Takemitsu at Film Forum: Ballad of Orin

Opportunities were limited for blind women in early Twentieth Century Japan. Able-bodied men on the other hand, were in high demand for military service in Siberia. Despite their hardships, a beautiful gozé (a blind troubadour) and an army deserter forge a deep but unconventional bond of love, perfectly reflected by Toru Takemitsu’s strange love songs in Masahiro Shinoda’s The Ballad of Orin, which screens this Wednesday and Thursday as part of Film Forum’s two week retrospective of films scored by Takemitsu.

Abandoned as a young girl by her mother, Orin was taken in by a gozé house for musical training. In no way should gozé be confused with geisha. The women lived a monastic existence as brides of the Buddha. Of course, they were often called to entertain at worldly parties, bringing them into contact with men and temptation. Those who succumb are banished to a life on road as wandering minstrels, which indeed happens to Orin.

Senzo Tsurukawa is not like most men Orin meets in her travels. Rather than moving in for the conquest, he offers himself as her platonic protector. He even insists they call each other brother and sister, much to her frustration. Yet, even though they want different things from each other, the love they share is genuine. They even seem to have a semi-respectable future together running a clog stall, until Tsurukawa’s past starts to catch up with him. By the time they reach the appropriately ominous sounding village of Obama in the Wakasa province, tragedy seems inevitable.

Ballad is a perfect choice for Film Forum’s Takemitsu retrospective, given the role music plays in the story. Yet, despite the prominence of Orin’s songs, the music never overwhelms the on-screen drama. Though traditional in form, Takemitsu gives his score a postmodern-minimalist twist that sets a delicate but unsettling tone throughout the film.

Though worlds away from his New Wave noir films like Pale Flower, Ballad is one of Shinoda’s masterworks. There are unshakable images throughout the film, even during the opening titles. Also aptly known as Melody in Gray, Shinoda and cinematographer Kazuo Miyagawa use a color palette dominated by grays and greens, making coastal Japan look like Seattle. It perfectly suits Takemitsu’s melancholy score and Shinoda’s naturalistic approach.

Shima Iwashita is fantastic as Orin, powerfully projecting vulnerability and passion, without the benefit of her eyes. Yoshio Harada plays Tsurukawa like a young Toshirō Mifune, full of gruff bluster, but with a soft heart concealed inside. Their chaste love is arguably one of the most touching movie romances of all time.

Having also recently screened as part of the Shinoda sidebar at the 48th New York Film Festival, Film Forum’s Takemitsu retrospective will be one of the few chances to see Ballad on the big screen in the foreseeable future. A truly haunting film, Shinoda’s Ballad is highly recommended this Wednesday and Thursday (12/15 & 12/16), as is the entire Takemitsu series, which concludes on Thursday.

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.

When Paris was Paris: The Luminous Years

They listened to jazz, haunted cafes, and revolutionized art, music, and literature. In the early Twentieth Century, a remarkable creative vanguard collected in Paris. Something of a trailblazing cultural documentarian in her own right, writer-director-producer Perry Miller Adato profiles the diverse cast of cultural icons whose collaborations and rivalries produced what we now term “modernism” in Paris the Luminous Years: Toward the Making of the Modern (trailer here), which premieres on most PBS stations this coming Wednesday.

According to Luminous, the future began in 1905 when Matisse made his first sale (to Gertrude Stein). Yet, it was the 1907 Cézanne retrospective that propelled close friends and fellow painters Georges Braque and Pablo Picasso to develop Cubism (as it is now referred) on their canvasses, sending shockwaves through the art world. A few years later, The Rite of Spring caused a legitimate riot at Serge Diaghilev’s Ballet Russes. Though Stravinsky’s dissonant music is often singled out for scorn (or credit), Nijinsky’s choreography was nearly as avant-garde.

Soon, the Americans arrived, including Ernest Hemingway and Josephine Baker. Ironically, one academic asserts Langston Hughes likely discovered jazz, the music that would shape and inform his greatest poems, while working as a busboy in a Parisian jazz club.

While Adato thoroughly covers all these big epochal moments in the birth of modernism, Luminous is best at making connections between artists and disciplines. Poets like Guillaume Apollinaire and Jean Cocteau befriended artists like Picasso and Chagall. Artists like Miró and de Chirico designed sets for the Ballet Russes. Within disciplines, innovative classical composers like Mihaud and Satie incorporated American jazz into their compositions.

Unlike customary practice for many documentaries, Adato avoids gratuitous use of celebrities as talking heads or narrators. No offense is intended to Concetta Tomei (best known as the dead mother in Providence), whose voice-over work is clear and pleasant, yet happily never distracts from the ample illustrations of the art under discussion. While eschewing big names, Luminous’s on-camera academic commentary is all completely on-point and rather informative.

Luminous is the sort of programming PBS always claims to produce when its federal funding is in jeopardy, but is all too rare on its schedule. It really is all about fine art, music, and literature, with only the briefest of political commentary mixed in (but even that was unnecessary). Smartly written and well produced cultural history on film, Luminous airs on most PBS outlets this Wednesday (12/15) and will be available on DVD the day before.

NY Turkish Film Festival: Absurdistan

Economically and geopolitically, water is more precious than oil. The men of one nameless village in a former Central Asian Soviet republic do not need to be convinced of that. When the town’s water supply runs dry, it ignites a humbling war of the sexes in Veit Helmer’s Absurdistan (trailer here), which screens as part of the Without Borders sidebar at the 2010 New York Turkish Film Festival.

Based on a reported incident in a remote Turkish village, Absurdistan is a slightly naughty fable of young love and scarcity. Though not significant enough to warrant on spot on the map, the men of the town are renowned for their mojo. At least, they are legends in their own minds. They are not particularly industrious though, so when the central water pipe runs dry, they put off repairing it, until their sons return from boarding school in the big city.

Yet, only Temelko returns, but he has good reason. He has a hot-and-heavy appointment with childhood sweetheart Aya, but it must occur during the precise star alignment proscribed by her hip grandma. Unfortunately, having tired of the men’s constant mañana-ing, the women have put their collective foot down—no water, no action. This extends to Temelko too.

Maximilian Mauff, and Krystýna Maléřová in particular, make an attractive couple as the young Temelko and Aya. The rest of the cast we probably do not need to see making whoopee on-screen again anytime soon. Though Helmer occasionally forces the cuteness, he mostly handles the film’s magical realism and flights of whimsy with deftly light touch. The gossipy tiny hamlet vibe is also nicely rendered.

Perhaps surprisingly given the “stan” of the title, religion plays little or no role in Absurdistan, but then again, this is a film all about getting some action (or being denied). Neither is their former captive nation status especially relevant to Helmer’s screen-story (co-written with Gordan Mihic, Zaza Buadze, and Ahmet Golbol). Indeed, the isolated community was desperately poor under Communism and remains so today.

Helmed by the German born Helmer, Absurdistan could be considered a film of the Turkish Diaspora. Frankly, it is the sort of foreign film that translates well for American audiences, so it is strange it never really made it to New York screens during its general American release. A pleasant little film, Absurdistan screens this coming Sunday (12/12) as the 12th New York Turkish Film Festival concludes at the SVA Theater.

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.

Russian Film Week ’10: Burnt By the Sun 2: Imminence

Col. Sergei Petrovich Kotov ought to be dead. We were told he was about to be executed as part of Stalin’s purge at the end of Mikhalkov’s Burnt by the Sun. The Communist dictator assumed as much himself, which is why he is so out of sorts to discover Kotov yet lives in Mikhalkov’s Burnt by the Sun 2: Imminence (trailer here), the second film of his projected trilogy, which screened during the 2010 Russian Film Week in New York.

One typically miserable day in the gulag, Kotov is dismayed to discover his Article 58 political conviction has been reclassified to a pedestrian criminal charge. Moments later, the political inmates are summarily executed and the remaining prisoners are evacuated. The Germans have attacked, offering Kotov an opportunity for salvation. Before you can say “Great Patriotic War” he has enlisted in a special penal company, tenaciously fighting on the frontline as a lowly private.

Of course, that cuts no ice with Stalin. When he purges someone, it is meant to be permanent. With a war raging, he summons NKVD Colonel Mitya Arsentyev to track him down and finish the job, setting in motion the Communist version of Saving Private Ryan. It is an assignment that hits close to home for Arsentyev, given his long history with Kotov. Estranged comrades, Arsentyev married Kotov’s wife and adopted his daughter after arresting the war hero on Stalin’s orders. However, Kotov is the only father Nadya Kotova will ever acknowledge. In true Zhivagan fashion, they will both brave the horrors of war in hopes of reuniting.

It is hard to know where to start with Imminence, perhaps because there is so much of it: nearly three hours plus a teaser of the next installment to come. It certainly captures the spirit of the age, boldly portraying Stalin not just as an autocrat, but a legitimate psychopath. Yet, Mikhalkov’s well known status as Russia’s more-or-less film czar and notorious FOP (friend of Putin) adds a layer of irony to his blistering critique of Stalinism. After all, who would he consider the film’s closest analog to Russia’s current thug-in-chief (and former KGB officer).

Burnt 2 is at its best when depicting the chaos and degradation of war, unnecessarily aggravated by Stalin’s policies. Ironically, Mikhalkov’s carte blanche did not always serve the best interests of the film. Case in point, the over-orchestrated score veers close to parody. Still, there are times when Mikhalkov goes for broke and pulls it off, as when a dying priest baptizes Kotova while they cling to an exploded mine bobbing in open water.

In truth, Mikhalkov’s lead performance as the disillusioned Kotov is quite good, but casting himself as a Russian paragon of fatherhood and fatherland gives his critics something else to key-in on. However, his supporting cast is a more mixed bag. Subtle and thoughtful, Oleg Menshikov is fantastic as the former White partisan turned Red enforcer. Sergey Garmash also shines (far too briefly) as the compassionate priest, Aleksandr. However, many of the assorted prisoners and military characters are portrayed with a distracting theatricality.

Regardless of Mikhalkov’s vociferous critics and his rather unsettling Slavic nationalism, Burnt 2 is a big film by nearly any measure, well worth seeing. It is hard not to get caught up in this sort of sweeping historical epic, with its liberal helpings of melodrama. His critique of the Stalinist era is also quite trenchant, which why it is so frustrating he is unable to apply the same rigorous standards to the Putin regime. Indeed, it was definitely the most talked about selection of Russian Film Week, which concludes tonight (12/9) in New York.

Zen and Its Opposite: Fires on the Plain

It is considered a masterpiece among war (and anti-war) films, but it might as well be called a zombie movie. The tubercular Private Tamura is truly one of the walking dead. Vividly and grimly illustrating the horrors of war, Kon Ichikawa’s Fires on the Plain (trailer here), screens tomorrow as part of the Japan Society’s Zen and Its Opposite film series.

Japan has essentially lost the war and most of the soldiers stationed on Leyte fully realize it. Unfortunately, they do not have much option but to futilely carry-on. However, Tamura is caught in an absurd Catch-22, too sick to serve with his company, but not damaged enough for the field hospital to admit him. Instead, he lingers outside with his fellow ghosts, waiting to die. When an Americans bombardment forces a general retreat, the absurdity gives way to horror.

Tamura finds himself on a death march marked by degradation and a black humor worthy of George Romero. Yes, there is even cannibalism. He also encounters a strange shaman-like survivor, whose cryptic Buddhist references and Zen-like acceptance of death clearly qualifies Plain for the Japan Society’s Opposite series, which explores the darker, more ominous aspects of the Japanese Buddhist tradition.

Plain begins as a brutally naturalistic anti-war film, but it steadily evolves into a surreal critique of human nature. Surprisingly though, Kon indulges in no appreciable anti-Americanism. In fact, the only Yank we see, at least tries to observe the laws of war (the Filipino partisans are a different story). The Japanese officers however, are depicted as cold martinets and the enlisted men turn on each other like desperate rats in a cage.

Shuffling and shambling, the hollowed-out Tamura looks undead. In his award-winning performance, Eiji Funakoshi vividly conveys the death-rattle of a man’s soul as well as the forlorn private’s shocking physical deterioration.

Ichikawa is a great filmmaker who ought to be more acclaimed in this country. With Plain, he makes All Quiet on the Western Front look like militaristic boosterism. It is one of his acknowledged masterworks, featuring unforgettable images and deeply disturbing sequences. (Audiences will never forget the phrase “monkey meat” after watching it.) An anti-war classic, it screens tomorrow night at the Japan Society as part of both its Opposite and Shadows of the Rising Sun retrospectives.

Taymor’s Tempest

It was neither intended as a political statement nor as novelty casting. Director Julie Taymor and the accomplished Helen Mirren simply wanted to collaborate on a Shakespeare project, but the Bard just did not write a lot of great parts for women over the age of thirty-five or so. Yet, both independently considered the role of The Tempest’s Prospero a possibility. After an early reading confirmed their hopes, the role of Prospero became Prospera. Chosen as the prestigious centerpiece selection of this year’s New York Film Festival, Taymor’s Tempest (trailer here) opens in New York theaters this Friday.

When the Duke of Milan dies, his wife Prospera succeeds him, but not for long. Usurped by her unscrupulous brother Antonio, with the backing of King Alonso of Naples, Prospera and her daughter Miranda are cast adrift, presumably to die at sea. However, the loyal court counselor Gonzalo secretly stocked the slip with food, water, and Prospera’s magic books. Twelve years later, Prospera uses her command of the elements to shipwreck the vessel carrying Antonio, Alonso, his son Ferdinand, the good Gonzalo, and various ne’er do well retainers. Prospera and her indentured servant, Ariel the air spirit, toy with the treacherous royals, while encouraging romance to blossom between Ferdinand and Miranda. Further complicating matters, the fools Trinculo and Stephano conspire with Prospera’s resentful slave Caliban in an ill-conceived rebellion.

Despite the changes necessitated by Taymor’s gender switch, her adaptation follows the original Shakespeare quite closely. She also earns points for not flinching in politically correct horror from depicting Caliban as Shakespeare described him: a black slave driven by rage for his master. Still, she works with actor Djimon Hounsou to humanize him as best they can, within the constraints of the text.

Though she leads an all-star cast, The Tempest is Mirren’s film, pure and simple. She truly digs into the role, finding fresh humanistic insights, irrespective of Prospero/a’s gender. Perhaps her richest work comes with Ben Whishaw as the androgynous Ariel, cutting to the core of the play’s themes of forgiveness and empathy.

In truth, the rest of the ensemble just cannot keep pace with her. Surprisingly, Chris Cooper and David Strathairn are indistinguishably bland as the royal co-conspirators Antonio and Alonso, respectively. In a genuine case of gimmicky casting, Russell Brand’s same old profane goofball schtick becomes an embarrassing distraction as the jester Trinculo (frankly, it was already getting tired). At least Felicity Jones and Reeve Carney exhibit some appealing chemistry as the young lovers.

Taymor’s Tempest is a good Shakespeare adaptation that picks up steam as it goes along, but never quite takes flight. The Hawaiian locales, particularly the black volcanic beaches, dramatically evoke the play’s otherworldliness and Mirren gives a powerhouse performance. Still, there just seems to be an X-factor missing. Certainly entertaining, but not the triumph Taymor’s admirers are hoping for, The Tempest opens tomorrow in New York at the Angelika Film Center.

Hemingway’s Garden of Eden

Those old school writers loved their liquor. However, it is not the alcohol that undermines a promising Jazz Age writer’s recent marriage. It is his wife psychological gamesmanship. Still, the Bournes’ lost honeymoon looks like a sundrenched paradise in Hemingway’s Garden of Eden (trailer here), John Irvin’s adaptation of the controversial unfinished novel, which opens this Friday in New York.

After serving in WWI, David Bourne became an expatriate, finding his voice in Europe as a writer. Indeed, the autobiographical elements of Garden are inescapable, but there appear to be generous amounts of wish fulfillment as well. Enter Catherine, his wealthy young bride. At first, she seems content whiling away their time with drink and passion, but her dark side gradually starts to manifest itself, triggered by Bourne’s rededication to his writing.

At first, she simply boozes harder than he does and suggests some rather eyebrow-raising role playing. Yet, as he works on a Nick Adams-like story set in his beloved Africa, the new Mrs. Bourne resorts to the shocking, introducing another woman into their love nest. Dark and sultry, it is unclear what the mysterious Marita makes of the American couple, or which of the two she prefers.

Many questioned the extent to which the sexually charged Garden was edited at the time of its posthumous publication, making the ultimate faithfulness of James Scott Linville’s adapted screenplay a rather complicated matter to judge. Nevertheless, his dialogue nicely captures the ring of Hemingway’s novels.

Jack Huston (grandson of the Hemingway-esque director John), is surprisingly on target as David Bourne, largely modeling him on the author, with good reason. Though a tricky part, he finds the right balance between Bourne’s devil-may-care expat persona and his buried insecurities. Frankly, Catarina Murino is mostly just required to smolder on screen, but she certainly does it well. Even though American Beauty’s Mena Suvari is all over the place as Catherine Bourne, she still acquits herself better than one might suspect. The real casting mistake though, comes with Matthew Modine’s appearances as Bourne’s supposedly grizzled big game hunting father in several flashback scenes. Still, the always entertaining Richard E. Grant helps to compensate, chewing the scenery with élan as Bourne’s former commander, Colonel Boyle.

Ashley Rowe’s artful cinematography captures indolent beauty of the French and Spanish Riviera, giving Garden a seductive La Dolce Vita ambience. It goes a long way. Despite the self-consciously naughty nature of its love triangle, it still pulls viewers in with its lush settings and some sharply penned exchanges. The strangely transfixing Garden opens this Friday (12/10) in New York at the Quad Cinema.

One City, Three Drivers: Beijing Taxi

It is an open question just how beneficial the 2008 Olympics were to the average Chinese citizens. They were a source of pride perhaps and certainly the well connected made money through construction contracts and the like. Yet, for the city’s working class cabbies, the Olympics, as well as China’s precipitous industrialization, have been a decidedly mixed bag. Indeed, life is not particularly easy for any of the three drivers director Miao Wang unobtrusively follows in Beijing Taxi (trailer here), which opens this Friday at Brooklyn’s reRun Gastropub Theater.

Starting two years prior to the Beijing Games, Taxi documents a city in flux. The games should be a boon to the drivers, what with all the tourists expected. Of course, nothing is simple in China. Facing new language requirements (ironically, it seems travelers would be more likely to find an English speaking cabbie in Beijing than New York) and rising costs, Taxi’s subjects are feeling increasingly pinched.

In various ways, the three cab drivers represent the inherent contradictions of contemporary Chinese society. While critical of China’s go-go economic policies, fifty-four year-old Bai Jiwen also fully recognizes his opportunities are limited because the Cultural Revolution permanently cut short his education. In contrast, thirtysomething Wei Caixia embraces China’s entrepreneurial ethos, but she is not so keen on the hard work part. Perhaps Zhou Yi is the most contented with his lot, but he still tries to maintain links to traditional Chinese culture.

Eschewing celebrity narration and talking head interviews, Taxi is not incompatible with the work of China’s so-called “Digital Generation” or “D-Generate” filmmakers. Though in many ways it functions as a critique of China’s comrade capitalism, Taxi is not the gritty, unremittingly depressing cinematic experience one finds in documentaries like Lixin Fan’s Last Train Home. Granted, Taxi’s three central POV figures certainly endure life’s challenges, but they prove to be quite resilient and even optimistic, at least to an extent.

Their real life dramas are also bookended by surprisingly cool opening and closing credit sequences, which gives the film a bit of panache. Indeed, it is well conceived and executed by the New York based Wang, who immigrated to America in 1990 (one year following the massacre at Tiananmen Square).

Cinematographers Ian Vollmer and Sean Price Williams dramatically capture the pulse and power of Beijing. However, this is a glass and steel urban jungle, which might disappoint viewers hoping to see an ancient and exotic capitol city, much like the underwhelmed tour group Zhou Yi chauffeurs. Still, the cabbies offer a perfect vantage point for Wang to essentially ask “where are we and how did we get here?” Considerably more accessible for general viewers than one might expect, Taxi is worth a trip out to Brooklyn when it opens at the reRun Gastropub this Friday (12/10).

Johnnie To’s Vengeance

Imagine if Elvis had made a Shaw Brothers’ kung fu movie. Okay, maybe it is not quite that epic, but any collaboration between HK action auteur Johnnie To and French rock icon Johnny Hallyday is still seriously cool. Indeed, fans of To’s hardboiled spectacles will not be disappointed in Vengeance (trailer here), an official selection of the 2009 Cannes Film Festival, which opens this Friday in New York at the IFC Center.

Tragedy brings Frenchman Francis Costello to Macao. His son-in-law and young grandsons were mercilessly gunned by triads, while his daughter just barely clings to life. The coppers are useless, but Costello gets a break when he witnesses a hit squad wrapping up a job in his hotel. Rather than dropping a dime, he offers them a contract: his family’s killers, whoever they might be. Further complicating matters, a bullet long lodged in Costello’s brain will eventually rob him of his memories. For a chef though, he sure knows his way around guns.

Essentially, Vengeance is another reworking of the formula To perfected in films like Exiled and The Mission, with a crew of hired guns, led each time by the steely Anthony Wong, turning against their underworld patron, as usual played by Simon Yam, to help a fast friend. In To’s case, the variations on the theme are always richly satisfying. Again, he demonstrates a knack for elevating familiar action set-ups to grandly theatrical heights.

Arguably, the flinty Wong is the best action actor working in international theater today. All kinds of bad, his intense screen presence compares with Eastwood in his prime. As for Hallyday, he seems to be channeling old school noir Robert Mitchum as the grizzled father out for revenge. He has the goods.

To really brings out the inner fan boy in HK film lovers (such as myself). Riddled with style, but following directly in tradition of great samurai and ronin films, his gangsters live outside the law, yet scrupulously observe their own code of honor. Thanks to the inspired addition of Hallyday, Vengeance ranks as one of his best. Highly recommended for those who enjoy artfully rendered movie mayhem, Vengeance opens this Friday (12/10) in New York at the IFC Center.

Rabbit a la Berlin & Loss

Was it possible to thrive under Communism? Yes, for a short while, if you happened to be a rabbit in East Berlin. However, their salad days did not last forever. In a story too strange not to be true, a population of rabbits temporarily flourished in the green belt running down the center of the despised Berlin Wall. Part nature documentary and part parable, directors Bartek Konopka and Piotr Rosolowski offer a truly original perspective on the Communist experience through the eyes of those East German bunnies in Rabbit à la Berlin (trailer here), a 2009 Academy Award nominee for best documentary short, which opens tomorrow in New York as part of a double bill of short docs examining Twentieth Century German history.

During the immediate post-war years, a hearty band of rabbits survived by raiding the garden patches on Potsdamer Platz. Much to their supposed surprise, sheltering walls were suddenly erected around them in 1961. With a nice grassy run, plenty of shade, a precious little human contact the whiskered critters made like rabbits and multiplied. The East German guards even began adopting them to help pass the time.

However, for many West Berliners, especially artists, the rabbits’ ability to burrow beneath the walls made them symbols of something greater—coyote tricksters for their divided age. Then, as escape attempts became more frequent and daring, the rabbits’ peaceful lives were upturned. Their lush grass was destroyed so that fugitive footsteps would be easier to track in the dirt beneath. Formerly their protectors, the guards declared open season on the rabbits, like a red army of Elmer Fudds.

One of Rabbit’s many surprises is the extent and quality of archival film capturing Berlin rabbits in their former environment. Credible simply as a wild life film (even featuring the smoothly placid narration of Krystyna Czubówna, a well-known Polish voice-over artist for nature docs), it also has a slyly subversive sensibility, particularly when it incorporates news footage of the likes of Fidel Castro and Yassir Arafat come to gawk approvingly at the Wall. Wistful without being nostalgic, it is one of the more inventive and entertaining documentaries to reach theaters this year.

While the fate of the Berlin Wall rabbit warren is not widely known outside of Germany, the Holocaust and its implications are certainly well established terrain for documentarians. Yet, French-Israeli filmmaker Nurith Aviv finds fresh insights in Loss. Returning to her father’s ancestral home of Berlin, Aviv explores the cultural and scientific losses Germany imposed on itself through the Holocaust. While relatively conventional in her approach, Aviv superimposes interviews with four prominent Berliners and a vintage television appearance by Hannah Arrendt over the sights seen from S-Bahn train as it makes its way through the city. It makes the talking heads more visually dynamic and also gives viewers a good feeling for the still grim looking city.

Frankly, the fifty minute Rabbit was robbed at this year’s Oscars. Highly recommended, it is unquestionably the main event of Film Forum’s Berlin documentary double feature. That said, the thirty minute Loss is also thoughtful film worth seeing in tandem with Rabbit. Both screen together at New York’s Film Forum, starting tomorrow (12/8).

Shortlisted: Ana’s Playground

They say sport brings people together. Sometimes, maybe. However, there is nothing like a warzone to challenge our clichés. For one little girl, the retrieval of a soccer ball becomes a harrowing experience in Eric D. Howell’s Ana’s Playground (trailer here), which has been shortlisted for Oscar consideration as best live action short film.

Welcome to battlefield Minneapolis. Of course, the spelling of Ana’s name and the soccer/football match heard on the radio also evoke the tragic Balkan conflict. However, Ana and her racially mixed friends seem to be a harmonious unit. The strafed world around them is a different story. Their survivals instincts are finely honed, but when their ball (and only apparent source of amusement) clears a protective fence, all bets are off. As the one drawing the short straw, Ana finds herself dodging sniper fire on her deadly errand.

As disturbing as it is to watch, there is no denying the compelling tension Howell steadily builds, employing dramatic close-ups and intriguing perspectives. Cinematographer David Doyle gives the film an austerely polished look that conveys the coldness of Ana’s world, while production designer David Weiberg convincingly turns Minneapolis’ Ralph Rapson designed Cedar Square West apartment high-rise (the home of Mary Richards in the final years of The Mary Tyler Moore Show) into a grim urban combat zone. However, viewers should probably ignore the film’s list of non-profit endorsers, because the interests of at least one affiliated group might telegraph where the film is headed.

Still, what most distinguishes Playground is the performance of Raven Bellefleur as the young protagonist. Based on her work as Ana, she seems to have potential to become either a serious dramatic actress or an action movie star.

Arguably, Playground would be more effective if its conflict were explicitly rooted in recent history and not de-contextualized into an abstract cautionary morality tale. After all, Howell is trying to remind us this is happening in the world today. Of course, as a Minnesota based filmmaker, he had the constraint of filming in a notoriously clean and polite environment. It is an impressive production, featuring an excellent lead performance from Bellefleur. When also taking into account its message and support from child advocacy groups, Playground seems like a good bet for a nomination. If so, look for it to play as part of the Academy’s short film showcase screenings early next year.

NY Turkish Film Festival ’10: Love in Another Language

Zeynep is hot. Onur is deaf. When they meet, the chick flick can begin in earnest. That said, director Ilksen Basarir deserves credit for not sugar-coating their rocky relationship in Love in Another Language (trailer here), which screens this Saturday during the 12th New York Turkish Film Festival.

Onur is a wizard at web design, but he is resigned to his underemployment at the city library. Zeynep is even less satisfied with her call center work, especially considering her ex Aras is the boss of the boiler room, a de-motivator who would not be out of place in either version of the Office sitcom. When they meet at the engagement party of mutual friends, she assumes he is the strong, silent type. When she has the truth gently explained to her, they still hook up, but she bolts like lightning afterward.

However, something about the sensitive lug pulls her back and they eventual pursue a legit relationship. It is not easy though. Expecting her to disappear again at a moment’s notice, Onur is always on edge. Meanwhile, Zeynep must deal with the fallout from her attempts to unionize her workplace as well as her friends’ boorish dismissal of Onur as b.f. material. It is going to be a bumpy ride.

Language eschews easy sentiment, unflinchingly focusing on Onur’s socialization issues. Frankly, they might over do it. Not that it has played in New York, but the Taiwanese Hear Me addresses similar issues, but with a lighter touch and ridiculous cute cast (they are like human Hello Kitty characters). In contrast, Language somewhat overplays Onur’s panic attacks, to use a polite term.

Saadet Aksoy has real screen presence as Zeynep. However, the convulsive flights of Mert Firat’s Onur become increasingly problematic. Allowing Zeynep to see him so out of control seems to be embarrassingly out of character. Still, it is a well put together package. Cinematographer Hayk Kirakosyan gives it a high gloss polish and the electro-ambient score composed by Ugur Akyurek and Erdem Yoruk should appeal to its twenty-thirty demographic.

Featuring an attractive young cast, Language is unquestionably an example of popular Turkish cinema. Well intentioned melodrama, it screens this Saturday (12/11) as the New York Turkish Film Festival continues at the SVA Theater.

Stuck in the Sixties: Saint Misbehavin’

When Ben & Jerry’s names a flavor after you, it means free ice cream for life. That should be something for Sarah Palin to look forward to when they finally get around to releasing Mama Grizzly’s Alaskan Halibut Crunch. Wavy Gravy can tell her all about it. He certainly knows how to exploit an entitlement, as we see in Michelle Esrick’s Saint Misbehavin’: the Wavy Gravy Movie (trailer here), which opens this Wednesday in New York at the IFC Center.

Before he was a New Left clown, Wavy Gravy was the beat poet Hugh Romney. Like many of his contemporaries, Romney was very definitely a part of the jazz and coffeehouse scene. He opened for John Coltrane, formed a trio with Moondog (the great madman of experimental music), and recorded spoken word albums for Pacific Jazz’s Dick Bock. Unfortunately, these intriguing associations are glossed over in Esrick’s rush to get to the standard issue hippie years.

The 1960’s are now five decades removed, yet as we listen to Romney/Gravy, it is clear he has not paused to take stock of world developments since that time. He still uses the term “genocide” to describe America’s participation in the Viet Nam War, evidently oblivious of the mass murders and exodus of “boat people” that followed the U.S. withdrawal. This hermetically sealed world view is a fundamental problem with the film. Frankly, it is aptly titled hagiography, featuring one gushing talking head tribute after another, with absolutely no patriotic dissent allowed.

In truth, a bit of controversy would help Misbehavin' immensely. Simply watching Romney/Gravy amble through Berkley as his friends tell us what a great guy he is gets a bit dull. Only when his son Jordan Romney explains the challenges of growing up with his given name, “Howdy Do Good Tomahawk Truckstop Gravy,” does the film approach the mildest hint of criticism. (For obvious reasons, the younger Romney changed it as soon as he was legally able.)

The trick of a political documentary like Misbehavin’ is to convince the audience of the importance of their subjects, even if they do not share their world view. Esrick never accomplishes that (which is one reason spending more time with the Beat years might have been profitable). Despite the involvement of noted documentarian D.A. Pennebaker as executive producer, Misbehavin’ is strictly for the faithful—those still nostalgic for a 1960’s that never were. Those looking for penetrating cinema should look elsewhere when it opens this Wednesday (12/8) in New York at the IFC Center.

Russian Film Week ’10: Man By the Window

A wise man once said: “you can observe a lot just be watching.” One Russian actor understands where Yogi was coming from. Day after day, he stands at the window, imagining the lives of those he watches, with surprising accuracy. His strange power of empathy indirectly mixes him up with some dodgy business in Dmitry Meskhiev’s Man By the Window, which screens during the tenth annual Russian Film Week in New York, in advance of its Russian opening.

Shura Dronov is a small actor, both on life’s stage and in St. Petersburg’s grand repertory theater. He suspects his wife is having an affair with his frienemy, the star of the dramatic company, but he is not sure whether he cares. One night, a minor auto accident serves as an unlikely ice-breaker with the attractive young Sonya. She even seems to appreciate his sympathetic powers of perception.

Of course, she has a boyfriend. A shady pseudo-oligarch, "Stas" is instinctively jealous of Shura, but he has need of an actor. Soon, Dronov is making serious money impersonating cops, lawyers, and government officials to help out Stas’ cronies. Yet, despite her lover’s threats, he is falling hard for the younger woman, even while his feelings for his own wife remain unresolved. Involved in two love triangles and multiple cases of fraud, Dronov suddenly is not such a boring guy anymore.

Indeed, Window could be considered an ode to the character actor. Yuriy Stoyanov gives a full-bodied, nuanced performance as Dronov. Funny and sad, he even plays a mean Spanish guitar. He takes Dronov through quite a dramatic character arc, yet he keeps it all credible and grounded. Likewise, Kristina Kuzmina nicely conveys the ambiguities of their possible mutual attraction. Perhaps the greatest surprise though is the depth and maturity Maria Zvonareva brings to the film as Dronov’s wife, in what could have easily been sloughed off as a henpecking caricature.

Window is the sort of bittersweet crowd pleaser Miramax used to regularly breakout during their heyday. Sharply written, but with a deeply compassionate perspective on humanity, it is one of the highlights of this year’s Russian Film Week. Window screens again today at the Millennium Theater in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn.

Russian Film Week ’10: Golden Mean

Evidently, Russia has not been immune to the influence of The Da Vinci Code. The good news is the Russian riff on Dan Brown’s ancient conspiracies and mysterious artifacts is considerably better than Ron Howard’s movies. Boasting the production values of major Hollywood tent-poles, Sergey Debizhev’s action and intrigue driven The Golden Mean (trailer here) screens tonight as part of the 2010 Russian Film Week in New York.

Despite Mean’s title and Da Vinci inspired graphics, Leonardo does not factor into this grand cabal. Somehow though, it involves our protagonist’s swashbuckling grandfather. A dissolute hedonist, Aleksandr has been a stranger to heroism all his life. However, the discovery of an old magazine photo of his grandfather breaking the bank at a Cambodian casino three years after his presumed disappearance in the war understandable intrigues the young reprobate.

As it turns out, granddad was not just a daring pilot and gambler. He held many secrets, including his true identity as a former aristocrat and White partisan during the 1917 revolution. Stealing away to his beloved France, the mysterious patriarch became involved with a powerful and shadowy secret society that seeks to re-establish global equilibrium by finding and restoring eight missing religious relics to their proper shrines. Acquiescing to the will of Monsieur Perot, the only slightly ominous leader of the more-or-less cult, the Russian playboy sets out to finish what his grandfather started, perhaps finding enlightenment in the process.

Though not recommended for epileptics, the visual approach of Debizhev and cinematographer Anton Drozdov throws in everything but the kitchen sink, employing jumps cuts, wipes and washes, and dozens of other stylized effects. Particularly cool are the flashback scenes of the grandfather shot in a style that deliberately evokes 1940’s black-and-white serials. While there is plenty of action, Debishev is clearly just as interested in the inner workings of his grand historical-metaphysical scheme. However, the final fifteen minutes or so make absolutely no sense whatsoever.

Resembling a young Rutger Hauer, Alexey Serebryakov is a convincing square-jawed anti-hero turned hero. Unfortunately, his primary love interest is a rather underwhelming personality and is not even that alluring by big budget movie standards. Yet, the film’s perception of Asian women (or at least that of its male characters) is even more problematic in a clichéd and dismissive way.

With its elements of Eastern spiritualism, Mean is ultimately far more appealing than Brown and Howard’s unrestrained Catholic bashing. Indeed, it displays an ecumenical respect for faith in general and an earnest desire to dazzle. The forthright depiction of Stalin’s thuggish political officers during World War II adds an intriguing dimension, as well. While it might crater at the end, nearly every genre film does. Executed with vigor, it is certainly a memorable film, but tonight (12/5) could well be New York audience’s only chance to Mean for the foreseeable future when it screens at the Millennium Theater in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn

Takemitsu at Film Forum: The Ceremony

Between the war crimes, radical politics, suspicious deaths, and extreme sexual dysfunction, it is hard to imagine a more toxic family than the Sakuradas. Often incorporating both Western and Eastern forms as well as electronic effects in an eerie minimalism, Toru Takemitsu was the perfect composer to score their downfall. His unsettling string figures underscore the rotten moral core of the fading Sakurada clan in Nagisa Oshima’s The Ceremony, which screens tomorrow as part of Film Forum’s two week retrospective of films scored by Takemitsu.

Masuo Sakurada is the man from Manchuria. At least, that is the literal translation of his name. However, considering his severe case of arrested development, his manhood seems somewhat open to question. It is hardly surprising, considering the baggage he is saddled with. While on a forced march in Manchuria, Sakurada and his mother were compelled to abandon his younger brother, even though they could still hear him, buried alive and desperately wailing for help. Years later, listening with his ear to the earth for his brother’s phantom cries remains one of Sakurada’s persistent personal rituals.

In contrast, Sakurada’s overbearing grandfather is only observes the stately rituals that ostensibly bind the family together: weddings and funerals. We come watch five such family functions in flashback as Sakurada and his cousin Ritsuko rush to the island retreat of a third cousin, Terumichi, whose cryptic telegram may well be his suicide note. Not simply cousins, both the introverted Masuo and the socially confident Terumichi shared a sexual attraction to both Ritsuko and her mother Setsuko. Mix in the cousins’ ambiguous parentage and then sit back and watch as the taboos shatter.

Despite the potentially lurid nature of its story, Ceremony maintains a tone of high tragedy, sort of like watching all of Shakespeare’s Freudian scenes spliced together into one play. There are plenty of wincing moments, but nothing tops the film’s centerpiece. In what must be the most painful wedding in cinematic history, Sakurada’s grandfather forces him to complete the ceremony alone after his would-be bride jilts him at the aisle. One has to see the film to fully understand just how bad it gets. In a truly tricky part, Kenzo Kawarasaki provokes both sympathy and contempt as Sakurada, often simultaneously.

Oshima, the New Wave rebel, had a talent for depicting sexually charged psychological implosions on-screen (as in Pleasures of the Flesh), but Ceremony’s bite is particularly potent. He was also had a strong visual sense for color film, above and beyond many of his contemporaries, whose best work was arguably in black and white. Indeed, that early 1970’s color which always somehow feels slightly off, perfectly fits the disturbing vibe of Ceremony and the sounds of Takemitsu’s characteristically disciplined discord. Altogether, it packs quite a punch. A fitting selection for the Takemitsu series, Ceremony screens Sunday night (12/5) at Film Forum.

In Contention: Paprika Steen in Applause

For an actress straight out of rehab, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? might not be the best comeback vehicle. Indeed, for Thea Barfoed, the role of Martha is only too fitting. Still, there is no denying it is a tour de force performance, both for Barfoed on-stage and Paprika Steen bringing her to life on-screen. If not a household name, the Danish star of Dogme 95 classics like Thomas Vinterberg’s The Celebration should definitely be in Academy Award contention for her fearless work in Martin Pieter Zandvliet’s Applause (trailer here), which begins a special one-week Oscar qualifying run today in Los Angeles.

Barfoed is like a Lindsay Lohan with talent. She makes a show of her sobriety, but she spends more time off the wagon than on. Having voluntarily relinquished her two boys to their father Christian, she now wants back in their lives. He agrees for their sake, but only to an extent. It is hard to blame him. After a few binges, it is clear she remains a stranger to stability.

From her embarrassingly transparent attempts to win over Christian’s new wife Maiken to her casual hostility towards her theater dresser, we quickly understand there is something seriously flawed with the way Barfoed relates to others. She is openly contemptuous of her public, yet she still craves their attention. To call her a train wreck of conflicting neuroses does a disservice to train wrecks, but it is impossible not to gawk at her self-destructive behavior.

Utilizing footage of her real life stage turn in a Danish revival of Albee’s play, Applause really represents two performances in one for Steen. While the parallels between Barfoed the thespian and Martha the character are plainly obvious, they effectively reinforce viewers’ mounting uneasiness with the problematic protagonist. Yet, for all her ill-contained psychological turmoil, one is still always wondering if Barfoed still has any semblance of a soul buried within her.

Steen is scary good as Barfoed. Unflattering, unlikable, and uncompromising, it is not a performance tailor-made for Oscar love, but the sheer power of Steen’s work should give Academy voters the necessary knock alongside the head—if they see it, that is. There is no question Applause is Steen’s picture lock, stock and barrel, but Michael Falch is also quite good tacking a more understated course as the exasperated Christian.

With its reasonably professional lighting and an often distracting electronic non-diegetic soundtrack, Applause falls short of the rigid criteria of the Dogme 95 school of grungily realistic filmmaking. However, its grainy look and handheld camera work show the lingering influence of the Dogme aesthetic.

Throughout Applause, Steen puts on an acting clinic. Granted, her character might trouble many viewers, but it is supposed to. Searingly intense, it opens its limited run today (12/3) in LA at the Sunset 5, in advance of its regular New York theatrical engagement at the Village East on January 21st.

Finnish Cheer: Rare Exports

All Pagan Claus ever gave kids were the willies. The candy and toys came after those mean old Christians co-opted him. However, the old school Santa returns to a small Finnish village with an army of wrinkly old elves in Jalmari Helandar’s Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

Young Pietari is not looking forward to Christmas. Strange things have started happening since a wealthy American eccentric began excavating the nearby mountain. The reindeer herd has been decimated, leaving his hunter father distinctly out of sorts. The rest of the town’s children have also mysteriously disappeared, but oddly, Pietari seems to be the only one concerned about it. Increasingly obsessed with creepy pre-Christian Santa Claus legends, he is convinced the less than jolly old elf is behind everything.

Rare works best when exploring the strange Pagan precursors to Santa Claus. Helandar’s ironic use of the advent calendar is similarly effective. Unfortunately, none of the characters are sharply drawn and the film indulges in a lazy anti-Americanism that needlessly distracts from the story.

Fundamentally, Rare is a half-pregnant film. With its sorta-kinda heartwarming ending, it is not nearly subversive or edgy enough for midnight movie patrons, while it is far too macabre for audiences looking for remotely conventional holiday cheer. As a result, it is hard to ignore the film’s glaring logical holes.

There are some witty bits to be found in Rare, but their promise is never long sustained. Cinematographer Mika Orasmaa’s gauzy lensing also nicely captures a sense of child-like wonder and dread. Yet despite an amusing premise, Rare never fully gels. At least Helandar keeps it moving along, wrapping it up in a manageable eighty minutes. It opens today (12/3) in New York at the IFC Center.