential warning signs all over the place, the ultimate implications of Mary are arguably not overtly hostile to Christian faith. In fact, Ferrara rather explicitly tackles themes of redemption and forgiveness. In a way, it is much like Bad Lieutenant without any of the creepy, disturbing parts.

Still, Ferrara hardly embraces Evangelical Christianity here. There are frequent references to the knuckle-dragging rabble protesting Younger’s film, though Ferrara often seems to conflate the very different controversies surrounding Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ and Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ. There is also a fair amount of speculation about Mary Magdalene’s role as a privileged disciple supposedly covered up by the sexist early Church. Frankly, this might have seemed bold a few years ago, but after scores of Da Vinci Code inspired books and films, this seems like pretty ho-hum stuff today.

Befitting Ferrara’s style, Forest Whitaker’s work as Younger is emotionally raw and in-your-face immediate. It is a shoot-the-moon turn he thankfully pulls off. Also, his no-holds-barred on-camera take-down of Chisholm is just really good cinema. Binoche is perfectly cast as the Palesi, the ethereal paragon of awakened spirituality. Refreshingly, she conveys a sense of dignity through faith, never portraying the actress as a religious nut. Though often associated with wishy-washy parts, Matthew Modine actually does arrogant creeps like Chisholm rather well, entertainingly repeating his Freddy Ace shtick from Alan Rudolph’s Equinox here.

There is nothing shy about Ferrara’s go-for-the-throat approach to Mary, but cinematographer Stefano Falivene gives it a shockingly polished look. However, Francis Kuiper’s overly portentous score is somewhat counterproductive at times. It might be self-contradictory and messy, but Mary is probably ten times better than anticipated. For bold souls and curious heathens, it screens tonight (1/7), January the 11th and the 17th at Anthology Film Archives as part of its focus on the director’s largely undistributed recent films.

NYFF ’10: Certified Copy

It is a major auteur’s first production outside his native Iran, featuring a British opera singer in his on-screen acting debut. Fittingly, their efforts were in service of a film that explicitly challenges notions of authenticity. While there is indeed a bit of narrative gamesmanship afoot, the sophistication and seductiveness of Abbas Kiarostami’s Certified Copy (trailer here) is such that it may be enjoyed at face value when it screens at the 48th New York Film Festival.

It is worth noting up front both Kiarostami and lead actress Juliette Binoche condemned the Iranian government’s arrest of his fellow filmmaker Jafar Panahi at Cannes, where she eventually won best actress honors for her work in Certified. One wonders if Kiarostami will have trouble shooting future projects outside the Islamist prison of Iran. At least in this case, he certainly made the most of his romantic Tuscan locales, which genuinely sparkle through cinematographer Luca Bigazzi’s lens.

As Certified opens the audience (both in the theater and in the film) are staring at an empty chair. Eventually, it is filled by British author James Miller, unapologetically late for his own book talk, though he cheerfully admits he has no reasonable excuse. No matter. His baritone voice and erudite charm quickly wins back the restive crowd. However, one woman in the front row reluctantly leaves early, literally pulled away by her hungry son. Clearly, she has also fallen under the speaker’s spell, though she vehemently disagrees with Miller’s premise.

An amateur art historian, Miller wrote a treatise extolling the value of replicas, de-coupling notions of value and authenticity from each other. As an antiquities dealer, the unnamed woman sees things more conventionally, but even her son perceives her interest in the writer. In fact, she is visibly nervous when the writer agrees to meet her before his evening flight. They spar good-naturedly over aesthetics and soak up the stunning scenery—so far, so good.

Shortly after a woman mistakes them for a married couple though, the dynamic abruptly changes. The woman is now much more forceful, while the formerly suave man is suddenly petty and petulant. Are the characters play-acting or is Kiarostami playing with us? Either way, we have just heard some very smart discussions about grown-up issues, against an evocative La Dolce Vita backdrop.

One of the world’s finest (and most beautiful) screen thespians, Binoche again demonstrates women can be sensitive and vulnerable, without being weak or compliant. As the woman, she essentially takes on a number of roles so convincingly it makes it difficult to truly know what to make of Certified. In his first screen outing, opera singer William Shimell is nearly as impressive. He projects an elegant but manly presence quite befitting the character and his rich voice well serves the film’s heavy dialogue.

Ultimately, Certified is such an intelligent and inviting encounter, it overcomes any viewer resistance to its rather slippery nature. Indeed, it is a strange pleasure to submerse one’s self into, thanks to the charm of its leads and the craftsmanship of Kiarostami and his dp. One of the best selections of this year’s NYFF, Certified screens this Friday (10/1) and Sunday (10/3) at Alice Tully Hall. It is also worth noting, Panahi’s short The Accordion will also screen during the festival, accompanying Pablo Larraín’s Post Mortem next Monday (10/4) and Tuesday (10/5).

Klapisch’s Paris

In large metropolitan cities, many diverse lives intersect, while still living in their own socially distinct worlds. Though such multi-character degrees-of-separation treatments have become staples at recent film festivals, when the city is Paris and Juliette Binoche plays the female lead, it is worth taking another cinematic tour across municipal divisions of class and ethnicity. Indeed, everyone is somehow connected in Cédric Klapisch’s Paris (trailer here), a decidedly bittersweet valentine to the City of Light, which opens tomorrow in New York City.

Pierre is dying—most likely. It is possible that a Hail Mary heart transplant could save his life, but he refuses to live in false hope. Estranged from most of his family, he eventually breaks the news to his sister Elise. Though there is tension in their relationship too, she immediately moves in (with her children in tow) to care for him. As a professional social worker and single mother of three, taking care of people is what she does.

Before his body betrayed him, Pierre was a dancer. Now it is difficult for him to leave the apartment, so he contents himself with watching the teeming Parisian life he spies from his window. Across the street, there is the pretty college student who has attracted the awkward romantic attentions of her celebrity history professor. In the neighborhood bakery, the snobbish proprietor oversees her pleasant new immigrant assistant. Nearby, the fish-mongers and produce-sellers peddle their wares, and everyone can somehow be traced back to Pierre and his sister.

Perfectly cast as Elise and Pierre, Juliette Binoche and Romain Duris look and feel like real siblings. Frankly, Binoche is one of the great screen actresses of her time, who always brings something intriguing to each new role. Duris, a mainstay of Klapisch’s films, nicely captures the emotional and physical pain of the formerly vital Pierre as he is forced to confront his mortality at a tragically early stage of life.

When Paris focuses on the relationship between the grown siblings, it is an honest, powerful film. However, the further it wanders from Pierre’s apartment, the less it holds together dramatically. The fish-mongers are in fact quite well delineated, salty characters that have a definite place in Elise’s world. However, when the scene shifts to North Africa to follow the family of an immigrant she counsels, Klapisch roams too far off course (the film is called Paris, after all).

Despite the considerable pain and ugliness that characters endure, the film is still a loving tribute to the title city. Klapisch shrewdly juxtaposes the ancient and the ultra-modern, thoroughly conveying a sense of what it is like to live in Pierre’s neighborhood. In fact, cinematographer Christophe Beaucarne makes the city sparkle with beauty.

Though the multi-character format gets a bit messy, the central story of Paris is ultimately quite moving. Featuring excellent lead performances from Binoche and Duris, it is also an effective commercial on behalf of Parisian tourism. Sure to please Francophiles and Binoche admirers (surely that includes nearly everyone), Paris opens tomorrow (9/18) at the IFC Center and the Lincoln Plaza Cinemas.