Nine films at the New York Film Festival

1) The Loneliest Planet

My reactions to this film are unavoidably colored by the fact that it's based on a short story by Tom Bissell, who aside from being in my estimation an unimpeachable great writer is also a very dear friend of long standing. (Back in 2002, Tom and another pal who shall remain nameless were kind enough to stage The World's Smallest Intervention on my behalf, which didn't take at the time but for which I've become grateful.) So I just walk in to the screening feeling chuffed that a talented and distinctive screenwriter/director, Julia Loktev, decided to adapt Tom's story, "Expensive Trips Nowhere" (featured in his wonderful collection God Lives In St. Petersburg) in he first place. 

The tale is not a complicated one; it's an account of a young Western couple's hiking trek across a part of Kazakhstan, and an incident that sheds a glaring light on their characters and their relationship. And then there's their relationship to the guide. Lotkev takes Tom's story and makes it her own; she mostly jettisons the elements of social critique (Tom lays out a lot of the couple's First-World-Problems meticulously throughout; in his story, they're also married, while in the film, they're engaged to be) and, most crucially, renders indeterminate the result of the event that in the story pretty much sunders...well, I don't want to give away too much. 

My friend The Self Styled Siren isn't the first person to weigh in on the film with some frustration over the fact that the film's couple, played by the very appealing Gael Garcia Bernal and Hani Furstenberg (seen above with Bidzina Gujabidze, who plays their guide), never verbally address the elephant in the room after it shows up. "The movie explodes if one character turns to the other on one of the many arduous hikes and says 'What the hell...?'" If I may be allowed to play devil's advocate and represent what Hitchcock might be gratified to note as an anti-Plausible position, the fact that neither of the characters does utter any such thing might just be precisely the point. I'm only saying. In any case, what works like crazy here is both Loktev's pictorial sense and ability to ratchet up tension in distinctly unshowy ways; while dunderheads and the eyeless might be under the impression that nothing is happening when she cuts away to a ravishing long shot of the scenery and lets Richard Skelton's gorgeous, otherworldy ethnological not-quite-forgery music have its way with the movie, the rest of us will get the feeling, for sure. (And how's that for a Kael-like lunge at SPEAKING FOR THE "RIGHT" PEOPLE, huh? Um, maybe not.) Its narrative open-endedness seeks, I think, to engage the intuition of the viewer, which is something that I'm noticing certain viewers are coming to resent. But that's another issue for another piece. 

2) You Are Not I

Sarah Driver's long-kind-of-lost 45-minute 1981 adaptation of a Paul Bowles short story, shot in Vampyr-inflected black-and-white by Driver's frequent collaborator Jim Jarmusch, and featuring a deliberately bugging-the-hell-out-of-the-back-of-your-brain-like-an-alarm-clock-you-can't-shut-off electronic score by Phil Kline, often plays like the New York Underground answer to Carnival of Souls, which I mean entirely as a compliment. 

3) Le Havre

2006's Lights in the Dusk was a real rut in Aki Kaurismaki's path to sweet-and-quirkily-warmhearted-old-fogeydom, but this very satisfying quasi-caper is an exhilarating rebound that places him squarely and touchingly in that territory. The story of a fairytale community in the title burg that rallies round to help a delightfully taciturn and well-mannered young undocumented African immigrant reach his destination across the channel, its sure pace and consistent comic understatement nicely set up some of the director's most casually daring absurdist tropes in years. Filtering a genuine contemporary European social concern through his wry and slightly addled (by what I have no idea, I'm sure) sensibility seems to have charged Aki's batteries up a bit. Nice going. 

4) We Can’t Go Home Again

What's that guy in back of Woody Allen say about the new Fellini, that it's "very indulgent?"  Yeah, that's what he says. One would not, honestly, need to be forgiven if those very words, and with the exact same inflection yet, flashed through one's own mind at various points at this film signed by "Us," supervised by Nicholas Ray when he was a filmmaking instructor at SUNY Binghamton in the early 1970s. I mean, how IS one to characterize a film in which the one-time Hollywood director is depicted ineptly attempting suicide? (Although admittedly the attempt does produce one of the film's biggest laughs, when the magesterial white-haired wreck Ray, fumbling with some rope, grumbles "I've made thirteen Westerns and I still have no idea how to tie a noose.") But again, I think the indulgence is the point. A multi-frame expectoration of footage of himself and his students interrogating themselves and him and each other mixed with ruminations on the political upheavals of the prior years mixed with reflections on the increasingly bitter reality that home/America/a sense of belonging/what have you is dissolving into the corrosive acid of ever-mounting cultural and sexual and political fragmentation, Home is both an effort to find coherence/community and an avowal of the possible impossibility of doing so. So of course it's going to be indulgent. It is also frequently kind of tedious, and frequently kind of dazzling, and frequently kind of infuriatingly self-pitying. It's quite a few provocative things, but many of its qualities won't be immediately discernable to anybody who's not already a Ray-head, so consider this a warning. 

5) Tahrir

One of those pictures that one could look at and say, "Well, sure, of course, with the time, the place, and the people, anybody could go in and make a good film." Of course, if you've seen enough docs that had the time, the place, and the people, and the filmmakers STILL managed to fuck things up, you know that's a glib assessment. So all praise to director Stefano Savona, who's assembled an incredibly engaging and provocative moving snapshot of a Cairo's square's chanting, rock-throwing, cell-phone-and-computer-checking, social-media-enabled contribution to Arab spring, featuring conversations between young firebrands and monologues from old blowhards who are still hugely touching for all their blow-hardedness. Not a comprehensive survey of political perspectives and tensions nor a prospectus on what's ahead for Egypt or what the West is in store for, but rather the vital story of some people gathered together, and their crucial passions, and how they united under those passions. 

6) The Turin Horse

I've always looked at the anecdote about Nietsche and that poor horse as an exemplary paradoxical parable about how once/if you reach total consciousness/compassion over all the overwhelming pointless suffering in this world, the only possible reaction is not that you become a better/nicer person, but that you fall into the grip of an absolutely paralyzing madness (which can sometimes be helped even further along by dementia courtesy of [maybe] tertiary syphilis). And those are the breaks. Aiiee. In any event, my biggest problem with Bela Tarr's apparent cinematic swan song is that its perspective doesn't quite jibe with my own above interpretation of the whole equine kerfuffle. Still and all, I found this cinematically virtuosic, narratively minimal, and genuinely, albeit peculiarly, gripping almost-two-and-a-half-hour black-and-white account of the end of the world as disaffected father and daughter and horse know it, absolutely superb. Even though it didn't galvanize me as much as some prior Tarr films, even including the rather more overtly problematic The Man From London, have. I think maybe it wasn't meant to; there's a peculiar serenity at the center of all its considerable dread. I should like to see it again soon. 

7) Carnage

See a bit below. I think it's worth reiterating that this is a satiric farce, and deserves to be considered as such. I think it's also worth reiterating that People Are Fucking Stupid. I read somewhere (I can't find it now...does the fact that I can't link mean that I'm Doing That Thing Again) someone complaining that the piece makes no sense because the one couple could just LEAVE and they don't and it's always the lamest pretext compelling them to re-enter the apartment. Yeah, The Return Of The Plausibles. Someday I'd like to see somebody make a film in which all of the action unfolds in the most absolutely plausible and true-to-life fashion possible. Oh, yeah, they already made that film and it's fucking called Jeanne Dielman, 23, quai de Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles, and I bet The Plausibles won't like that picture much either, albeit maybe for different reasons. What is worth noting, although not having seen the play I can only speculate rather than accurately cite stuff, is that Polanksi seems to have some fun coming up with little bits of business to nudge that characters back into the apartment where the main action (such as it is) is largely set, including a sly couple of shots involving a fellow tenant, or Tenant, that will evoke a chuckle in some and perhaps outrage in others. 

8) A Separation

A very nifty piece of cinematic sleight-of-hand from writer-director Asghar Fahadi, this Iranian domestic drama takes a home trauma and ratchets it up to a kind of judicial thriller. If Michael Haneke were filming this scenario, he'd hold his shots in such a way as to goad the viewer into looking deeper into them. (See certain of the views in Caché.) If the director were Hitchcock, he'd foreground certain objects in such a way as to set off the audience's intrigue about them. (See the telephone in Dial "M" For Murder.) Fahadi's seemingly naturalistic shooting and editing style is deceptively simple; he gives, or seems to give, no particular weight to any given object or action, and all the while he's stowing away things that will be vitally important later on. If the film's second half is a very tense round of "Find What The Sailor Has Hidden," the first half shows the, um, sailor hiding everything in plain sight. Mongo impressed. Fuckin' A, you definitely need to see this. 

9) Living in the Material World

As it was for my friend Tony Dayoub, this picture was an easy sell for me, whose first LP was Beatles '65, gifted to me at Christmas 1964 when I was all of five years old. A satisfyingly lengthy musical and social and cultural history as well as a biography, it's suitably empathetic—if anyone can reveal George Harrison's Jake LaMotta side, it's the film's organizational intelligence/spirit Martin Scorsese—and a little more plastically and conceptually clever/resourceful than its goes-down-easy narrative initially indicates. Not strictly linear by any means, it gets to the many places it wants to go via dovetails that are simultaneously thematic and chronological, and it accomplishes an awful lot via implication/example, c.f. the frankly horrific live concert footage the film cuts to right after Klaus Voorman brings up the subject of cocaine for the first time. The picture is sometimes unusually candid and finally very moving, and the sound mix is spectacular. As a bonus, Jackie Stewart as you've never seen him before. No, really.

Comments

[Sam O. Brown]

Glenn,

Any thoughts on the Polanksi discussion currently happening on Dave Kehr's site?

[Glenn Kenny]

Sam: [Shrug.] Gregg Rickman wants to boycott Landis and Polanski films, that's his business. As he himself emphasized. I used to have a similar feeling toward Landis. But I can't see inside another person's soul, and the law does as it does with or without my participation in it/opinion of it. So a boycott of anything/anyone on my part would serve pretty much nothing except maybe a sense of moral self-satisfaction, which..well, you get the idea. If I'm gonna write about film and films, I'm obliged to deal with the material. Which means I'll see ANYTHING, at least in theory. As for writing, there are a few (a very few) filmmakers I'm restricted from writing about because of some mix of personal and professional involvement/entanglements, and that's a different story. And yeah, I guess that's all I have to say on the matter.

[Brian]

Hi Glenn,

Hope it wasn't too awkward introducing myself to you at BAM yesterday. In any case, thank you for the write ups, especially on the Tarr film which I have a ticket for on Sunday. Hopefully the audience shares my enthusiasm for this film? I remember seeing The Man From London at the festival in '07, and I suspect there were a lot of people there who thought it was a conventional noir/thriller and or maybe knew who Georges Simenon was. The projectionist missed a reel change about halfway through the film and there were some very unhappy people in the audience when they realized the film was, in fact, not over!

[lipranzer]

Sam, I must be looking in the wrong place; do you have a link to this discussion?

[Victor Morton]

"In any event, my biggest problem with Bela Tarr's apparent cinematic swan song is that its perspective doesn't quite jibe with my own above interpretation of the whole equine kerfuffle."

I don't think that it doesn't. Because what happens over the course of THE TURIN HORSE is a gradual breakdown of the entire universe. The horse is the center of the magnificent opening, but gradually recedes from vitality, from utility, and finally from view. (When the family tries to move, they do so without the horse.) In the same way, the family's repetitions (banal though they are) become impossible until by the 5th or 6th time at the very end, they can't even eat a boiled potato. The well of routine runs dry (literally), and can't even be shaken by the two outsiders. The one who offers philosophy (it sounded like Nietzsche though I didn't recognize the specific passage) is shrugged off, and is kinda silly anyway -- his verbosity seeming doubly ridiculous in the context of a film as unwordy as this one. And the ones who offer escape (the gypsies headed for America) are too other to even be seen as a non-threat from the git-go.

Even if Tarr had never said, "this is my last film" TURIN HORSE still has "End of the Universe ... I have nothing left to say" streaked all over it. And around it. And through it.

[Michael Adams]

lipranzer: You'll find it, naturally, within the discussion of Westerns: http://www.davekehr.com/?p=1143#comments. As long as they're grilling Polanski and Allen, I wonder how Kazin gets a free pass. Don't forget Griffith's racism, fellows.

[Victor Morton]

Apologies Glenn, I should have read what you wrote more closely.

OK, then her's my question. Doesn't the end of the universe make essentially the same point as a collapse into insanity?

[warren oates]

Not sure that I'm the one you're thinking of, but since, unlike the straw Plausible above, I very much like JEANNE DIELMAN (and Hitchcock) but, in fact, did espouse something almost like the position you're railing against (in the comments threat on your earlier CARNAGE entry), I'd like to say a few more words about exactly what I meant. Keep in mind, I haven't seen the film and only know the play.

Consider the thriller-fan plausibles' eternal question: "Why don't they just call the cops?" Reasons oft cited: No time. No cellphone (reception). The cops are in on it too. (See the trailer for PREMIUM RUSH, for instance.) A valid question, which any given thriller practically breaks its contract with the audience by failing to address.

"Why don't they just leave?"is the equivalent when it comes to plays about people sitting in one place talking. With THE ZOO STORY Edward Albee became the founder and reigning master of this approach.

In Albee's best work and other good plays following in his footsteps you don't ask this question of the play if: 1) The characters have good dramatic reasons to be there or, failing that, 2) The tale is still so otherwise riveting that the lack of good reasons does not leap out at you.

I've seen many new playwrights stumble on exactly this question and so I was surprised to see such a common beginner problem in a play with the stature of GOD OF CARNAGE.

So I suppose this nitpicking is getting at another valid criticism: The play is too long. As a one-act, distilled to about half the length, GOD OF CARNAGE could have been very good. Part of the reason I feel that the pretexts for staying given later in the play are flimsy is because what's been said and what's transpired by the midpoint of the play seems to have exhausted both the politeness and the possibilities, aside from perhaps a few moments that feel as though they've been deliberately held back for later.

The premise of the play is brilliant. Much of the dialogue is great. I simply don't think it earns the audience's attention for its complete duration.

[YND]

I've really been looking forward to THE LONELIEST PLANET since word started spreading out of Toronto. But I have to say that the Siren's frustration about the lack of elephant-in-the-room-acknowledgment was the only problem I had with the otherwise fantastic MARTHA MARCY MAY MARLENE.

That the sister never sat down M(MMM) and pushed for a more detailed (and, increasingly, plausible) explanation for her whereabouts during her missing time than "I had a boyfriend", just got under my skin and wouldn't go away. It undermined the reality of situation and left me feeling like the filmmakers weren't sure how to handle it... so they just didn't.

Looking forward to seeing it a second time. Maybe it won't bother me as much. (And if the Loktev film is operating on a more allegorical level, maybe it won't bother me there at all.)

[Kevyn Knox]

I personally, was (and still am) mesmerized by The Turin Horse. As others shuffled around me at Walter Reade, I never took my eyes off that goddamn mesmerizing screen of Tarr's.

I believe the film's end-of-everything mentality puts in on par with the auteur's best (Werckmeister Harmonies and Satantango even) and passing the whole fitting-end thing (who knows if it really is Tarr's final film - I would guess not) this tale of a universal breakdown (mental and physical ??) acts as almost a religious experience - which in the end, again puts it on par with the aforementioned pictures.

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to make it to the Loneliest Planet screening(s), so I have no rambling say on that, but it is among those I most desire to see right about now.

[Sam O. Brown]

Glenn,

Thank you for the reply. I can understand that you may appreciate Gregg being upfront after dealing with the likes of Mr. Kois.

[Scott]

I loved "The Turin Horse". "Peculiarly gripping" is right. Beforehand, I kept hearing what a slog it was, but I found the film ... well, "hypnotic" probably isn't the right word, but oddly entrancing. It felt like a film out of time; a relic portending a future apocalypse.

Brian, that's funny. A similar thing happened to me when I saw Andrea Arnold's new "Wuthering Heights". I think some people were anticipating a tasteful Masterpiece Theatre experience, and let's just say they clearly wanted their money back. There was some exasperated laughter during "The Turin Horse", especially at each title card (this reminded me of when I saw "Dogville", and people literally clapped at the title card announcing the end of the film), but, on the whole, the audience seemed to know what it was in for.

I've lately been discovering the work of Laszlo Krasnahorkai, Tarr's frequent writing partner, as a novelist, and he strikes me as one of the world's major authors. "The Melancholy of Resistance (the source for "Werckmeister Harmonies") and "War and War" are fantastic books, and I can't wait for "Satantango" to be published in English next year. I'd be interested to learn more about Tarr's and Krasnahorkai's collaborative process. The books and films are very distinct entities, but inform each other in fascinating ways.