MUBI: Frost

They really should have just done an AIDS walk. Instead, Rokas Vysniauskas and his girlfriend Inga Jauskaite agree to deliver a van-load of humanitarian aid to the Ukrainian defense forces battling “separatists” (a.k.a. Russians) along the porous Donbass frontline. It will be a much more dangerous mission than they initially expect in Sharunas Bartas’s Frost (trailer here), which premieres tomorrow on MUBI.

Vysniauskas is not very political, but he agrees to make the delivery on behalf of a friend, more or less for what-the-heck reasons. He also seems to think it will be a way to strengthen his strained relationship with Jauskaite. However, his plan seems to backfire during a stopover in Poland. During a party with Ukrainian relief workers and international journalists, they both initiate flirtatious encounters with other guests.

Nevertheless, they continue on their way, but the closer they get to the front, the more rigorously they are vetted at check points. Some of the Ukrainian self-defense volunteers see them as little more than dilletantes—and neither Bartas, co-screenwriter Anna Cohen-Yanay, or their characters are much inclined to argue.

It is probably safe to say Frost cautiously sides with Ukraine. It certainly is not pro-Russia. However, its most pointed criticism is directed at the young Lithuanians’ gawking war zone tourism and their naïve do-gooder attitudes. Wars are serious business, as everyone will eventually see first-hand.

Ironically, Vanessa Paradis steals the show with her brief but significant appearance as a photo-journalist with whom Vysniauskas chastely spends the better part of a night. Their ships passing dialogue is conducted in halting English, but it definitely connects on an emotional level. It is also the only time Mantas Janciauskas comes out of his Nordic-like Baltic shell. As Vysniauskas, he is glacially reserved. In contrast, Lyja Maknaviciute is a bit more passionate and quite a bit more neurotic as Jauskaite.

When Bartas finally stages scenes of warfighting, they are frightening and confusing in the right, deliberate kind of way. Admittedly, Frost is a small, uneven film, but it has enough interesting things going for it, particularly for MUBI subscribers. Recommended accordingly, Frost starts its 30-day MUBI rotation tomorrow (12/20).

Rio, I Love You—But I Know You Can Do Better

Rio de Janeiro has the world’s coolest sidewalks. You can also hear terrific and wonderfully diverse music performed throughout the city. With that many musicians, there must be a million stories in the Naked Rio. That is why the sketchy, fragmentary nature of the latest installment of the “Cities of Love” anthology franchise is so frustrating. Even the romance is under-quota in a bunch of people’s Rio, I Love (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Despite the Rio setting, most of the characters are American, British, or Australian, so do not waste time looking for a Seu Jorge walk-on. It isn’t there. However, the opening “Dona Fulana” is a bit of an unfortunate outlier, featuring a Brazilian cast in the dubious tale of a plucky old woman who explains to her respectable grandson who much happier she is on the streets than living a life of hypocrisy. Remember that next time the UHO scam artists hit you up for money on the subway.

Paolo Sorrentino’s “La Fortuna” sort of works as a mordant little twist noir, but it never really establishes why the wheelchair bound husband has reason to believe things will work out as they do. Still, it shows off a side of Emily Mortimer we rarely get to see. Arguably, Fernando Meirelles’ “A Musa” is the most successful segment. It also happens to be entirely dialogue free. Stephen Elliott’s “Acho que Estou Apaixonado,” a tale of an Australian movie star recklessly climbing Sugarloaf Mountain is less accomplished, but at least it is fully developed and provides some lovely scenery, along with a bizarre Bebel Gilberto cameo.

John Turturro’s deliberately overwrought “Quando não há Mais Amor” just doesn’t work, even with the French retro-pop stylings of Vanessa Paradis. Guillermo Arriaga’s “Texas” falls nearly as flat, but throws in an element of exploitation for additional discomfort. Im Sang-soo’s “O Vampiro do Rio” has tons of style and promises great potential, but it is over practically as soon as it starts, as if the producers could only secure him a twenty-four-hour visa. Likewise, Carlos Saldanha’s “Pas de Deux” is lovely to look at, but maddeningly fragmentary. Dittos for José Padilha’s “Inútil Paisagem,” which has some nice looking shots Wagner Moura hang-gliding and not much else.

At least, Nadine Labaki closes the film on a relative high note, perhaps because there is actually a concept behind “O Milagre.” Of course, the notion of Harvey Keitel appearing as himself is a strong foundation. While in Rio filming a ridiculously melodramatic Thorn Birds rip-off with Labaki, Kietel is convinced to literally play God over the phone with a terminally ill boy. As usual, Keitel is highly watchable and he develops good chemistry with Labaki and the rest of the cast and crew of the film-within-the-film.

This is the third of producer Emmanuel Benbihy’s city anthologies, following Paris and New York, with Tbilisi already on deck. Frankly, the Georgian capital seems like an unlikely setting for the frothy series, but maybe that is a good thing. Hopefully, all the contributing filmmakers came with fully conceived concepts ready to go. In contrast, after watching Rio, we can only guess many of the constituent directors assumed the city would inspire them and just decided to wing it. Still, it all sounds great, thanks to the music of Gilberto Gil, Chico Buarque, Celso Fonseca, Bebel Gilberto, Cartola, Maucha Adnet, and masters like Jobim and Villa-Lobos. Seriously, you might try watching it with your eyes closed. The soundtrack is highly recommended, but the film is way too inconsistent and patchy. For diehard Brazilophiles, Rio, I Love You opens this Friday (4/15) in New York, at the Landmark Sunshine.

Fading Gigolo: John Turturro, Ladies Man

You cannot get by in New York with part-time floral arrangement work. Yet, as a vocation, it probably means poor struggling Fioravante is a sensitive soul, who is good with his hands. His cash-strapped former boss hatches an unlikely scheme to capitalize on those talents in John Turturro’s Fading Gigolo (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Murray Schwartz’s antiquarian bookstore had been in his family for years, but it did not survive the neurotic Upper Eastsider’s mismanagement. Fortunately, Schwartz’s wife still has a job, but his longtime clerk Fioravante is scuffling to make ends meets. A trip to his dermatologist gives Schwartz an idea so crazy, it just might work. Evidently, the cougarish Dr. Parker and her BFF Selima are looking for a man’s services. Frankly, they would prefer someone who is mature and less intimidating than the stereotypical boy toy type. Reluctantly (and rather skeptically), Fioravante agrees to let Schwartz pimp him out to his high class clientele.

Naturally, Fioravante is a hit with the well heeled ladies, because what woman wouldn’t lust after John Turturro? However, things will get complicated when Schwartz seeks the delousing services of a widow in the Brooklyn Hasidic community. Picking up on Avigal’s loneliness as she picks through his step-child’s hair, Schwartz convinces her to try Fioravante’s services. While their meeting is downright chaste by his recent standards, it would still be considered scandalous within her community. Further complicating matters, Fioravante and his new client start developing confusing feelings for each other. Her out-of-character trips to Manhattan also attract the suspicions of Dovi, the Orthodox neighborhood patrolman, who has long carried a torch for her.

Frankly, Fading is the sort of Woody Allen movie Allen ought to be making, but isn’t. It is a wistfully mature film, deeply steeped in an elegant sadness. The notion of writer-director Turturro casting himself as the illicit lover of Sharon Stone and Sofia Vergara might seem self-serving, but the aging average Joe-ness of Fioravante is part of the point. It is his comfort with intimacy that makes Fioravante desirable. If anything, Fading is old school Alan Alda sensitivity porn rather than a vehicle for people doing it like rabbits.

Turturro shows a remarkable deft touch as a director, patiently letting his scenes unfold. He gets a key assist from the jazz soundtrack, which includes several seductions from boss tenor Gene Ammons. Jug had a seductive sound that could get anyone to say “yes,” but it also perfectly suits the sophisticated New York milieu.

Allen does his shtick as Schwartz, but it is funny more often than not. Yet, it is Turturro who quietly commands the screen as Fioravante, a sad clown incapable of acting less than chivalrous. He develops some achingly powerful chemistry with Vanessa Paradis in her first English language role as Avigal. Their scenes together are a reminder how dramatically potent denial and yearning can be on-screen.

Likewise, Liev Schreiber could not possibly be any more earnest as the lovesick Dovi. Stone and Vergara certainly look the parts of Fioravante’s clients, but never come close to exposing the inner depths of their souls. In a small supporting role, Bob Balaban nearly steals the show as Schwartz’s lawyer, Sol. In fact, Fading is well stocked with brief but neatly turned performances, including Loan Chabanol as a French expat who makes a strong impression late in the game.

Absolutely never smarmy, Fading is an emotionally intelligent film intended for an adult audience. It should satisfy all of Woody Allen’s fans, but Turturro gives it his own distinctive stamp. Highly recommended, Fading Gigolo opens this Friday (4/18) in New York at the Angelika Film Center and the UES’s City Cinemas 1, 2, 3.

Café de Flore: The Melody Lingers On

Music has the potential to be a collective experience, uniting people who are utterly unaware of each other’s existence.  One swinging sixties lounge tune will connect characters of radically disparate eras and temperaments in Jean-Marc Vallée’s Café de Flore (trailer here), which was to open this Friday in New York, but was bumped to the 9th, post-posting.

Life will be difficult for Jacqueline as a single working mother in 1967 Paris.  Her husband walked out when their son Laurent was born with Down-syndrome.  Undaunted, she will fiercely dedicate herself to her son, to an extent that might prove too intense.  Four decades later, Antoine Godin seems to have it all.  Blessed with two healthy daughters and a blossoming career as a techno DJ, he ought to be happy, but isn’t.  Partly this is due to his codependent ex-wife Carole, who resents his prospective fiancée Rose.  He met the younger woman in AA, which is both good and bad.  In each storyline, a tune called “Café de Flore” will persistently pop up.

Vallée rapidly cuts between the two narratives, unfolding them nearly simultaneously.  Viewers have to keep on their toes, even though cinematographer Pierre Cottereau clearly delineates the drab 1960’s from the high gloss of contemporary Montreal.  Frankly, viewers will need to find their sea legs during the first act, but the bravura work of Vallée, who served as his own film editor and screenwriter, is worth the effort.

Frankly, viewers will most likely be unprepared for Flore, especially if they are familiar with Vallée’s C.R.A.Z.Y. and The Young Victoria.  While on the surface, the critically over-lauded former film addressed similar themes of family dysfunction, Flore takes a radical turn into the metaphysical that would be spoilery to spell out in any great detail.  Nonetheless, Vallée develops it credibly and organically.  The title song, licensed from British electronic DJ and occasional big band leader Matthew Herbert, also travels nicely between the two time periods.

Vanessa Paradis gives a career performance as Jacqueline.  It is a complex and emotionally raw portrayal that hits the audience with staggering force.  Though thoroughly de-glamorized, the face of Chanel is still quite a striking presence.  Bilingual indie-folk-rocker Kevin Parent is also quite compellingly as Godin, but in a less showy way.  Unfortunately, Hélène Florent is stuck with the thankless story-facilitating role as the mopey Carole.  However, there is an immediacy and vulnerability to Évelyne Brochu’s Rose that is rather shocking.

Granted, Vallée is a name director, but Flore is still the surprise of the year.  It is a deep, rich film with whiff of the otherworldly (but in no way should it be considered a genre film).  Assembled with genuine artistry, Café de Flore is highly recommended for mainstream adult audiences when it opens next Friday (11/9) in New York at the Angelika Film Center.

French Rom-Com: Heartbreaker

Even in France, any man who tells a woman he also digs George Michael’s Wham! and the movie Dirty Dancing has to be lying. At least Alex Lippi is not doing it for amorous reasons. It is strictly business for him. Hired by clients to break-up the dysfunctional relationships of their loved ones, Lippi’s business is seduction. Yet, he will face his greatest professional and personal challenge in Pascal Chaumeil’s Heartbreaker (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Lippi has one hard-and-fast rule: he never breaks up genuinely happy couples. However, his impatient loan shark provides sufficient incentive to break that rule in the case of Juliette Van Der Beqc and her apparently perfect do-gooder fiancé. Working undercover as her bodyguard, he gains access to the betrothed wine expert, but even with the inside information assembled by his sister Mélanie and her loving doofus husband Marc, the break-up specialist has trouble closing the deal. Instead, it is Van Der Becq who inspires Lippi to break his other unstated but clearly implied rule when he starts falling for her himself. Obviously, complications ensue.

There is a fair amount of broad farcical humor in Heartbreaker, much of it supplied by Lippi’s sister and brother-in-law. However, Chaumeil's film is an unapologetically sentimental rom-com at heart. Fortunately, it all more or less works thanks to the strong chemistry between the two leads. Romain Duris (Juliette Binoche’s brother in Cédric Klapisch's Paris and the focus of a BAM retrospective ending this Wednesday 9/8), is a thoroughly likable cad who proves surprisingly adept at physical comedy. Not just a striking beauty, Vanessa Paradis (the French recording artist and Johnny Depp’s significant other), is indeed charismatic in a realistically mature and sophisticated way as Lippi’s betrothed target. They look good and even dance well together, as when they recreate the climatic Dirty Dancing number during one of Lippi’s more ambitious seduction attempts.

Chaumeil cut his teeth with AD and unit work on Luc Besson productions like The Fifth Element and The Professional. Despite radical differences in genre and subject matter, he seems to have picked up a good sense of pacing through those gigs, because Heartbreaker never loses momentum. Its light and frothy atmosphere is further heightened by the beautiful Monte Carlo settings, which glisten through the lens of cinematographer Thierry Arbogast. Indeed, the film makes the most of its exclusive locale, even throwing in a cameo by model Victoria Silvstedt for added glamour.

Heartbreaker is like a French film trying to be a Hollywood movie, but doing a better job of it. It has an engaging charm that might not offer many surprises, but delivers plenty of satisfaction. A pleasing little film to spend time with, Heartbreaker opens this Friday (9/10) at the IFC Center.