Filmkunstmesse Leipzig: Trash

British director Stephen Daldry's Rio-set dramatic action-thriller "Trash" is a carefully engineered crowdpleaser liberally channeling his countryman Danny Boyle's Oscar-sweeper "Slumdog Millionaire". The fatigue brought on by the déjà-vu's weighs heavily on the film, even if it's a perfectly serviceable, sometimes rousing piece of popular entertainment in its own right.

Centered around three 14-year-olds living off a dumping ground whose lives are changed upon the discovery of a wallet, the movie is firmly plot-driven and sprints forward at a brisk pace all through its 2-hour running time. The script, adapted by Richard Curtis, is nicely structured to always be teasing with the next clue to the mystery. Aided by some able editing work, its parallel narrative shows diversity but remains readily digestible. Even though the story itself can't really be called original, it has an effective hook and shines a light on the problems of social unjust, political corruption and police brutality in Brazil, which are easy targets of course, but nonetheless pack with them a pressing sense of gravitas. A fundamental weakness of the screenplay, however, lies in its inability to render the motives of the young protagonists believable. Unlike "Slumdog", which smartly reduces its heroes' travails to such commonly relatable pursuit of romance within an instantly recognizable environment of a quiz show, the justification offered here for three impoverished teenage boys' selfless, life-threatening quest for truth- the repeatedly uttered "It's the right thing to do"- just doesn't fly as well.

And while both movies feature young characters constantly fleeing, dodging, leaping across rooftops and off windowsills, "Trash" doesn't spark the same level of immediacy or urgency. There's a chase sequence involving the transport of a Bible later in the film that's well orchestrated, famously shot and cut, leading in a tight, pulse-quickening last half hour, but before then the cinematography is agile in a more latent, unspectacular way. The flawed sound mix, including the less-than-precise dialogue dubbing, also contributes to a perceptible distance to the action depicted. That said, Daldry doesn't make ugly movies. Whether marine blue or mud-colored, every frame of the film is delicately shaded, thoughtfully lit and taking full advantage of the expansive Latin American cityscape or coastline. It's a lot of grimy prettiness to look at.

The three previous non-actors taking on the lead roles here are understandably not consistent in their acting. Failings show especially in scenes with extended verbal exchanges. The very unpracticed quality of their body language, however, enables the capture of brilliantly guileless expressions that would be otherwise hard to get. Except for some over-acting on the part of Martin Sheen, the supporting cast that also includes Rooney Mara and Wagner Moura is fine, if none of them has been given any heavy-lifting to do. Veteran Brazilian actor Nelson Xavier makes a very memorable appearance in one single scene set in a prison, selling with his forceful presence the fierce but merciful, alert but unagitated temperament of someone long given up hope of seeing the light of day again.

Hard to dislike for its general soundness and uplifting spirit, this movie has a little something for everyone. In its attempt to broaden its appeal as much as possible, however, it might have stayed a bit too close to the middle of the road to dazzle, to rock, to wow.

Filmkunstmesse Leipzig: Hin und weg (Tour De Force)

(Originally appeared in the Berlin Film Journal on Sep. 19, 2014)

It's hard to criticize something as excessively agreeable as the German dramedy / road movie "Hin und Weg (Tour De Force)" without sounding like a heartless cynic. Decent in conception, sincere in direction, it has charity and good will to spare. But as a narrative feature it is direly underwritten and lands its impact mainly on the strength of the moving premise alone.

An opening montage does a quick head count of the group of youngish, very good-looking friends at the center of the story who have been making an annual biking trip together for years. Squeaky clean and enticingly lit, it also introduces us to the antiseptic, commercial-ready aesthetics of the film. We soon realize, however, that it's not all kissing, hugging and harmless banter this time around, as not 15 minutes into the movie, tears, arguments break out and plans of assisted suicide are announced. Turns out one of the friends, Hannes, has been secretly suffering under the incurable degenerative disease Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS) and his pick of Belgium as their destination this year has not been solely waffle-motivated. People cry, regroup and soldier on, very swiftly persuaded that accompanying a young man to his chosen dying place would be the best thing they can offer. From there on the movie fares like "The Bucket List" meets "Les petits mouchoirs (Little White Lies)", with random dares fulfilled, individual perspectives adjusted and simple joie de vivre recalibrated as the fact that a loved one would soon be gone slowly sinks in.

While it's certainly not as broadly tactless as the Jack Nicholson / Morgen Freeman star vehicle, the movie lacks the rich context of Guillaume Canet's Gallic box office champ. The events along the journey that are supposed to be a sample of the thrills and bitterness of living; that should, if not make sense of, then properly celebrate the cruel, beautiful transience of life, are not very memorably devised by screenwriter Ariane Schröder. Especially clumsy is, as usual, the strange sexual humor widely seen in mainstream German productions. There's a whole subplot about the frustrated sex life of the wedded couple in the group, complete with an episode at a swingers' club the troupe just happens to pass by. Not really funny and sorely implausible, at the end of it you just wish somebody would explain what it's meant to convey. Elsewhere, audience might be inclined to forgive such equally unrealistic bits as the spontaneous outbreak of a mud fight lusciously shot like a Timberland ad, and there's a storyline about a hot girl picked up by the group's playboy, whose parting words to her vacation flame provide a rare moment of poignancy, but the script as a whole remains light, malnourished. Also contributing to the film's lack of weight is the less-than-ideal editing, which is prone to chop off scenes before they have a chance to play out and breathe. Among others is the pivotal scene of Hannes' last romantic night with his girlfriend hurt by the inadequately timed cut.      

Superstar Florian David Fitz won a Best Actor Lola for playing someone with Tourette's syndrome in "Vincent will Meer (Vincent Wants to Sea)". His performance here as Hannes is not nearly as physical, rarely stressing the outward symptoms of an ALS patient. Which is in itself not a problem, but, as emaciated as he looks, he never seems like someone who's about to die or is ready to die. So when he declares "My life ends tomorrow!" in an impassioned speech later in the film, it's just not as reverberating as one would hope. Otherwise soulful and engaging, it appears he's simply been given too little material to develop a full-fledged character. Of the ensemble cast, Jürgen Vogel is best in show, playing the class clown / eternal bachelor always game for a fling, but he can probably do this part in his sleep.  

When all is said and done, "Hin und Weg (Tour De Force)" is a well-meaning movie enjoyable for its pristine imagery, bookstore music and affecting idea. Director Christian Zübert might not be the most compelling storyteller, but he sure knows how to do the picturesque landscape of the European heartland justice. The way he shoots the ending, lucid, straightforward, dignified, also shows a respectful grasp of the subject matter, if not a particularly stirring one.

Having said all that, judging by the loud sniffle-fest the screening this reviewer attended ended up becoming, the general public might be much more susceptible to seeing innocent, attractive people dying on screen and that last assessment would be a miscalculation on the author's part.

Filmkunstmesse Leipzig: La chambre bleue (The Blue Room)

There are movies that, even without your realizing what exactly transpires in them, sweep you off your feet with the sheer force of their style. French writer/director Mathieu Amalric's "La chambre bleue (The Blue Room)", an adultery drama/murder mystery, employs a highly fragmented narrative to purposefully complicate the telling of a probably straightforward story, but it does so in such a hypnotic way you can't help but be enthralled.

As someone often allergic to unnecessary filmmaking trickery used to disguise material insufficiency or solely to show off, I find Amalric's direction both technically accomplished and substantially justified. Jumping constantly between perspectives and different points in time, the editing is erratic yet anything but random. It always seeks out the perfect split-second to cut away and the exact frame to land on that would best stun, confound and suspend the spell of a prolonged erotic-dream-turned-nightmare. The close-ups-heavy cinematography is equally effective, capturing an urgent, corporal need of the two protagonists that's beautiful, primal. And what beguiling impressions these two actors have left for the camera to catch. Amalric, who also takes on the lead here, has found a phenomenal counterpart in Stéphanie Cléau. Not effortlessly attractive in the classical sense, she has that hint of wild, almost predatory passion hidden beneath a placid facade, which is not only complementary to the meekness of the male character, but in itself works wonders for a story about desire and power play.

For sure, the extended interrogation and courtroom scenes in the latter part of the film do begin to drag, a major failing especially for a film running only 76 minutes. But as a disturbing, sensual, all-around charged chamber piece accentuated by an alluring Hitchcockian score, it's a sly directorial exercise that surprises with the dexterity of its hands and the boldness of its strokes.

Filmkunstmesse Leipzig: Mommy

(Originally appeared in the Berlin Film Journal on Sep. 16, 2014)

It's at once understandable and baffling that Jane Campion's jury awarded Canadian wunderkind Xavier Dolan's 5th feature "Mommy" the coveted Jury Prize in Cannes this year. The film's altogether likable and tugs at heartstrings because it openly aims for them and, of Dolan's films to date, it's the most eager to please. But it underwhelms for the very same reasons.

Set against the fictional backdrop of a new Candaian legislation, under which overtaxed parents may unconditionally enter their behaviorally disturbed children into medical facilities, the movie tells the story of a love-hate-fear relationship between a single mother Diane and her hyperactive adolescent son Steve. Written also by Dolan, it's the least ostensibly sexual of his scripts and concentrates on such universally embraceable themes as the uplifting, exasperating, redeeming familial bond and the never-ending yearning for freedom. At his best, Dolan shows in his writing an uncanny understanding of human psychology and finds its expression in inconspicuously staged scenarios ("J'ai tué ma mère (I Killed My Mother)", "Tom à la ferme (Tom at the Farm)"). With this latest work you can still sense that fine radar at work in the characters he creates- vividly drawn, fueled by passion and impulses- but there's also a less satisfactory narrative arc in terms of plot development to be observed. The introduction of the neighbor Kyla, arguably the most interesting character of the movie, first jolts the somewhat flatlining storyline back to life. And the ensuing unconventional ménage à trois does hold your attention for a while, before another bottleneck seems to be reached and you realize nothing except easy appeals to common sympathy seems to be driving this thing forward. Dolan is nothing if not an instinctive writer though. And you notice that sometimes even better in what he leaves unsaid- in this case the whole back story of the mysterious Kyla, who would rather spend time with a mother-son duo with a penchant for violence than with her own husband and child. Never fully explained, she becomes this unknowable but thoroughly intriguing figure that serves as the much needed catalyst in a duet that otherwise would've long grown old.    

The direction is equally fine if not unflawed or particularly challenging. Possibly taking a cue from the bad notices he got for going overboard visually with "Les amours imaginaires (Heartbeats)" and "Laurence Anyways", "Mommy" is relatively subdued in optical terms. Gone are the fanciful, indulgent color sprees, substituted by a more grounded, quotidian look. Of course there are still the occasional sequences of surreal prettiness, like a golden boy falling slo-mo onto a bed drenched in golden light spilling through golden curtains, and, let's be honest, even when he goes for shabby, there's that slight rosy tint to a Dolan film. But overall it's a controlled aesthetic that serves the story well and would likely offend no one. At other places, though, Dolan displays an ambition to up his directorial game to only mixed results. Most obvious is his choice to play with the aspect ratio of the film, which looks unusually narrow for the majority of the running time. It takes some getting used to, but at least this viewer sees that approach as an effective way to leave out the rest of the world and focus on the predicament of those portrayed by simply chopping off the panoramic view. However, the couple of times he expands the field of vision to the normal, wide format and back again, coinciding with the sudden sense of liberty or returning despair experienced by the characters, feel too literal to be called genius. Also less than ideal are the scenes where he goes for the warm and fuzzy moments shared by damaged people, which often come across as forced, and the way he uses music in this film, with the loudly soothing score and the Top 40-friendly soundtrack both being a tad too pushy.        

All three principal actors are strong. Suzanne Clément plays Kyla with the necessary reticence and makes you see in her a woman finally allowing herself to be happy with her crazy neighbors. Anne Dorval is highly watchable as the hot mess of a mom with partially dyed hair and bejeweled jeans. Even though her performance still betrays a hint of shrill mechanicalness in those scenes of aggressive confrontation, she's delightful in her sassy body language and shows especially good timing in her delivery of feisty one-liners. Even more impressive is probably lead actor Antoine-Olivier Pilon, whose Steve is explosive, goofy, sweet, flirty, sometimes all at the same time. The instability of his mind and the depth of his anger are beautifully portrayed in a scene set in a Karaoke bar. Bringing three distinct personalities to the screen, these three actors keep you engaged and invested even when the storytelling itself slacks, so that even a moment like taking a group selfie can end up being as pregnant with emotion as it is.

Avoiding to a large extent any controversial subject or subversive stance, opting for a pleasantly inobtrusive visual style, coasting a lot more than previously on compassion and basic kindness of the heart, there might be shouting, fighting and maiming galore in "Mommy", but it might also just be the most widely accessible and least risky movie Xavier Dolan has made so far.