Roundtable interview: Juliette Binoche (L'attesa (The Wait))

(Originally appeared in The Film Stage on Sep. 12 , 2015)

What attracted you to the project?

When I read the script and met with Piero, I sensed there’s a real director in him. Also it’s very exciting for an actor to work with somebody new, to take that risk. And I hadn’t done a film about losing a child since Blue. I thought this is a film I’d like to do, as it explores the subject matter in a different way. It’s about denial and how the mind of a mother works. It’s almost a creative process - she’s created a whole world in order to survive this loss. I also found the journey of the two women very interesting. It’s ambivalent, you never know where it’s going. My character goes through all these contradictory feelings. There’s hope and, at the same time, a deep despair.

Is your character Anna pretending in order to accept her loss? 

It’s a way of putting distance between herself and the pain because it’s so difficult to accept. There’s nothing worse than losing a child. As a mother, the death of a child is almost like a betrayal of life. There’s a lot of anger involved, and probably shame as well. And guilt of course. It’s a very complex situation.

How do you protect yourself from those negative emotions when you act?

When you act, you don’t want to protect yourself. There’s no escaping. Some directors aren’t aware how hard it is on the actors. It’s your dedication to descending into the darkest parts of humanity in order to tell a story. There’s no way around it. You have to believe you’re in that situation. I remember having a very interesting conversation with Abbas Kiarostami. After a scene where I was crying, he said to me, “They’re false tears”. I said, “Well, try false tears!”. He didn’t understand how that worked, the place an actor has to put himself into. You have to make your body believe that it’s true. Otherwise the emotions wouldn’t come to you. So it usually comes from sensations. That’s why I need to always try different ways of acting. Because you’re always making yourself feel new things. It’s not the director’s job. They decide where to put the camera and when to cut. After that it’s up to the skills and sense of responsibility of the actors.

A lot of things are left unsaid in this movie. We don’t always know what the characters are thinking. The scene where Jeanne dances with the young guy, for example. When Anna sees that, she first seems content, happy almost. But then her expression changed suddenly, without any explanation. As an actor, do you have to make up your mind as to what exactly is going through your character’s head before you perform?  

Oh yes definitely. Because there’s no words. And even with words you have to figure out what’s behind them. It depends on the way you work though. Sometimes I don’t make the decisions beforehand and just throw myself into it but other times you have to for the sake of creating an arc for your character. You have to know where your character’s going and where you’re taking your audience to. For that specific scene, I had a conversation with Piero. In my mind, Anna enjoys seeing Jeanne falling in love with somebody else. Because it gives hope that she’ll be able to move on. She herself, as the mother, can’t do it yet, because it’s too painful. Her own enemy is herself. She’s not ready to live again yet. So it was very important for me to look at Jeanne with joy. By the time she looks back at me, I notice she stops and looks taken aback, probably thinking I’m judging her as the mother of her boyfriend. But I don’t want to judge her, I get unsettled by the thought and leave. The whole process is as complex as that. Of course in a film you’re not going to explain everything. The audience must be made to wonder about the many maybe’s. Films should take the audience to wherever they want to go. In the editing room, Piero originally didn’t keep the expression of joy in the picture. I told him he’s missing a step here. Because she’s happy to see Jeanne moving on. Which is also why she later lies and tells Jeanne that Giuseppe has gone with another girl, and that she should move on as well. So it’s interesting, the choices directors and actors make.

The director mentioned he made you do a lot of takes during shooting. Did that upset you? Or do you prefer it that way?

I’m used to doing a lot of takes. You always adapt to a director’s method though. I don’t have a recipe. I can do just one take or do many. When you’re in a creative process, you’re not counting anyway. You recreate life. You recreate moments. So you’re not asking “another one?” because every take is another chance of exploration.

Has this shoot been an emotionally draining experience for you?

I was already drained when I arrived for the shoot because I’d just done a film that was really draining. I was completely exhausted but that was good for this part. So I used it to portray someone in grief. For me what’s really draining is when you cannot reach where you’re supposed to go.

You mentioned feeling free while shooting this film. Can you elaborate on that?

I think that’s because I prepared for the part, wasn’t satisfied with my preparations and decided to throw everything away, to just not know anything. That was a very interesting experience because it felt dangerous. But then I could tap into this fragility inside me, which I think helped me through the whole film.

Do you participate in the film editing process as well?

Yes. As an actor you’re right in the middle of it, so physically you know whether it works or not. I generally enjoy working with directors because if I wanted to work by myself I would have chosen to paint or something. But to work with others it becomes a co-creation. With Piero, he wanted to have my opinion on the editing. It depends on the directors - how open they are to collaboration. Abbas, for example, also showed me his edits. We didn’t agree on one scene, but in the end they had to make the decisions.

You have worked with some of the greatest directors of our time. From Haneke to Kieslowski, from Cronenberg to Hou Hsiao-Hsien. They’re all completely different filmmakers of course. But could you identify something they have in common that makes them such great storytellers?

I think it’s because there’s something so personal about the piece they’re doing that it becomes universal. I think the common denominator is that they’re doing something really close to their heart. But also the intelligence, particularly the intelligence of the heart, related to all the layers of humanity. And most great directors, they let you be, because they trust you. And with trust you get a lot more than without it.

The director mentioned you said on your first meeting that you don’t act, you are. Can you elaborate on that? 

I was lucky enough to have an acting teacher when I was 18. Back then I was really acting with a capital A, and she destroyed all that, until I touched the core of what it is to just be. It’s a completely different feeling. When it’s time for you to perform, you have to let it breathe.                

Roundtable interview: Piero Messina (L'attesa (The Wait))

(Originally appeared in The Film Stage on Sep. 12 , 2015)

Did you reference Krzysztof Kieslowski’s Blue (1993) when you cast Juliette Binoche for this part?

There was no reference to the film actually. Blue is obviously a masterpiece, I loved it but I wasn’t thinking about it when I cast the part. There are two reasons why I wanted Juliette Binoche. First of all, the film is set in an empty house, so I needed two great actresses to fill out the empty space. And Juliette certainly fits the bill. The second reason is that this film is about what’s not said, it’s about concealing. And I think Juliette is the perfect choice for that.

How did a first-time feature director convince Juliette Binoche to be in his movie? And what was the experience like working with her?

I think the main reason is that we had a good script. When the producers first sent Juliette the script, they didn’t even hope to hear back from her. But she did. She called and said yes. So I think once you have a good script, part of the job is done.

What was the experience like working with her?

It was really exciting and extremely interesting to work with Juliette. The way we worked together was very straightforward, partly because I don’t speak French, so there’s a language barrier. For that reason, we would reduce things to the essential. So it was a no-frills communication, bordering on the rude. But in the end, the character did come out. It took a while, it was a slow process, but the character gradually took shape through repetition. We did a lot of takes. At first, Juliette was acting outwardly. So it was a matter of taking it inside - sort of introjecting the story and the character - take by take. The more we repeated, the more inwardly the performance would go.

I remember Juliette told me on our first meeting that she had a method, which might sound a little megalomanic but it’s really not. She said: “I do not act. I am.” It’s not preposterous because what she can do is amazing. She can really recreate, assimilate the pain the character feels. She’s able to get into that and really live it. And she does so in a very generous way, because she puts herself completely at the disposal of that kind of emotions. To me it was very interesting, because as we were repeating many, many times, I would use her as a sort of probe that would dive into this ocean of suffering. And then it was my role to make the selection from those many takes.

What was the experience like doing so many takes?

At first it was quite tiring, because it was such a long and demanding process. But after a while we became totally passionate about it. For me, it was the first time that I got to work with such a great actress. But also for her, I think, it doesn’t happen that often that she gets asked to do so many takes.

How many takes do you do?

On average 20, 25. For some scenes even 40.

What was the purpose of doing so many takes?

It was a process of research. We were looking for something. For me that was an ideal condition, because we would both be doing this continuous research. We could have just used the first takes, but in my opinion, that would have been a waste of talent. There was also another factor, the factor of tiredness. We ended up using none of the first takes we did. Because when a person has gone to the bathroom to cry and is now back, you can tell from their eyes that they have been crying even without them saying it. That is partly why we always chose from the later takes for the final cut.

Can you talk about the adaptation process? Why did it take as many as four writers to adapt this play?

Actually we need to clarify: It was not really an adaptation. In the beginning what I had in mind was just something a friend told me, about a friend of his denying the death of a loved one. My memories of the religious processions in Sicily, along with many other things, also played a part. And then somebody told me that there’s a play by Luigi Pirandello (La vita che ti diedi) which dealt with those similar themes. So only then, during the fourth re-write, did we consider Pirandello’s material. I didn’t read the whole play myself, although my co-writers did. In all the official press materials Pirandello’s play is mentioned because it’s true we took some elements from his play – so it’s the necessary and respectful thing to do - but we really only used a few such elements. So I wouldn’t call it an adaptation, because that’s not how the project evolved.

The writing experience itself was weird, exciting and beautiful. All four of us had no experience writing feature films, so there was no method to be followed. We were very naïve, very pristine in how we approached the project. We had no idea how to write a script so with every re-write we would write a complete and completely different script. Two years ago I read all the different versions and put them together in our final screenplay.

But you have had filmmaking experiences before? 

Yes I have worked with Sorrentino and I had shot as many as 15 short films before, so I had filmmaking experience. But this was for me and my co-writers our first feature film. We all went to the Italian National Film School together. It took us four years to write this script and it was great, because we had the liberty to write and re-write. We had no deadlines so we would just keep writing. If it hadn’t been for the producer who told us to stop, we would still have been working on it.

Can you talk about the many religious symbols used throughout the film?

Well, I wouldn’t call this a religious film. What interests me is the mythology, the rituals of religion. The whole system of code, whereby universal truths are represented in a way that’s popular, easy and can attract people. It’s almost like a mise-en-scène. In Sicily you find it in the daily life. I’m very interested in that type of code and narrative. The Easter procession, for example, is amazing as you see thousands of people crying because they believe that a piece of wood is alive. That’s the power of representation and what really interests me.  

Venice Film Festival: A Bigger Splash

(Originally appeared in The Film Stage on Sep. 6, 2015)

Despite a loose script that justifies little, Italian director Luca Guadagnino’s follow-up feature to his glorious melodrama I Am Love (2009) is a sweaty, kinetic, dangerously unpredictable ride of a film. One is frustrated by the final stroke of genius that never came, but boy was it fun to spend two hours inside such a whirlwind of desires, mind games, delirious sights and sounds.

Based on the 1969 French drama La piscine (The Swimming Pool), the story essentially begins as Marianne (Tilda Swinton) and Paul (Matthias Schoenaerts) – a couple vacationing on an Italian island – get an unexpected visit from her former lover and record producer Harry (Ralph Fiennes), along with his daughter Penny (Dakota Johnson). Harry, a raging bohemian who still harbors affections for Marianne, and Penny, a confident Lolita-type who has her sights set on the hunky Paul, will make sure feelings old and new get kindled, leading to frictions that may end up being more than harmless.

The screenplay establishes the characters well, fleshing their shared histories out – except for Penny, who shall remain a mysterious property - via numerous flashbacks. Even when the particulars aren’t always clear, you get the idea there’s some trauma in the past, adding gravity to the tension at hand. This is, however, not the most focused of screenwriting. People run errands, prepare meals, engage in swimming competitions, and even break into full-fledged musical numbers. Through these actions you grasp onto a sense of their personalities for sure, but sometimes you find yourself asking where all this is going. The most obvious failing of the script comes in the third act, when a crime is committed and later on, a slap is dealt. These are of course the dramatic climax after the film just spent over 90 minutes building and crafting atmosphere, but the scenes themselves confound more than anything, as both the motivation and the intensity of the actions seem somewhat inexplicable.

With that said, one probably wouldn’t get too hung up on meaning and explanations in a movie this jaggedly hypnotic. In a fundamental stylistic departure from the celestial classicism of I Am Love, Guadagnino opts for a rawer, much wilder look here. The texture of the frames is coarser, the lighting less gentle, the production and costume design ten shades plainer. But if anything, the unrefined, almost primal aesthetics of the film only serve to bring out the rampant carnal energy coursing just beneath the sun-kissed surface, which in turn gets captured by the predatorily alert cameral of cinematographer Yorick Le Saux. In grand, fluent movements, he picks up every signal of flirt, suspicion and panic to striking effect. The aforementioned crime scene is photographed with such immediacy, continuity and scope it engrosses and repulses to equal measure. Also worth mentioning is the boldly instinctive editing. By constantly bringing scenes to an abrupt end or cutting between strongly contrasting scenarios, it further enhances the bluntness of the visual experience and keeps you on the edge of your seat. Same goes for the music selection, which is as eclectic as it is eerily evocative. From rock tunes to discordant orchestral notes, they take you by surprise and summon an ominous sense of restlessness even before anything bad happens.          

The four lead actors are excellently cast, their vastly different screen presence contributing to the pivotal yin and yang of the mix. Fiennes is on fire playing the philandering music man who “does not believe in limits”. While his grandstanding entrance might strike one as over-the-top, the scenes where he switches from clownish banter to sobered retorts in the blink of an eye give you a hint of the stupendous range and elasticity of his performance. Swinton is her reliable diva-licious self. Even though this is a less showy role for her, she still compels at any given moment with an open face that seems to have no filter for emotions. Belgian it-boy Schoenaerts also has a quieter part but he brings the stoic steadfastness and easy masculinity that’s vital to the picture. The biggest delight of the bunch might be Johnson. After turning in a performance that’s better than it has any reason to be in Fifty Shades of Grey earlier this year, she takes on a role that’s the polar opposite of the demure, repressed Anastasia Steele and runs away with it. Playful, assertive, utterly unself-conscious, she not only holds her own opposite other veteran actors in the cast but again elevates a character that could well have been a harmless cliché.

Realized with extraordinary craft and verve even if insufficiently contextualized, A Bigger Splash might not have achieved the desired impact, but the wicked spell it casts remains a bona-fide stunner.

Venice Film Festival: L'attesa (The Wait)

(Originally appeared in The Film Stage on Sep. 5, 2015)

Seeing that the film starts in the middle of a memorial service, it doesn’t qualify as a spoiler to reveal that the unseen hero of L’attesa (The Wait) - the subject of both female protagonists’ devotion - isn’t going to show up as claimed/expected. With this mystery gone, the story is firmly set around the dynamic shaped by an absence, an illusion, a lie. Which is a more-than-valid premise for sure. Except the screenplay, adapted from the Italian play La vita che ti diedi by a whopping four writers, can never quite expand on that wistful idea and comes up short at every turn.

We meet Anna (Juliette Binoche) first, a grief-stricken mother who needs to summon up a prayer and the last of her strength just to get out of bed after the unexplained passing of son Giuseppe. On one of those identical, insufferably quiet days that follow, she gets a call from Giuseppe’s Parisian girlfriend Jeanne (Lou de Laâge), whom he has invited to join them at their Sicilian family house. Knowing full well the girl’s mistake, Anna bids her over nonetheless and together they shall wait for a shared loved one who’s never going to return.

When considered in abstract terms, such vague, subliminally kinky plotlines promise fertile ground for intensive psychological explorations. There are plenty of interesting questions to ask: Why wouldn’t Anna tell Jeanne the truth? What does she seek to achieve by keeping the young girl in this wishful limbo? How much does Jeanne really know or pretend not to know as the wait drags on and she could easily find out about everything by herself? What’s going through the mind of caretaker Pietro and other guests at the wake who witness the absurd situation and become unwilling accomplice to deceit by not pointing out the obvious. To be fair, first-time feature director Messina does hint at deeper, more subtle motivations beyond a protective self-delusion or –denial at certain moments. But such flashes of inspiration are fleeting and the majority of screen time is spent in flatly written two-woman talks by the lake, at the dinner table, in the Turkish bath, where they keep skirting around the real issue, the only issue, until all believability drains out and character development stalls. There’s the chance for the relationship to take a turn for the abusive and for the story to acquire a more ostensibly genre edge, but Messina never took that bait. It might have been an opportunity lost, though, for the film never gained the seductive force of something like Swimming Pool (2003) despite a similar emphasis on female sensuality.

Visually there’s a lot to salivate over in this beautifully designed, almost compulsively artful picture. It’s not just the land, water, the vivid expanse of Sicily that provides a constantly stunning backdrop to the proceedings. Distinct color schemes and careful framing turn everything from a silent car ride to a frying egg into oeuvres of considerable sophistication. While Messina’s taste cannot be denied, this observation is not entirely complimentary, for there’s a calculated quality to all this exquisiteness – when you render even the X-ray images of an airport baggage scan so chicly commercial-ready, it can appear quite suspicious, not to mention exhausting to watch.

Binoche is as ever a master of her craft. How she commands the most miniscule aspect of her physicality, countenance, disposition to emote and affect betrays no technical blemish, creating a visage that’s full of fascinating clues even at its most immobile. It’s a shame, then, that the role of Anna is so direly underwritten and her domineering position in relation to Jeanne so firmly established, that there’s just not enough stuff for a solo homerun, nor much of an acting duet at all. In the end, like a breath of stylized, impassioned hot air, L’attesa evokes feelings associated with bereavement effectively but has nothing substantial to add to the whole psychology of loss.

68. Cannes: La tête haute (Standing Tall) / Tale of Tales

The 68th edition of the Cannes Film Festival opened on a sober note with the decent, if unspectacular social drama "La tête haute (Standing Tall)". Telling the story of 16-year-old Malony (Rod Paradot), a child of neglect and disenfranchisement who grows up to be quite the model delinquent, it chronicles the struggles a marginalized young man faces in France today, as well as the endeavors and failings of the country's youth correctional system. Chronicle is the operative word here, because more than anything the film feels like a record of the many trips the protagonist makes to the judge's office, his failed attempts at rehabilitation and socialization, his improvements, relapses, breakdowns. Naturalistic to a fault, the direction wins points for its integrity but leaves one desperately hoping for some sparks, provocations, anything unexpected.

To be sure, there's no shortage of violent moments. Numerous verbal and physical confrontations keep the decibel level pretty high throughout. But both the story and the telling of the story feel awfully familiar, bringing hardly anything new to the reformed adolescent genre. This tired impression significantly lowers the impact of the drama, while the repetitive narrative structure or the slightly paternalistic, PSA-esque tone of the film doesn't help either.

Paradot is solid as someone raised to harbor anger and mistrust. The combination of defiance, cunning, masked innocence and pumped-up bravado in his expressions, somewhat reminiscent of Jack O'Connell's breakout performance in "Starred Up", turns him into a dynamite with a short fuse, dangerously charged and forcefully present. As his messed-up, loopy mother, Sara Forestier also delights, offering the film some effective comic relief. Catherine Deneuve's performance as the sympathetic child court judge is comparatively muted, cruising more on her formidable poise than nuanced characterization. Writer/director Emmanuelle Bercot shows heartfelt concern for the subject matter, but her approach to it might prove too rustic and her script can use some restructuring/streamlining.

Italian director Matteo Garrone's English-language horror fantasy "Tale of Tales" is a splashy re-imagining of three Gothic fairytales that, while not exactly meaningful in aggregate, stuns your every sense nonetheless. A depressed queen obsessed with the need to bear child resorts to a shaman, a lustful king gets entangled with two old women who might not look their age, a ruly princess tries to escape from an ogre she's married to by her father - the stories told are relatively simple constructs and bear no apparent contextual relations. Cutting from one to the other and back again, one might legitimately ask if it's all just a pointless exercise in style. But what style this is!

Furiously designed with a nasty contrast of colors and materials, the costumes, props, set pieces whip up storms of spectacles from frame one without ever sinking into juvenile frivolity. Unlike "Alice in Wonderland" (2010) or "Maleficent" (2014), the lush production springs not only from a spiked imagination but also a decidedly adult sentiment. Whether dashing through a stonewall maze or getting chased across the misty forest, you feel the pull of a sinister alternate universe and the uneasiness is just delicious. With the added sonic suggestion of a repressively somber string-based score, and even potentially farcical scenes like the underwater dragon slaying speak a genuine menace. No one from the international cast particularly stands out, although Salma Hayek and Toby Jones are both their reliable selves and own their eccentric, comically heightened roles with aplomb.

It's a pity the three parts of the movie aren't more organically connected to benefit from coherence or momentum. But by smartly drawing on the dark nature buried beneath most bedtime stories and hitting that tone of macabre playfulness with such remarkable precision, Garrone has achieved something that, as strictly two-dimensional and message-free as it is, thoroughly entertains, utterly bewitches.

Venice Film Festival: Pasolini / Le dernier coup de marteau (The Last Hammer Blow)

One could dismiss American writer/director Abel Ferrara's "Pasolini" as no more than a shrill campfest complete with an orgy scene accompanied by fireworks and a falling star. But when touched by a master player of style, it also becomes this sleek, darkly shiny thing purposeful in its own way. Chronicling the last days of famed Italian director Pier Paolo Pasolini's life, the freewheeling biopic glides in and out of the realm of reality, teasing with changes in perspective without a care for consistency. While none of it seems to be done in a uniquely meaningful way, the formal diversity brings a necessary structural complexity to a picture otherwise too limited in scope (running only 86 minutes). Providing eye candy galore to further enliven the biography is the posh production and costume design, silky, lush, sparkling with an almost erotic luxury. Willem Dafoe is properly absorbed in a larger-than-life personality, even if the narrowness of the film never allows the viewer to get inside the head of this character. The fact that he mostly speaks in English is evidently a major problem, distracting and strengthening the impression of an ill-considered farce.

Channeling the heart and naturalism of the Dardennes and Ursula Meier, French writer/director Alix Delaporte's "Le dernier coup de marteau (The Last Hammer Blow)" is a moving coming-of-age tale about a boy growing up in hardship. With the focus strictly trained on a single-parent family, the script and direction draw you into the very ordinary, very real struggles of the less fortunate. In its attention to detail, the script carries with it a truthfulness that's modest but compelling; the direction, unshowy as it is, is observant of subtle emotional fluctuations to convey an honesty and tenderness towards the characters. Thus, when the unknowing father returns to town to conduct an orchestral piece and the adolescent son set out to meet him for the first time, the potentially cheesy scenario is made genuine, endearingly awkward. It's a shame, then, that the movie falters in the third act, failing to build on the momentum to strike a surprising note, instead of settling for a harmless, if slight and a tad affected ending. Young lead actor Romain Paul might be too placid, impassive in his performance to be called great, but, with a steadfastness that suggests inner turmoil, he never loses your attention either.

Venice Film Festival: Il giovane favoloso (Leopardi) / Loin des hommes (Far From Men)

"Il giovane favoloso (Leopardi)" is an earnest, stately, densely written biopic about famed 19th century Italian poet/philosopher Giacomo Leopardi. Often quoting verbatim the verses of its central character, the reverence with which writer/director Mario Martone treats the subject matter is palpable, and all those precious words bring with them a gentleness to the picture so universal it transcends the challenge of translation or reference. That said, the movie just might be a bit too literate to appeal to a broad audience. The constant, apparently unabridged recitations of Leopardi's work, though cinematically framed in the context of the various stations of his life, is steep and lessens the narrative fluency. Lead actor Elio Germano is appropriately dreamy, impassioned, tormented as the genius increasingly crippled by the demands of his own mind. The final scene, filled only with his musings in the night, with as many stars in the sky as in his eyes, is undeniably moving. The music, by turns swelling and sizzling, tries to add a contemporary touch to the story but, especially in the case of the several English language songs used, proves an ill fit for the classical beauty portrayed on screen.    

"Loin des hommes (Far From Men)" is the type of movie you can't say you don't like without sounding like an ignorant, unsympathetic cynic. But as a matter of fact this Algerian-set historical drama/adventure, in which a French teacher must escort an Algerian convict to the next destination, doesn't strike me as above average on most counts. Production value is unremarkable, although they definitely found some impressive locations to shoot in, letting all that sand and rocks afford the film a naturally rugged look. Viggo Mortensen is dependably good as someone caught between two identities but acting in not one, but two non-native languages (French and Arabic) does take away some degree of conviction from his performance. Reda Kateb is definitely adequate as the other half of the on-screen duo though his is not a breakout star turn on the level of, say Tahar Rahim in "Un prophète (A Prophet)". Writer/director David Oelhoffen opts for a sober style to tell the story of friendship born under conflict and the senselessness of hate. While the goal is certainly respectable, the results are rather unexciting.

Venice Film Festival: Ich seh ich seh (Goodnight Mommy) / Hungry Hearts

Two twin boys who grow convinced that the woman returning from a facial plastic surgery is not their mother serves as the simple premise for Austrian writer/director duo Veronika Franz & Severin Fiala's horror tale "Ich seh ich seh (Goodnight Mommy)". Plot-wise rather insubstantial, the movie is largely incident-based as it follows the daily life of the three in a secluded villa and witnesses how the mutual abuse between mother and children escalates to horrific heights. Lacking a  narrative to drive things logically forward, the ritual of watching one disturbing anecdote after another gets tiring fast. A last-minute twist, while not entirely original or elegant, does manage to compensate for this lacking somewhat by flipping the story on its head and rouses interesting questions. By far the defining achievement of this feature debut, however, is the striking visualization. Stark, high-contrast lighting adds pressure to the already creepy atmosphere from the sleek, oppressively pedantic production design. Depicting unbelievable cruelty of the hair-raising sort, the final act is not for the faint of heart but catnip for genre-fans.

"Hungry Hearts" is a shockingly bad marital drama-turned-thriller by Italian writer/director Saverio Costanzo. Starting with a measly idea bloated into a tediously written screenplay, only to then be loudly directed to end up this unconvincing, unengaging, unappealing embarrassment of a movie. Revolving around a young couple battling over the right way to feed their new-born child (not kidding), we're supposed to just accept the mother believes in a vegan diet for her baby, coupled with a no-sunshine policy. Why she mistrusts and denies the entire medical profession is also never explained, so her self-righteous tantrums and protestations all seem unfounded and laughable. Even the dependably charming Alba Rohrwacher can't save such a one-note, roundly unreasonable character. Tonally it's all over the place, almost comically schizophrenic, but not in a disciplined, premeditated way. The picture also looks oddly dated, the director's choice to repeatedly use fisheye lens and fade-out cuts further makes a punishing experience that much less tolerable.  

Filmfest München: Le meraviglie (The Wonders)

"Le meraviglie (The Wonders)", the story of a beekeeping family in rural Italy, is a marvelous achievement in writing, direction, performance and design. Whether in its depiction of father-daughter relationship or a young sisterhood, the script is penned with an ingrained understanding of and the utmost tenderness for all that makes the familial bond dear, maddening, irreplaceable. Breathing authenticity, immediacy and a palpable warmth throughout, it rivets and delights no end. Particularly, by never fully explaining the composition of the household in question, it affords its protagonists a convincing complexity and unknowability inherent to every family history. And by describing the sometimes silly gestures of love like a parent's idea of a great gift to his child, it makes the whole bittersweet dynamic come alive.

The actors, down to the ancient singing grandmas, are well cast. Monica Bellucci in disco-Goddess mode gives the scenes of the glitzy variety show that all-decisive push into neon paradise and it's fabulous. In a limited role, Alba Rohrwacher is her usual faultless dreamy self and provides the movie with a soulful anchor. The true stars of the film, however, are Maria Alexandra Lungu and Agnese Graziani, who play the sensitive, perceptive teenager and her chubby, gloriously happy little sister. It's a pair of beautifully unaffected, lived-in performances that never ring false and make up a harmonious dance.

Director Alice Rohrwacher succeeds not only in telling a story with great narrative fluency but shows an unerring aesthetic sense as well. The film looks amazing with its retro set pieces and a faded, weighted texture reminiscent of old photo albums. As exemplified by the opening and closing sequences, it's also often framed in dazzling, suggestive compositions bordering on the mythical. In a combination of both these talents, a fire-lit, dialogue-free scene near the end plays boldly with the disappointment of reality and the redemptive power of imagination. It's a scene of childlike wonder conducted by the most mature hand, an absolute winner.

Filmfest München: Il capitale umano (Human Capital)

Italian director Paolo Virzì's "Il capitale umano (Human Capital)" is a skillfully structured whodunit with social relevance as well as a keenly observed character study brought to life by a terrific ensemble cast.

Told in chapters and from multiple perspectives, the story traces a group of people from diverse backgrounds leading up to and following a fateful evening with deadly consequences. Besides a couple of extended, markedly fluid tracking shots, the direction is relatively free of bells and whistles, opting instead for a deliberate, evenly considered approach. Aided further by some superior editing work that cuts, inserts and revisits scenes without losing the overview or seeming redundant, the result is not just narratively clear, but tightly woven and briskly paced. The acting is also strong, in part thanks to the luminous Valeria Bruni Tedeschi, who's in top form here, playing a failed actress suffocated by a marriage into the über-rich and seduced by the dirty scent of freedom. Physically and vocally exact, her performance gets the boredom, frustration and thirst of someone constantly underestimated just right, making the character vulnerable but also dangerously unpredictable.

In the end the puzzle turns out to be a bit too simplistically constructed and the resolution disappointingly straightforward, so the movie doesn't wrap on a high note, but otherwise it's 110 engrossing, technically polished minutes that keep you teased, absorbed, comfortably entertained.

La grande belezza

It does move quite slowly and its protagonist's philosophical, wise-sounding musings on life, journeys, endings lose much of their impact to a rather fragmented, less-than-coherent narrative, but Italian director Paolo Sorrentino's "La grande bellezza (The Great Beauty)" delivered what its title promises, giving us impressions of Rome so stunning they pin you to your seat with their grandeur and lyricism. Palaces, gardens, artworks drenched in candlelight, canals bathing in the morning sun, the camera touches ancient ruins and modern-day debauchery depicted here with equal loving care and dazzles again and again (there are trees in this movie that look like they belong in a museum).

Among a solid cast, Toni Servillo owns the role of Jep down to every weary blink. Too bad the director seems swamped by the task of communicating so many thoughts, observations, late-life reflections through him that it ended up hurting the character's authenticity and persuasiveness.

Filmfest München: Nina

Swirling staircases, towering columns, sprawling facades, cascading steps... all kinds of shapes and curves form in perfect symmetry the architectural backdrop to Italian writer/director Elisa Fuksas' feature film debut "Nina". However, the film's overall aesthetics aren't nearly as peppy and bold as its poster would suggest, suffering from watered-down colors and grainy lensing. Worse still, the plot of this semi-love story about a lonely girl's self-discovery is seriously unfocused, drifting between sighs of unfulfillment and obscure affections via some blunt editing. Quite a test of patience, this one.

Filmfest München: Il futuro (The Future)

There are occasional bursts of visual pizzazz in Chilean director Alicia Scherson's Rome-set "Il futuro (The Future)", whether through blatantly magnifying the mundane or throwing in fantastical elements, that provided the listless movie with some badly-needed jolts of energy. But the look of the film is too inconsistent to be called stylish, mirroring a similar weakness of indecision in its plot, which branches from siblings drama to a perverted tale of love and a gangster story while failing to satisfy in each aspect.