Le Week-End (Roger Michell, 2013). After midnight, in Paris. How many times has Jim Broadbent been this guy? How many times has Hanif Kureishi written these arguments? The bickering classes, with their despondency.
December 27, 2014
December 21, 2014
Chloe (Atom Egoyan, 2009). A going through the motions erotic thriller set in a cold world of Toronto modernism where only some of the location scouting – all the glass walls and windows that provide constant views of others – suggests the rich, dark, depressing mood of suspicion and surveillance in the early films that Egoyan has still not improved upon. Or is this depressing in a different way? From Wikipedia: “Despite its mixed critical reception, Chloe made money than any of Atom Egoyan’s previous films.”
December 19, 2014
December 18, 2014
December 16, 2014
December 15, 2014
December 13, 2014
December 11, 2014
The Book of Life (Hal Hartley, 1998). Hal Hartley’s The Book of Life was a slightly dopey idea – Jesus (then Hartley regular Martin Donovan, doing his mildly aggressive inscrutability) and sidekick Mary Magdalena (PJ Harvey) appear in New York on December 31, 1999, to get the imminent end of the world going – but it had some resonance watched again, 15 years on, or more resonance than a rerun of Kevin Smith’s Dogma or the Schwarzenegger film End of Days would carry now, at least. The lo-tech 90s video looks smeary and awful but otherwise the texture of the 90s is so subtly different – almost no mobile phones, the clunky and slow Apple Mac graphics on Jesus’ laptop, people still smoking – that only the millennial deadline really stresses that this is recent history. Watched now, it is impossible to forget about the actual apocalyptic event that hit New York nearly two years later. Images and ideas seem to prefigure it. An airport is the first location; a few minutes in, a man gazes up at the sky from the street and sees an airliner over Manhattan; later, the movie Jesus is indecisive (men are usually indecisive in Hartley films) about whether to annihilate a large chunk of humanity. He and Satan debate the rights and wrongs of religious violence and fanaticism and ethics, whether humans have souls, whether God is fair. The last shot is of the Twin Towers, receding into the distance. This was the first September 11 film, three years early.
December 10, 2014
More on all these and others over at Werewolf.
The year’s top 10:
1. Under the Skin
2. Blue is the Warmest Colour
3. Winter Sleep
5. The Grand Budapest Hotel
7. Maps to the Stars
9. What We Do in the Shadows
A second ten:
Dallas Buyers Club, The Dead Lands, Gloria, It Follows, The Lego Movie, Leviathan, Locke, Nymphomaniac, The Selfish Giant, The Trip to Italy.
December 3, 2014
November 29, 2014
The Babadook (Jennifer Kent, 2014). Horror films that cross over to the critical mainstream are rare. Here’s one good example. The troubled kid who can see things that you can’t see is a well-worn horror idea but this arty, deliberately international Australian horror gets to a place so deep that it must qualify as taboo: a parent’s homicidal resentment of her child. Great screaming (Essie Davis, Noah Wiseman), persistently creepy mise-en-scene and some psychological truths.
November 19, 2014
They Live (John Carpenter, 1988). Newly famous for its inclusion as an important political film in Slavoj Zizek’s recent The Pervert’s Guide to Ideology, They Live endures as a cult artefact of the Reagan 1980s, shaped by a veteran of the counter-cultural 60s. The settings are downtown Los Angeles and the millennial revolutionary cult that discovers there are skull-faced alien bodysnatchers living among us, and ruling us through consumerist brainwashing on television and billboards, assembles in a small church in the city – and it is the church that gives the thing an unexpected early Christian/Gnostic flavour, like a sci-fi parable that Philip K Dick might have devised. The Roman Empire never really ended? I was thinking of Richard Linklater’s amazing PK Dick speech near the end of Waking Life. (In this thorough essay, Kenny Paul Smith says that while the political dimensions of They Live have been often talked about, the religious ones have been almost ignored: “The demise of the ghouls and the world they have created is in essence a vision of the eschaton. This trope of a spiritual warfare against evil invokes an apocalyptic tradition in which an embattled Church, persecuted by the forces of Babylon – variously identified with everyone from the Roman Empire, to the Soviet Union, to the Federal government – will ultimately triumph.”) They Live has a weird prescience: some (including Zizek) see it as proto-Fight Club, others talk about Occupy. Personally, I was surprised that a film made in 1988 would talk about year 2000 anxiety. That it is all so rudimentary – made for just $3 million – with the most basic of screenplays and a leading man (Roddy Piper, above) who is no Kurt Russell only helps with its intention as a message film, an urgent sketch of an obvious and brilliant idea. Like a musclebound Christ, Piper’s John Nada (yes, “Nada”) bursts into a bank with the news that he’s upsetting the established order: “I’ve come here to chew bubblegum and kick ass. And I’m all out of bubblegum.” Bringing not peace but a sword and a lame 80s action wisecrack.
November 17, 2014
November 15, 2014
November 13, 2014
Interstellar (Christopher Nolan, 2014). Time, as Tarkovsky said, is the material of cinema. And sometimes it is also its subject, as Christopher Nolan showed us in Memento, The Prestige, Inception and now in his ambitious, optimistic, anti-nostalgic and deeply (uncharacteristically?) sentimental space epic, Interstellar. Fathers and daughters, worm holes and extra dimensions, and moments that would impress both Shyamalan and, yes, Tarkovsky.
November 11, 2014
The Dead Lands (Toa Fraser, 2014). What a ridiculously good idea. Like a lot of people, I came out of Mel Gibson’s Mayan action film Apocalypto thinking that someone needed to make a movie like that, set in pre-European New Zealand, with all dialogue in Te Reo. And now someone has. It seems to me that the success of The Dead Lands is in the melding of a generic horror-action-martial arts idea devised by commercially-minded producer Matthew Metcalfe and writer Glenn Standring (previously, demons and steampunk vampires) with the more mainstream values of director Toa Fraser, cinematographer Leon Narbey and musician Don McGlashan, whom you would never have picked as the composer of the threatening electronic score. In other words, the right talent came together in the right way. The Dead Lands is a straight-forward, unrelentingly violent and constantly uncompromising action film that throws audiences into an unfamiliar world run according to codes of honour, family and spirituality (with occasional cannibalism). The secret weapon is the impressive Lawrence Makaore as the film’s soulful monster – so much more than the terrifying dark object used to frighten Tolkien and Jackson’s Anglo-Saxon and Nordic heroes in the Lord of the Rings films.
November 10, 2014
The Great Beauty (Paolo Sorrentino, 2013). When you realise too late that you wasted 40 or more years. It seemed that Marcello Mastroianni in La Dolce Vita – the obvious model, along with La Notte and Fellini’s Roma – at least had time on his side. The same world, glittering, contemporary and hollowed-out. Once an unidentified sea monster on a beach suggesting something unfathomable, now a wrecked ocean liner. Once a holy statue soaring over Rome, now an ancient saint-to-be crawling up Roman steps on her knees.
November 9, 2014
We returned by the same route. Often, we went to the cinema, a local picture house which I found again: the Royal-Villiers, Place de Levis. It was the square with its benches, the Morris Column and the trees which recalled the spot to me, much more than the front of the cinema.
If I could remember the films we saw, I would be able to identify the time exactly, but only some vague impressions remain of them: a sledge sliding over the snow; a man in a dinner-jacket entering the cabin of a liner; silhouette dancing behind french windows …
from Missing Person by Patrick Modiano
November 5, 2014
The Galapagos Affair: Satan Came to Eden (Dan Geller and Danya Goldfine, 2013). The sensational title and the hype oversell this cluttered, clumsily-told but fitfully interesting documentary about three groups of German-speaking exiles who made new homes on remote Floreana island in the 1930s. On paper it sounds appealing – bullying Nietzschean superman, polygamous fake Baroness, jungles, wildlife, a birth, at least one murder and several unexplained deaths (if ever there was a subject screaming out for Werner Herzog, it’s this) – but extensive interviews with only loosely connected present-day inhabitants gives you the sense that some thin historical anecdotes have been padded out and that the project has been in production too long.
November 3, 2014
The Trip to Italy (Michael Winterbottom, 2014). Both more shaped and more affecting than The Trip, this is skilful comic film-making with the illusion of utter simplicity. Trips to Italy are almost always film trips and Roman Holiday, La Dolce Vita, Journey to Italy, Le Mepris, The Italian Job and The Godfather (and their themes of sex, death, fame and competition) are among the movies referenced here by Coogan and Brydon. It’s possibly a funnier, shorter, more gastronomic and less educational version of Scorsese’s My Voyage to Italy doco, with Michael Caine, Hugh Grant and Al Pacino impressions (Brydon still beats Coogan).
November 2, 2014
Maleficent (Robert Stromberg, 2014). Disney multiculturalism now extends to allowing even evil to have its misunderstood point of view represented, although this prequel/alternate version of Sleeping Beauty was probably inspired by the Oz prequel Wicked or Tim Burton’s Alice and has much in common with Spielberg’s clumsy Hook. Production design has leaned heavily on Jim Henson and Avatar (and it turns out struggling first-time director Robert Stromberg was an effects guy on Avatar, Alice and Oz the Great and Powerful). Angelina Jolie could be impersonating Joanna Lumley, with her face sculpted and sharpened. The effects-heavy live action is even more camp and artificial, and less sinister, than Disney animation from 1959. But for readers of Greil Marcus there is a whole other field of interest. In his recent book The History of Rock ‘n’ Roll in Ten Songs, Marcus relates his belief that actors carry parts of one role into another. It’s a good idea. He’s talking about Sam Riley playing Ian Curtis in Control, as one of the 10 historic songs is “Transmission”; he then discusses Riley as Pinkie in a remake of Brighton Rock. The alienated Pinkie is a biological father to Ian Curtis in this theory. But Maleficent might suit Marcus’ purposes more. Riley plays Jolie’s accomplice, a crow who shape-shifts into a man (and sometimes a wolf or a dragon). A man who is a crow? Remember that Brandon Lee died making The Crow? And that Nine Inch Nails covered “Dead Souls” on the soundtrack? From now on, everything Sam Riley appears in will be an Ian Curtis prequel/sequel/alternate version. This: his Goth afterlife.
October 25, 2014
Wolf Creek 2 (Greg McLean, 2013). A too-familiar story: the horror sequel as a sadistic and cartoonish rerun of the bleak but inventive first (see also: Texas Chainsaw Massacre vs sequels and remakes). John Jarratt’s backpacker-hunting Ocker Mick Taylor has come down with a bad case of the wisecracking Freddy Kruegers, although I did like the farmhouse interlude and the sheer absurdity of the citizenship quiz (now with some unintentionally sinister Rolf Harris …), as though Mick the killer is just the ordinary Australian xenophobe writ large. Based, still, on the horrifying crimes of Ivan Milat.
October 23, 2014
A Band Called Death (Mark Covino and Jeff Howlett, 2013). Nothing is allowed to remain obscure any longer. There is no question that the story of Death, a black teenage hard rock band of three brothers from Detroit that released one single and got nowhere in the 1970s, only to be discovered by record collectors and bloggers in the late 2000s, is incredible, whether or not you like the spiritual dimension, or the prophecies of David Hackney (which I do, by the way). As usual, we could do without the gate-keeping talking heads in approval mode – Henry Rollins is surely the Bono of documentaries about punk and post-punk – and reunions are rarely a great idea, but whatever. It’s touching. File with Into the Void and Last Days Here as a band appreciation doco that isn’t really about the music.
October 19, 2014
October 13, 2014
Come and See (Elem Klimov, 1985). As though war was – and always is – a kind of collective frenzy or contagious madness. Or horrific revelry (the Nazis, in their attack, seem possessed and delirious). Yet this strange and half-hallucinated war film is at its most horrifying when photographs drag us into real history, real time, towards confrontations you could never expect.
October 5, 2014
October 4, 2014
The card for the Santa Teresa cybercafé was a deep red, so red that it was hard to read what was printed on it. On the back, in a lighter red, was a map that showed exactly where the café was located. He asked the receptionist to translate the name of the place. The clerk laughed and said it was called Fire, Walk With Me.
“It sounds like the title of a David Lynch film,” said Fate.
The clerk shrugged and said that all of Mexico was a collage of diverse and wide-ranging homages.
“Every single thing in this country is an homage to everything in the world, even the things that haven’t happened yet,” he said.
After he told Fate how to get to the cybercafé, they talked for a while about Lynch’s films. The clerk had seen all of them. Fate had seen only three or four. According to the clerk, Lynch’s greatest achievement was the TV series Twin Peaks. Fate liked The Elephant Man best, maybe because he’d often felt like the elephant man himself, wanting to be like other people but at the same time knowing he was different. When the clerk asked him whether he’d heard that Michael Jackson had bought or tried to buy the skeleton of the elephant man, Fate shrugged and said that Michael Jackson was sick. I don’t think so, said the clerk, watching something presumably important that was happening on the TV just then.
“In my opinion,” he said with his eyes fixed on the TV Fate couldn’t see, “Michael knows things the rest of us don’t.”
“We all know things we think nobody else knows,” said Fate.
Then he said good night, put the cybercafé card in his pocket, and went back to his room.
Then he said good night, put the cybercafé card in his pocket, and went back to his room.
from 2666 by Roberto Bolano
September 28, 2014
September 23, 2014
September 22, 2014
Pussy Riot: A Punk Prayer (Mike Lerner and Maxim Pozdorovkin, 2013). The conjunction of the words “punk” and “prayer” is not a contradiction; instead, Pussy Riot (effective initials: PR) fall into a long tradition of meaningful and provocative blasphemy. Think also of Dostoevsky’s Grand Inquisitor. As a punk band, PR are artists working as a band as a project, rather than “musicians”. Which is a good thing. Each performance is documented and has a developed purpose. Sometimes it works far too well.
September 19, 2014
Hannah Arendt (Margarethe von Trotta, 2012). Fifty years later, framed in a how-I-wrote-that-book narrative, studded with stagey impersonations (a William Shawn here, a Mary McCarthy there) and awkward expository dialogue, Arendt’s conclusions from the Eichmann trial seem entirely preposterous. Which was surely not the intention. New Yorker assignment sub-genre (Capote). The Heidegger connection should be/could be a whole other movie. Perhaps a better one.
Labels: VON TROTTA
September 3, 2014
August 30, 2014
All is Lost (JC Chandor, 2013). A survival/ordeal story more minimal than Gravity – so minimal our hero (Robert Redford, silent) comes to us without a name, a back story or even a hallucinated sidekick to talk with. The sea is stormy then calm, and both forms are as terrifying as Gravity’s endless space.
August 26, 2014
The Dark Horse (James Napier Robertson, 2014). Former Dean of ChristChurch Cathedral, John Bluck, has an interesting theological take on The Dark Horse here. Yes, Cliff Curtis as Genesis Potini is incredible – it’s the performance we have all waited for since Curtis first slithered into view 20 years ago, circa Desperate Remedies/Once Were Warriors – but you can wonder if gang life in New Zealand is so entirely negative. Given the chess theme, maybe it’s no surprise that the film is so binary, so black and white: love/hate, peace/violence, with a sense that the damaged person has important truths to reveal to the rest of us.
August 25, 2014
Having seen the John Pilger doco Utopia not too long ago, I liked this bit in the new David Mitchell novel, The Bone Clocks:
August 23, 2014
Film discussion at home:
Wife: “Did I see Maps to the Stars?”
Me: “Julianne Moore on the toilet.”
Wife: “Ah, yes.”
The 2014 International Film Festival wraps this weekend in Christchurch. I made it to just 14. The idea was to try to summarise each on Twitter, in one tweet or two (or three). I wish I had thought to say that the incredible Under the Skin (above) is “Lifeforce meets Morvern Callar”.
Boyhood (Richard Linklater, 2014): Time has been the subject since Slacker. Now it’s the raw material too. Not just growing up, but ways of being dad.
The Double (Richard Ayoade, 2013). In Enemy, a double is horrifying. Here, weirdly plausible. Incredible post-Brazil design but you lose interest in the story.
Frank (Lenny Abrahamson, 2014). Not sure this outsider band satire ever finds the right tone but a damaged Fassbender in the final minutes is so deeply affecting (Syd Barrett at Abbey Rd, 1975).
Housebound (Gerard Johnstone, 2014). A genuinely funny horror comedy made by the strength of its performances (O’Reilly, te Wiata) and clever plotting, plus one fantastic gore shot. Morgana O’Reilly is new to me but is great as our bipolar sarcastic bogan everywoman.
Into the Void (Margaret Gordon, 2014). I was expecting Ronnie van Hout to be the star of Margaret Gordon’s wry, funny doco about a post-art school underground rock band in Chch, but it’s actually guitarist Jason “prints of darkness” Greig. At the first, so far only, NZFF screening, band and audience came together to watch themselves. It was the closest thing to a genuine buzz at the Chch festival in 2014.
It Follows (David Robert Mitchell, 2014). More than ever, sex is the currency of teen horror. Maika Monroe looks like Laura Palmer. Sequel possibilities are endless.
Jodorowsky’s Dune (Frank Pavich, 2013). Favourite moment: Jodo goes to see Lynch’s Dune and is relieved to learn it’s terrible.The moral is that even unmade films can be influential (w/out the unmade Dune, no Alien?).
Leviathan (Andrei Zvyagintsev, 2014). A kind of modern Russian Job, drowning in vodka, on the edge of the known world. Whales are alive, dead and symbolic.
Locke (Steven Knight, 2013). Male emotion, or the gap between heroism and duty. I hated Bronson but that wasn’t Tom Hardy’s fault. He nails this.
Maps to the Stars (David Cronenberg, 2014). Hollywood curses and childhood monsters. Savage entertainment black comedy served ice cold by Cronenberg. With Julianne Moore as a kind of washed-up middle-aged Lohan and my favourite murder of the 2014 NZFF. In its pitilessness, it reminded me more of things like The Brood and Videodrome than any Cronenberg film has in years.
20,000 Days on Earth (Iain Forsyth and Jane Pollard, 2014). Nick Cave makes a fortress out of his Nick Cave-ness. Or a portrait of the artist as a disciplined professional. Apart from “Jubilee Street”, I didn’t much like Push the Sky Away, but isn’t it good to see Blixa looking so well?
Two Days, One Night (Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne, 2014). Further into Ken Loach territory than the Dardennes have ever gone before with a stunning lead performance by Marion Cotillard as a fragile woman whose need for bravery is making her sick. Question: will people be good when you let them?
Under the Skin (Jonathan Glazer, 2013). “I need your clothes, your boots and your motorcycle.” Incredible score, deep immersion, dark-haired Johansson. Best case of genre re-invented as art since, maybe, Drive.Winter Sleep (Nuri Bilge Ceylan, 2014). An intimate epic that offers the rare pleasure of screen conversations that take as long as they need to.
August 15, 2014
Right now, we’re in the middle of the International Film Festival here in Christchurch. A summary will follow once it’s all done, as collections of lines off Twitter. The following was written as a preview for Dunedin magazine Point (#64, August 6-19). Thanks to Campbell Walker for commissioning.
Here in Christchurch, we complain about things happening and we complain about nothing happening. When things happen, roads are blocked, traffic is re-routed and noise is constant – all of which has been happening for months just outside my place of work as the quake-damaged, historical Isaac Theatre Royal is slowly turned back into a working theatre. And that is good news in a city still drastically short of venues. That the theatre’s re-opening in December will be ‘‘celebrated’’ – and I use the word advisedly – with two shows by resurrected prog-folk flute botherers Jethro Tull is less exciting. I had a better idea. One day last year, walking through the empty Cathedral Square, it dawned on me that the theatre needed to re-open with the world premiere of the third Hobbit film. I made what I thought was a brilliant pitch with a view to my employer getting behind a public campaign to Bring The Hobbit to Christchurch, imagining that a duplication of the premieres that Courtney Place had staged for other Peter Jackson mega-productions would be a good way of telling the world that Christchurch is ‘‘open for business’’ or whatever, but it went nowhere.
No, I’m not a Hobbit fan at all – I haven’t seen the first two parts and I don’t intend to see the third – but it seemed like a good fit. Jackson could pay back the South Island for all the scenery he borrowed in the Lord of the Rings films. The idea was a no-brainer once someone told me that the last time the Film Festival felt like a big deal in Christchurch was in 1994 when the big Heavenly Creatures screening was at the Regent. That had a real sense of occasion. When I moved to Christchurch in 2007 I was surprised by how marginal the Festival seemed as an event. You almost never had to book as almost nothing sold out. The venue, the Regent, was divided into a warren of small cinemas and the small foyer meant that the venue didn’t act as the social centre of the Festival, like the Civic does in Auckland. Some of the bigger titles didn’t cross the Cook Strait. You heard whispers that the event was barely sustainable in Christchurch, that the city risked being wiped off the Festival map due to lack of interest. You would talk to people at the Canterbury Film Society and they would say the same sort of thing, that it had been hard to maintain any real cinema culture in this town since the old theatres were cleared from the Square in the 80s. The Academy in the Arts Centre and the Rialto were still running then on a steady diet of middlebrow art-house with the odd eccentric, local touch (Gloomy Sunday every week for years? What was that about?)
Maybe it was more of a stay at home cinema culture. Christchurch had, and still has, what could be the best video store in the country – Alice in Videoland. If this sounds parochial, maybe that was part of the issue. Christchurch wanted to maintain things that were its own. Alice was its own. The Festival? Not so much. There seemed to be a wider, national downturn in the Festival at the end of that decade, too – the big sponsor (Telecom) went and the audience for foreign language films contracted.
In Christchurch at least, some of that changed after the earthquakes. People were grateful that the Festival came back in 2011 (the Rugby World Cup stayed away). That Festival’s opening and closing night films, The Tree of Life and Melancholia, were ideal book-ends: creation, grief, sorrow, destruction. Von Trier destroyed the world and then we all got in our cars and drove home through the ruined city. That was catharsis. The Festival had decamped to the suburban wastelands of a Hoyts multiplex in the Northlands Mall but apart from the constant smell of popcorn in the lobby, who cares? There was plenty of parking and no one ever screwed up the projection. It snowed and I still got to Cave of Forgotten Dreams in 3D. For those reasons I remember that as one of the better Festivals I’ve ever been at, even if ticket sales were actually down that year. Since then, the total replacement of film by digital projection means that the south misses out on fewer big new films than it used to, as 35mm prints no longer need to get to Melbourne straight after Auckland and Wellington. This year, that means Maps to the Stars, Winter Sleep and Leviathan, all fresh from Cannes.
From next year, the Festival will have a dedicated venue here again. It was a relief that within the Government-led rebuild’s ‘‘arts precinct’’, the most democratic art form of all, cinema, was finally recognised. The restored Isaac Theatre Royal was intended to be the Film Festival venue from this year, which will be good news for those of us who work directly opposite – ‘‘Just popping out for …er, an interview, back in 110 minutes’’ – but the usual delays have meant that we’re getting Jethro Tull rather than Pulp, Nick Cave, Kathleen Hanna or Into the Void. Margaret Gordon’s documentary on the latter celebrates a ridiculously local phenomenon. A cult-rock hobby band made up of local artists, Into the Void play shows that act as reunions for their audience. At the sole Festival screening of the documentary, the same audience will get together to observe the persistence of this phenomenon since the 1980s, through gentrification and the ups and downs of the Christchurch art world, through earthquakes and the destruction of a High St practice room, and it may – I’m speculating because I haven’t seen it yet – have more to say about resilience or stubbornness than the already forgotten Hope and Wire. It is the eminently, inwardly local in action.
August 7, 2014
August 6, 2014
About Elly (Asghar Farhadi, 2009). Like After May, this came to us belatedly – this time with a five-year delay. The local DVD release was just a few months back, inevitably after the success of A Separation and The Past. Like those films, this is rich and nuanced family drama about contemporary middle-class Iran but with a plot twist that pushes into thriller territory. As early fan David Bordwell said, it swerves from Rohmer towards Hitchcock and Highsmith. Recommended.
August 4, 2014
Barbara (Christian Petzold, 2012). In this account at least, control is both looser and more secretive than expected. The party and ideology is never explicitly mentioned, or life is lived by codes. Or, more likely, so much goes over the heads of the western viewer, 30 years later.
July 30, 2014
July 27, 2014
Enemy (Denis Villeneuve, 2014). Enemy is Denis Villeneuve’s adaptation of The Double by Jose Saramago, presumably retitled to allow for Richard Ayoade’s film of Dostoevsky’s The Double (yes, two films about doubles). Jake Gyllenhaal is the history teacher who discovers that a replica of himself is working as a bit part actor in the same city – a very Cronenbergian Toronto in Villeneuve’s account. The mood is clinical, oppressive and dour and the scenario is gripping, with the action unfolding that much faster in the film than the book, largely because the book was set in a pre-internet world where it was harder to track down your double. But do Saramago’s books make good films, though? Yes and no. The situations both here and in Blindness (filmed by Fernando Meirelles) would seem immediately high concept in a 25-words-or-less pitch meeting but the weirdly realistic fact of the impossible scenario – influences on Saramago from Borges, Beckett and Kafka, probably – is harder to put across in film than you might suspect, at least for Villeneuve. It is a kind of total pessimism. You also lose the intense self-consciousness of Saramago’s style, those long, obsessive sentences. The (spider-less) ending is better in the book as well. But Gyllenhaal was perfect casting: as in Prisoners and Zodiac, his version of bland and decent vulnerability is ideal.
July 15, 2014
Utopia (John Pilger and Alan Lowery, 2013). John Pilger’s powerfully angry and bitter documentary about Australia’s appalling treatment of its first people has a strong personal dimension: at its heart, there is Pilger’s dismay at the persistence of white Australian racism. We flash back to earlier stories, with Pilger stumbling on the “secret Australia” in the 1960s as a young expat reporting for a British newspaper, and returning again in the 1980s and campaigning with Arthur and Leila Murray, whose son Eddie died in police custody in 1981. Nothing has really changed since then other than the (mostly) more guarded political delivery of the same white Australian sentiment – Pilger sees the controversial 2007 “interventions” in Northern Territory communities as almost indistinguishable from earlier policies that created the stolen generations, only now the attitude is dressed up in early 21st century bureaucratic-concern-language of rescuing children from (probably fictional) abuse. Anger boils over when Pilger goes to Canberra and interrogates politicians Mal Brough, Warren Snowdon and Kevin Rudd. Utopia’s most distressing sequences are filmed in remote camps where Australians still live in third world conditions, but Pilger hasn’t lost a sharp sense of humour: he contrasts luxury resorts in coastal New South Wales, at Uluru and, most incredible of all, the former penal colony of Rottnest Island with the lives of the people who lived there before.
July 13, 2014
Dream double bill: Film Socialisme (Jean-Luc Godard, 2010); Captain Phillips (Paul Greengrass, 2013).
“But there are now more serious discrepancies in income levels, even among people with comparable educational qualifications. There is little incentive for people to go into professions that are not lucrative. Consumption, among those who can afford it, is conspicuous.” Teju Cole, Every Day is for the Thief.
“But there are now more serious discrepancies in income levels, even among people with comparable educational qualifications. There is little incentive for people to go into professions that are not lucrative. Consumption, among those who can afford it, is conspicuous.” Teju Cole, Every Day is for the Thief.
July 5, 2014
No way. Not skinheads. Surely not. I would estimate that Gaylene Preston lost approximately 50 per cent of her Christchurch audience’s goodwill early in the first episode of her quake series Hope and Wire. The exact moment came when a gang of skinheads terrorised passers-by on Colombo St on the evening of September 3, 2010. Now and forever, Christchurch gets to be the city of skinheads, boy racers and uptight Merivale matrons wearing pearls. The quakes destroyed a lot of things but it looks like some bad reputations and regional stereotypes remained intact.
Eight years ago, I interviewed the American poet Robert Hass when he was in Wellington for writers’ week at the NZ Festival. I told him that I had seen him in the Embassy during one of Robert Fisk’s sold-out sessions. Fisk had read what I thought was a powerful excerpt from The Great War for Civilisation. From memory, it involved Fisk getting emotional as he mused over a dead Iraqi soldier during the Iraq-Iran war, wondering about the young man’s home life and family, imagining a bereft wife and kids. Hass was a little more sceptical about Fisk’s fiction: “Dostoevsky might at least have entertained the possibility that the soldier was not a good person.”
In other words, it was an argument against stereotypes, or easy and obvious villains and heroes. Preston’s characters in Hope and Wire seem designed to represent points of view, with geography as destiny. It’s equivalent to a drama about Auckland taking one family from Outrageous Fortune, one family from Bro’Town and one family from Gloss. In Merivale, Maxine Redfern – er, Ginny (played by Luanne Gordon) – is learning that her perfect life is not as perfect as she thought. Her husband, Jonty (Stephen Lovatt) is a dodgy lawyer – in this moral universe, there may not be any other kind. Her teenagers are rebelling. You can expect a journey towards social awareness and self-reliance, through feminist storytelling familiar from Preston’s Bread and Roses, Perfect Strangers and Ruby and Rata. Maybe she will even get a grown-up name.
Out east in a new subdivision, Ryan (Jarrod Rawiri) and Donna (Miriama McDowell) are illustrating the seriousness of liquefaction and land slump (filmed, naturally, on location). Honest battlers with a hefty mortgage, they also represent another post-quake trend, but Hope and Wire gets the timing slightly wrong. In the weeks after the big February 2011 quake, it was widely observed that men wanted to stay with the house, even if it was only partially liveable, while women were more likely to want to take the kids and go somewhere safe (for people we knew: Timaru, Dunedin, Nelson). In Hope and Wire, Donna takes off with the kids before the quake – in fact, she is on the road to Picton when it hits. She doesn’t feel it while driving but does catch news of the quake on the radio about 20 minutes later. It’s a surprisingly gentle and tangential way for Preston and writer Dave Armstrong to bring the big quake into the story, before they rewind and show us where Ginny, Ginny’s kids and another key female character, Joycie (the best actor in the show, Rachel House), were at 12.51pm.
The situation of Joycie and her husband Len (Bernard Hill) is based on the real-life story (link here) of Raewyn Iketau and Charlie Duthie, who set up a post-quake community around a central city house and could be seen as an example of the points that Rebecca Solnit made about post-disaster communities in A Paradise Built in Hell. Solnit’s argument is that the immediate aftermath of a disaster can promote altruism, even utopianism, which disappears once official or elected authority starts to manage the post-disaster recovery. We saw that in Christchurch in the weeks and months after February 2011 when all the certainties were upset and people got to know each other. It was like a holiday from regular life and despite the horror of the event, it was also a weirdly exciting time. At the end of the second of six hours of Hope and Wire, we are still at February 22. Len, whose pieces to camera bring a political perspective that may not be too far from Preston’s own, is missing in Lyttelton, or perhaps the red bus we saw him catching is under some rubble. But it looks like the community that he set up after the first quake – again, slightly inaccurate – will evolve into a version of Iketau and Duthie’s red zone camp.
That inaccuracy, and the earlier one about Donna leaving with the kids before the February 22 earthquake, point to a problem that faces anyone dramatising the Christchurch quakes, which is that there was a phony war between the first quake in September 2010 and the bad one in February 2011. If you are being strictly chronological, as Preston is, then you have to accept that the early parts of the story risk being a little, well, boring. Which means you could do it differently. Why not start in February? Or take some greater storytelling risks. When I was thinking about Hope and Wire before it screened, I was thinking that David Simon’s New Orleans series Treme might not be the big influence everyone expected. Maybe Broadchurch or Les Revenants (The Returned) were better models for how to do a Christchurch series. In one, a murder exposes the relationships and tensions in a small community. In the other, there is a kind of supernatural disaster that reveals aspects of a small French community’s history. One of the great innovations of Les Revenants, besides the rare beauty of a series filmed entirely at dusk, is that it based episodes on the “journey” (terrible word) of individual characters. After watching two out of six Hope and Wire episodes, I wonder if Preston should have done the same. Len’s story, Joycie’s story, Greggo’s story, Hayley’s story, Ginny’s story, Donna’s story. That might have eliminated a flaw in the series so far: that none of the characters have depth or are doing much more than illustrating a trend, tendency or news story.
Far from sensationalising the Christchurch story, or making a fiction that is fundamentally inaccurate, Preston has actually done the opposite. Apart from a few timeline glitches, she has made the story almost too accurate. Much of the drama plays like pallid re-enactments of moments that would have more power and truth as documentary. This is obvious in the February 22 scenes towards the end of the second episode, when news footage from central Christchurch is edited into the staged disaster scenes. The real footage is still horrifying, even now, while the staged scenes have less impact and it is almost grotesque to see actors caked in fake dust and dirt staggering through recreated disaster zones alongside actual footage of actual places where actual people died. Episodes one and two are mostly tasteful but these scenes are borderline, to say the least.
At this point you might ask what drama can do that documentary cannot do, and the answer is nothing, if your answer is based only on Hope and Wire. Drama can provide you with subjectivity and an imaginative experience, but imagination has been largely sacrificed in favour of cautious adherence to reality. You can understand the impulse but it means that so far Hope and Wire has told us nothing we did not already learn from Gerard Smyth’s When a City Falls, a documentary made in Christchurch that evolved as the story changed. There is probably a whole other discussion to be had about the value – and ethics – of recreating real-life trauma as fiction, and it would probably extend from Claude Lanzmann’s famous refusal to include even historical footage in his monumental Holocaust documentary, Shoah. A Lanzmann-style earthquake and recovery documentary composed entirely of long interviews and shots of the ruins and empty spaces three and a half years on? The viewer would have to imagine what was being described.
There has been a lot of talk about documentary styles in Hope and Wire and Preston’s expertise in the area. Her Te Papa doco Getting to Our Place was a good one, no question. And she talked up her doco credentials in this Press interview, which included her incredible claim that she is “one of the very few film-makers in the world with experience in both dramatic feature film and documentary”. (Really? Tell that to Ken Loach, Michael Apted, Werner Herzog, Martin Scorsese, Wim Wenders, Steven Soderbergh, Jim Jarmusch, Michael Winterbottom, Alain Resnais, Terry Zwigoff, Spike Lee, James Marsh, Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne, Clio Barnard, Ken Russell, Agnes Varda, Vincent Ward, Kevin Macdonald, Krzysztof Kieslowski, Jonathan Demme, Alison Maclean, Florian Habicht …) But it turns out that there is nothing documentary-like about Hope and Wire so far. The breaking of the fourth wall via monologues to camera delivered by actors in character is a convention more reminiscent of sitcoms and reality television – a tool used by Modern Family and MasterChef.
June 22, 2014
Blancanieves (Pablo Berger, 2013). Like The Artist, this is set at a key moment in cinema history, although with a much greater sense of film literacy (if the still above doesn’t suggest Sunrise …). Yet Pablo Berger’s approach is romantic and never academic. Snow White is now a female bull fighter – believe me, it works.