ND/NF ’13: The Interval

In Naples, the Camorra doesn’t make offers you can’t refuse, they just tell you what to do and you do it.  Therefore, when a hard working but socially awkward teenager is instructed to detain one of his more popular peers for a local crime boss, he reluctantly complies.  The two spend an emotionally taxing day together in Leonardo Di Costanzo’s The Interval (trailer here), which screens as a selection of this year’s New Directors/New Films, co-presented by MoMA and the Film Society of Lincoln Center.

Salvatore is a husky kid who dropped out of school to help his father sell Italian ices on the streets of Naples.  Veronica is also fifteen years old, but she dresses like an adult of dubious character.  For reasons she fully understands but is reluctant to share, Veronica has run afoul of Bernardino, the local head of his Camorra clan.  Eventually, Bernardino will arrive to have it out with her, but until then Salvatore is to keep her in an abandoned building near where his father stores their carts.

Essentially, Interval is like the Gomorrah version of The Breakfast Club, with the Camorra filling the role of Assistant Principal Dick Vernon.  At first, Veronica is snobbish and condescendingly, while Salvatore is sullen and resentful.  Yet, they inevitably start to understand and empathize with each other.  Lessons will be learned and bonds will be forged, if perhaps fleetingly.

Filmed almost entirely on location at long deserted mental hospital, Interval has a terrific sense of place.  One could easily imagine an Italian remake of Grave Encounters being shot there.  Ambling through the labyrinthine structure and the surrounding grounds helps pass the time for viewers and characters alike, which is something.  Unfortunately, though they are perhaps only too true to life, Salvatore is so thick-witted and inarticulate, while Veronica is so sexually precocious it is difficult to heavily invest in their fates.

Products of a local youth acting workshop, co-leads Francesca Riso and Alessio Gallo are quite professional and convincing, at least given development of their respective characters.  Still, we have certainly seen their likes before.  Indeed, they are staples of John Hughes films, minus the Camorra connections.

Interval is rather predictable, but for the most part, its execution ranks above average.  Nonetheless, it falls short of the closing profundity it so clearly reaches for.  An okay exercise in Italian Realism (with a strong Neapolitan accent), The Interval screens this Friday (3/29) at the Walter Reade and Sunday (3/31) at MoMA, as part of ND/NF 2013.

ND/NF ’13: Viola

Chris Dodd probably will not be blurbing this film, considering two of the major characters run a business illegally downloading music and movies for clients.  It might not exactly run to Harold Bloom’s tastes either, even though it is sort-of kind-of uses Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night as a jumping off point.  Unfortunately, the Bard’s language is more prominent than the spirit of his classic comedy in Matías Piñeiro’s postmodern riff Viola (trailer here), which screens as a selection of this year’s New Directors/New Films, co-presented by MoMA and the Film Society of Lincoln Center.

Frankly, it is hard to imagine a bad production of Twelfth Night.  Trevor Nunn’s 1996 film adaptation is an underappreciated jewel.  New Yorkers have also been blessed with many memorable stage productions, including Julia Stiles’ luminous turn in the 2002 season of Shakespeare in the Park and the Pearl Theatre’s characteristically elegant 2009 staging.  Considering it boasts separated twins, mistaken identity, cross-dressing, star-crossed love triumphant, and the humbling of authority, if Twelfth Night doesn’t work for you, you’re on your own.  Yet, Piñeiro incorporates almost none of this rich but frothy material into his contemporary collection of intersecting Altmanesque characters.

There is indeed a Shakespeare production being mounted here, but instead of Twelfth Night it is sort of a greatest hits compendium.  At least, we will hear Viola carrying Duke Orsino’s message of love to Lady Olivia, in the guise of his trusted page boy.  In fact, we will hear the scene over and over. For contemporary audiences, the gender-bending aspects of Twelfth Night take on added significance and this is largely what Piñeiro latches onto.  After witnessing the performance, we then watch the actress playing Olivia helping a prospective new Viola rehearse her lines.  However, this new Viola gets a bit carried away by Shakespeare’s words of amour.

As she bids a hasty retreat, Piñeiro shifts his attention to the real title character.  Although not yet part of the ensemble, several associations link Viola to their circle.  While making her bootleg deliveries, she encounters two cast-members who recruit her for the production, even as they belittle her passive approach to life.  Arguably, Viola the modern day Buenos Aires Bohemian is more like her Shakespearean namesake’s twin brother Sebastian, who essentially has wedded bliss with a high-born lady handed to him on a silver platter.  Piñeiro’s Viola has even fallen in with a pirate, so to speak.

Viola the film ends with a jam, which is cool.  Unfortunately, the sixty some minutes it takes to get there are a bit of chore.  Piñeiro’s variations on his theme quickly become repetitive and provide little to emotionally engage viewers.  Cerebral and maddeningly self-conscious, Viola is more like the anti-Twelfth Night.  It screens this Wednesday (3/27) and the Walter Reade Theater and this Friday (3/29) at MoMA.

ND/NF ’13: Rengaine

Technically, Sabrina and Dorcy’s families both came from the same continent.  Yet, for all practical purposes, they are a universe apart.  The couple intends to marry just the same, whether or not their families approve in Rachid Djaïdani’s surprisingly witty Rengaine (a.k.a. Hold Back, trailer here), which screens tomorrow during this year’s New Directors/New Films, co-presented by MoMA and the Film Society of Lincoln Center.

The son of Christian Africans, Dorcy is a struggling actor.  Frankly, he does not seem to be very good at it, but at least he is trying.  Sabrina has fallen in love with him nonetheless, but her forty—that’s right four-zero—Algerian immigrant brothers do not approve. At least that is true of the eldest, Slimane, who presumes to speak for the rest of his siblings. 

Alarmed by Sabrina’s romantic transgression, Slimane proceeds to mobilize his brothers, but to their credit, some think he is just being a controlling jerk.  However, probably a good two thirds are either inclined to agree with him or can be easily cowed by the self-appointed guardian of traditional Muslim values.  Frankly, most of the latter are rather sketchy characters who might have stepped out of Le Pen’s campaign commercials.  In contrast, the brothers who are more integrated into French society argue Slimane should mind his own business—and he has plenty to mind.  Ironically the elder brother is engaged in his own romantic relationship with an alternative cabaret singer, who happens to be Jewish.

Filmed over a nine year stretch, the not quite eighty minute Rengaine was definitely a labor of for French Algerian-Sudanese novelist Djaïdani, who clearly identifies with his lead characters and their various situations.  The film has a whole lot of rough edges, yet that really is a large part of its charm.  While some bits amount to little more than false starts, other scenes are wickedly droll and resound with the ring of truth.

As Dorcy, Stéphane Soo Mongo (whose credits include an episode of The Sopranos) is quite convincing as a terrible actor, which actually constitutes a nice bit of acting.  He also gets most of the film’s laughs with his satirical misadventures in Parisian hipsterdom.  Sabrina Hamida effectively expresses her namesake’s frustrations and outrages, but it is not as meaty a role as that of her two primary male co-stars.  Indeed, Slimane Dazi (another of the cast’s few established professionals, recognizable from films like Free Men and A Prophet) really lowers the boom as Brother Slimane.  Memorably world weary and conflicted, he takes the film to some dark places, including a riveting confrontation with the final brother.

Rengaine is short and messy, but unusually energetic.  It is also unflinchingly honest depicting the various forms of racism and intolerance within the immigrant Algerian Muslim community.  Djaiani does not let Dorcy’s family off the hook either, but the Slimane’s hypocritical freakout is the film’s dramatic driver.  Featuring a knock-out performance from Dazi and a stylish and stylistically diverse soundtrack, Rengaine is adventurous but well satisfying art cinema.  Recommended for French film patrons, it screens this Sunday (3/24) at MoMA.

ND/NF ’13: Les Coquillettes

It is like the women’s version of Entourage for the art-house set, except it is way more neurotic and uncomfortable.  A director will hit the festival party circuit hard with her man-hungry friends, in hopes of scoring with the leading lights of French cinema and occasionally even watching a movie.  The resulting in-jokiness does not travel much better than the high maintenance characters of Sophie Letourneur’s Les Coquillettes (trailer here), which screens during this year’s New Directors/New Films, co-presented by MoMA and the Film Society of Lincoln Center.

Sophie (no last names for the lead actresses’ namesakes) has a film at Locarno, but even she hardly seems interested.  Instead, hooking up with Louis Garrel (who barely seems to know of her existence) is her primary concern.  Likewise, Camille is preoccupied with the metrosexual Martin, whereas Carole is out to bag any man with a pulse (but preferably a certain uncharacteristically aloof Italian actor).  To console themselves, they periodically indulge in a spot of macaroni and cheese (the titular comfort food).  Much alcohol is also consumed and ugly scenes are held without advancing the story much beyond that.

Earning credit as good sports, Garrel and the director of Locarno briefly (particularly in the case of the former) appear as themselves, interacting (or not) with Sophie and her entourage.  Despite one awkward moment after another, the same people keep getting hammered with them, repeating the nightly cycle of embarrassment.  This might be true to life, but it is all quite maddening in Coquillettes.

Of the ensemble, Carole Le Page easily comes off the best, turning some pleasant scenes of Dolce Vita style sexuality.  Not that it matters, but Letourneur and cinematographer Antoine Parouty clearly were not playing to anyone’s vanity, apparently setting out to cast the cast (herself included) in as unflattering as light as possible.

Perhaps there are wickedly funny subtleties in Coquillettes lost on those who are not Locarno regulars.  It does not ring true for Sundance, though.  Sure, there are parties on top of parties in Park City, but everyone talks about the films, almost exclusively, rather than Sex in the City nothingness.  Still, it has the virtue of being relatively short, clocking in just shy of seventy-five minutes.  Except for viewers jonesing for a French mumblecorish chick flick, Les Cooquillettes can be safely skipped when it screens this coming Monday (3/25) at the Walter Reade and Tuesday (3/26) at MoMA.  For something completely different, adventurous viewers might consider checking out the existential absurdity of Emil Christov’s The Color of the Chameleon when it screens tomorrow (3/21) on FSLC’s turf and Saturday (3/23) cross town.

ND/NF ’13: Emperor Visits the Hell

Before the legendary journey there was a sojourn through Hell.  Emperor Li Shimin would eventually sponsor the Buddhist monk Xuanzang’s western pilgrimage in search of sacred texts.  However, he must first return from an unplanned detour through the underworld.  Luo Li gives the early chapters of Journey to the West an arthouse modernization with Emperor Visits the Hell (trailer here), which screens during this year’s New Directors/New Films, co-presented by MoMA and the Film Society of Lincoln Center.

Li Shimin is a municipal boss, who murdered his father and brothers to ascend to his “throne.”  When Dragon King, a local gangster, shortsightedly refuses to comply with an order from Heaven, he asks the “Emperor” to protect him from Heaven’s Executioner, who just happens to be Li Shimin’s counselor, Wei Zheng.  The imperial mayor does his best to occupy his advisor, but he bores the man to sleep.  Much to his surprise, the oblivious Wei decapitates Dragon King in his dream, which pretty much does the trick in real life too. 

Somewhat disappointed by the quality of Li Shimin’s protection, Dragon King haunts the ruler as an angry ghost.  Eventually, he drives the man to his death.  All is not lost though.  The faithful Wei has some high placed contacts in the kingdom below.

Li Shimin’s tale is one of many discrete chunks of the great Ming era novel that have been adapted for film and television.  However, it is a downright bizarre choice to reboot in a contemporary setting.  This is not a bloody combat-driven tragedy like Coriolanus.  Rather, the mythic elements, such as Dragon King’s decision to forestall the rains at their appointed time, are at complete odds with Luo’s grubby modern day conception.  Yet, he keeps doubling down, essentially emphasizing the contrast between the modern trappings and the fantastical story.  It is just a weird vibe to take in.

Frankly, Hell looks a lot like Union City through cinematographer Jie Ren’s lens.  There is no fire and brimstone, just drab offices and dilapidated slums.  Li Wen’s Li Shimin is also a rather cold fish, at least until he gets hammered at the concluding Return of the Jedi-style feast (doubling as the actual wrap party) and proceeds to go off the contemporary state of things.

Although drained of color and deliberately artificial looking, Luo still presents some intriguing images.  While decidedly post-modern in its approach, the film is much more about subverting narrative tradition than authority.  It lends itself to all kinds of critical literary analysis, which is great if you are covering ND/NF, but it is impossible to recommend it to anyone looking for a movie to get emotionally caught up in.  A coldly cerebral film intended for the like minded, Emperor Visits the Hell screens Thursday (3/21) at MoMA and Saturday (3/23) at the Walter Reade as a selection of the 2013 New Directors/New Films.