No Man’s Land, on Hulu

This is a good series, but we would have survived without it. Unfortunately, in our haste to withdraw from Iraq, we created a vacuum ISIS/Daesh was delighted to fill. From there, they advanced into Syria. However, the Kurdish Women’s Protection Units (the YPJ, previously documented by Bernard-Henri Levy) shocked Daesh and the world with their tenacious resistance. They are particularly feared by Daesh, because death at the hands of a woman does not entail martyr status—hence no paradise and no virgins. Average Frenchman Antoine Habert suspects his estranged sister Anna has joined the YPJ, so he ill-advisedly travels to Syria to find her in co-creator-writers Amit Cohen, Ron Lesham, Eitan Mansuri & Maria Feldman’s 8-episode No Man’s Land, which premieres today on Hulu.

Habert kept trying to reach out to his sister after she fell out with the family, until she was killed in a random terrorist attack in Cairo. He always had his suspicions about the official story, but Habert still went on with his life. Then he happened to see some footage of YPJ soldiers in Syria. Something about the body language of a western volunteer reminded him of his sister, even though her face was not visible. He becomes so obsessed, he crosses over the Turkish border into Syria, making him a target for Daesh and opportunists who would sell him out.

Meanwhile, three British Daesh recruits, Nasser Al-Shammri, Iyad Bel Tagi, and convert Paul Wilkins are steadily building their reputations within the terror group’s ranks. The latter two are blind believers, but Al-Shammri is more skeptical of their brutal excesses. Yet, as British military veteran, his skills are more valuable to the organization. Further complicating the unstable mix, “Stanley,” a suavely British secret agent with clandestine ties to several players, is also operating in the region.

The deeper Al-Shammri penetrates into the heart of Daesh’s so-called caliphate, the scarier it looks. Cohen and company do not sugarcoat the horrific implications ISIS-occupied territory. No Man’s depiction of Islamist terror is not as viscerally intense as Sissako’s Timbuktu, but the series is intended as an entertaining thriller (and it is rather grabby).

Memoir of War: Duras During the Occupation

Marguerite Duras and two of her husbands all resigned from the Communist Party—and then they were expelled. For Robert Antelme (#1) and Dionys Mascolo (#2), it was in protest of Stalinist show trials and gulags, but it was more about aesthetics for Duras. The three former resistance members had a rather unconventional relationship that is only obliquely hinted at in Emmanuel Finkiel’s Memoir of War (trailer here), an adaptation of Duras’s autobiographical novel, which opens Friday in New York.

In the opening voice-over, Duras claims she does not remember writing this diary of her experiences during the second German occupation (the first happened during WWI) and its aftermath, but she recognizes her handwriting and the events contained therein. She will not alter a word because they were the direct product of the time (despite being a rather grave breach of security) and she also asserts “literary polish strikes me as shameful”—words that should probably be engraved in marble above the entrance to Gallimard’s offices.

The war has ended, but Antelme has not yet returned from the concentration camps. It is like the entire nation has been invited to a victory party except her. The film then flashes back to shortly after his capture. Her efforts to send Antelme warmer clothes attracts the attention of Pierre Rabier, the collaborator-cop who arrested him. For some reason, Rabier develops an obsessive interest in Madame Antelme, partly in the hope that she will lead him to more resistance members, but he also seems to have a weirdly misplaced literary fetish.

Arguably, Memoir is equally fascinating as an intimate examination of Duras’s psyche under stress and an example of how the WWII occupation is seen through a contemporary French lens. For instance, Francois Mitterand is only referred to by his code-name, “Morand.” Oddly, Rabier tries to pry his whereabouts out of Duras, but as a Vichy government official, he should have been relatively easy to find. The film also makes you wonder, despite whatever Finkiel’s intentions might have been, when Rabier menacingly claims Antelme was betrayed by one of his closest comrades.

Regardless, Melanie Thierry is terrific as Duras nee Antelme, despite looking nothing like the novelist. She deserves credit for her willingness to appear haggard and unglamorous, portraying Duras at some of her lowest and most unpleasant moments. Indeed, Finkiel’s adaptation includes some decidedly cutting observations that will discomfort viewers looking for a blandly heroic TV movie ending.

Benoît Magimel is terrific as Rabier, but in a consistently unpredictable sort of way. His verbal sparring sessions with Thierry are electric. Yet, it is Shulamit Adar who really delivers the emotional payoff as Madame Katz, a Jewish survivor living with Duras while hoping to find her deported daughter.

Finkiel’s strategy of using Duras’s own text is a double-edged sword. Sometimes her words are razor-sharp (again, how about that “literary polish”), but the poetic interludes sometimes undermine the atmosphere of danger and paranoia with their hazy gauziness. Still, Finkiel’s respect for his source material is admirable. He also gets some award-worthy performances from Thierry, Magimel, and Adar. Respectfully recommended for patrons of French cinema, Memoir of War opens this Friday (8/17) in New York, at the freshly expanded Film Forum and the Film Society of Lincoln Center.

Rendez-Vous ’18: See You Up There

There is nothing fake about the WWI military service of Albert Maillard and Edouard Péricourt—they have the scars and disfigurement to prove it. However, the war memorials they peddle are as phony as a three-Franc note. As far as Péricourt, the disillusioned artist is concerned, it is exactly what the public deserves for their fake sympathy. Maillard is less convinced, but he will be passively carried along with the scheme in Albert Dupontel’s See You Up There (trailer here), which screens during the 2018 Rendez-Vous with French Cinema.

As Maillard explains to the interrogating Algerian police officer, nobody wanted to die when they knew armistice was imminent, but their commanding officer, Lt. Henri d’Aulnay-Pradelle was a truly evil jerk, who had to get in one last battle, in blatant defiance of his orders. In fact, Maillard sees the incriminating evidence—two French scouts shot in the back—before d’Aulnay-Pradelle blew their bodies apart. Péricourt rescues Maillard from a premature burial, but loses the better part of his jaw for his efforts.

At Péricourt’s behest, Maillard switches his identity with that of a former ward of the state killed in action, sparing him a presumably painful reunion with his severely judgmental father. Péricourt remains in a morphine-laced depression, until a friendship with the neighboring orphan girl and his dodgy war memorial plan rejuvenate his spirits. As fate would have it, his father will unwittingly help fund the con and become its biggest sucker.

In terms of visual style, SYUT is so grandly baroque, it could pass for the work of Jean-Pierre Jeunet. The narrative itself is a grubby tale of swindles and payback, but Dupontel gives it epic sweep. There are even gothic elements, such as the flamboyant masks Péricourt crafts for himself that evoke the Phantom of the Opera.

Dupontel is his own best collaborator, playing Maillard as a poignantly nebbish everyman. He is also rather touching when courting the Péricourt family’s maid, Pauline, who should be well out of his league, since she is played by Mélanie Thierry, but whatever. As the masked Péricourt, Nahuel Pérez Biscayart impressively expresses much through body language and his eyes. Niels Arestrup is as reliable as ever gruffly but sensitively portraying Old Man Péricourt, while Laurent Lafitte (of the Comédie Française) chews the scenery with relish as the irredeemable Lieutenant. Yet, the film wouldn’t be the same without André Marcon biding his time as the sly colonial gendarme.

See You Up There is a richly realized period production, but it is also a wickedly effective anti-war movie. Hollow platitudes sound especially disingenuous in French. It is a bold film best seen on the big screen, but it certainly never romanticizes Jazz Age Paris. Very highly recommended, See You Up There screens this Tuesday (3/13) and the following Sunday (3/18) , as part of French Rendez-Vous ’18, at the Walter Reade.

A Perfect Day: Somewhere in the Balkans

International relief workers finally get the M*A*S*H treatment. These Aid Across Borders volunteers hook-up and joke around, but they truly want to help the civilian population that has been so traumatized by the Balkan War. However, a relatively simple task will escalate into a life-and-death crisis in Fernando León de Aranoa’s English language debut, A Perfect Day (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

A rotund corpse has been dumped in a Balkan village’s only potable drinking well. Mambrú, a veteran Spanish field worker and his local fixer Damir were on the case, but their rope broke. Their gonzo colleague B and the naïve rookie Sophie were nearby, but they are fresh out of rope. Unfortunately, the nearest general store has plenty of rope, but it happens to be in a different ethnic conclave. It is pretty clear the locals were either responsible for the body in the first place or are protecting those who put it there.

Thus begins an increasingly absurd and dangerous quest for rope. Frankly, it is probably the first time B has been so determined to find hemp in this form. Of course, the UN (the Blue Helmets) are not much help. Unfortunately, the Aid Across Borders bureaucracy does not understand the boots-on-the-ground realities either. Believing the truce renders their services unnecessary, they have dispatched Mambrú’s former mistress Katya to write a report that confirms their judgement. Whether she likes it or not, she is about to join the mismatched quartet in their mad dash for rope—and it is rather pressing. If they can remove it within twenty-four hours, the purification process will be relatively non-invasive, but if the well is befouled any longer than that, it will have to be closed.

Maybe they would have a better chance of finding rope if they could actually identify which country they were in. All we are told is that it takes place somewhere in the Balkans circa 1995. It sure looks like Bosnia and the sinister folks who refuse to share their rope definitely bring to mind the Bosnia Serbs, but the mealy-mouth nature of León de Aranoa’s screenplay (based on a novel by Paula Farias, former head of the Spanish operational section of Doctors Without Borders) is rather annoying on that score. That is a shame, because the film has real bite when it conveys a sense of war’s random cruelty and the cluelessness of the UN forces.

The NGO’s international constituency allows León de Aranoa to assemble an interesting cast that probably would not otherwise have a chance to work together. Tim Robbins arguably does his funniest work since The Player as the defiantly rude B. Mélanie Thierry’s guileless Sophie serves as an effective audience proxy when confronting the disillusioning realities of war. Naturally, Bernicio Del Toro plays Mambrú the ladies’ man, because what woman could resist a piece of man candy like him, right? Of course, Olga Kurylenko’s sex appeal is better established, but she plays Katya as a refreshingly smart and assertive professional. However, the real discovery is the Bosnian Fedja Stukan, who basically steals the show as the salt-of-the-earth but decidedly vulnerable Danir.

There are some wickedly clever scenes and some depressingly bitter ironies in APD. If León de Aranoa had not decided to bend over backwards to avoid offending anyone, it could have been a definitive film on the Balkan War. Instead, it is a good film rather than a great one, primarily for the way it captures the very real dangers (including landmines and dubious paramilitary checkpoints) faced by international relief workers. Recommended for those who already have a solid grounding on the 1990s conflict, A Perfect Day opens this Friday (1/15) in New York, at the IFC Center.

Zero Theorem: Terry Gilliam Goes Back to the Dystopian Well

Evidently, there is good money to be made from metaphysical nihilism. How so, you might ask? Well, obviously you are not an evil businessman or you would see it plain as day. For the rest of us mere mortals, it remains a gaping narrative hole in Terry Gilliam’s The Zero Theorem (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Qohen Leth is a programming drone who is slaving away, crunching the Zero Theorem, the grand unified theory of life’s meaninglessness, at the behest of his boss, “Management,” the charismatic chairman of Mancom. Evidently, the corporate predator stands to make a lot of money if he can prove the primacy of nothingness. However, Leth lives in the hope that he will soon receive a phone call that will finally give him the inner peace he yearns. (Careful of your shoes, because the irony is laid so thick here, even other characters pick up on it.)

Although practically a shut-in, Leth manages to befriend Bainsley, a professional party-girl and web-stripper and Management’s troubled cyber-repairman son Bob, (most likely through some calculating outside intervention). Nevertheless, Bob’s rebellious streak is genuine, but tragically so are his congenital health issues.

The good thing about Zero T is it looks like a Terry Gilliam film. Leth’s lair is a masterwork of cyber doodads, human detritus, and near future urban decay. Likewise, the Mancom set pieces are suitably large and eccentric. Unfortunately, Pat Rushin’s screenplay was apparently a belated afterthought, recycling wholesale tropes from Gilliam’s vastly superior Brazil. In fact, Zero T even lifts the ending (or rather one of the endings), minimally adapting it the fit the modestly altered circumstances.

Granted, Christoph Waltz truly goes for broke as Leth, over and beyond shaving his eyebrows. He also develops some intriguingly ambiguous chemistry with Mélanie Thierry’s Bainsley. Yet all his heavy-lifting is undermined by an over-abundance of clichés and cringingly broad characters, while internal logic remains dashed scarce.

By far, the greatest embarrassment is the ridiculously looking Matt Damon, trying to come across like a scary adult. He might be going for a J.R. “Bob” Dodds from the Church of the SubGenius kind of thing, but he just cannot carry himself convincingly. Still, in all fairness, it must be admitted Tilda Swinton gives a considerably subtler performance as Dr. Shrink-Rom the corporate psycho-babbler than her mean-spirited Thatcher caricature in Snowpiercer.

This is one of those films you want to be so much better than it really is, especially considering Gilliam doesn’t exactly churn films out like Woody Allen. Frankly, the far less heralded The Scribbler is a much better mind-trip. A real disappointment, The Zero Theorem opens this Friday (9/19) in New York at the IFC Center.

Hollow Crown: Shakespeare’s Henriad

The House of Plantagenet had a good run, but their dynasty would not last forever.  You can blame Richard II.  His fall and the rise of his Lancaster cousins provided ample inspiration for Shakespeare’s three king-four play cycle known as the Henriad.  Executive producer Sam Mendes and three of Britain’s leading stage directors adapted the Richard and Henry plays for television as The Hollow Crown (promo here), which premieres on PBS this Friday as part of the current season of Great Performances.

Richard II begins with the title monarch on the throne, but that may soon change.  Callous and erratic, Richard is a sad excuse for king.  Nonetheless, the nobility has maintained their loyalty.  Richard’s own actions will drive many lords into rebellion, starting with the precipitous banishment of Henry Bolingbroke.  When the King confiscates the estate of his late uncle, Bolingbroke’s father, John of Gaunt, he pushes the Earl of Northumberland and his associates into rebellious conspiracy.

A bit of a slow starter, Richard II might be the weakest link of the Crown.  However, it exceeds viewer expectations for one of the marquee Henriad highlights, when Patrick Stewart knocks John of Gaunt’s “This England” soliloquy out of the park.  The stout Rory Kinnear and David Morrissey also bring an appropriately Shakespearean physicality to Bolingbroke and Northumberland, respectively.  Unfortunately, Ben Whishaw’s sickly, petulant presence poorly serves the villainous Richard.  Even more problematic is Richard II director Rupert Goold’s depiction of the deposed tyrant through Christ-like imagery.

Bolingbroke is now Henry IV, but he plays more of a supporting role in the two plays that bear his name: Henry IV Parts 1 and 2.  The King has an heir to succeed him, but has little confidence in the free-spirited Prince Hal.  The future Henry V would rather carouse with the disreputable Sir John Falstaff than worry about affairs of state.

Succeeding Kinnear as Henry IV, Jeremy Irons gives one of his best performances in years, acutely conveying the burdens of guilt, command, and fatherhood.  Likewise, Tom Hiddleston relishes the roguishness of Prince Hal, while also convincingly growing in stature once Henry V ascends the throne.  As director of both parts of Henry IV, Richard Eyre makes amends for misfiring with The Other Man.  He seems to love Falstaff even more than Welles did, but Simon Russell Beale looks so haggard and dissipated as the jolly fellow, viewers will fear he might keel over, well before his character’s spirit is broken.

Renouncing his wild past, Henry V turns his attention towards France in the Henriad’s conclusion, which should particularly interest Francophiles because of the presence of Lambert Wilson as the King of France and Mélanie Thierry as his daughter, Princess Katherine.  Hiddleston’s courtship scene with Thierry has considerable charm, but Henry V director Thea Sharrock strangely underplays the St. Crispin’s Day speech, perhaps hoping to avoid comparison with Branagh’s rendition.

Shot on some notably picturesque locations, Hollow Crown opens up Shakespeare quite cinematically.  While there is a considerable editorial hand at work, the language is never dumbed down.  It is a smart way to present the Bard on television, with discrete productions that still have the continuity of a mini-series.  The all-star cast should be of particular interest to fans of Downton Abbey (due to the too briefly seen Michelle Dockery and Glen).  It is a great looking period piece, buttressed by a number of fine performances.  Recommended for patrons of classical theater and fans of British television, The Hollow begins this Friday (9/20) and continues for the next three Fridays on most PBS outlets nationwide.