Sundance ’12: Where Do We Go Now?

Isolated and picturesque, the Lebanese village of Taybeh offered the perfect locations for the country’s official submission for this year’s best foreign language Academy Award. The church and mosque built side by side will be particularly significant in Nadine Labaki’s stylized musical, Where Do We Go Now? (trailer here), which screens during the 2012 Sundance Film Festival.

Accessible only by an impossibly torturous bridge, the Christian and Muslim inhabitants live in peace, or at least the women do. The men are uneasy in their truce as news of fresh violence in the outside world vaguely drifts in. Tired of their perpetual mourning, Amale, the Christian widow who operates the town café, organizes the women like a Lebanese Lysistrata. They sabotage the television and radios, while doing their best to distract the restive men. When all else fails, they bring in a troupe of Ukrainian strippers, in a bit of a departure from the film’s classical Greek forerunner.

In a bit of a twist, the women’s few real male allies include the village’s priest and imam, whom the film presents as friendly colleagues rather than hateful zealots. Of course, Labaki and co-writers Jihad Hojeily, and Rodney Al Haddad strenuously avoid taking sides. Indeed, the whole crux of the film is the interchangeability of the two faiths.

The occasional musical number certainly helps liven-up the proceedings. Some are rather somber, like the funeral procession taking a slight Fosse-esque detour. However, Amale’s fantasy dance with Rabih, her Muslim handyman, is pretty hot stuff. As Amale, Labaki is also rather alluring, but her smart and sophisticated presence seems at odds with the rest of the largely matronly townswomen. Indeed, she seems distinctly out of place in this town full of stock characters.

Still, the choreography is striking and Christophe Offenstein’s cinematography is often quite arresting, soaking up all the scarred beauty of the weathered village and the rugged surrounding landscape. Though well meaning, Where remains a minor film that ultimately lacks the gravitas it presumes to have by virtue of its subject matter. Pleasant for those who enjoy an unconventional movie musical, but hardly a priority at Sundance, it screens today (1/21), Wednesday (1/25), and the following Saturday (1/28) in Park City, as well as this Sunday (1/22) in Salt Lake.

Submitted by the ROK: The Front Line

When a South Korean officer is killed with one of his troops’ weapons, someone has to investigate. It is also a convenient way to move a trouble-making lieutenant out of the way. Indeed, war is brutal, messy, and soul-deadening in Jang Hun’s The Front Line (trailer here), Korea’s official best foreign language Oscar submission, which opens this Friday in New York.

A vocal critic of the drawn-out peace negotiating process, Kang Eun-pyo is assigned to investigate irregularities reported within the “Alligator Company” dug-in around the pedestrian looking but strategically prized Aero.K hill. In addition to the suspicious death of a despised commander, several letters from North Korean soldiers have been posted to family members in the south by someone in the company. A mole is suspected.

However, when Kang arrives, he discovers the situation is murkier than that. There has been a form of communication flowing between the two sides, but it is born of survivors’ fellowship rather than espionage. Still, he maintains suspicions regarding Kim Su-hyeok, a comrade from the early days of the war long presumed to be a POW, but evidently serving as the Company’s lieutenant.

Over the course of the film, Alligator Company will take, lose, and regain the fateful hill over and over again. It would get somewhat repetitive if not for the intense warfighting scenes, rendered by Jang in a take-no-prisoners style. Line’s sense of place is so strong, audiences will feel they know every inch of that crummy nub of a hill.

Do not get too attached to any characters in Line. Jang will call up their numbers at the most arbitrary of times, as befits the nature of war. Nonetheless, there are many strongly delineated characters. In fact, the self-medicating Captain Shin Il-yeong and the darkly brooding Lt. Kim, memorably played by Lee Je-hoon and Ko Soo respectively, clearly bear the spiritual scars of war. As the film’s only substantial female character, Kim Ok-bin also hints at a host of inner conflicts as the soon-to-be not so mysterious woman often seen foraging near the battlefield.

Like Jang’s previous film Secret Reunion (which screens February 15th in New York as part of the Korean Cultural Service's regular cinema showcase), Line not very subtly advocates for reunification, arguing divisions are merely an arbitrary matter of hills and parallels. Of course, it ignores the grim reality of the DPRK, in which famine is commonplace and the gulags are so extensive, they are the only features of the country that can be seen from space. While the soldiers could easily lose sight of it in the carnage surrounding Aero.K, there were indeed real stakes and consequences to the war. Whether it was also prosecuted competently, is an entirely fair and separate question.

Regardless, Jang masterly stages some of the most realistic, decidedly unheroic battle scenes viewers will see at the theater this year. It is a powerful, draining statement, recommended for connoisseurs of war movies, including the anti-war variety. Line opens this Friday (1/20) in New York at the AMC Empire and in the Bay Area at the AMC Cupertino.

Farhadi’s A Separation

As a well educated, comparatively liberal Iranian woman, Simin wants to live abroad, not so much for herself, but for her daughter Termeh. Unfortunately, her travel visa will soon expire and her husband Nader refuses to leave. It causes what westerners would call irreconcilable differences for the couple. It also sets in motion a tragic chain of events that will jeopardize their very way of life in Asghar Farhadi’s Golden Bear winning A Separation (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York at Film Forum.

Nader is not exactly a fundamentalist either, but he is stubborn. He also must care for his Alzheimer’s stricken father, though Simin considers this a questionable excuse. Since divorce is not an easy no-fault proposition in Iran, she moves back in with her parents as their case drags on. Requiring help with his father, Nader hires Razieh as an in-house aide. She is poor, uneducated, extremely religious, and married to the abusive Houjat.

She only accepts the position in place of Houjat when the deadbeat is thrown in jail for his debts. Yet, as soon as she appears to settle into the routine of the household, a moment of chaos turns their world upside down. Suddenly, Nader is on trial for causing the death of Razieh’s unborn child while the thuggish Houjat harasses his family.

Granted, A Separation’s portrayal of Iranian jurisprudence does not inspire a lot of confidence, but it is almost the least of Nader’s problems. Instead, he becomes his worst enemy, responding to Razieh and Houjat in the worst possible way at every juncture. Yet explaining his decisions to his acutely sensitive daughter is often his greatest challenge.

Much like Farhadi’s Tribeca award winning About Elly, Separation vividly depicts how one tragic mistake compounds over and over again. It is an intense film, almost driving audiences to the brink of exhaustion. Like many of the persecuted Jafar Panahi’s films, it shines a searing spotlight on the divisions of Iranian society, largely cleaving along professional and secular-as-they-dare versus poor and fundamentalist lines. Ostensibly, Nader and Simin should have the upper hand, given their superior resources, but this is Iran.

Separation is also smart and scrupulously realistic on the micro level as well. The relationship dynamic between Simin and Nader is particularly insightful, rendered with great sensitivity by leads Leila Hatami and Peyman Moaadi. We clearly understand this is a couple with a lot of history together who do not hate each other. They are unable to make it work, but they cannot stop trying. Likewise, teenaged Sarina Farhadi (the director’s daughter) gives remarkably finely-calibrated performance as the insecure and understandably confused Termeh.

Separation and Elly before it are like Iranian Cassavetes films, uncomfortably intimate and direct, but undeniably visceral in their impact. Their place within the contemporary Iranian cinema establishment is a little trickier to pin down. Separation had to be produced outside the official film system without government support after Farhadi cautiously spoke out on behalf of the imprisoned Panahi and Mohsen Makhmalbaf. Reportedly though, he has since partially walked back those comments and Separation has subsequently been submitted as Iran’s official contender for best foreign language Academy Award consideration. It is hard to judge an Iranian artist for whatever survival strategies they might employ. Regardiless, Separation is an unusually powerful film. Highly recommended, it is easily one of the year’s best. It opens this Friday (12/30) in New York at Film Forum.

Submitted by the UK: Patagonia

The last recorded use of the stocks as a form of corporal punishment occurred in late nineteenth century Wales (thank you Alan Ayckbourn for this timely information). Although most spent their time laboring in the mines rather than confined to the medieval devices, it was certainly a difficult period for the Welsh. Hoping for a better life, a small group of settlers established a Welsh colony in Argentine Patagonia. This Welsh-Argentine connection inspired the two parallel but unconnected stories of Marc Evans’ Patagonia (trailer here), which has been officially submitted by the United Kingdom for Academy Award consideration as the best foreign language film of the year.

Rhys and his girlfriend Gwen are having a rough patch in their relationship. Though they have been trying unsuccessfully to get pregnant, she remains unsure about the whole marriage thing. At the last minute, she joins his trip to photograph the ridiculously picturesque Welsh chapels of Patagonia, with the intent of ironing out their issues. However, the plan is complicated by the presence of their guide Mateo, a rugged Welsh gaucho.

Meanwhile, the aging Cerys takes her unsuspecting nephew Alejandro in the opposite direction. Supposedly accompanying her for a routine hospital visit, the nebbish sci-fi reader finds himself en-route to Wales, where Cerys intends to seek out her ancestral farm.

Wisely, the twains are never forced to meet in some unlikely third act contrivance. Nor are their thematic relations particularly strong, beyond the Welsh Patagonian angle, which is admittedly pretty distinctive cinematic territory. The scenery is also quite pleasing for both story arcs, whether it be the rolling hills and stone cottages of Wales or the striking mountain vistas of Patagonia.

Matthew Gravelle’s poor old Rhys might not be a bad chap, but if your impression of Welshmen is largely informed by Richard Burton, Dylan Thomas, and Sir Tom Jones, the moody photographer is bound to be a disappointment. The sensitive man of action Mateo (somewhat confusingly played by Matthew Rhys) certainly compensates in this regard. Frankly though, the love triangle (with its third side nicely played by Nia Roberts, director Evans’ wife) is the weaker of the two narratives. (So much angst and heartache could have been avoided had they simply jotted each other a few quick notes at key junctures.)

In contrast, there is something about Cerys’ return to her roots that strikes a deep chord. Evans never overplays it though, letting the significance of her sentimental journey evolve organically. Likewise, Marta Lubos is quite charismatic as Cerys, but keeps her scrupulously grounded. While saddled with a bit of a wishy-washy character, Nahuel Pérez Biscayart certainly plays Alejandro with whole-hearted earnestness. Still, the amount of mascara lathered on Welsh pop star Duffy as his potential romantic interest Sissy is just distractingly out of place.

Like Terreferma and Montevideo: Taste of the Dream, Patagonia looks great (cinematographer Robbie Ryan has a keen eye for the disparate environments) and also sounds quite pleasant. Both Joseph LoDuca’s score and “Mateo’s Theme” composed by Angelo “Twin Peaks” Badalamenti take clear inspiration from the romantic music of Argentina. Nonetheless, much of the drama is rather forced. Not without merits, Patagonia is considerably better than last year’s best foreign language Oscar winner, so Academy voters could probably do far worse the Welsh-Spanish film this year.

Submitted by Italy: Terraferma

The tiny Sicilian island of Linosa looks like a Mediterranean paradise. Unfortunately, regular work can only be found there two months out the year. In addition to tourists, illegal immigrants from North Africa have also been flocking to the isle, further complicating the local economy. Indeed, immigration is the driving concern of Emanuele Crialese’s Terraferma (trailer here), which has been officially submitted by Italy for Academy Award consideration as the best foreign language film of the year.

Filippo is not too bright, but the kid has not had a lot of breaks in life. After his father was lost at sea, his grandfather and uncle have waged a cold war over his future. The old salt-of-the-earth Ernesto wants Filippo to be a fisherman like his father before him, whereas the smarmy Nino offers his nephew seasonal work catering to tourists. Unsatisfied with either dead-end option for her son, Giulietta resolves to leave the island after the upcoming season, a decision that does not sit well with Filippo.

Even though Filippo remains determined to stay, a series of disparate new arrivals will challenge his family’s traditional way of life. First, his mother rents out their home to three tourists from the “dry land,” including the very noticeable Maura. Soon thereafter, Ernesto and Filippo fish out several drowning Ethiopians from the sea, secretly sheltering the pregnant Sara and her young son. For their efforts, Ernesto’s boat is confiscated. From this point on, Terraferma is not very subtle.

That water sure is blue though. Not merely background color, the deep azure sea is a critically important visual element for the film. Crialese pointedly contrasts images of tourists playfully diving off pleasure cruisers with that of illegal immigrants desperately abandoning sinking makeshift vessels. It is heavy-handed, but striking.

Dazzlingly lensed by Fabio Cianchetti, Terraferma captures all the natural beauty of Linosa. He also evokes the chiaroscuro effect of old masters in several hushed scenes of good Samaritans ministering to the despised huddled masses. There are plenty of bikini shots as well, not that anyone will ever confuse the film with Beach Blanket Bingo.

Cianchetti’s camera also loves Mimmo Cuticchio, both an award winning puppeteer and an accomplished actor. Resembling a wiser, more weathered Andrew Weil, Cuticchio has the perfectly seasoned gravitas to serve as Ernesto, the film’s proletariat moral compass. Filippo Pucillo does not have any of that going on as he namesake. Granted, the twenty year-old is supposed to be immature, but one starts to wonder how he has gotten this far in life. Conversely, Donatella Finocchiaro plays mother Giulietta with a convincing world-weary earthiness, despite not looking particularly matronly. Former model Martina Codecasa also shows a bit of unexpected substance beyond mere eye candy as the topless sunbathing Maura.

Terraferma is mostly quite effective as a bit of fun in the sun with a guilty social conscience, though the spectacle of throngs of prospective asylum seekers overwhelming Filippo’s “borrowed” skiff like a horde of zombies nearly undermines the message. Regardless, it is an absolutely lovely looking film. Indeed, both the lush visuals and simplistic humanism ought to appeal both to Academy voters and prospective distributors.

Submitted by Serbia: Montevideo—Taste of a Dream

In 1930, Yugoslavia’s national football (a.k.a. soccer) team had quite a run during the very first FIFA World Cup. If you think Serbia still remembers with pride that celebrated team consisted entirely of Serbians, you would be correct. The story of how a team of underdogs played their way into the tournament, in spite of a Croatian boycott, is dramatized in Dragan Bjelogrlic’s historical sports drama Montevideo: Taste of a Dream (sometimes also subtitled as God Bless You, trailer here), which has been officially submitted by Serbia for Academy Award consideration as the best foreign language film of the year.

Serbia is a long way away from Uruguay. With the memories and repercussions of WWI still very fresh for the newly formed country of Yugoslavia, the team requires a serious patron to underwrite their journey, like the king. He will need some convincing. Unfortunately, the national team is a motley bunch, largely overlapping with Belgrade’s sort of-kind of professional club, conveniently owned by their chairman. There is hope though when they sign the poor but cocky Tirke Tirnanić, who can do just about anything with a soccer ball (from here on, we’re sticking with the American vernacular). Still, he has a good heart, always looking out for the film’s Oliver Twisty narrator, Stanoje, a street urchin who must wear a leg brace.

Naturally, Tirnanić has a rival on the team, the comparatively well-heeled Mosha Blagoje Marjanović. Initially, they clash over differences of style and then over two women: Rosa, the good girl barmaid and Valeria, the vampy artist. It is pretty clear who should be with whom, but somehow they get mismatched.

Montevideo might be an Oscar long shot, but a forward-thinking art-house distributor should snap it up fast. It is easily one of the most commercial films in contention. Soccer continues to grow in popularity with Americans and fans tend to be rather internationalist in their outlook (so subtitles should be no problem). As sports films go, Montevideo has plenty of on-field action to satisfy enthusiasts, as well as two beautiful women. Of course, it is also totally manipulative. It is a sports film, after all.

Despite his baby-face, Petar Strugar makes a convincingly dashing rogue as Marjanović. While Miloš Biković’s nice guy right-winger (that is his position) comes across as something of an earnest stiff, such is the nature of sports movie protagonists. On the other hand, Nina Janković is downright fascinating as the nuanced troublemaker, Valeria.

A lovely period production, Montevideo captures all of Belgrade’s old world charm. Nemanja Petrovic’s design team’s attention to detail shows in every frame, while cinematographer Goran Volarevic gives it all a lush, nostalgic look. Still, given recent history in the Balkans, the occasional flash of nationalism remains a little scary, as when the crowd spontaneously bursts into the Serbian anthem after a pivotal game.

While a tad long at one hundred forty minutes, it is quite entertaining in a pleasingly old-fashioned way, with an appropriately hot and swinging-ish soundtrack. Considerably better than last year’s best foreign language Academy Award winner, Montevideo ought to have a further distribution life regardless of what Oscar does.

Israel’s Human Resources Manager

In addition to mundane benefits administration and payroll management, HR managers do a bit of PR flackery in Israel. They also have to worry about terrorism. When an immigrant worker at a struggling bread factory is murdered during a Palestinian attack, but goes unmissed for days, it creates a media scandal that must be dealt with by the title character of Eran Riklis’s The Human Resources Manager (trailer here), the winner of Israeli Academy Award for best picture, which opens this Friday in New York.

She is the only character in the film with a proper name. Yulia worked the graveyard shift on the lowly cleaning crew. She had a son back in Romania, but seemed to like living in Israel, at least according to secondhand reports. The HR Manager would not know. He does not even remember her. In all fairness, he has had plenty to distract him. In fact, the HR Manager clearly hates working in HR. However, he accepted the Jerusalem-based position in hopes of mending fences with his estranged wife and their sensitive daughter.

During his investigation, the protagonist learns the messy but oh-so human reason why Yulia’s absence went unnoticed for so long. Naturally, he is reluctant to air their laundry in public. Unfortunately, the journalist pursuing the story has no interest in truth. He simply sees an opportunity to embarrass a supposedly exploitative corporation. (Yes, some things are universal, regardless of national boundaries.) In order to put the controversy to rest, the HR Manager must escort Yulia’s body back to her family in Romania. Yet, even that task turns out to be more complicated than he anticipates.

Though HR eventually settles into the road movie format, it is far deeper and sadder than typical on-the-road fare. More than anything, it is the quietly compelling work of Mark Ivanir as the HR Manager that distinguishes the film from the pack. He conveys a complex lifetime of experience just in the way his character carries himself. Clearly missing the action of an earlier life, but profoundly world-weary and haunted, he is an extraordinary everyman.

Unlike Riklis’ previous film The Lemon Tree, HR is not an explicitly political movie. Yet, for American audiences, the everyday reality of terrorism will loom over the film. The value Israelis place on human life, even anonymous immigrants like Yulia is equally evident. Truly, a film HR could never be produced within any of Israel’s neighbors.

As Israel’s official submission for best foreign language Academy Award consideration, HR is a considerably worthier candidate than the recent Oscar winner, In a Better World, but it was not even shortlisted. Academy voters in this category were simply out to lunch this year. HR is a film of subtle emotional payoffs, honestly earned, primarily through Ivanir’s remarkably strong and dignified lead performance. A very good film, HR opens this Friday (3/4) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine.

Spanish Guilt: Even the Rain

Whether from Hollywood or Spain, movie people can be counted on for hypocrisy and pretension. The indigenous population of Bolivia immediately learns this when a Spanish crew arrives to film a historical epic on the cheap in Iciar Bollain’s didactic yet strangely engaging Even the Rain (trailer here), Spain’s shortlisted official submission for best foreign language Oscar consideration, which opens this Friday in New York.

Envisioning a searing indictment of colonial exploitation, Sebastián’s politicized biopic will basically be like every other Christopher Columbus film, except it will be produced on a shoestring budget. To stretch their funds, his producer Costa arranged to shoot in Bolivia, where the indigenous extras will earn only two dollars a day. The obvious irony is largely, but not entirely lost on the cast and crew.

Contrary to Costa’s better judgment, the director casts Daniel, a local leader of the restive indigenous proletariat in a critical supporting role in the film. Much to the producer’s alarm, the uprising of Sebastián’s film-in-progress increasingly parallels the burgeoning 2000 Cochabamba protests against the foreign-owned water utility, which charges exorbitant rates while supposedly even prohibiting locals from collecting rain water.

Never subtle, Rain tips its hand right away with a dedication to leftist pop “historian” Howard Zinn. Greed is bad we are told in no uncertain terms. (The fact that Cochabamba’s access to water is arguably worse under the Morales regime than before the 2000 demonstrations is a mere detail not worth mentioning.) Yet, the film’s fervor and sprawling messiness turn out to be considerable virtues.

In fact, the heroes of Sebastián’s prospective film are Bartolome de las Casas and Antonio de Montesinos, early critics of Spanish brutality, who also happened to be Catholic priests. Screenwriter Paul Laverty (a frequent collaborator with Ken Loach, which also says quite a bit) captures the radical impulse to savage well-intentioned liberalism for lack of ideological purity, personified unlikely enough by the production’s embittered (and often drunk) star Antón. Yet, perhaps Rain’s greatest irony is that it is not Sebastian, the passionate artist, who has an awakening of conscience, but Costa, the money man (a rare display of screen love for producers).

Bollain has talent for staging big scenes, like riots and the arresting sight of Sebastián’s massive cross winging its way through the Andes via chopper. She also allows the film-within-the-film to intrude on the action in intriguing ways. However, it is Luis Tosar who truly powers Rain as Costa. Viscerally intense and realistically contradictory, he blows his more internationally renowned co-star off the screen.

Though perfectly fine, Gael García Bernal’s Sebastián is not unlike the driven directors seen in other movie-making dramas. However, Karra Elejalde steals nearly each of his scenes as the profoundly cynical Antón. Just like his character, he demonstrates a flair for barbed dialogue. Bollain also elicits some rather remarkable performances from her nonprofessional Bolivian cast, including memorable turns from Juan Carlos Aduviri and Milena Soliz, as Daniel and his daughter Belén, respectively.

Rain is the best in-your-face leftist film since Paolo Sorrentino’s bravura Il Divo. Though shortlisted, Oscar somehow passed over Bollain’s film when the nominations were announced. Frankly, it is a better film, political warts-and-all, than several of the final nominees. Absolutely worth seeing as film (but not necessarily as civics), Rain opens this Friday (2/18) in New York at the Angelika Film Center.

Drive Defensively: Carancho

Sosa is an attorney. Luján is a doctor. Together they should be one of Buenos Aires’ leading power couples. Instead, they are exploited by a corrupt legal system fueled by the city’s astronomically high rate of traffic fatalities in Pablo Trapero’s Carancho (trailer here), an official selection of the 2010 Cannes Film Festival, which opens this Friday in New York.

Reportedly, eight thousand Argentineans die on the roads each year, with an additional one hundred twenty thousand seriously injured. That represents a lot of money to shake down from the insurance companies. Unfortunately, Sosa is the man to do it. With his license in limbo, he haunts emergency rooms and funeral parlors on behalf his employer, an ostensive victims’ foundation crooked to the core. Sosa gets the victim’s power of attorney and the foundation gets their settlement.

Though a legit doctor, Luján finds herself also working as an EMT and all around medical wage slave to make ends meet. One night Sosa happens to chase Luján’s ambulance. While initially underwhelmed by the compromised counselor, there is something about the world-weary Sosa that also attracts her. Unfortunately, as their relationship develops, it brings her to the attention of his unsavory associates.

The term “grimly malevolent” does not adequately describe the vibe of Carancho. Trapero creates a world of seemingly perpetual night, where corruption is ever-present. It is a rather tough film, even by the standards of recent Latin American imports, with both Sosa and Luján taking frequent beatings. Yet, somehow such extreme experiences strengthen the bond between them.

Recognizable from last year’s Oscar-winning breakout art-house hit, The Secret in Their Eyes, Ricardo Darín probably looks ten years older in Carancho—and they are hard years. Yet, it is precisely his puffy-eyed, understated intensity that gives the film a sense of tragic elegance, notwithstanding the oppressively seedy atmosphere. Though somewhat younger, Martina Gusman persuasively sells their relationship, establishing real chemistry with Darín. Their compelling romance (if that is not too idealized a word for it) truly elevates the film beyond similarly naturalistic films from the region.

Although Argentina officially selected Carancho as its 2011 best foreign language Oscar contender, it paints a thoroughly unflattering portrait of the country. The hospitals are sweatshops (where sexism is hardly rare), the justice system is for sale, and traffic safety is nearly non-existent. Regrettably, Trapero indulges in the supposed zinger ending that most viewers will be hoping not to see from at least sometime early in the second act. However, as an overall mood piece and a showcase for Darín and Gusman, it is rather impressive. A solidly crafted pseudo-noir, Carancho opens this Friday (2/11) in New York at the Angelika Film Center.

Unfairly Snubbed: When We Leave

Like many Turkish immigrants, Umay came to Germany in search of a better life for herself and her young son Cem. In their case, that meant getting away from her abusive husband Kemal. Unfortunately, she finds the traditional baggage from her home country is hard to shake in Feo Aladag’s When We Leave (trailer here), Germany’s unfairly overlooked official submission for best foreign language Oscar consideration, which opens this Friday in New York.

Due to Leave’s framing device, we start the film under the assumption things will not work out for Umay. Actually, we have no idea. A strikingly beautiful woman, Umay’s husband uses her as a domestic slave. However, when he begins terrorizing their son as well, Umay decides to flee. At first, her family in Germany is delighted to see her, but they keep asking about Kemal. When her father Kader and older brother Mehmet learn the truth, they have only one word for Umay: “whore.”

Despite Umay’s protests, Kader makes it unequivocally clear Umay must return to her rightful owner, or consider herself banished from the family. While Umay must protect herself and her son, she cannot turn her back on the only family she has ever loved. Unfortunately, the warning of her friend proves tragically correct—her family will always choose their community over a mere daughter.

Leave is a truly intense film that frankly depicts all manner of crimes committed in the name of so-called honor. We witness spousal abuse, abduction attempts, stalking, and worse. Yet, for Umay, the emotional isolation for her family is the hardest to bear.

The strikingly beautiful Sibel Kekilli deservedly won best actress honors at last year’s Tribeca Film Festival for her heartrending portrayal of Umay. An active supporter of Terre de Femmes, a German-based non-profit dedicated to Muslim women targeted with physical violence, Kekilli clearly drew from real life in her riveting performance. It is hard to watch at times as her Umay is spat upon (literally and figuratively) by her formerly loving family.

The unblinking intimacy of Aladag’s approach viscerally captures a wealth of unspoken nuances passing between characters. She also elicits some quite accomplished work from her supporting cast. As Umay’s German boyfriend Stipe, Florian Lukas adds a bit of depth to a part that could easily be dismissed as the schmucky nice guy. Yet perhaps the most surprising turn comes from Settar Tanriögen as Umay’s pained father, evoking a sense of high tragedy through Kader’s cowardice and conformity.

Frankly, it is something of a scandal Leave did not even make the nine film shortlist for the best foreign language Oscar. It is a powerful film, featuring a truly brave lead performance from Kekilli. Far superior to the five nominees announced yesterday, the remarkable Leave opens this Friday (1/28) in New York at the Angelika Film Center.

Submitted by Latvia: Hong Kong Confidential

For nearly twenty years, Latvian director Maris Martinsons lived in Lithuania, which submitted his first film Loss as the country’s 2008 offering for official foreign language Oscar consideration, even though it was set in Ireland. Martinsons’ world citizen ethos is again exemplified by his second film, Hong Kong Confidential, another global co-production, in this case submitted to the Academy’s foreign language division by the director’s native Latvia, though obviously filmed in scenic HK. Confidential (a.k.a. Amaya, trailer here) is one of this year’s harder submissions to pigeon hole, well beyond its multinational pedigree, yet it is strangely beguiling and certainly worthy of a product tour on the festival circuit, regardless of Oscar love.

The English-speaking Paul is not a tourist, he is a traveler, visiting far-flung Asian locales in search of traditional and exotic massage techniques. In HK, he signs up for classes taught by the Chinese master Tao, where he seems to have an odd effect on the employees. At first the attractive Jasmine resents his rather confident flirtation, but the older Amaya is intrigued by the mystery man.

Amaya is also something of an outsider, a Japanese expatriate who has made a home with her dull but loving dry-cleaner husband. She is relatively happy, but misses her grown son working in a far-off fishing village. Indeed, everyone in Confidential is missing or yearning for someone and each keeps his own secrets.

Martinsons deftly walks a fine line in Confidential, playing all sorts of narrative games in the background, while foregrounding the film with deceptively accessible relationship dramas and even moments of light comedy. Frankly, it is an odd experience watching a film that is so emotionally engaging, yet also something of a head-scratcher—but that is not a bad thing.

It all works because of the caliber of his cast. Written for the great Japanese actress Kaori Momoi (whose credits include Kurosawa’s Kagemusha and a flat-out awesome supporting turn in Takashi Miike’s otherwise disappointing Sukiyaki Western Django), she brings a mature beauty and a wonderful sense of dignity to the film as Amaya. In fact, her understated wisdom helps sell the film’s riskier, more mystical scenes. Though Andrius Momotovas’ English often sounds more than a bit phonetic, he has a fascinating screen presence, developing real chemistry with the ensemble. There is also something quite haunting about Monie Tung’s performance as the beautiful but wounded Jasmine.

What most distinguishes Confidential is the degree to which Martinsons maintains his characters auras of mystery without indulging in obscurity for its own sake, a la David Lynch. It would surely frustrate more conventional viewers, but it unquestionably establishes its own unique tone, further heightened by the original music composed by lead actor Momotovas (whose catchy song “The World is Full of Love” is at least as Oscar-worthy as nine-tenths of this year’s forty-one qualified tunes). There is no question Confidential is a long shot for the foreign language nomination, but it ought to rank in the top ten percentile of the field. If Academy members paid attention during their screenings, anything is possible.

Submitted by Iceland: Mamma Gogo

Like most Icelanders these days, this director is going broke. After his last film about “old people wandering around in the rain and fog” bombed, he cannot even land a gig directing Paris Hilton in a Viking picture. Further complicating matters, his mother’s slow mental decline is demanding an ever increasing share of his time and attention. This is definitely Scandinavian cinema, but director Fridrik Thór Fridriksson brings a surprisingly light touch to bear on his heavy subject matter in Mamma Gógó (trailer here), Iceland’s official submission for best foreign language Oscar consideration, which screens this coming Sunday during the Scandinavian Film Festival L.A.

We never do hear his name, but it is clear the filmmaker was always his mother Gógó’s favorite. His two sisters certainly knew it. Even if he had not just released a film about old people escaping from a nursing home, it would be difficult for him to install his mother in such a place. Unfortunately, her bad moments are getting progressively worse, leading to considerable property damage as well as some perilously close calls. The hard truth is the demands of caring for a mother diagnosed with Alzheimer’s is simply beyond the director’s capabilities. Frankly, he is not even able to support his own family.

While the mother-son relationship undeniably represents the heart and soul of the film, there is also a sly self-referential element to Gógó. Children of Nature, the unnamed director’s financial sink-hole, was also the title of Fridriksson’s 1992 foreign language Academy Award nominee. Indeed, Gógó’s director son is pinning his hopes on his film’s Oscar campaign. Meanwhile, in the real world, there is a quite an active effort underway for Fridriksson’s Gógó.

Winner of the Edda Award (Iceland’s equivalent of the Oscar), Kristbjörg Kjeld is definitely the film’s trump card. As Gógó, her descent into obliviousness is subtle and heartbreakingly believable. It is a pretty gutsy performance in what is not always the most dignified role. Though his character is more than a bit wishy-washy, Hilmir Snær Guðnason nicely handles the film’s more satiric material, while also nicely conveying the director’s strained but loving relationship with Gógó.

Despite its overall themes and eventual destination, one would not automatically describe Gógó as a depressing film, thanks to Fridriksson’s deft balancing act. Though not necessarily amongst the leading front-runners, Fridriksson’s Oscar credentials and Kjeld’s strong lead performance, perfectly suited to Academy tastes, should at least put Gógó in the top quarter of the field. It also does not hurt that it will be screening in the greater Los Angeles-area this weekend, just as voters get serious about their ballots. Funnier and more entertaining than one might expect, it is definitely worth checking out at the WGA Theatre in Beverly Hills as part of the Scandinavian Film Festival L.A.

The Romanian Wave Continues: If I Want To Whistle . . .

Under the Communist regime, incarceration in Romania used to be a brutal, hopeless proposition. Prison is still prison for one youthful offender, but his family is a more pressing problem in Florin Serban’s If I Want To Whistle, I Whistle (trailer here), Romania’s official submission for best foreign language Oscar consideration, which opens this Wednesday in New York at Film Forum.

Chiscan Silviu has only two weeks left to serve in his juvenile boot camp-prison. As Whistle opens, he seems almost comfortable with the work routine. Unfortunately, everything changes when his younger brother appears for an unscheduled visit. Evidently, their long absent mother has suddenly decided to reappear, offering to take the younger brother to Italy with her, shortly before Silviu’s imminent release. It is safe to say the juvie inmate does not take the news well.

When Silviu catches a glimpse of dear old mom waiting for his brother, he more or less flips. Though the warden tries his best to paper over Silviu’s sudden acting-out, it is clear the young man is rushing towards something rash. The presence of a beautiful social worker well out of his league only stirs the pot more.

Essentially on-screen the entire film, George Pistereanu maintains quite an intensity level. He looks and feels right as a tough kid with a lot of potential, as well as a considerable capacity for dangerous, self-destructive behavior. It is pretty assured work for a high schooler in his first professional part.

Shot in a gritty, vérité style, Serban’s approach is very much in keeping with the hallmarks of the so-called Romanian New Wave. However, unlike other recent products of the movement, Whistle starts at point A and proceeds in an orderly fashion to point B, with a fair number of identifiably dramatic events happening in between. At a manageable ninety-four minutes, it is also refreshingly focused. Indeed, if not cinematic comfort food, Whistle is a relatively accessible introduction to the Romanian Nouvelle Vague.

Granted, Whistle is dark and grungy, but it offers viewers far more hooks to hold onto then some Romanian imports slated for release this year. Aside from a rather abrupt “so that’s that” conclusion, Serban’s execution is tight and deliberate. A film and a lead performance worthy of cineaste respect, Whistle begins its New York run this Wednesday (1/5) at Film Forum, with Serban appearing in-person for the opening night screening.

In Contention: The Black Tulip

It is a New Year—a time for new beginnings. Hopefully that will be especially true in Afghanistan. One new film vividly represents such aspirations. Despite reports to the contrary, Sonia Nassery Cole’s The Black Tulip (trailer here) is in contention as Afghanistan’s official submission for the best foreign language Academy Award. It also boasts two of the forty-one qualifying best original song candidates. An important film in several ways, Tulip’s limited Oscar qualifying engagement is now underway in Los Angeles.

Hadar and Farishta Masouri are the sort of Afghans the media never shows—the educated middle class. Hardly immune to trouble, they have survived many grim days in refugee camps. However, following the American toppling of the Taliban regime, they have returned to Kabul to rebuild their lives and their society.

Believing Afghanistan is ready for change, they open Poet’s Corner, restaurant-coffeehouse featuring an open mic night for any interested poets and singers. This forum for free expression is embraced by the neighborhood, but the local Taliban cell is not amused. To shut down Poet’s Corner, they launch a campaign of terror against the Masouri family.

Indeed, Tulip is truly fearless in its portrayal of the Taliban’s savagery. Even more controversially, it depicts the American military as a positive presence in Afghanistan, forging links of friendship with average citizens. Yet, the most valuable aspect of Tulip is the window it opens into a moderate yet devoutly Muslim Afghan middle class most Americans probably assume does not exist. Tulip shows audiences not all Afghans are toothless mujahedeen with a Koran in one hand and a Kalashnikov in the other. Rather, there are many people like Masouris, who simply want to work hard and raise their families in peace. Yet, it harbors no illusions about the nature of Afghanistan’s social problems. Frankly, Tulip clearly suggests there is only one way to deal effectively with terrorism and it has nothing to do with sensitivity or welfare programs.

Cole displays a real talent for pacing and shot composition, with credit due to cinematographer Dave McFarland as well, who gives the film a slickly polished look. Cole was also forced to step in as a last minute substitution when the Taliban reportedly hacked off the feet of the woman she had originally cast as Farishta. Unfortunately, this improvised casting shows from time to time, even though Cole’s show-must-go-on spirit is admirable. However, the film’s greatest revelation is the consistent quality of the Afghan cast, particularly Haji Ghul Aser as her husband Hadar. American audiences will also be pleasantly surprised by Jack Scalia (no stranger to soap opera sets) taking an impressive supporting turn as U.S. commander and Corner regular Colonel Williams.

Yet, Tulip features its biggest star power on its original soundtrack recorded by Natalie Cole (no relation, who looked incredible when performing after a special screening of Tulip in Manhattan three weeks ago). While “Forever One Love” is the sort of the soul ballad that should please her fans, the stirring Farsi anthem “Freedom Song” is a phenomenal world music collaboration that well deserves a nomination.

In truth, Tulip is quite a good film, especially when considering the difficult circumstances of its production. It is an important first step for a country literally rebuilding its culture from the rubble of the Soviet invasion and the subsequent period of Taliban misrule. A good way to start the New Year, Tulip deserves support while screening at the Laemmle Sunset, now through Wednesday (1/5).

Submitted by Mexico: Inarritu’s Biutiful

He is a Spanish ghost whisperer. It is not a scam, Uxbal really believes he can sometimes reach the very recently deceased. Unfortunately, he knows he will soon be joining their ranks, but he is not ready to go in Alejandro González Iñárritu’s Biutiful (trailer here), Mexico’s official submission for best foreign language Academy Award consideration, which opens tomorrow in New York.

Ironically, Uxbal’s second sight is his only business on the up-and-up. His main employment involves smuggling and concealing illegal laborers from China. He kids himself into thinking they are working to build a better life for themselves in Spain, even trusting Li, a nurturing Chinese worker, to sit for his daughter Ana and son Mateo. As it happens, he has other things to distract him from their slave-like conditions, like the cancer eating away at him.

Uxbal might not be perfect, but he is a far better parent than his estranged floozy wife, Marambra. Understandably, securing his children’s future preoccupies him, until tragedy inevitably strikes, leaving him profoundly shaken.

Biutiful is not exactly what one might call a happy film. Visually though, it is often quite striking, with Iñárritu (previously on Oscar’s radar with Babel) adroitly mixing modest doses of subtle magical realism into a grittily naturalistic world. In its own way, Biutiful is actually a deeply moral film as well, clearly suggesting karma can be a real infernal boomerang. It is also somewhat ironic to see such a bitterly tragic story about “undocumented workers” set in Spain, which has not exactly carried the EU economy in recenmt years. Indeed, Iñárritu paints a harsh portrait of Spanish society, suggesting it is corrupt and exploitative in no uncertain terms.

However, though logic may not be an unfailingly human trait, there are times when Biutiful’s characters make decisions that truly exasperate all remnants of patience. Granted, they have a host of issues, but there is a lot of self-destruction and self-contempt on display. Such behavior combined with the abject meanness of the environment and the constant presence of death makes the film quite a draining experience.

Javier Bardem’s Oscar buzz is certainly justifiable, following his best actor honors at this year’s Cannes Film Festival. As Uxbal, he truly looks like remorse personified right from the start and he only deteriorates from there. Yet, his on-screen work is thoroughly credible each step of the way, rather than an indulgence in showy, clip-reel acting. Likewise, young Hanaa Bouchaib also modulates her performance as Ana quite well, while in a small-ish supporting role, Lang Sofia Lin is truly haunting as poor (even by Spanish or Mexican standards) Li.

Biutiful is certainly technically accomplished film, featuring a very fine turn from Bardem. Yet, aside from its rather grim sow-what-you-reap implications and a legitimately touching framing device, the film does not leave viewers with much, after demanding plenty. Still, that is not nothing. Given the extent Iñárritu’s colleagues have championed Biutiful, it is probably a favorite for the best foreign language Oscar, but it is not likely to duplicate the audience reach attained by recent winners, like The Secret in Their Eyes and The Lives of Others. Recommended for hardy cineastes, Biutiful opens tomorrow (12/29) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine.

Submitted By China: Aftershock

The 2008 Sichuan earthquake was not simply a tragedy—it was a scandal. Average citizens were appalled by the government’s ineffectual response and the corrupt state building practices that amplified the quake’s severity. Yet, what most outraged many survivors was the extent to which the Sichuan quake and its controversies paralleled that of the 1976 Tangshan earthquake. Clearly, lessons had not been learned. However, the People’s Liberation Army and a liberal dose of revisionist history ride to the rescue in Feng Xiaogang’s disaster drama Aftershock (trailer here), which China has officially submitted for Oscar consideration in the best foreign language film category.

The summer of 1976 began as a happy, peaceful time for Yuan Ni and her family. Evidently, there was no Cultural Revolution to worry about in Tangshan, but the devastating earthquake made up for it in spades. Saved by her husband at the expense of his own life, Yuan Ni is faced with a devastating Sophie’s choice. Both her twins are trapped under a concrete slab, but to save one child, the other will surely be crushed in the process. This being China, she chooses her son Fang Da.

Cruelly, his sister Fang Deng hears her own mother consigning her to death. Yet, through some twist of fate, Fang Deng lives, discovered relatively unscathed within a mountain of corpses. Having understandable abandonment issues, the young girl claims to have no memory of the traumatic events when asked by her adopted parents, a kindly couple in the PLA. Years pass and much melodrama happens, but when the 2008 quake hits Sichuan, both Fang Deng and Fang Da rush to join the Tangshan volunteer relief workers. Right, you should definitely be able to guess where the third act is headed from there.

Aftershock is billed as the first commercial IMAX film produced in China. The first fifteen minutes or so are probably pretty cool, as the Tangshan buildings fall like houses of cards, but the next two hours of family drama must feel like overkill on the giant screen. Though relatively brief, Feng’s Irwin Allen scenes are tense and convincing. Indeed, he is a talented “big picture” director, but he is also something of a propagandist for the PLA. 2007’s Assembly, a really well done war film that follows a grizzled army officer as he fights in the Chinese Civil War and the Korea War (against us), is a case in point.

The young Zifeng Zhang is absolutely heartrending as Fang Deng. As the adult Fang Deng, the striking Jingchu Zhang also tugs on the heartstrings quite effectively. Unfortunately, much of the plot depends on characters deliberately making life harder than necessary, which quickly taxes viewer patience. It is like the film hopes the overblown angst can somehow fill up the giant IMAX screens.

Of course, there was plenty of significant heaviness going on in China during this time, but Aftershock scrupulously ignores the death rattle of the Cultural Revolution, the downfall of the Gang of Four, and the Tiananmen Square massacre. However, scenes of Mao’s funeral are shown with reverence and PLA soldiers are regularly hailed as heroes of the Tangshan rescue effort. Granted, not every film needs to address political issues, but the lack of context in Aftershock is as glaringly obvious as a film set in 1940 Germany that never mentions the National Socialists.

Though not unwatchable, thanks in large measure to its Fang Dengs, Aftershocks is definitely a flawed film. Too long and too white-washed, it is more of a curiosity than a contender in this year’s foreign language Oscar contest.

Submitted by Afghanistan: Black Tulip

The Taliban are not what you would call big movie buffs. Of course, anything involving free expression is pretty much a non-starter for them. After shutting down Pakistan’s cottage Pashto film industry they did their best to harass the cast and crew of Sonia Nassery Cole’s Black Tulip. Yet, she persevered, eventually completing the only film produced in Afghanistan this year. Though duly submitted as the country’s official submission for best foreign language Oscar consideration, the Academy disqualified Tulip on grounds that seem highly debatable.

Since Cole and company are presumably working to secure festival slots and theatrical distribution, a review as such would be premature. However, having seen it last week at a New York Times event, one hopes more people will have a chance to share the experience. As writer, director, producer, and lead actress, Cole was nearly a one man band. Still, she and cinematographer Dave McFarland produced a slickly professional looking film that bears no resemblance to zero-budget Pashto films featured in George Gittoes’ jaw-dropping documentary The Miscreants of Taliwood.

In fact, Cole displays a real talent for pacing and shot composition. Conversely, her acting is not exactly at the same level. To be fair, she was reportedly a last minute substitution when the Taliban hacked off the feet of the woman she had originally cast as the protagonist, Farishta. Naturally, the same New York Times has devoted a fair amount of article space to those who dispute this account, largely it seems, because they prefer not to deal with its implications. Had Cole had an actress like the great (and great really is the word) Shohreh Aghdashloo in the lead, the mind reels at what could have been. Perhaps the film’s greatest revelation though, is the consistent quality of the Afghan cast, particularly Haji Ghul Aser as her husband Hadar.

There are many reasons why Tulip is an important film. Indeed, it is truly fearless in its portrayal of the Taliban’s savagery. Even more controversially, it also depicts the American military as a positive presence in Afghanistan, forging links of friendship with average citizens. Yet, the most valuable aspect of Tulip is the window it opens into an Afghan middle class most Americans probably assume does not exist. Tulip shows audiences not all Afghans are toothless mujahedeen with a Koran in one hand and a Kalashnikov in the other. Rather, there are many people like Farishta and Hadar, who simply want to work hard and raise their family.

Considering the state of filmmaking in the region, one would think the Academy would try to support films like Tulip as best they can. However, they disqualified Tulip from the best foreign language film category, apparently because Cole, an Afghan expatriate and her considerably American crew, were not deemed authentically Afghan enough. Yet, similar issues could be raised regarding the Algerian submission, Rachid Bouchareb’s Outside the Law. Bouchareb was born in France to a family of Algerian immigrants. Aside from the opening scenes, the film is also set entirely in France, featuring French movie stars, like Roschdy Zem and Jean-Pierre Lorit. Somehow though, this is forgivable in a critique of French colonialism.

Law is an excellent picture that deserves to be in Oscar contention, but if it meets the foreign language division’s criteria, it is hard to understand why Tulip would not. Maybe Cole’s film can still qualify for consideration in the best song category. Natalie Cole (no relation) recorded three originals for the soundtrack, including one legitimately stirring anthem with a popular Farsi vocalist. Contact your local film festivals and societies about Tulip, because a film like this will need a groundswell of support.

Peruvian Contender: Undertow

In Cabo Blanco, the villagers’ lives are intertwined with the ocean. Most definitely Catholic, they have developed their own traditions, including burial at sea. They fear those not properly laid to rest in accordance with their customs will become restless spirits. One sexually confused man has his traditional beliefs simultaneously challenged and confirmed when his furtive lover’s spirit returns to him in Javier Fuentes-León’s Undertow (trailer here), Peru’s official submission for best foreign language Oscar consideration, which opens tomorrow in New York.

Miguel Salas is a pillar of his community. He and his buxom pregnant wife Mariela are active in the church and he is popular with his fellow fishermen. He has a secret though. He has been seeing Santiago La Rosa on the down low. A painter from a family of apparent means, La Rosa is more or less open about his sexuality. Largely shunned by the villagers, he retains affectionate feelings for Cabo Blanco rooted in his happy childhood memories. Still, he really stays for Salas.

Not surprisingly, Salas is a bit conflicted about everything, but his insistence on absolute secrecy tries La Rosa’s patience. After another where-is-this-all-going argument, La Rosa dies in a swimming accident, disappearing in a titular undertow. Yet, since his body is not properly disposed of in a proper Cabo Blanco send-off, his spirit begins to haunt Salas. Promising to recover his body, Salas starts to like having La Rosa’s spirit around. Yet, even without La Rosa’s corporeal presence, town busybody start to form suspicions that lead to gossip.

Cabo Blanco looks like a wonderful place to be dirt poor. While the scenery is definitely picturesque, Fuentes-León also sets a pleasantly gentle vibe. Though Salas and La Rosa are certainly portrayed as consenting adults, Undertow is never excessively explicit. Particularly surprising for a gay-themed film, he also resists cheap Catholic bashing. At his most judgmental, Padre Juan only gives Salas a mild scolding for passing out on the beach naked in a drunken stupor (or so he assumes), which seems reasonable enough.

Of course, Undertow’s story arc is about as predictable as its “to thine own self be true” moral, but it executed with grace rather than indignation. As Salas, Bolivian Cristian Mercado combines the right macho façade with effective pathos and insecurity. However, Tatiana Astengo really lowers the emotional boom as his increasingly concerned wife.

Despite the presence of La Rosa’s ghost, Undertow largely downplays the supernatural aspects of the film, focusing more on its tight little village dynamics. Still, the vibrant cinematography of Mauricio Vidal and the appealing Latin pop songs (two of which were penned by Fuentes-León) make a quality package that could lend it an appeal beyond the obvious core audience. An ultimately forgiving film, Undertow opens tomorrow (11/26) in New York at the Cinema Village.

Truth and Consequences: Kawasaki’s Rose

Everybody despises collaborators and informers, but what of the secret policemen who press them into betrayal? That is just one of the difficult questions raised by Jan Hrebejk’s Kawasaki’s Rose (trailer here), the Czech Republic’s official submission best foreign language Oscar consideration, which opens this Wednesday in New York at Film Forum.

Pavel Josek was a signatory to Charter 77. A critic of the Communist government’s perversion of psychiatric medicine (his chosen profession), Josek’s dissident credentials are unimpeachable. As a result, he is seen as a logical choice to receive the annual “Memory of the Nation” award for demonstrating moral integrity during the oppressive Communist regime. However, while working on a television documentary on Josek, his estranged son-in-law Ludek (a child of Communist apparachiks) starts to unearth troubling questions about the great man’s early years.

Josek’s wife Jana had once been the lover of Borek, an artist too idiosyncratic and honest to prosper under the Communist system. It begins to look like Josek might have played a small part in the campaign against the sculptor that culminated in his banishment to Sweden.

Whatever Josek did, it was relatively limited and his motives were complicated. He was not the state security officer stubbing out cigarettes on Borek’s hand. Known as “Kafka,” he apparently pays no price for his crimes, smugly dissembling for Radka, Ludek’s television reporter lover. Conversely, Josek starts to slowly twist in the wind.

Martin Huba perfectly captures Josek’s complexity and contradictions in one of the year’s best screen performances. He has scenes discussing the perils of guilt with his mildly delinquent granddaughter that would be fraught with peril for lesser actors. Yet, Huba sells them perfectly with his understated world-weariness.

The weak link of the film is unquestionably the marital strife engulfing Ludek and Josek’s daughter Lucie. Frankly, the confrontation between husband, wife, and mistress makes no sense whatsoever, merely distracting from the more significant drama at hand. Indeed, there is a measure of closure to be found in Rose, when the audience finally meets Borek. Spiritually reborn during his time in Sweden, he has befriended Mr. Kawasaki, a Japanese artist who chose a self-imposed life of exile after his entire family was murdered during the 1995 Sarin gas terrorist attack on the Tokyo subway.

Though long out of power, the Communist regime continues to cause suffering throughout Rose. It is a deeply humane film, but not a completely forgiving one, as evidenced by the bitter irony of its coda. Thoughtful and challenging, Rose is most likely a long shot for Oscar recognition, but it one of the better films of the Award season, well worth seeing when it opens Wednesday (11/24) in New York at Film Forum.

Taiwan Film Days ’10: Monga

Forces from the Mainland have their eyes on Formosa territory. It is a familiar story, but in this case it is the Chinese syndicate looking to dislodge the traditional Taiwanese neighborhood triads in Doze Niu’s Monga (trailer here), which opens the San Francisco Film Society’s Taiwan Film Days next Friday at the Viz Theater.

In the 1980’s, nearly every densely packed block of Taipei’s Monga neighborhood has its own triad, like the Temple Front Gang. It is here the fatherless Chou Yi-Mong finds a sense of belonging. Recruited after standing up to a pack of bullying classmates, Chou (a.k.a. Mosquito) makes fast friends with Boss Geta’s son Dragon Lee and his three running mates. The fab five fight like unit, though they know the rules of the streets dictates they might eventually find themselves rivals. Frankly, Mosquito often does not understand why they are brawling, but the friendship is real. It is even realer than real for Monk, who is devoted to Dragon in quite a suggestive way.

Of course, the nature of their camaraderie is such that betrayal is inevitable, especially with the Mainlanders looking to move in. Indeed, the young gang princes find themselves caught up in a power struggle between those who want to maintain local control of organized crime, like Boss Geta, and those who want to cut a deal with the Northern triads, most notably including Grey Wolf, Mosquito’s mother’s mysterious old flame.

Though Monga was selected by Taiwan as its official foreign language Oscar candidate, it is a highly commercial film (in a good way). Energetically mixing teenaged coming of age angst with gritty street level gangster power games, it pretty much has all the elements. There is even young love, street smart as it may be, when Mosquito falls for Ning, a beautiful young prostitute often demeaned for her nearly invisible birthmark.

Monga features a number of young Taiwanese television and pop-stars who likely brought a built-in fan base to the film in the ROC. However, they are well suited to their roles, particularly Ethan Ruan as the intense Monk. Mark Chao also seems to appropriately grow into the role of Mosquito, while the haunting Chia-yen Ko projects a fragile vulnerability as Ning. Yet, the silver coiffed Niu might even upstage his cast appearing as the intriguing Grey Wolf.

With generous helpings of Big Brawl style street fighting and unapologetically tear-jerking romance, Monga has something for a wide array of Asian cinema devotees. Thoroughly entertaining, it deserves a productive life on the festival circuit and even a shot at specialty distribution. It should be a crowd pleasing opener for SFFS’s Taiwan Film Days when it screens at the Viz Cinema next Friday (10/22).