Kadokawa at Japan Society: W’s Tragedy

As early as the Elizabethan era, the play within the play has been a postmodern device for meta-truth-telling. Such is particularly the case for the ingénue actress toiling in a thankless supporting role in a stage adaptation of the Shizuko Natsuki mystery novel published in America as Murder at Mt. Fuji. The events on-stage add ironic resonance to the backstage intrigue of Shinichirō Sawai’s W’s Tragedy (trailer here), which screens as part of the Japan Society retrospective: Pop! Goes Cinema: Kadokawa Films and 1980s Japan.

“I’ve stabbed Grandpa to death” is the familiar opening line of the many television adaptations of Natsuki’s Daburyū no Higeki. Unfortunately, Shizuka Mita will not be reciting them—at least not yet. She auditioned for the role of apparent murderess Mako Watsuji (the “W” of the tragedy), but the company cast her as the maid, while also assigning her prompter and wardrobe duties. The early out-of-town try-out performances are often demeaning, but her former actor suitor tries to buoy her spirits—even while encouraging her to withdraw from show business.

However, Mita gets the kind of big break that could easily ruin her when Sho Hatori, the production’s grand dame leading lady asks the innocent girl to cover for her. Hatori’s rich married patron dies in the saddle so to speak, so she convinces Mita to dress the body and pretend he had been her caller. The resulting publicity will be a double-edged sword, but Hatori will keep up her end of the bargain, elevating Mita to the prime featured role of Mako.

At first, Sawai keeps the production of W’s Tragedy very much in the background, which must have baffled audiences already familiar with the novel and television adaptation just one year prior to the film’s release (at least four more TV miniseries would follow). In fact, the first act almost has a vibe like Fame, even including an ultra-1980s aerobics sequence.

References to Mita’s supposed plainness are a little baffling, given she is played by former idol and Sailor Suit and Machine Gun star Hiroko Yakushimaru, but she is terrific expressing all the aspiring actress’s insecurities and self-doubt. She is openly vulnerable, yet there is a dark edge to ambitious resolve. Yet, nobody upstages Yoshiko Mita, who commands the screen as Hatori, like Lauren Bacall in her Queen of Broadway days.

By today’s standards, Sawai is quite restrained with the self-referential business, obviously trusting in his mostly original screenplay and first-rate ensemble. W’s Tragedy has an ambiguous vibe that is sometimes reminiscent of Day for Night, which is high praise indeed. As dark as it gets, it is also reassuring that the show still must go on. Very highly recommended, W’s Tragedy screens this Saturday (12/17) at the Japan Society, concluding their edgy yet nostalgic Kadokawa retrospective.

Chosen: Harvey Keitel’s War Story

If only the Warsaw Uprising had ended this happily. Although initially caught off guard, the National Socialists destroyed everything in their path to put down the insurrection, ultimately including the Great Synagogue. Still, there was nothing to lose and much to gain from their heroism. The Polish and Jewish resistance get the sort of victory they deserved in Jasmin Dizdar’s Chosen (trailer here), which starts its better-late-than-never release today in Southern California.

The old crusty grandfather will finally tell his beloved grandson Max about the tremendous courage he witnessed during WWII. He pretends to be discussing a fellow Jewish Hungarian named “Sonson,” but right from the start we can tell he is modestly describing his own exploits. Sonson (as we shall still refer to him) was a late recruit to the partisan cause, because he was preoccupied with his fragile wife’s safety. When the new Jewish exclusion laws demanded her eviction from the hospital, despite her recent cancer diagnosis, it sealed Sonson’s fate as well.

On her deathbed, he promises to find and rescue her sister Judith, a resistance fighter recently deported to Auschwitz. As a man of his word, Sonson sets off to Poland (hoofing it in eight days), where he joins up with the Warsaw Ghetto resistance, in hopes their contacts can turn up a lead on Judith. Naturally, he becomes an inspiring commander in the process.

If you can get past the historically dubious uplifting conclusion, Chosen is a pretty solid little war movie programmer. Essentially, it is like Defiance with less mud and grime or a stripped-down and more straight forward Inglorious Basterds. The warfighting scenes are surprisingly presentable for such a presumably low budget affair and a whole lot of National Socialists get killed, so there is a good deal of vicarious payback.

Granted, Luke Mably is not exactly a younger analog of Harvey Keitel, who plays his older self, but he has suitably slow-burning presence and decent action cred for the righteously driven Sonson. Keitel essentially phones in the Princess Bride narrative wrap-around, yet he is still intriguing to watch on screen. Emerging international Romanian star Ana Ularu (I’m an Old Communist Hag, The Paper Will Be Blue) plays Judith with grit and sensitivity. However, most of the rest of the resistance are largely armed extras.

Technically, the real Warsaw Ghetto Uprising ended on a downer note, but reportedly many of the survivors were deported to Treblinka, where they played key roles in a subsequent revolt at the concentration camp. Their story would make a heck of a movie. For what it’s worth, Chosen is not bad either, but it is still probably better suited for VOD (having already been released on multiple platforms) than a full adult theatrical ticket. Regardless, it opens today (12/16) at the Laemmle Town Center in Encino.

Wisely Passed Over by the Academy: Neruda

Octavio Paz never ceased to admire Pablo Neruda as a poet, but he was profoundly disappointed in the Chilean’s unyielding adherence to Stalinism. No doubt, the Mexican Nobel Laureate would also be greatly troubled by Pablo Larraín ostensibly cinematic portrait and its eagerness to gloss the historical record. To its credit, the Academy’s foreign language division declined shortlist Chile’s official submission, Larraín’s bizarrely over-hyped Neruda, which opens today in New York.

By the late 1930s, the world generally understood the nature of the Moscow Show Trials, except for those who willfully maintained their ignorance. In 1946, Neruda still clung to his blinkered world view, which provided radical leftist President Gonzalez Videla a handy excuse when he turned on Neruda and the Communist Party, as part of power struggle to control the Chilean leftwing. Neruda, a sitting senator at the time, was exiled, becoming the toast of Soviet-aligned and fellow-traveling political circles.

In Larraín’s Borgesean distortion, before Neruda could reach the adoring receptions abroad, he spent months underground, eluding the Javert-like police prefect Oscar Peluchonneau, his nemesis and possible post-modern alter-ego. Frankly, Larraín’s film is not even competent hagiography, depicting Neruda as a nauseatingly self-indulgent hedonist, who spends more time in brothels than the average Game of Thrones character. Where is the late, great Philippe Noiret when we need him?

Neruda has been described as a film noir take on Neruda and his legend. That is apt enough if they mean the noir Terrence Malick had the decency to never make. If you enjoy overwrought, risibly puffed-up voiceovers than Neruda will be like having Christmas and the Super Bowl on the same day.

For the rest of us, Neruda is just embarrassingly self-important, self-aggrandizing, self-righteous, self-absorbed, and utterly un-self-aware. This is the sort of klutzy pretention critics would ordinarily snark off the screen, but in this case, it is protected by its extreme leftist ideology.

Sadly, Neruda is not competent enough in fundamental cinematic terms for its didacticism to become problematic. Wildly over-the-top in its ostentatious excesses, Neruda’s purple narration makes it a better fit for the MST3K reboot than the Oscars. Indeed, some of the ever so solemn passages cry out for Crow and Tom Servo to bring them crashing down to earth. Horribly over-praised, Neruda should be flatly dismissed when it opens today (12/16) in New York, at the IFC Center.

Submitted by Kazakhstan: Amanat

Without question, one of the most dangerous professions in the former Soviet Captive Nations was that of historian. Remembering was risky in general and downright perilous in the case of people and events the Party wanted forgotten. Two generations of Kazakh historians will seek the truth about Kenesary Khan, the last Kazakh Khan, descended from Genghis himself, but both will run into bureaucratic stonewalling and secret police intimidation in Satybaldy Narymbetov’s Amanat (trailer here), which has been official submitted by Kazakhstan as their foreign language Academy Award contender.

The nine-film shortlist is due imminently from the Academy’s foreign language division, which is unfortunately highly likely to overlook Amanat (a Kazakh word for cultural heritage) in favor of films with vocal champions, such as the laughably pretentious Neruda. That is a shame, because Amanat is a smart, historically-aware film in the tradition of the Andrzej Wajda’s Man of Marble and Katyn. Where Neruda knowingly and deliberately plays it fast-and-lose with the truth for the sake of scoring propaganda points, Amanat indicts the bowdlerization of the historical record to serve the ruling authorities.

Like his ancestor, Kenesary Khan was a comparatively progressive figure, especially compared to the Czarist Russia. Eventually, he led a revolt against the Czar’s imperialist encroachment that was ultimately crushed by the Russian Army. Having won the war, the Czars libeled Khan a ruthless savage in their history books—and the Soviets continued the tradition. The open-minded wunderkind historian Ermukhan Bekmakhanov’s scholarship painted a very different picture, but it quickly led him afoul of the Stalinist thought police.

Just like his subject, the record of Bekmakhanov and his published papers was suppressed until the historian was posthumously rehabilitated under Khrushchev. However, no such revisionism was extended to Kenesary Khan. At this point, the brilliant but scuffling journalist Ramazan Duman starts investigating the Bekmakhanov Affair, tracking down his censored papers and befriending his widow, Khalima. Unbeknownst to Duman, Buchin, the very same KGB agent that hounded Bekmakhanov, starts assembling a dossier on him. Yet even the rather naïve Duman understands 1968 is not a great year for truth-telling behind the Iron Curtain.

Narymbetov dexterously juggles three distinct timelines, following Kenesary Khan as he prepares for his ill-fated final battle, Bekmakhanov as guilelessly falls victim to a Stalinist purge, and Duman as he risks the same fate. It gives the film a massively tragic sweep and a sense of the ironic forces compelling history to repeat itself. Frankly, this is exactly the sort of film the Academy section voters appreciate, but they will need confidence in their judgment to opt for such a dark horse, which would be out of character.

Regardless, the rest of us civilians can appreciate Amanat as the fine film it is, if and when it finds wider festival screenings and distribution in the West. It is a big picture kind of film, but it still features a number of first-rate performances, most definitely including the radiant yet heart-rending Karlygash Muhamedzhanova as Khalima Bekmakhanova. Berik Aitzhanov is so tragically dignified as Ermukhan it practically hurts to watch him, but he also develops some rather sweet and lovely chemistry with Muhamedzhanova. Sanzhar Madiev’s Kenesary Khan is more of symbol than a flesh-and-blood character, but he certainly looks the part donning the armor. However, Aziz Beishenaliev might just make the year’s best villain as the steely cool, game-playing Buchin.

Amanat is an ambitious period production, encompassing the 1840s, the late 1940s into the early 1950s, and 1968, but it is also an uncomfortably timely film. It really deserves to find a wide audience both in the West and within Kazakhstan. It would also be nice if it reached viewers in Russia, but that is probably asking too much. Hopefully, the Palm Springs International film fest will screen it, since the foreign language submissions are its specialty. Very highly recommended, Amanat deserves a spot on the shortlist, which might already be out by the time you read these words.

Maggie Cheung at Metrograph—Comrades: Almost a Love Story

Early last year, the Mainland Communist government finally lifted its strict censorship of this ostensibly nonpolitical award-winning romantic vehicle for Maggie Cheung. The prohibition never really made sense, so it was often chalked up to Hong Kong-Mainland differences. However, it is easy to suspect the characters’ sentimental affection for Taiwanese Mandarin singer Teresa Teng, who was quite outspoken in her support for the Tiananmen Square democracy protestors, had a direct bearing on the decision. As usual, the government denied its people something good. Without question, Maggie Cheung gives a career-defining performance in Peter Chan’s Comrades: Almost a Love Story (trailer here), which screens as part of the Metrograph’s retrospective series Maggie Cheung: Center Stage.

Li Xiao-jun has come to Hong Kong from the northern provinces to earn money, so he can marry his hometown sweetheart. However, in 1986, the go-go mega-city is a hard place for a guileless Mandarin speaker. It seems a bit easier for Li Qiao, a brash, Cantonese fluent scammer from Guangzhou. Yet, life seems to be in the habit of disappointing her. Initially, she assumes she will just make a quick buck off the rube, referring him to an English tutorial school for a commission, but somehow he sticks in her life.

They start out as almost frienemies, but soon evolve into friends with benefits, which causes the engaged Xiao-jun considerable guilt (and Li Qiao as well). When Li’s intended finally joins him, Li Qiao duly befriends her. Of course, fate, timing, and chaos involving her aging Triad sugar daddy constantly conspire to keep the almost lovers separated.

You just haven’t seen bittersweet until you have seen Comrades (a term used with some irony). The pseudo-couple experiences dozens of near-misses, but Ivy Ho’s elegant screenplay never feels contrived. Frankly, that really is how the world works when you are a marginalized economic migrant. Yet, there is always something admirable about the Lis and their friends, because they are so doggedly working to better their lives.

If you have ever considered Cheung an icy screen presence, this is also the film to melt your preconceptions. She just basically rips viewers hearts out as the exponentially-more-vulnerable-than-she-lets-on Li Xiao. The chemistry she shares with Leon Lai (as Xiao-jun) is absolutely devastating. Frankly, the same can be said of her rapport with Eric Tsang as the mobbed-up Pao Au-yeung, which is another reason why the film packs such a sustained emotional wallop. For comic relief that naturally takes a melancholy turn, noted cinematographer Christopher Doyle (working solely in front of the camera) steals several scenes as Jeremy, the foul-mouthed English teacher.

The kicker is the lyrically romantic soundtrack, featuring dozens of Teresa Teng’s fan favorite love songs and the dreamily jazzy themes composed by Chiu Jun-fun and Chiu Tsang-hei. In a way, Comrades is a sweeping tale, encompassing the Chinese immigrant experience in mid-1980s Hong Kong and mid-1990s New York, but it also feels intoxicatingly hushed and intimate, thanks to Chan’s sensitive but assured hand on the helm. It is a modern classic that is almost mandatory for any Cheung retrospective (the same is probably true for Lai and Tsang). Very highly recommended, Comrades: Almost a Love Story screens this Saturday (12/18) at the Metrograph, as part of Maggie Cheung: Center Stage.

The Hollow Point: Ian McShane vs. the Cartels

It used to be easier for the Mexican cartels to get guns and ammo when the Obama Administration was just shipping it down there directly, as part of the super-well-conceived Operation Fast and Furious. Now they have to go to the bother of smuggling it themselves. Naturally, when a shipment goes missing it makes them mean mad. That also spells trouble for a newly appointed Arizona sheriff trying to maintain some semblance of law & order in Gonzalo López-Gallego’s The Hollow Point (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Cantankerous old Sheriff Leland might be an embarrassing dinosaur, but he was sufficiently on-the-spot to intercept one of the cartel’s squirreliest gun-runners. Unfortunately, he wound up shooting the suspect in the process. It was legitimately self-defense, but it is still sufficient grounds to cashier him out of office and replace him with Wallace, the returning native son. He will have no honeymoon period when he realizes his estranged childhood pal Clive Mercy was the deceased smuggler’s missing partner.

So yes, the cartel’s nose is a little out of joint. For handy reference, they have an actual list of people they wanted killed. Of course, Mercy is at the top, but so is his girlfriend, Wallace’s ex, Marla. As part of their scorched earth campaign of retribution, they even want Diaz, the sleazebag used car salesman who brokered the deal painfully executed if he cannot cough up sufficient financial compensation. Much to Wallace’s disappointment, their assassin appears to be some sort of uniformed county law enforcement officer. His first run-in with the professional killer is so painful and scarring, it drives Wallace to form an alliance with his former rival and predecessor, the salty Leland.

You have to give López-Gallego credit for not doing things by half-measures. He puts Leland and especially Wallace through the wringer and then some. He is certainly willing to go over-the-top and back again, but there is nothing cartoony about the violence. It is as brutal as real life along the border.

As he often has in the past, López-Gallego serves as his own editor on Hollow Point, but he arguably cut it too cleverly for his own good. He springs too many sudden surprises on the audience, making us feel needlessly played. On the other hand, he has a keen feeling for bordertown grit and grime. He embraces elements of the neo-noir and contemporary western, cranking up the violence to ten and the attitude up to eleven.

In that respect, Ian “Lovejoy” McShane’s Leland is his not so secret weapon. He just has a jolly good time strutting and snarling, which is quite infectious. McShane has always had massive screen presence, but here he just milks it for everything its worth. Patrick Wilson is stuck being the dour, serious Wallace, but he just broods like a champion and manages to withstand all the mayhem López-Gallego throws his way. Frankly he shows a hardnosed side we never knew he had. Jim Belushi is far less subtle and restrained as the craven Diaz, oozing slime out of every pore, but that is a good thing in a film like this. In contrast, John Leguizamo is unforgivably ho-hum as the mysterious cartel killer.

Hollow Point could have been one for the ages, but the cheaply mean-spirited portrayal of a devout Christian character dampens its good vibrations. Still, anyone who appreciates flamboyant swaggering ought to get a load of McShane doing his thing. Recommended for fans of modern westerns and border war thrillers, The Hollow Point opens this Friday (12/16) in New York, at the Cinema Village.

Ravenwolf Towers: Full Moon in Webisode Form

In the lunar cycle, there are 29.53 days between full moons. Those of us whose jobs do not depend on the tides ordinarily do not keep track of such things, but fans of Charles Band and the particular style of his horror movie production company Full Moon Features now have a reason. His new web series will premiere a new episode every full moon, which will make its airings even less predictable than NBC’s NewsRadio in the late 1990s. Yet, if you are a diehard brand fan, you will probably be checking anyway. Casual genre viewers will also be amused by the Full Moon aesthetic applied to the Grand Hotel formula when Bad Mary, the first episode of Ravenwolf Towers premieres today on Full Moon’s Streaming site.

The titular hotel was once an opulent palace, but it has degenerated into a skid row flop, except for the top story. A family of apparently financially secure inbred mutants keeps the 11^th floor all to themselves and they expect management to respect their privacy. As of episode one, this now includes Jake, the new assistant manager. He is a bit of a sad sack, but he perks up when he meets Mary from the top floor clan, who happens to be rather attractive, like Ravenwolf’s Marilyn Munster.

Band helms a surprisingly atmospheric premiere, but thanks to his showman’s instincts, he also has the commercial sense to open with a sex scene, making Ravenwolf totally cable-ready and fanboy-friendly. Right from the start, he doles out some intriguing backstory and the run-down setting is rather evocative. The cast largely plays it straight, including Evan Henderson as the somewhat spaced-out Jake. Cult movie fans will also get a kick out of super-busy horror movie regular Maria Olsen chewing some scenery as Mabel, the duly sinister daughter of the freaky clan’s ailing patriarch.

Based on the thirty-one minute first installment, Ravenwolf definitely has potential, like a riff on the old James Brolin Hotel series, but with body horror, deformity exploitation, nudity, and at least two mad scientists. (We’ll let you know if subsequent episodes are open for review.) Of course, a season one DVD has already been announced, but in the meantime, Band and Olsen fans can keep watching the moon. For Full Moon subscribers, Bad Mary is now available on their streaming platform.

The Devil Lives Here: Evil Never Dies in Brazil

If Simon Legree were obsessed with The Hellstrom Chronicle, he would be about as much fun as the notorious “Honey Baron.” The cruel Brazilian honey plantation owner loved to talk smack about insect behavior and theories of racial superiority. Eventually, he was killed by an indigenous shaman during a slave uprising, but his downfall was only possible through a painful sacrifice. It also requires constant maintenance to keep the nasty old sod down. Unfortunately, four entitled millennials will interfere with the true believers tasked with keeping the evil entity at bay in Rodrigo Gasparini & Dante Vescio’s The Devil Lives Here (trailer here), which releases today on DVD, from Artsploitation.

“Control the queen and you control the hive,” the Baron often tells his much-abused slave, Bento. The sadist beekeeper took the advice to heart, enslaving and impregnating Bento’s mother, the high priestess-queen of her people. However, the old woman uses her dark powers to turn the tables on the Baron, at the cost of her unborn son.

Apolo grew up hearing stories about Bento and the Baron, but he always believed the poor baby got a raw deal. He still does. Somehow, the former caretaker convinced his parents to leave the house vacant one night, every nine months, so he could safely perform the booster ritual. After his death, the caretaker’s sons assume the agreement is still in force, but Apolo intends to free the unborn infant’s spirit, with the help of his girlfriend Magu (Maria Augusta), her cousin Jorge, and his girlfriend Alé, whose anti-psychotic meds will not be much help when the Baron’s malevolent spirit starts messing with her head.

The way Vescio, Gasparini, and screenwriter Rafael Baliú incorporate Brazilian folklore, tragic history, and old wives’ tales into its fabric makes Devil eerily potent even when the narrative is a little murky. Frankly, it is pretty gutsy just for dealing with the subject of Brazilian slavery as well as the racism that went with it and still lingers (all those old National Socialists didn’t hide out in Brazil to dance the Samba).

The entire ensemble is at least sufficiently competent, while Mariana Cortines makes quite the impression as Alé the headcase. The manor house and plantation grounds are also terrifically cinematic and massively suggestive of sinister forces at work. Cinematographer Kaue Zilli has a knack for capturing the dark side of sunny, which further reinforces the foreboding. On the downside, the speed at which the righteous brothers turn into the home invaders from Funny Games is problematic.

Usually, Catholics make the best horror movies, because they believe satanic evil is a real and present danger, but also understand the power of ritual and sacrament. However, there is something downright pagan at the heart of Devil that is deeply unsettling. Despite cratering at the end, The Devil Lives Here is recommended pretty highly for horror fans, now that it is available on DVD, from Artsploitation.

Solace: Sir Anthony Hopkins Pursues a Serial Killer

Even though the Marvel Comics villain Destiny had precognitive powers, the X-Men still usually defeated her and the Brotherhood of [Evil] Mutants, although often under rather pyrrhic terms. Sometimes knowing the future just isn’t enough. Retired police doctor John Clancy has limited powers of prescience, yet he was still unable to prevent his daughter’s death from leukemia. He is still handy to have around during an investigation. Unfortunately, the serial killer he will investigate has the same powers, except they are even stronger in Afonso Poyart’s long-awaited Solace (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Special Agent Joe Merriweather is so frustrated in his hunt for an elusive serial killer, he tries to lure his former colleague Clancy back as a consultant. Frankly, it is sort of impressive Merriweather even picked up on the clues linking the cases. Naturally, Clancy is reluctant but something about the cases stimulates his Spidey sense. As to be expected, he initially clashes with Merriweather’s headshrinker partner, Agent Katherine Cowles, but she warms to him when she realizes he is the real deal. He also takes a liking to her, which makes his visions of her potential murder rather upsetting.

It turns out, all the victims had fatal diseases that were mostly undiagnosed, but on the verge of taking a horribly painful turn. Before long, Dr. Clancy realizes they are hunting someone much like himself, but more powerful, engaged in a spree of “mercy” killings. Things get really complicated when the adversaries start using their powers to get the drop on each other.

The good news is Solace is way better than you might have heard—truly legitimately so and not just as a function of low expectations. Reportedly, Solace was originally developed as a sequel to Se7en, but it is hard to see that lineage in the final film, aside from both having serial killer plots in common. Frankly, that is just as well. Solace is much more life-affirming film and often surprisingly clever. Arguably, it is miraculously cohesive considering how many screenwriters had a hand in its screenplay, including some pretty prestigious but uncredited scribes.

Of course, the commercial potential of a serial killer movie starring Sir Anthony Hopkins is self-evident. Although worlds removed from Hannibal Lecter (who nonetheless haunts the film like a ghost in the attic), Hopkins is terrific as the world-weary Clancy. He makes the woo-woo believable and gives a rousing third act defense of life should raise the hair on the back of everyone’s neck and ought to earn the film a robust following with pro-life, anti-euthanasia activists.

Once again, Jeffrey Dean Morgan proves he is one of the most under-rated actors working today, despite his high-profile work in Walking Dead, Watchmen, and dozens of other shows and films. As Merriweather, he gives the film a human grounding and develops a genuine sense of camaraderie with Hopkins. Colin Farrell takes his time showing up, but he makes the most of it when he does, creeping the scene up and chewing the scenery as the psychic killer, Charles Ambrose. He and Hopkins have some electric scenes together, sizing each other up and trying to out-brain each other. Australian rapper Abbie Cornish basically tries to get by on distant reserve as Cowles and she mostly gets away with it, because all eyes are really on Hopkins and Farrell.

Poyart really has a fitting sensibility for Solace, which is stylistically similar to his breakout Brazilian calling card 2 Rabbits, except this film features dizzying visions of possible futures, whereas his previous film was dominated by super-kinetic context-supplying rewinds. It all comes together, thanks in large measure to Sir Anthony. Recommended without reservation for fans of serial killer thrillers, Solace opens this Friday (12/16) in New York, at the Cinema Village (but screening times are limited).

AFI’s EU Showcase ’16: United States of Love

Anyone who has seen Kieslowski’s Dekalog understands there were eight million stories in the naked Polish Communist-era housing complex. Naked is indeed an apt description, physically and emotionally for these three women. Each are pining for unattainable objections of desire in Tomasz Wasilewski’s United States of Love (trailer here), which screens during the AFI’s 2016 EU Film Showcase.

It is 1990. Communism has just fallen, but the architecture still sucks. Things should be looking up, but love only brings torment and humiliation for these women. Agata is married to Jacek, but she pines for the new, relatively young priest recently assigned to their parish. It is making the business of their daughter’s confirmation unnecessarily awkward and playing havoc with their marriage.

Neighboring Iza is a secondary school principal, who assumes the death of her secret lover’s wife means their affair will finally become legit. However, much to her surprise, the doctor breaks off their relationship, using his daughter Wiola, a pupil, as an excuse. Like Glen Close in Fatal Attraction, she does not take his rejection lying down. In fact, matters get decidedly ugly.

In the spare moments when Iza is not acting obsessively stalkerish, she involuntarily retires Renata, a senior Russian teacher, who happens to be carrying a torch for Agata’s younger sister Marzena. The former beauty pageant contestant and aspiring fashion model happens to be married, but her husband is way out of the picture in West Germany, where he has rather amazingly found gainful employment. To get close to Marzena, Renata will resort to a number of petty ruses, but nobody will win their heart’s desire, least of all the objectified Marzena.

These three (or rather four) women’s stories are as grim as the concrete building they live in. Technically, the Communist era is over, but everyone is still clearly programmed to be distrustful, standoffish, and just generally wretched. Of course, it is impossible to watch States of Love without getting Dekalog flashbacks. Wasilewski even incorporates one of its most depressing plot points (from Dekalog One). Yet, Kieslowski gave viewers a wider range of emotions and occasionally maybe even a glimmer of hope, whereas Wasilewski is unremittingly bleak.

Nevertheless, the film is a showcase of bravely vulnerable and revealing performances from all four central women. Wasilewski gives them no place to hide, putting their characters through emotional wringers and often stripping them bare. Marta Nierardkiewicz is probably the most heartrending as the too trusting Marzena, while Magdalena Cielacka is the most chilling as Iza. Arguably, Dorota Kolak gives the most fully dimensional performance as Renata. The men also deserve credit for not allowing their characters become mere battle-of-the-sexes caricatures, particularly Andrzej Chyra as the heart-sick, guilt-ridden doctor.

States of Love was lensed by Romanian master cinematographer Olg Mutu, who shot Sergei Loznitsa’s In the Fog and Cristian Mungiu’s 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days, which should cue viewers to expect a distinctive look and a depressing tone. It is a serious work of film, but a somewhat unbalanced exercise in auteurist cruelty towards Wasileski’s character creations. It is also a real downer. Recommended for cineastes who enjoy wallowing in miserablism (they are out there), United States of Love screens this Wednesday (12/14) and Saturday (12/17), as part of the AFI’s annual EU Film Showcase.

12 Deadly Days: It’s a Blumhouse Christmas

Here comes Blumhouse bearing holiday gifts. They ought to be in a festive mood, because Christmas came early for them when they released Ouija: Origin of Evil. It was probably the least anticipated pre/sequel in the history of cinema, yet it has grossed over $80 million and generated some of the company’s best reviews since Whiplash. However, the horror specialists are not going to give us ten entitled twits jumping about. The small town of Saturn, California is definitely in for a macabre holiday season, but creators Chris Cullari & Jennifer Raite go for laughs just as much as scares judging from the first three inter-connected episodes of 12 Deadly Days (trailer here), which releases today on YouTube Red.

The Cratchit Brothers moved their paranormal investigation service to Saturn based on one of Miles Cratchit’s visions. He’s got a bit of the shine himself, but he does not always get the full picture. Business has been slow, but Cratchit’s vision might be vindicated when they get a call from the richest man in town. His name happens to be Ebenezer and he is being haunted by three ghosts, but you should have known that already.

Episodes one and three definitely look for humor in their supernatural premises, but the second half-hour-ish installment plays it relatively straight. (Will this continue as a pattern? You tell me.) The scene shifts to the Russell Christmas tree lot seen briefly at the end of the previous episode (presumably another recurring pattern). It seems this is always the best lot in the country, but this year the proprietor has had to journey much further north to find worthy firs. Apparently, he brought something back with him, which promptly kills him, leaving his semi-estranged tree-hugger daughter Willow to figure out nature is evil and must be eradicated.

While 12 Deadly Days reportedly features many “YouTube stars” in each episode’s cast, they wisely also brought in enough professionals to carry the dramatic load. Betty Gabriel (co-star of The Purge: Election Year, which figures, right?) is a good example, playing Willow Russell as a smart, cool and collected genre protag.

There is a bit of a switcheroo in episode three, when a nice girl vampire unknowingly falls for nebbish young fellow born into a vampire hunter clan. You know the hunters are bad guys, because they are led by Gregory Itzin, who played the treasonous Pres. Charles Logan on 24. Again, the humor is pretty goofy, but the blood helps it go down more smoothly.

The first quarter of 12 Deadly Days is a lot of fun, but probably not so much that every TV critic in America will subscribe to YouTube Red so they can catch up with four through twelve. Still, it definitely qualifies as healthier holiday horror than those exploitative Santa slasher movies. Looking recommendable for horror comedy fans based on what what’s available for the media, 12 Deadly Days releases today (12/12) on YouTube Red.

Maggie Cheung at Metrograph: The Heroic Trio

Granted, Anita Mui was playing a completely different Wonder Woman, but Gal Gadot still has a tough act to follow. The Cantonese superheroine also had her own super-team, but they will not realize it until come together at the eleventh hour. Frankly, Warner Brothers might as well scrap their upcoming reboot, because who is going to care after the Metrograph reminds us of the spectacle that is Johnnie To’s The Heroic Trio (trailer here), which screens as part of their retrospective series Maggie Cheung: Center Stage.

Wonder Woman fights crime, as well she should, as the alter ego of Tung, the wife of incorruptible Inspector Lau. Ching Ching, a.k.a. Sam, a.k.a., a.k.a. Third Chan, a.k.a. Invisible Girl is a reluctant criminal, bound to serve a supernatural eunuch determined to revive China’s imperial governance through infernal means. That leaves Chat or Thief Catcher or Mercy, a bounty hunter somewhere in between. She is played by Maggie Cheung, who rocks the wardrobe and flashes plenty of action chops.

There is a crime wave sweeping Hong Kong and not even the police chief’s family is safe. At the behest of Evil Master (the name tells you all you need to know), Sam (let’s use her shortest name) has abducted eighteen newborn infants, with one more to go. One of those so-called “princes” will become the new emperor, while the rest will be mutated into ogre-like killing machines, like the finger-eating Ninth Chan.

Wonder Woman is out to stop the abductions, using inside information gleaned from her husband. Upon learning his infant son is the next target, the chief hires Thief Catcher to capture Sam, but this turns out to be a costly decision when the mercenary makes a small tactical mistake. It very nearly costs her life as well, but both Wonder Woman and Sam intercede to save her. Eventually, Sam is going to join them in the fight for justice, once Ninth Chan gives her that extra bit of heart-breaking motivation.

As a film, Heroic Trio is pretty darned nuts. To basically calls and raises John Woo, cranking the fog machine up to eleven and including at least one scene with birds. If you are the pedantic sort, this film just might make your head explode, but it has massive guts. Kids die in this movie—like, a lot of them. Yet, it is still great fun, in large measure thanks to Cheung. She plays the prima donna bounty hunter to the hilt, preening for the press and laying down ultra-stylish beat-downs.

All three heroines definitely got the memo and they came to play. Michelle Yeoh gets to be the most tragic, whereas Mui develops some pleasing chemistry with Damian Lau as the clueless Inspector husband, but they all kick butt and exude a dangerous Irma Vep-like allure. Lau is indeed solid in support while Anthony Wong radiates evil as Ninth Chan. It is always strange to see him in these early thuggish roles, knowing he would evolve into an actor of tremendous gravitas and an outspoken activist.

The term “over the top” does not do justice to the lunacy of The Heroic Trio, but it is tough to beat the combination of Cheung, Yeoh, and Mui. They just don’t make superhero movies like this anymore. Highly recommended for fans of any and all involved, The Heroic Trio screens this Thursday (12/15) at Metrograph, as part of Maggie Cheung: Center Stage, along with other unforgettable Cheung films, including Ashes of Time Redux, Irma Vep, and fittingly Center Stage.

AFI’s EU Showcase ’16: I, Olga Hepnarova

In 1973, a mere five years after the Soviet Invasion, Czechoslovakia was ruled by the hardest hardline Communists. They were grim days for the mental health profession and hardly an era of tolerance in general. Plus, the death penalty was still very much in force. It was the worst possible time and place for young woman like Olga Hepnarová, the last woman executed in the Communist nation. Yet, in many ways she was created by the very system that tormented her. The infamous mass murderer’s story is vividly dramatized in Petr Kazda & Tomás Weinreb’s I, Olga Hepnarová (trailer here), which screens during the AFI’s 2016 EU Film Showcase.

Hepnarová’s sexual orientation was one of the unspoken issues that drove a wedge between her and her family and co-workers. In current parlance, we might also conclude she was to some degree “on the spectrum.” Regardless, we see in psychologically brutal detail how the bullying Hepnarová constantly faced short-circuited the development of her personality. As a result, she makes every painful social interaction even worse. She is not blameless for the dismal state of her life, but her family, particularly her domineering mother bear more responsibility than anyone.

Rather remarkably, Hepnarová has the wherewithal to come out of the closet and pursue a romantic relationship with the attractive Annie Hall­-ish Jitka, but it is inevitably undermined by circumstances and her own self-sabotage. Yet, that is not the immediate catalyst for her deadly vehicular assault, which prefigured this year’s Nice “terror truck” incident. Instead, it is just more drips in the prolonged water torture-like pressure that ultimately breaks her.

Polish Michalina Olszaanska (who was a marvel in The Lure) could probably be a waifish fashion model in real life, but she boldly transforms herself into the awkwardly boyish Hepnarová. Her twitchy, halting body language makes her look as uncomfortable in her own skin as she is with her oppressive environment. It is a tour de force performance that dominates and defines the film.

Yes, Kazda & Weinreb invite us to sympathize with a mass murderer who killed eight and wounded another twelve, to an extent—and we do, to an extent. Truly, the term “bullying” is not sufficient to describe the sort of pervasive hostility she endured. Yet, everyone is mired in a morass of utter and abject hopelessness.

The black-and-white cinematography of Adam Sikora (whose credits include Majewski’s incomparable The Mill & the Cross) emphasizes that unyielding drabness rather than scoring noir style points. Frankly, it is enormously impressive how Kazda & Weinreb maintain such stifling claustrophobia and a sense of steadily mounting tragedy. As accomplished as it is, it is hard to imagine anyone buying it on DVD. This is a film people ought to see, but once will be plenty. Recommended for those who can appreciate its uncompromising aesthetic, I, Olga Hepnarová screens this Monday (12/12) and Wednesday (12/14) , as part of the AFI’s annual EU Film Showcase.

Kadokawa at Japan Society: The Little Girl Who Conquered Time

Yasutaka Tsutsui’s 1965 time travel novel has inspired at least three features and one television series, but each one is substantially different. That seems oddly appropriate, given the space-time continuum issues involved. While Mamoru Hosoda’s anime film is the most acclaimed, Nobuhiko Obayashi’s original 1983 adaptation is a sentimental favorite, largely thanks to former idol Tomoyo Harada. She is a teenager rather than a little girl and it would be a vast overstatement to call her a conqueror, but her earnestness perfectly suits the nostalgic charm of Obayashi’s The Little Girl Who Conquered Time (trailer here), which screens as part of the Japan Society retrospective: Pop! Goes Cinema: Kadokawa Films and 1980s Japan.

This is Onomichi in the early 1980s, so Kazuko Yoshiyama and her friends still have class on Saturday mornings. Traditionally, it is a day of service, which is why Yoshiyama was cleaning the chemistry lab. Unfortunately, a weird lavender smelling concoction knocks her unconscious before her two loyal guy pals, Kazuo Fukamachi and Goro Horikawa arrive to help.

The good news is her fainting spell gets her out of gym. The bad news is she starts repeating fragments of the next two days, sort of like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day (but not to such an absurd degree)—and oh what fraught days they are, featuring earthquakes, fires, collapsing roof tiles, and teen angst.

Granted, the special effects look hopelessly dated, but Obayashi conveys a wonderfully vivid and wistful sense of Onomichi’s seaside hills and winding pathways. You can practically smell the lavender, which plays a significant role in the narrative. It starts to feel like the home you never knew but always missed.

In her feature debut, former idol (and coincidentally the star of the early 1980s Sailor Suit and Machine Gun TV series) Tomoyo Harada is just terrific as Yoshiyama. She portrays the time-jumping teen with tremendous sensitivity and pluck, yet she also coveys the girl’s stubbornness and even a little flakiness. Likewise, Toshinori Omi is shockingly poignant as the torch-carrying Horikawa. Poor Ryôichi Takayanagi often gets dissed for his awkward stiffness as Fukamachi, but you could argue it is perfectly justifiable—even necessary—within the film’s dramatic context.

Regardless, TLGWCT is intoxicatingly bittersweet, similar in spirit to Peggy Sue Got Married (which it pre-dates by several years, unlike Goodbye Mr. Loser), except everything does not work out so neatly perfect. Still, it is hard to beat its eighties nostalgia goodness, right down to the inclusion of the music video for Harada’s theme song before the closing credit. Incredibly sweet but still a lot of high school genre fun, The Little Girl Who Conquered Time is very highly recommended when it screens this Tuesday (12/13) at the Japan Society, as part of their ongoing Kadokawa retrospective.

AFI’s EU Showcase ’16: Stefan Zweig—Farewell to Europe

Stefan Zweig was one of the many Jewish intellectuals who escaped National Socialist-dominated Europe through Varian Fry’s network, yet he tragically took his own life in 1942, out of despair with the state of the world and his Austrian homeland. Such depression was not uncommon among European emigres. The guilt and alienation of the involuntary expatriate experience are fully explored in Maria Schrader’s Stefan Zweig: Farewell to Europe (trailer here), Austria’s official foreign language Oscar submission, which screens during the AFI’s 2016 EU Film Showcase.

After Thomas Mann, Zweig was the second most widely read German language novelist in Europe and the Americas during the 1930s. Thanks to The Grand Budapest Hotel, he has made a recent posthumous comeback. Farewell to Europe should further fuel the Zweig renaissance, even though does not always portray him in the most flattering light. Frankly, many viewers will be frustrated by Zweig’s reluctance to condemn the country he could no longer call home. However, they should also respect his principled refusal to grandstand or to criticize as someone now safely standing on the outside looking in.

Basically, Schrader evokes a sense of Zweig’s life in exile through five extended vignettes. In terms of tone and structure, Farewell to Europe often resembles a theater piece, but the thesp-turned-helmer shows a strong aptitude for visual composition, which helps viewer engagement. Much like its subject, it is a cerebral film that refuses to engage in cheap sentiment or phony moral uplift.

Although scrupulously buttoned-down and reserved, Josef Hader is just terrific as Zweig. When he quietly lowers the boom, it is guaranteed to flatten the audience. Likewise, Aenne Schwarz is wonderfully smart and sad as his younger but constitutionally weaker second wife Lotte. German grand dame Barbara Sukowa (who played the title role in Von Trotta’s Hannah Arendt, a fitting comparative film) gives the film some real bite as Zweig’s first wife Friderike, with whom he maintains complicated but mostly amicable relations. The way she first rebukes him and then absolves him during a New York reunion is quite compelling, but also rings consistently true.

Schrader proves to be an actor’s director, which maybe is not so surprising. Farewell to Europe also represents quite an accomplishment of mise en scène, but pacing remains an area where she could better refine her craft. Still, it is refreshing to watch an intelligent film that trusts the audience to pick up on its points without shining a searing spotlight on them. Recommended for admirers of Zweig and German-language cinema, the potential Oscar contender Stefan Zweig: Farewell to Europe screens this Sunday (12/11) and Wednesday (12/14), as part of the AFI’s annual EU Film Showcase.

Sugar Mountain: A Simple Plan for Simpletons

We think of Alaska as a wild frontier that lags years behind the current trends sweeping the lower forty-eight, but there have been as many as ten reality shows simultaneously filming in the land of the midnight sun. With programs like Deadliest Catch, Alaska State Troopers, and Bering Sea Gold available, how much media interest could a lost hiker’s story generate? Admittedly, some sibling rivalry and sexual jealousy could spice it up a little, but as hoaxes go, this one seems awfully speculative. It is also an incredibly stupid idea for the irresponsible West sibling to pretend to be lost in the wild, but brains are pretty scarce in Richard Gray’s Sugar Mountain (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

After the death of their sainted mother, Miles and Liam West have run the family tour boat business into the ground. With the repossessed boat in dry dock, the younger Liam eventually agrees to his brother’s scheme. Miles will hole up in a pre-supplied shelter, eventually coming down after a week or so, to the relief of an eager media. To make it more interesting, they will stage his disappearance to make it suspiciously follow a very public spat, in which Miles will accuse Liam of having eyes for his girlfriend Lauren Huxley, the daughter of the local sheriff, which maybe isn’t so unlikely a coincidence in a tiny Alaskan town.

Of course, the younger West really has been carrying a torch for Huxley. Inevitably, the two co-conspirators will become awkwardly close as the endure the media scrutiny together. The pressure starts to rise when they realize that fool Miles never made it to his shelter. To make matters worse, recently released ex-con Joe Bright comes around looking to collect Miles’ gambling debts.

If you have seen a film with more stupid decisions than Sugar Mountain, than Dude, I really feel for you. Frankly, Abe Pogos’s ridiculous script causes so much face-palming, it is hard to actually watch the movie—not that there’s much there to miss. Nothing makes any sense, starting with Liam’s mopey infatuation with Huxley when the kind-hearted (and just-as-attractive-or-more) girl from the general store is clearly interested in him. Any guy growing up in Alaska would know better than squandering such opportunities, but Gray is Australian, so whatever.

Frankly, the only times Sugar is remotely entertaining are Jason Momoa’s periodic pop-ins to beat the snot out of everyone as Bright. Sadly, most of the film is dominated by the excruciating Cain and Abel dynamics and the love triangle, which is ultimately resolved in an absolutely risible fashion.

Drew Roy, Shane Coffey, and Haley Webb certainly make the three central characters look and sound like idiots, which could be quite fine acting, but it doesn’t give us much to work with. Arguably, it is even more depressing to watch Cary Elwes stumble around as the schlubby Sheriff Huxley. Forget The Princess Bride, this will even depress Saw fans. Only Hawaii’s Momoa seems to glide through unscathed, perhaps feeling that 1959 non-contiguous kinship.

Regardless, this film is just a mess that would try anyone’s patience. Gray’s previous film, The Lookalike was not spectacular, but it had a basic level of competency and managed to be interesting in patches. So, what happened here? Not recommended, Sugar Mountain opens today (12/9) in New York, at the Cinema Village.

Frank & Lola: Michael Shannon in Vegas and Paris

Surely, Paris is a more romantic city than Las Vegas, right? Believe it or not, a damaged couple will meet and fall in love in Sin City, despite both having history in the City of Light. At least it feels like love for a while. Their relationship will take a dark turn in Matthew Ross’s Frank & Lola (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

Of all the struggling restaurants in Las Vegas, Lola walks into Frank’s on Halloween night. They immediately feel a kinship between lost, lonely souls. What starts as a likely one-night stand blossoms against the odds into the romance of a lifetime. Even though Frank is somewhat prone to jealousy and understandably bitter about the failure of his restaurant, things are good between them, until one fateful day.

There will be no getting around the fact that she cheated on him. However, once Frank settles down, he discovers more of the surrounding context. Apparently, Lola once again succumbed to the Svengali-like power her mother’s Parisian friend Alan holds over her. Although he is a celebrated memoirist in Europe, Alan is really a sexual predator, who raped Lola at a point when she was highly malleable emotionally and psychologically. Or so she tells Frank. He will start to have his doubts when he confronts the smooth-talking playboy in Paris.

Frankly, Frank & Lola feels like two entirely different films depending on which city Frank finds himself in. The Las Vegas scenes he shares with Lola are darkly seductive and potently redolent of lust and jealousy. Every development of their fraught relationship rings true. In contrast, the pseudo-noir revenge sequences in Paris largely feel forced and excessively lurid. They are just off compared to the moody but grounded Vegas passages.

Regardless, Michael Shannon just puts on a masterclass as Frank. He raises brooding to a high art form and forges some believably flawed but viscerally charged chemistry with Imogen Poots’ Lola. Unfortunately, she remains largely passive throughout the film, which is problematic. Likewise, Michael Nyqvist more-or-less hits the replay button on his portrayal of the literary cradle-robber in The Girl in the Book.

Arguably, the biggest star of F&L after Shannon is cinematographer Eric Koretz, who gives the proceedings a sheen that evokes classic 1970s hothouse dramas. He also captures the alien vibe of Las Vegas, especially for those who are not interested in gambling. Ross goes for the sort of genre ambiguity you often find in the films of André Téchiné, which is laudably ambitious, but the smarminess of some of the Parisian scenes pulls him up a bit short. It is flawed, but its adult sensibility probably makes it worth catching up with on DVD or VOD streaming. For Shannon’s diehard partisans, it opens tomorrow (12/9) in New York, at the Village East—and releases on iTunes.