The Films of 2009

[Antoine Doinel]

Amenábar's next film seems to have gone under the radar, but some early stills have leaked. It's a period piece about the love between Hypatia and her slave. I hope it turns out better than it sounds.

[Antoine Doinel]

The director behind the excellent typography doc Helvetica, returns with Objectified, taking a look at the people who design the things we use in our everyday life.

Here's the trailer.

[CharLon]

Here the teaser poster with Rachel Weisz (OTOÑO means FALL/AUTUMN)... and here, the teaser trailer.

Don't you think that this film seems interesting?

[Antoine Doinel]

Here's the fantastic poster.

[domino harvey]

Nice of them to slip the world's most readable font in there

[thirtyframesasecond]

A British film adapted from the controversial 2006 novel by David Peace about the ill-fated 44 day tenure of Brian Clough at Leeds United. Most non-Brits won't be aware of Clough; he was considered the greatest football manager that England never had, who in the late 60s took the unfashionable Derby County from the second tier of English football and made them double league champions by the early 70s. Sacked by Derby County after a dispute with the owner, he takes over at Leeds United, a team he's always had a loathing for; a brilliant but over-aggressive team managed by Clough's enemy, Don Revie.

Hooper follows Peace's split narrative, juxtaposing Clough's success at Derby and his failure at Leeds, where disputes with the players who wanted one of their own to take over as manager, not the outspoken Clough who'd regularly appeared on TV slamming Leeds United. The film makers have made a more sensitive tribute to Clough than the Peace novel had. which featured a number of paranoid, bile-filled, alcohol-fuelled internal monologues about his loathing for Leeds United and Revie. Clough is shown as a brilliant yet flawed man, destined to fail at Leeds without the support of his assistant Peter Taylor, who'd refused to join the film at Leeds. There's a slight hint of homoeroticism about this relationship; it's more a "bromance" picture than anything.

Anyone who's seen football-themed films will bemoan the way the sport is simulated. Fortunately, the film makers don't attempt to recreate matches; Michael Sheen (who plays Clough) was a handy footballer in his youth as he shows on the training ground but otherwise it's a football film depicted in the dressing rooms and board rooms, about the personalities and politics that permeated the sport then and now. As Clough himself mentions, "it's all about money now". Same as it ever was. It's a tender and sensitive film, much more so than the novel was, but lacks the dramatic impact of the novel by changing its raison d'etre - Clough's ambition doesn't quite have the same sense of desperate need. But it's a fine film nonetheless, with terrific performances; Colm Meaney as Revie and Timothy Spall as Taylor are just as impressive as Sheen as Clough, who as you'd expect captures the speech patterns and mannerisms to perfection.

[MichaelB]

Trailer.

Or the whole thing.

A shoo-in for next year's Oscars, I'd have thought - they love stuff about disability, don't they?

[Cold Bishop]

This might raised my eyebrows, had the Shaw Brothers not only done it three decades ago, but turned it into a wonderful slice of bad taste.

[MichaelB]

Oh yes, Mat Fraser's well aware that he's not exactly breaking new ground - though I suppose one innovation is that he's one of the producers, so has a built-in defence against charges of exploitation.

But he also told me (I met him the other night, which is how I heard about the film in the first place) that The Elephant Man left out a historical detail that would have utterly undermined its central narrative - which is that Joseph (not John) Merrick was actually business partners with - I presume - the character played by Freddie Jones, and therefore fully complicit in his own exploitation. But in that society, with no welfare system and no other serious possibility of employment, what else could he have done?

[MichaelB]

One of the most pleasant surprises I've had this year, given that expectations were pitched comparatively low. Granted, a collaboration between Andrzej Wajda and Krystyna Janda (their first since Man of Iron, I believe) was never likely to be completely devoid of cultural merit, but I hadn't heard much buzz about it since its Berlin premiere a few months ago, where it shared a relatively minor prize.

It's much more Janda's show than Wajda's, not least because the film's original conception (still available on Wajda's website) was radically altered following a delay in production caused by the death of Janda's husband, the cinematographer Edward Kłosiński. The final film interweaves three separate strands. The first is a dramatisation of a short story by Jarosław Iwaskiewicz (one of Wajda's favourite writers, he previously sourced The Birch Wood and The Young Ladies of Wilko from his work) in which Janda plays a woman unwittingly suffering a terminal illness who gets briefly involved with a young man for reasons that are never quite clear (it could be lust, or he could remind her of her two sons, killed during WWII). The second, much the least successful (albeit thankfully the briefest) involves Wajda and Janda collaborating on an adaptation of the above, while the third consists of a lengthy three-part solo monologue by Janda about Kłosiński's diagnosis, decline and death.

The latter is shot in an anonymous hotel room, with Janda either facing away from the camera or in shadow, as if lost in private contemplation, and is much the most powerful part of the film - almost unavoidably given the subject-matter. But the Iwaskiewicz dramatisation is also very effective, with Wajda achieving a calm, contemplative, almost Renoiresque impression that's quite unlike much of his other work. (Pawel Edelman's cinematography stresses the colour green to great effect). Another possible comparison might be with Ingmar Bergman's various chamber pieces made after his official retirement with Fanny and Alexander - although Sweet Rush is somewhat incongruously shot in 2.35:1, it has a similarly intimate, low-key feel.

Although the films could scarcely be more different in terms of style and content, Sweet Rush has one thing in common with its immediate predecessor Katyń, in that it takes much of its inspiration from the real-life death of a loved one. But while Katyń took decades to be made and suffered as a result both from impossibly inflated expectations and the challenge of plausibly compressing a subject of such magnitude into a two-hour film, Sweet Rush was premiered only just over a year after Kłosiński's death, and Janda's central self-scripted monologue was presumably shot a few months earlier when the memory was still all too raw. It's a very brave piece of work on her part, and indeed on Wajda's, as he's not normally that comfortable with strong female roles (though Janda was the major exception to that general rule in Man of Marble and Man of Iron).

I suspect it's not for everyone, and I know that it's had some negative press - how much you respond to it seems to me to depend on how much you admire Janda in general, and how familiar you are with her and Wajda's previous work (prior knowledge of the timing of Kłosiński's death helps too, though you can probably glean what you need from the monologue), as well as your tolerance for the less successful elements. But for me it was Wajda's most satisfying film since Korczak nearly twenty years ago.

[Fiery Angel]

This will probably be chosen for the NY Film Fest, so we should get to make up our own minds relatively soon.

The comparison to Korczak is intriguing--definitely his last really satisfying film.

[puxzkkx]

This is seriously my most anticipated film of the year. Thanks for the gorgeous review!

[Jeff]

I don't know anything about the first-time director, but this has been getting really good early notices. Jeff Bridges is one of my favorite actors, and doesn't get the attention he deserves. Apparently he delivers a career-best, Academy Award shoo-in performance. T-Bone Burnett is doing the music.

Trailer

[Clevinger]

David Bordwell isn't very enthusiastic, blog entry.

[manicsounds]

dvdbeaver review

bluray.com review

This was China's entry for the Oscars but lost out in the nominations. I don't think because of the quality, but more about the politics behind it. Well, even though it didn't get the foreign language nomination, it's still an amazing film to be seen.

There so far is a Chinese release on DVD, and Hong Kong DVD and Bluray. none of them have English subtitles for bonus materials, only the film itself.

[John Cope]

Can't believe there's been so little discussion of this one. I finally saw it last week and was extemely impressed. Though Bridges was predictably excellent it's unfortunate that he was singled out for all the attention as this picture deserves much more than grudging respect for one refined performance.

Initially, I was thinking that I might be underwhelmed as so little had been said about it aside from Bridges getting his due. Also, on a superficial level it seemed to resemble Tender Mercies, which I adore, and I couldn't help but think that the inevitable comparison would not benefit this film. But as it happened the similarities turned out to be an advantage because they wound up establishing Crazy Heart in a tradition of sensitively tuned rural character studies that are also not bereft a finely wrought, carefully realized aesthetic (Paris, Texas of course being another such piece).

It's a subtle, measured work that accomplishes much without drawing undue attention to itself as it does. For whatever reason Scott Cooper has been ridiculously neglected for managing this. His well considered compositional choices (in widescreen no less) and equally refined editing strategy aids his actors throughout. It's really an admirable blend of skills particular to vocations on display here and ultimately it makes you realize how much less we normally get in the realm of character oriented films or even films in general.

One of the accomplishments of it is to make the songs work on a level of poignancy without becoming maudlin. This is hard to do with something as directly emotional as country songs. But what helps is that Bridges' character is not some overly soulful melodist. He's a burnt out hell raiser and his program of song standards reflects that. So we are allowed into his character slowly, through songs not designed to reveal too much or be genuinely confessional in a deep, painful sense. When we do get that kind of material (like Bad Blake's more sensitive performance or the song he gives to Tommy) it's late in the narrative and earned by the character. And I don't necessarily mean "earned" in the sense of going through hell to attain it; if anything it's because Bad is able to leave Hell that he is capable at all. We understand how and why this newfound sensitivity has come to be possible and what it means for the characters; such simple things resonate in profound ways. In this the film follows a deceptively standard sort of arc. It's familiar but Cooper and the cast reveal the depths beneath, like cliches mined for sources of truth.

The supporting performances are sterling as well, and all tuned into the same frequency of startling generosity. And this is part of where the film surprises despite its adherence to standard forms. For even Colin Farrell's expected upstart is not unappreciative or crassly callow; an argument could be made in fact that he is more gracious than Bad is initially and that his missteps are only well meaning gestures (like taking the stage with Bad too soon, for instance). Farrell has always been great at projecting earnest soulfulness and is perfectly cast in this small part as is Robert Duvall as Bad's old friend. Duvall brings his own characteristic gravitas but also contributes another linkage to Tender Mercies; his presence appropriately recalls not only his character but the tone of that picture which is the tone of this one as well. Personally, I could watch two pros like Bridges and Duvall bat their dialogue back and forth all day regardless the subject matter. It is especially gratifying though when it can be for a project of such excellence.

Maggie Gyllenhaal's character bears striking surface similarities to Tess Harper's in Tender Mercies. They are attracted to broken down men, men who used to pass as estimable enough but who, perhaps, were never as much so as their surface allure would have had it. Only now, with the value of these relationships as inspiration, can they be said to have made any real effort toward selflessness or caring or any true measure of character. The Gyllenhaal/Harper characters also are depicted as single mothers which makes simple sense, without having to say anything further, of why they might take the chances they do with these men and why the risks hurt that much more. Beyond this, is the fact of their essential goodness, an almost emblematic quality. I fear someone may think these two films overly idealize their female characters as sources of grace but I would argue that this does them a disservice. They are simply examples of kind and decent human beings, for whom kindness and decency are defining traits. Still, it is revealing if this is what makes them seem idylllic. And there is no denying that it is their inherent goodness and the love of that goodness that ultimately motivates reform. Perhaps the suggestion of this is what might bother some the most; an implied approval for an arrangement that seems too simple and schematic (Bad becomes "good"). But the films don't render it in such simple terms. The full measure of these relationships, all their quiet striving and quietly devastating disappointment, are too nuanced and complicated for their authenticity to be dismissed in that way.

Cooper's accomplishment goes beyond the purely compositional. It is to his credit that he understands so well what we need in order to be genuinely moved by this story, to recognize it as legitimate and worthy of that response. It is to this end that he can be credited for not giving us the resolution we expect and think we want between Bad and Jean, for not giving us any pat closure between Bad and Tommy Sweet or Bad and his son, and for knowing enough to let Tommy sing Bad's song at the end.

Certainly Crazy Heart could have easily been just another godawful Hallmark movie with the sentimental moments obvious and telegraphed and self-satisfied in their shallow dramatic manipulation. That it is not this is a tribute to all involved and a needed encouraging sign that narratives don't have to be overtly radical; they can be effectively familiar too. The classic, conventional narrative is rarely mined for all it can render up. The great dignity and richness of this film is an indicator of how much more we should be able to expect.

[manicsounds]

Region B UK BD review

Too bad the audio isn't lossless, and they don't have any extras (like the 100 minute behind the scenes). Germany and France will release their versions within the next month.

[lady wakasa]

Thank you for posting this. I recently saw Lou Ye's Spring Fever (not perfect, though I think he's very much onto something) and have been looking for more discussion about the Sixth Generation filmmakers, but my time's been too chaotic lately to start a topic here...

I'll have to get a copy of this soon.

[swo17]

I was really impressed by this film and surprised to see not a single mention of it apparently on the forum before. It essentially documents a fishing trip between a father and son, with the underlying tension being the fact that this is their last time together before the mother takes the child away with her to Italy. There is a fairly simple story here (if one at all) and so one is left with only really the visuals and subtle character interactions to latch onto during the film's brief runtime, but that was more than enough for me. Apparently, the film was produced and partly shot by Carlos Reygadas' team, and this isn't too surprising given its look and feel. (I am trying really hard here not to namedrop Tarkov... :-# ) It was largely shot around Banco Chinchorro in Mexico, and the visuals are simply breathtaking, rivaling any nature documentary from recent memory.

Film Movement is scheduled to release this in January. I highly recommend it!

[John Cope]

Uwe Boll's Darfur is a great revelation, simply remarkable and easily one of the most deeply impactful films I've seen this year. So then I don't mean train-wreck-bad remarkable as one might expect coming from the estimable Mr. Boll. He was, one forgets, a solid director at one time with a film like Heart of America giving proof of that. There's little question that his output since then has been staggeringly awful but often (and this is missed) in a blissful sense--blissful at least for Boll and company. An argument can be made that he's aware of the cliches he traffics in and simply chooses to revel in them at their most base, abstracted level. This can occasionally work but it mostly feels like watching someone else play a video game (an apt metaphor).

The promise of Darfur then is not that it returns Boll to some mythical lost perfect state; I sincerely doubt such a thing is possible and nor would I want it to be given what else Boll's presumed deficiencies make possible. Because what we get here, due in large part to his reputation, is some kind of definitve and legitimately persuasive meta-textual experience. The trailer to this alone had me in a dazed state for days. Boll and company may very well want to treat this subject with the proper piety but even if so, is this possible? Is it possible, I mean, in the sense in which we are all overly familiar--that of the resolute and sober prestige project designed around some current or historic atrocity, doing its dutiful best to represent events with respect. Egoyan dealt well with the impossibility of this in Ararat but even he can't really come close to accomplishing what Boll does here more or less by default.

The trailer contains all the requisite elements--the impassioned actors, the stirring score, sweeping exotic backdrops and the suggestion of appropriately "real" violence and political to boot, which always bestows a patina of the sacrosanct upon the proceedings. But what can't be so easily shaken is the fact that this is Boll's film and he reminds us through the appearance of actors like Billy Zane, Kristanna Loken and, God help us, Edward Furlong (it's Furlong's appearance I couldn't get past at first--though the trio are meant to be international journalists his costume suggests nothing less than a Metallica roadie circa 1993). It's their presence that initiates a disruption in our viewing, a rift within the otherwise fully met set of appropriate signifiers. And this disruption in turn triggers others: a recognition, for instance, of the relentless banality of that score, always the same generic wailing woman as shorthand for authentic experience--such experience, that is, as we have come to expect and accept as authentic enough. That in turn raises the troubling question of how much justice can ever be done to these events through conventional means no matter how nobly intended.

Beyond this Darfur is a simulacra of independent and experimental techniques as well. We have the now cliche use of handheld camera work to instantaneously denote authenticity and we see how what was considered an indicator of the immediate and real has been thoroughly commodified; it's just another go-to device. And it's the very fact that we see it, that it's simply implemented as part of Boll's arsenal, that makes the point: Boll's association with cliches now extends to encompass that which many willfully choose to ignore as cliche. Also the film is, apparently, scriptless; Boll encouraged his cast to improvise and write their own dialogue. But once again it's the idea of someone with the cultural freight of Kristanna Loken writing her own dialogue for an interview with an actual genocide survivor whose actual (there's that word again) experience they participate in recreating that causes a reel of confused responses; the inclination to respect the authenticity of the trauma is marred by a sick sense of cynical unease with the all too clear machinations at play. But the real unease is that we have to confront whether the cynicism is our own projection--it forces a consideration of whether sincerity is enough and whose sincerity we can accept. In this way the confrontation is far more provocative and successfully managed than something like that in Haynes' Far From Heaven. There the all too obvious sophisticated awareness of everyone involved of the devices and filmic tropes used could not be reconciled with Haynes' desire to have us still somehow surrender to the sincerity of the characters' experience (and does not, I submit, even encourage that effort). The confluence of these streams of intention in Boll's film, however, portends not a predictable cinematic disaster but rather implosion, an internal breakdown of recognizable mechanics so rapturously severe that the results threaten a cognitive black hole in the mind of the viewer.

But aside from these meta effects there are also the particulars of production. Here again the film is remarkably strong and successful regardless of whether Boll himself fully grasped the implications of what he was doing. For one thing there is admirable patience displayed, the likes of which we certainly don't see in Hollywood films. The majority of the running time is given over to the journalists interaction with village people, recording their stories and speculating on their future. Of course, their future is fatalistically determined to be doomed both by the machinery of the filmmaking and the nature of the narrative. Still, our discomfort and unease with the scenario and our shaky sympathies are emphasized and heightened by Boll's insistence on aligning us with the journalists by default: we are outsiders to this too and our alienation from any meaningful contribution of lasting help is highlighted. That futility becomes deeply entrenched and undeniable by the end, another astonishing evasion of studio convention. By the time events finally do explode in graphic detail Boll's usual carnage effects and inclination to wallow in excess has the unique impact of seeming even more absurdist than usual, a kind of unhinged infringement on the neatly buttoned down and conservatively safe "realist" style that has predominated to that point. For the first time ever his own predilections are gainfully employed and the persistently suspect psychosis at their heart could not be more disturbingly apt. The way this stuff co-exists in extreme tension with all the presumptive humanist sympathies is profound and contributes greatly to the film's dramatic impact while simultaneously exerting a pull of repulsion and disgust with Boll and potentially the whole filmmaking process of such representation. But it is the sense of Boll's own unawareness of these implications that makes the film work as strongly as it does. If it were his clear intent to get us to focus on the scaffolding and not the structure the film would collapse under the weight of intellectual hubris at the expense of any possible genuine humane emotional investment. As it is it floats mercifully free of any such indication; it is because we cannot know the larger motives, if any, that it can work at all.

Those interested in seeing this may want to be made aware that the US DVD title is Attack on Darfur and the video art features an unfortunately misbegotten image of Billy Zane toting a gun which never occurs in the film itself. Still, given the material in question, perhaps such dysfunctional advertising is merely an appropriate signpost of the paradoxes within.

[zedz]

Seconded. A really lovely, contemplative film that dissolves the boundaries between fiction and documentary. I'm so glad this is getting a release!

[bkimball]

Favorite film of the year. Programmed it at the Salt Lake City Film Festival. Too bad it isn't getting a Blu-Ray release. The cinematography is fantastic.

[stroszeck]

simulacra. Haven't heard this word in YEARS. Can't believe i'm hearing it used in a thread on an Uwe Boll movie. Simply awesome.

[oldsheperd]

Did anyone else catch this low budget film? I netflixed it and found it to be quite good. It's an apocalyptic film about a virus wiping out humanity but it's not all gore and spectacle like most other apocalypse films. If I could compare it to anything it would be The Road. It sticks with the idea that the world will end in a wimper, not a bang. There's no selflessness or heroics. Pretty much every character is out for their own survival.

[Siddon]

I like to think of it as a Zombie film stripped of all pretenses. I can see the comparisons to The Road but for me it's closer to an obscure french zombie film Grapes of Death. Now in Grapes of Death characters slowly turned to zombies as the injection ravaged and rotted their bodies. In Carriers when they turned to zombies they basically just stopped moving and died. It was also great to see Christopher Meloni have a different type of role as he's been a cop/prisoner for 20 years.