Boi neon (Neon Bull)

(Originally appeared in The Film Stage on Oct. 10 , 2015)

From Blue Is the Warmest Color to Stranger by the Lake, from Pride to The Danish Girl, movies dealing with LGBT issues or characters have become ever more present at film festivals and cineplexes these past years. Against such background it’s especially intriguing to consider something like Neon Bull – a Brazilian rodeo drama in which everybody turns out to be straight – and its place in queer cinema.

The story is centered around hunky groundskeeper Iremar (Juliano Cazarré), who spends his days at a rodeo in rural Brazil taking care of the animals, keeping up the localities and assisting with the races. On these chores he’s joined by a small, tightly-knit group of people including precocious girl Cacá and her mother Galega. They all dine together and sleep in neighboring hammocks, collectively facing down the monotony of an arduous, menial existence more as a family than co-workers. Iremar, meanwhile, has a passion one doesn’t necessarily associate with his work or lifestyle – he’s totally into making clothes, from the designing all the way to the cutting and fitting. Without ever explaining where this enthusiasm came from, scenes where the tough cowboy is seen sewing at night or dressing mannequins appear random and almost disorientingly at odds with his circumstances. Our preconceptions are further played with when he has Galega bend down in front of him in a suggestive position or sneakily flips open a dirty magazine to the picture of a naked female model, only to go about taking the young woman’s measurements and drawing imaginary garments onto a masturbation-tested page.

It doesn’t stop at the tease with gender roles and macho stereotypes either. Subtly but surely, Mascaro establishes a fevered, deeply sensual visual language that, while never describing same-sex intimacy of any kind, releases a strong homoerotic charge. Not only is there a marked focus on male anatomy – see a group shower scene shot on steamy lens and the sequence where Iremar has to stroke a prize stallion’s comically engorged genitalia in order to steal its semen – which deviates from the female objectification customary in mainstream, heterosexual cinema, the overall languid, yearnful tone highlights a repressed quality of the rampant carnality threatening to break free. In this sense, it registers as a near-surprise when the sexual preference of the main characters is revealed towards the end.

One could fault the movie for being narratively lacking because, admittedly, there isn’t much of a coherent plot making some kind of point. Galega doesn’t overcome any challenges, neither does Cacá come of age. It’s not really about Iremar’s endeavors to realize his dream, nor is it a systematic critique of a society that leaves parts of its citizenship living under impoverished conditions. However, even within this loose storytelling structure, Neon Bull still functions as a casually transportive experience and a compelling investigation of masculinity in modern-day Latin America. Driven by Mascaro’s freely associative direction that draws heavily from the physicality and animalistic nature of rodeo races, the film approaches human sexuality on a subliminal level that feels raw, essential. By breaking down taboos like explicit phallic depictions and the asexual sanctity of pregnant women, it further gains a subversive edge usually seen in queer cinema. Cinematographer Diego García, who also shot Thai director Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s mesmerizing Cemetery of Splendour, provides by turns breezily idyllic and swelteringly sensuous images here. The prolonged, one-take sex scene that more or less concludes the movie is captured with such unblinking intensity it packs the impact appropriate for all the pent-up desires as well as the story’s one unexpected revelation.

Cunningly ambivalent and stickily atmospheric, Neon Bull is an impressive exercise in style that further broadens the possibility of queer filmmaking. One only wishes it could have embedded such daring and verve in a more fully realized context.

Venice Film Festival: Desde allá (From Afar)

(Originally appeared in The Film Stage on Sep. 14, 2015)

Proving yet again that festival juries don’t read the trades or pay attention to chatter, the Golden Lion of the 72nd Venice Film Festival was presented to the Venezuelan drama Desde allá (From Afar), a film that screened relatively late at the fest, when general opinion on the Lido seemed to have settled on this being a race between Rabin, the Last Day, Blood of My Blood and Francofonia. In a discerning and gutsy move, the star-studded jury chaired by Alfonso Cuarón decided to recognize the achievement of writer/director Lorenzo Vigas’ debut feature over those higher-profile pictures from established masters. It’s gutsy because this film tells a moving if deeply unpleasant story with a significant ick factor that’s going to put many people off. It’s discerning because, as contained and particular as the film’s subject matter and as unassuming as its approach, From Afar delivers an incisive, poignant, surgically precise character study that deals a fatal blow in one crisp, clean stab.

We first meet Armando (Alfredo Castro), a middle-aged dentures shop owner who finds release for his closeted urges by bringing home young men he picks up from the streets. Not five minutes into the film we already see him fervently masturbating to the sight of a teenage boy’s exposed behind. There doesn’t seem to be any physical contact involved and the brief rendezvous goes down consensually. Yet the hushed atmosphere, the cash exchange and the marked age difference between the two participants, underlined by close-ups of one’s wrinkled face and the other’s babyishly smooth skin, give the whole episode a sleazy, repellent air.

Judging from Armando’s nonchalant demeanor and practiced orchestration of the meeting, you get the idea he’s been doing this for a while. But nothing has prepared him for Elder (Luis Silva), a street kid with a fiery temper who backs down from a deal, turns to assault and rob the older man before fleeing his apartment. It’s no surprise that Armando doesn’t report the incident to the police and silently stomachs the injuries he suffered. Things get interesting, however, when he seeks out Elder again and, without a hint of anger or fear, willingly offers to pay this violent, unreliable person a second time, thereby setting in motion a chain of events none of them could have expected.            

Written with a forthrightness that cuts through caution and shame, the screenplay allows a highly unconventional relationship to run its course. The two main characters are anything but sanitized, amply demonstrating their least appealing qualities while trapped in some desolate far reaches of the human psyche. There are no labels put on the many emotional gray areas they go through. Instead, we simply witness how out of an animalistic, mutually exploitative arrangement grows something approaching tenderness, which in turn triggers reactions in both of them as subtle as they are devastating. Through it all, Vigas’ writing remains non-judgmental and keenly observant. He doesn’t attempt to explain everything with words, but the raw honesty of his voice compels every step along the way.

Vigas the director also knows to keep the ambiguity alive, playing with composition, depth and distance in a way that emphasizes the gap between the protagonists. Armando is often seen from the back, looking out onto a pool of potential prey, his estranged, supposedly abusive father, or just this mysterious boy who might be sleeping right in front of him, yet could not be more remote, heartbreakingly unknowable. In the scene where Elder first introduces Armando to his family and friends at a dance, the camera traces the wondering looks of different parties from across the floor, communicating with little verbal help a tension simmering in the room as curiosity, attraction, jealousy and everything in between slowly take control. Like the rest of the film, the staging here is economical, the styling modest, but the immediacy and effectiveness of the visual language are unmistakable.  

Both leads are excellent. After a brilliant turn as a pedophile priest in Pablo Larraín’s Berlinale-winner El Club (The Club) earlier this year, Castro dazzles again with the complex portrayal of someone harboring a secret. Restrained, alert, camouflaged by an exterior of prudence and indifference but desperate from a mind coarsened beyond repair, Armando is an exceptional creation that repulses, captivates and mystifies. On paper it would take some persuasion to buy a character of such contradictions and obscure motivations, but Castro’s face, at times hardened by despair, at others softened by longing, informs you so much of a chronically lonely person that, on an intuitive level, everything falls into place. Newcomer Silva brings an unpolished explosiveness to the picture, which plays off Castro’s calculated placidity tremendously.    

Powered by a sea of suppressed, unreciprocated feelings, From Afar beautifully describes the mechanisms of desire in what begins as an almost-love story that ends up something tragically different. It might not be the most ambitious or technically achieved film of the Venice competition line-up this year, but it certainly cuts closest to heart, leaving behind the most jagged tear.

Roundtable interview: Pablo Trapero (El Clan (The Clan))

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

This movie is the biggest commercial hit of your career so far. Did you consciously try to broaden your audience?

No I wasn’t thinking of that. I’d love to have a broader audience, but when I was trying to make this film - and I’d been trying for seven years since starting to write and work on it in 2007 - people were telling me: “Pablo, not one of these films again. You should do a comedy” etc. The truth is you never know when or how a movie is going to do well with the public. I’m happy and thankful that this film got made because it’s not easy, it’s not a franchise film.

Can you talk about the relevance of this film for Argentina today?

Well, in any film I made, I tried to only talk about something specific. You can’t talk about the world or your country because it’s too big a theme. To me it seems like you can only talk about a couple of people, and that’s always been my goal. With White Elephant, it’s not about the Church but the main character’s dilemma. In my first film Crane World it’s about a guy trying to find a job. For me, it’s actually easier to make something universal this way. I mean, there’s no other case like the Puccio family in Argentina. That’s one of the things that struck me when I started doing research. In the end, it’s a story about a father and a son. The crime aspect, how they pulled off the kidnaps etc, aren’t really the core of the film. Of course when you see the film you see it’s based on a true case, and things really happened more or less like that as far as we know. We reenacted everything as closely as our research allowed. But at the end of the day, it’s more about how this family works from within. It was a normal family after all: the mother was a teacher, Arquímedes was an accountant, their son Alex is a star rugby player. Everyone was integrated in the society. When you first hear about this story, you’d imagine a freak family but in reality that’s not the case at all.

Did the Puccio’s neighbors really never notice anything?

That is strange but it’s true. Maybe some of them knew but they refused to believe it. When the whole thing finally blew up, the neighbors were actually most skeptical, they thought it was a mistake, that these people are victims of a bigger complot or something. It took years for them to accept that it was for real. It says a lot about humanity. You have it right in front of your face and you pretend it’s not happening. So you can put the film in today’s context – it’s about how people face reality, the hypocrisy of it.

Did you talk to many people involved in those crimes?

Yes, well as much as we could. The Puccio family didn’t want to talk to us but we talked to the victims’ families, we talked with lawyers, judges, journalists who have covered the case and the neighbors.

Why did you specify at the start of the film the change of political regimes in Argentina at the time the story took place?

Well, the family had actually been doing the kidnapping for years. But in 1985, the system changed. Many people like Arquímedes, they were befriended with the shadow forces during or even before the dictatorship. It was the new democratic government after 1983 that finally passed judgment on the corrupt military. Otherwise, Puccio might still be there today.

The film suggested that Arquímedes was disillusioned by the politics from that time. Do you think that also played a part in why he did what he did?

It’s a clue but it’s not conclusive. It’s like a symptom. Every crime, in general, says something about that society. I didn’t intend to explain everything so clearly for the audience to understand everything. This is not a documentary or the Discovery Channel, it’s a movie. So if someone wants to get to the bottom of things, they should go and do their own research.

Can you talk about the casting of the movie, especially in the case of Arquímedes?

One of the most interesting parts of making this movie was the recreation of the characters with the actors. When you’re telling the story of a real person, you have all these references and pictures to go on, so we spent a lot of time on that. If you’ve met Guillermo Francella you’d know, he has nothing to do with Arquímedes. He’s the biggest comedy guy in Argentina. He’s huge, the biggest guy you can have for a comedy. And I asked him to do this part! I wasn’t sure if he’d want to do it, because actors sometimes prefer to be safe, not alienated from the audience. But he said he loved it, let’s go for it. So we went through a very long process. We did a lot of physical tests with make-up etc. And it was a lot of work for him to change himself completely in order to play this part. But I mean, a great comedian has to be a great actor. I’m a big fan of Chaplin, for example. I think he’s the reason why I became a filmmaker.

Your choice of music in this film is very surprising, often not what you’d expect to hear in such a gritty crime drama. Can you tell us the reasoning behind that? 

It’s not easy to answer. A lot of movie-making decisions, at least in my case, are based on intuition. It’s hard to explain why. Mostly just things you think might work, but you never know if they will turn out to be big mistakes. I can tell you that I love the song Sunny Afternoon, and that’s the reason why I decided to use it. Also I think, even though this is a period movie, we shouldn’t only use songs from ’82, ’83. So we had some songs from outside the time period. Apart from that, it’s unbearable to see what these people do on screen. They’re just so brutal. So the music became a way to invite the audience to join the ride. And I mean the Puccios’ way of life was in a way crazy like that. The car in which Alex made love to the girl, they also used it for the kidnappings, and that is not fiction!      

Can you talk about the shocking last scene?

Well, it wasn’t in the first draft. All the other long takes, the scenes of the kidnapping etc. were all in the early drafts, because then you have the time to build the sets or find the places to do them. But the final shot, which we’re not going to say what happens, took months of preparation and then months of VFX work afterwards. In the end it’s very close to what actually happened. It’s literally like a ride.

Are you inspired by filmmakers who make artistically ambitious films that are entertaining at the same time?

We’re in Fellini’s land, what can I say? (laughter) I mean, again, Chaplin, Scorsese, these are the filmmakers that made me want to do what I do. They showed me that you can have all these things in the mix. Your films can be entertaining and also offer a chance for the audience to reflect, to think, to be touched. I personally like movies that change you in some way when you leave the theater. For me, the real relationship with a movie starts when it finishes.

Roundtable interview: Guillermo Francella / Peter Lanzani (El Clan (The Clan))

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

Did you have to learn to play rugby for this part? What else did you have to do for research? 

Lanzani: I love rugby, I started playing rugby when I was four years old. My father played rugby all his life. He’d played against my character Alex actually. My father was a friend of the second guy they kidnapped in 1983. So he could really tell me about a lot of things. He told me that Alex was an introvert, a sad guy who didn’t speak much with anyone. I also met with some of Alex’s friends who told me other things from which I could build this character. It’s a very difficult role to play. Alex has an inner duality. On the one hand, he knew what he was doing was wrong. On the other hand, he loved money and he couldn’t betray his family.

Many actors say playing the villain is more fun. Can playing someone like Arquímedes Puccio be fun?

Francella: It wasn’t fun at all. It was very stressful emotionally. The content of the film is difficult to digest. But as an actor I can say that it was a positive experience in the sense that I had to work a lot to get it right.

Was the Argentinian audience taken aback to see you, the biggest comedian, in this role?

Francella: The director and I worked a lot to make this character very different from what I am, so people don’t even recognize me on screen. And I didn’t mean just the physical transformation, but also how I changed my behavior completely to play the part. When I saw my eyes in the mirror, even I couldn’t recognize myself.

Johnny Depp wore special lenses to play the part of Whitey Bulger in Black Mass, which also premiered here in Venice. But yours are your own natural eyes, right?

Francella: Yes, I didn’t wear lenses. I had to practice not blinking though, and also this icy stare. It was the thing that we worked on the most actually.

Can you talk about how the experience was like working with a newcomer / veteran actor?

Francella: For me it was a great experience working with Peter. He’s an excellent actor and person. He’s still very young (25 years old) but he has respect for the profession.

Lanzani: I grew up with his work so I was a little intimidated. But he’s such a good person, it was nothing but a pleasure to work with him. Day by day I also learned a lot from him. He taught me to be a good man and a good actor. It was one of the best experiences of my life.
 
Did you stay in character during the shoot?

Lanzani: Well it depends on the situation. If it’s just a three-minute break, then it’s better to stay in character to be prepared for the scene. But we don’t do that all day long, because that’d be a little crazy.

Can you talk about shooting that final scene?

Lanzani: We’re not going to tell you how we did it! But yeah, it was a fun scene to shoot. Really difficult too, because it’s one long sequence with the same camera the whole time, during which my character goes through very different emotions. At first he’s sad and a bit lost, and then he was surprised to see his father, then came that smile on his face before he made the leap. It was a crazy scene. That scene and the scene in the jail are the most powerful scenes in the movie for me.

What has the success of the movie brought you personally?

Francella: Just the satisfaction of having made a good film that the people in Argentina like.

Lanzani: It’s a really nice thing. We spent like two months making this film and it was really tough for us. It’s like getting a hug when people like it and say nice things about it. In terms of my career, I don’t think it will change things too much, because this success is only temporary. Although It is good for people to know me from something other than TV.

Did you know about the story before the shoot?

Lanzani: Yes, people in Argentina know about the story. Guillermo used to be practically neighbors with the Puccios too.

Francella: Yes, I used to walk past their house. I just never thought crimes were being committed inside.    

How has the political context of that time affected you personally?

Francella: The time of the dictatorhip certainly affected us all a lot. But in the 70’s I was rather young, so I didn’t understand exactly what was going on. I just saw my parents carry on with their lives, go to work, and we never spoke about politics at home. At that time there was very little information available too.

Venice Film Festival: El Clan (The Clan)

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

Who says there’s no place for meaty, gritty thrillers at A-list film festivals? Argentinian director Pablo Trapero’s El Clan (The Clan) is exactly the kind of cross between high drama and genre exercise that should have no problem pleasing steak-eating critics and audiences everywhere. Perhaps not lofty enough in its aim and too gung-ho with its approach to win award favors, this is nonetheless a solid piece of storytelling served with just the right amount of sauce.

Based on true events from the 80’s, when Argentina was on the cusp of re-establishing democracy after years of dictatorship, the film is centered around the Puccio family under an authoritative, enigmatic patriarch Arquímedes (played by Guillermo Francella). The white-haired, physically unimposing man is a decorated government official, a reserved, soft-spoken man who sweeps the sidewalk and greets his neighbors. He spends a lot of time with his wife and children, takes obvious pride in his rugby star son Alex (Peter Lanzani). In a couple of celebratory party scenes, the unity and good cheers of this happy bunch would have you believe they’re the very definition of a model family. Well, that is if one overlooks the fact that they also kidnap and kill people on the side.

With the first abduction carried out even before the title card drops, it’s hardly a secret what really marks this clan. The depravity of the situation is later highlighted when Arquímedes is seen bringing food to the hostage imprisoned in their home, urging kids to come down for dinner along the way while muffled screams can be heard in the background. Notably, the script keeps several family members’ level of involvement in these crimes vague. In some cases, as with the either clueless or gullible daughters, the ambiguity weakens the dramatic impact somewhat on the day of reckoning. In others, however, it makes the character all the more fascinating. The mother of the house, Epifanía (played with wicked precision by Lili Popovich), for example, has such an unknowable moral compass you’re not only mystified by how she sleeps at night but simply can’t stop wondering about her.

Lanzani also does a respectable job conveying the inner tug-of-war of a young man trying to make his parents proud yet increasingly rattled by the cruelties he witnesses. Ultimately it’s Francella who owns the film, though. His portrayal of a manipulative, calculating, utterly cold-hearted monster is brilliant in its unassuming passivity. No evil laughs or any ticks and gimmicks, this is probably what someone would look like when conscience no longer plays a part in their decision-making and the only thing that gets them to lose their temper is an operation gone awry, the idea of failure. Planning and executing despicable crimes with the unperturbed dedication of a scholar or a monk, nothing but the stillness and absolute chill radiating from his reptilian eyes betrays an inkling of antisocial tendency. Seen against the backdrop of a country finding its way through painful adjustments, this performance carries enough weight to turn an intense personal and familial portrait into a reflection of the confused, restless, violent times.      

Known for hard-hitting social dramas like Leonera (Lion’s Den) (2008) or Elefante blanco (White Elephant) (2012), Trapero is not only in his natural habitat here but actually tops himself with daring, colorful directorial choices. Instead of remaining relentlessly grim, he allows more moments of levity to add a vitality to the proceedings and accentuate the perversity of the brutality described. Borrowing generously from genre conventions, he shoots a number of sequences with graceful fluidity and showmanship, while many of the most horrendous scenes are accompanied by soulful, laid-back or downright joyous tunes. It’s true that none of this is particularly groundbreaking and that, as hinted above, the limitations of a biographical film are still palpable towards the end, but the pure, visceral satisfaction of seeing an exciting story expertly told cannot be denied either.

El Club (The Club)

(Originally appeared in Film International on Mar. 26, 2015)

When "No" (2012) took the festival circuit by storm and eventually won a Best Foreign Language Film Oscar nomination some years back, there were probably a handful of us who remained unconvinced or even slightly mystified. The historical drama about the ad campaign that brought down Pinochet's military regime was certainly substantial, informative, ably told, but that all-decisive spark of genius, that masterful sense of ease or vitality might have been wanting. It's comforting and doubly exciting then, to see Chilean director Pablo Larraín return with a bona fide tour de force of a movie that delivers on all that promise so many saw in him.

Premiering at the Berlin Film Festival earlier this year, the ruthlessly dark and acidly funny film opens unspectacularly enough. We see a man playing with his dog on the beach as he keeps throwing a bait tied to a fishing rod around in wide circles, keeping it ever just out of reach of the eager but hopeless hound. We see the same man, joined by three other similarly inconspicuous, middle-aged to elderly compatriots and an unassuming woman, silently dining together. And we see them follow a dog race in town closely, albeit somewhat surreptitiously, where their well-trained pet does them proud and finishes first. All this is shown while the temporal setting is not clear, the location nondescript and the arrangement these people live by unexplained. Within the purplish, foggy first frames of the picture, which optically give the impression of being softly out of focus, everything seems still, routine, calmly resolved. Yet at the same time, the pacified appearances speak a disturbing oddness that can't quite be contained. In fact, it might just be the careful hush that gives it away.
     
The mystery of what's really at stake is temporarily kept alive with the arrival of Father Lazcano, a new addition to the "community". Some details do surface as rules of the house are relayed. We learn these are all clergymen and -woman. They must abide by a punishingly strict code of conduct which practically isolates them from the rest of world. It's obvious too that they don't enjoy any intrusion or attention, a fact made notable by the unannounced visit of a drunk drifter, whose mere presence and loud, unseemly accusations against the freshly settled Father Lazcano from outside the residence bring on tremendous distress inside. The movie essentially starts when the demanded confrontation ends in tragedy and another priest is sent down to investigate the incident.

Screenwriters Guillermo Calderón, Daniel Villalobos and Larraín himself are smart in their approach to telling a story about secrecy. In gradually, almost reluctantly revealing plot elements and character histories, the viewer is relegated to the role of a true outsider, constantly intrigued by but excluded from this group of five. We get to first spend time with these curiously blank faces, observe their tenuous, rarefied existence, experience them as human beings with their fair share of quirks and penchants- context-free, judgment-free. A moral dilemma is thus created when the icky background of how they ended up in this semi-self-imprisonment is introduced and, seeing this once so harmless-seeming bunch in a brand new light, one must decide whether or not and, indeed, how to side with them any longer.

The verbally explicit, tonally chameloeonic screenplay makes no apologies for its ridicule and attack of the Catholic Church, landing joke after joke about the backward thinking and perverted logic passed down over generations. At the same time it exposes the human devastation wreaked by such restrictive dogmas coupled with habitual lying to work up some palpable, righteous rage. By turns ironic and angry but always based on a solid, juicy plot which often can't be found among the lofty affairs shown at film festivals, this is highly satisfying auteur cinema with that exceptional audience appeal. When, in the final act, all the dirty laundry is laid bare and the dimension of potential disaster is made clear to the investigating priest, we get to watch first-hand how the survival instincts of a thousand-year-old institution click, sealing off every leaky opening and chopping down loose ends like a well-oiled machine. It's a stroke of brilliance in screenwriting that, paced like a thriller, brings the absurdity and wretchedness of the situation home. By letting the audience in on the rotten secret from within, it's also quietly saying: "Welcome to the club".

Larraín is a patient, wickedly skilled storyteller who knows he's got a great tale up his sleeves. While fully aware of the gravity of the subject matter, he dips into it deceptively light, facilitating an easier immersion in the particular circumstances and, in the process, allowing for a vivid, more open-minded look at the condemned. Instead of victimizing the perpetrators or trivializing the atrocities committed at their hands, however, this unsensationalistic, almost relaxed treatment uncovers the sick psychology behind the veil of holiness even more tellingly. For sure, overall the movie is not without its bumpy stretches, marked sometimes by a lone cello score that arguably lays it on too thick. But compared to "No", Larraín shows significantly boosted confidence and a playful dexterity here, drifting in and out of comedy, delighting with a blasphemously dry humor. Through this partly comic-like quality plus emphatic motifs and iconic visual cues, he also helps the movie obtain a fabulous, almost mythological air. This last achievement is of course not possible without the contribution of a superb team of actors, each bringing a distinct brand of unnameable peculiarity to the character ensemble. Among the many fine performers Alfredo Castro is fearlessly committed as the withdrawn, proudly repressed Father Vidal who now finds his life's purpose only in a greyhound. And Antonia Zegers gives the chillingly composed and resolute Sister Mónica the inner fire that makes her status as the guardian of the group believable.  

Unsurprisingly and entirely deservedly, the film won the Grand Jury Prize at this year's Berlinale. No doubt it will offend many people's sensitivities and it probably won't be Vatican's favorite movie of the year, but wherever one stands on the issue of systemized abuse within the Catholic Church, this is first and foremost an engaging and uniquely powerful cautionary tale about hiding, ignoring, self-deluding. It's about the terrible cost of concealing so much so long until, as a character says at one point, "you don't know who you're covering up for anymore."

Berlinale: El Club (The Club) / I Am Michael

(Originally appeared in EXBERLINER on Feb. 10, 2015)

Chilean director Pablo Larraín's dark and darkly comical competition entry "El Club (The Club)" is set in a seaside apartment that houses five clergymen and -woman. It's not immediately clear how this living arrangement came to be, although you do sense there's something off with this group of people who dine in silence and seem to have an uncommonly keen but carefully disguised interest in dog racing. With the arrival of a new priest who's determined to get to the bottom of a fatal incident that has transpired on their doorstep, all the dirty laundry hidden behind those walls finally comes to light.

This is a remarkable movie not only because of the all-around superb storytelling, but its pointed, ruthless indictment of the Catholic Church. Whether for the archaic dogmas, the countless acts of sexual transgression or just its habitual, firmly programmed tendency to cover things up, the Vatican is attacked, condemned, ridiculed on all fronts and no one from the church comes off clean. Through partly comedic portrayals, we see the absolute misery and psychological wretchedness in which people both sides of the altar live. And the accusatory, almost hopeless tone reaches its incendiary peak toward the end, when the figure seen as the conscience or even salvation of a rotten institution decides on a rather unexpected course of action. Suffice it to say this film is not going to win any favors with the Pope.          

The daringly confrontational stance aside, this is simply a wicked story expertly told. All major characters are vividly drawn. From someone so repressed as to project his need for attachment on a dog to another who's willing to risk everything to preserve what little sense of community and purpose there's left, these unfortunate souls are distinct, memorable creations that leap from the screen and linger in your imagination. The wonderful cast of actors including Alfredo Castro and Antonia Zegers swims in and out of parodic territory with ease and collectively makes this eerie, sad club feel even more iconic. That the deadpan humor would work so well in a film this heavy must be credited to Larraín, though. It's those unlikely touches of lightness that complement the tragic core of the story and take the whole film to another level.

Though not without its faults – the photography is occasionally underlit and the cello-dominated score gets a bit overbearing at times – "El Club (The Club)" wows with the force of its cinematic strokes and dares everyone to picture the horrible fates at play inside any ordinary-looking residence.

Screening in Panorama, American writer/director Justin Kelly's "I Am Michael" is also very much about sex and church, seeing that it's a biopic of gay activist-turned-Christian pastor Michael Glatze. Chronicling Glatze's life over a decade-long period, it tries to make sense of this drastic change, promising explosive material if done right.

The sad news is, then, that it's done not quite right. To begin with, the narrative is straightforward in an uninspired way, giving the impression of merely connecting the dots of the various landmarks in our protagonist's life. And the few times where the director actually breaks away from reenacting a biography to try some tricks, it doesn't have the desired effect. Instead these flashbacks or imaginary scenes expose an inexperienced hand behind the camera still looking for a style. The actors, including James Franco as Glatze, are passable, if never truly outstanding. Franco is mindful of not taking the theatrics too far, but one never has the feeling that he has shaken off his own skin to become somebody else. As his one-time partner Bennett, Zachary Quinto's performance is decidedly one-note and doesn't leave much of an impression at all.

What makes this film nonetheless interesting is, besides the unique personality at its center that's well worth knowing about, the fact that it manages to retain some level of political ambivalence regarding homosexuality. Strangely reminiscent of Clint Eastwood's "American Sniper", it could conceivably be interpreted as ideological munition for both the conservative and the liberal. It's not necessarily the anti-gay movie nor the anti-anti-gay movie. Exactly that flexibility of perspective hints at a tantalizing, if ultimately unrealized potential of creating someone complex and three-dimensional.      

Berlinale: Mariposa (Butterfly) / How to Win at Checkers (Every Time)

(Originally appeared in EXBERLINER on Feb. 8, 2015)

The Panorama section of the Berlin has always has a strong focus on LGBT films and this year's no exception. A sample of the Teddy contenders from the 2015-lineup reveals the interesting trend that sexually graphic portrayal of the gay lifestyle is no longer the mark of queer cinema. On the contrary, homosexuality is increasingly used as just another plot element to tell a story, drive a narrative.

First case in point is previous Teddy winner Marco Berger's "Mariposa (Butterfly)", a parallel-reality drama/romance that features a group of young people from rural Argentina in two sets of amorous constellations – as the extended consequences of an act of (non-)abandonment. A boy and a girl who would have ended up as adoptive siblings become strangers in a separate/imagined universe and are thus free to pursue their desire for one another. This deviation leads to a chain reaction where friends, acquaintances all inhabit a different version of themselves and their game of hearts finds a whole new outcome – or will it?

In short, it's a "Sliding Doors" / "The Butterfly Effect" revisit, only with a homosexual angle. In comparison to Berger's "Ausente (Absence)" or "Hawaii", however, that aspect is significantly toned down here. Although there are still unmistakably homo-eroticized scenes and one might argue the playful, sexually easygoing, somewhat fatalistic tone is altogether gay-friendly, the curiosity and attraction between two male characters is treated here as no more than one facet of a larger plot construct. In so doing, lust, whether hetero, homo, bisexual or even semi-incestuous, all gets its share of attention and a kind of stigma is quietly lifted.

On a technical level, the editing of the film is obviously of vital importance and it didn't disappoint. After a pretty rough start, where the constant switching between the two storylines gets a little mundane, the cuts get ever more confident and inventive, letting the alternative narrative pick up at unexpected places. The direction is also effective, especially in those many moments of tingling uncertainty. So even though the film's ultimately a rather pointless exercise in imagination, at its laziest it's a lot of harmless, flirty fun.

Hailing from Thailand, writer/director Josh Kim makes his feature debut with "How to Win at Checkers (Every Time)", a coming-of-age drama centered around 11-year-old boy Oat. Growing up parent-less, he's dependent on big brother Ek, who's the very symbol of worldliness and competence to his young eyes. As the date for the military draft lottery draws near and Ek faces a real possibility of having to leave home to serve, however, Oat learns not only about the fragility of his lifelong protector/idol, but also the dirty, disappointing workings of the adult world.

Once again, the homosexual element of the story is prominent but not zealously harped upon. The fact that Ek has a (rich) boyfriend and one of their best pals, Kitty, is a transgender person is taken as a given, enacted without much fanfare. Plot details such as Kitty's special treatment at the military draft lottery do inform one of Thailand's liberal awareness regarding sexuality. But that's also used mainly as general backdrop and not a focal point of the story. The film concentrates instead on the relationship between the two brothers and the loss of innocence that would shape the character of a child.

As refreshing as the normalcy afforded to homosexuality is, this movie comes up short in most technical aspects. The cinematography is patchy. Aside from the overall warm, pinkish-earthy tone of the imagery, the camera operation is less-than-inspired. Both the editing and the acting are rough, unable to shake the cartoonish out of the funny or find a more fluid rhythm. That said, the subject matter is well chosen and, at a festival with all kinds of high-minded auteur works, something that wears the heart on its sleeves like this actually offers a welcomed respite.    

Berlinale: Sangue Azul (Blue Blood)

(Originally appeared in EXBERLINER on Feb. 5, 2015)

The selection of the opening film is a tricky thing at any film festival. You want established names to give the choice credibility, you want stars to up the glamour factor and media exposure, you want to set the tone for the entire upcoming program or you want to put your name behind a new discovery that you could later claim to have found first. Juggling all these demands is no easy task and lost in the shuffle is often the one crucial criterion – quality.

The Berlinale is no stranger to this dilemma, and that includes its premier sidebar section Panorama, whose opening night film is afforded a similar spotlight of exclusivity. For the past two years in a row, this dubious honor has gone to films ("Nước (2030)" from Vietnam & "Chemi Sabnis Naketsi (A Fold in My Blanket)" from Georgia) which turned out to be only sporadically brilliant offerings that barely made a dent in world cinema subsequently. A better fate probably awaits this year's opener, "Sangue Azul (Blue Blood)", seeing that it has already won top prizes at the Rio de Janeiro International Film Festival back in 2014.

To be fair, this island-set family drama is certainly gorgeous to look at. Starting out in black and white, we accompany a travelling circus as it arrives and sets up camp on the beach. Images of sturdy men hard at work splashed across the screen against billowing classical music, it's unabashed old-timer romanticism that casts an instant spell. The visual allure of the picture holds after colors take over and we're treated to the dazzling blue, bronze, emerald of the Brazilian seashore. Add to that any number of intricate, hypnotic circus acts or just scenes featuring attractive people in seductive dances, and you have two optically striking, effortlessly sensual hours.

That said, the narrative gets looser and looser as the movie goes on. The four chapters (plus epilogue) don't really give the story structure and soon you find yourself asking just why is everybody becoming so restless/anguished/unhinged. Director Lírio Ferreira is no doubt an artist of sights and sounds, but his attempts at communicating the inner void, buried emotions and desperate struggles of the characters are dramatic without being expressive. Playing brother and sister with unresolved feelings for each other, Daniel de Oliveira and Caroline Abras have sex appeal in spades but are otherwise not particularly convincing performers.

Ultimately this is a justifiable, if underwhelming opening film that promises lots of exoticism and feasts of the senses ahead. Whether or not this year's Panorama program can make good on that promise we'll soon find out.

Relatos salvajes (Wild Tales)

Argentinian writer/director Damián Szifrón's "Relatos salvajes (Wild Tales)" is composed of six separate short stories, including one wicked pre-credits intro. Although their limited scope denies them the broader, more lingering impact a continuous, full-fledged narrative probably would have, the individual tales of revenge, greed, irrationality and outbreaks are all entertaining in a delightfully macabre fashion.

At its least effective, the plotting can be a bit too simplistic to stir up true excitement, as in the case of the nice engineer being pushed over the edge by the relentless car-towing of Buenos Aires. But even then, among the cartoonishly reduced twists of events that just keep stacking up against the luckless hero, a very human core can be found which sees the tiny injustices in life that could make anyone tick. This strength in the recognition of weaknesses in all of us is applied brilliantly, say, in the episode involving road rage. Just two characters on a deserted strip of land where a fateful encounter that begins with harmless taunts ends in a deadly embrace. Written with great insight into the often infantile ways of the mind and a sense of humor so sinister it would make Tarantino proud, the escalation of the situation to unstoppably murderous heights is described in one breathtaking swoop that's both intense and tremendously funny. Also perversely comical is the concluding chapter about a wedding reception that goes horribly wrong. Furiously directed and beautifully acted, it depicts with frightening relatability how there's no turning back once something snaps in you and judgment, civility, self-control are just gone like that, The director plays with contradicting tones throughout but here he really pulls off that rare feat where, amid the blood stains, glass splinters, cake remnants, between all the gasps, sobs, stunned silence, a scene so absurd and unpredictable unfolds you see nothing but humanity in it.

Technical aspects are solid. Art direction stands out in the deli section with every surface doused in ghastly, angrily primal colors. Cinematography is likewise impressive, most notably in the last story, where an emotionally complex dance and an intervening rooftop conversation are filmed with eye-catching flourish. Ultimately it's the idea of uncovering our animalistic instincts beneath the wrappings of cultivation that's the most interesting about this movie though. With some theatricality and a lot of perceptiveness, it shows you how, both sadly and amusingly, we're all nothing but mammals.        

Short takes

Brazilian director Paulo Morelli's "Entre nós (Sheep's Clothing)" is a relationship drama in thriller packaging which fails to be either dramatic or thrilling. Centered around a group of friends who meet again to dig up the time capsule they buried ten years ago- just before one of them died in a car accident- the plot is messy, fatally unfocused. Not content with just exploring the moral dilemma of someone living off the theft of a dead buddy, it tries to spice things up with sexual tension between every other combination among the protagonists. The result is something utterly, at times laughably implausible. Not helping matters is the overzealous film score with its obvious, exaggerated emotional cues, which reaches a low in one absurd scene of desperate intercourse on a swing set. The amber-ish translucent cinematography delivers some lovely, advert-ready imagery of the leafy valley in São Chico but it's not nearly enough to save the narrative mediocrity crushed by its own blind pursuits.      

Neither Victorian classical nor fashionably contemporized, "Mr. Turner" is a peculiar film to consider. Chronicling the life of famed 18th century marine painter J.M.W. Turner, it follows no conventional biopic trajectory and depicts the various dealings of its protagonist in a fairly loose structure. But while there are dry patches during the rather lavish 150-min running time, for the most part it remains an absorbing, inexplicably magnetic experience. Once again, British maestro Mike Leigh puts his uncommon gift of capturing the humor and profundity of the everyday to use. How he coaxes a thoroughly foreign, ancient type of quirk out of interactions from a bygone era is remarkable. The cast is also superb, not just Timothy Spall as the cruel, passionate Turner, but also Dorothy Atkinson as his meek housekeeper, Marion Bailey as his loving final companion along with other memorable guest appearances. The golden cinematography is often beautiful but the curious score rising like a constant question mark is perhaps even more impressive.

British director Matthew Warchus' "Pride" is traditional storytelling of the tidiest kind: identifiable hardships, uncomfortable confrontations and painful setbacks lead ultimately, unerringly to a triumphant, heart-warming finale. To cover the many aspects of the unlikely alliance in mid-80's England between Welsh miners and the London gay community, the well-meaning script can feel quite abbreviated and formulaic, with reconciliations too easily facilitated and changes of mind not convincingly mapped. That said, the message of solidarity is nothing if not inspiring and the direction is familiar but undeniably sturdy. Together they bring about this highly infectious burst of joyous, righteous convictions which culminates in an expectedly but nonetheless powerfully moving ending. Technical details are fine with some notable retro costume design. The whole cast is delightful, especially the mighty Imelda Staunton, who, as a tiny but unstoppable ball of energy, gives common decency a necessary, unapologetically loud voice.

The Rio-set kidnapping thriller "O Lobo atrás da Porta (A Wolf at the Door)" is all kinds of exciting until that stupendously crude ending. While the disappearance of a child seems to be cleared up just 5 minutes into the film, it's all but the beginning of a twisted tale of infidelity, lies, jealousy and abuse. Brazilian writer/director Fernando Coimbra shows tremendous promise as a stylish, engrossing storyteller. By way of contradictory narratives offered from different perspectives, he gives what's portrayed on screen a jagged, unsettling edge of unreliability. And despite the less-than-crystalline picture quality, the handheld camera is always positioned at bold, suggestive angles or in oppressively close proximity to the action to keep a smothering grip on the viewer's imagination. Lead actress Leandra Leal plays flirty, petrified and brutalized to great effect, making it doubly frustrating that the film should wrap on such an emptily violent note, spoiling expectations of an appropriately surprising release from all the suspense.

Filmfest Hamburg: Club Sándwich

Mexican writer/director Fernando Eimbcke's mother-son relationship dramedy "Club Sándwich" feels like a short film not only because it barely squeezes past the 80-minute mark, but also because of the singularity of its focus and the intimacy of its setting. The logistical limitations notwithstanding, it's hard not to be charmed by something which stokes such genuine emotions with empathy, humor and sweetness to spare.

Smartly choosing a holiday resort in off-season as location, there's a strong sense of place to the movie. Whether tanning by the pool or having room service in their beds, you're keenly aware of the isolation of these two vacationers, stranded in a paradise of brilliant boredom with only the company of the other. And while the mom is having the time of her life spending day and night with her favorite guy, you get the idea the milky, chubby son just hitting puberty is getting restless underneath his still babyishly perfect skin. Everything changes, of course, when the girl enters the picture.

Like a coming-of-age story told from dual perspectives, this film is as much about the boy's discovery of sexuality and independence as about his mother's devastating realization that they'll soon be two instead of one. Written with an observant eye and great sympathy at heart, the screenplay is peppered with authentic, adorable details first establishing the well-oiled, self-sustaining partnership of this single-parent-only-child duo, then cracking that exclusive bond ever wider open with the arrival of the pretty young thing. A game of punishment late in the film where the older woman tries with infantile desperation to yank the attention of her son away from this other, suddenly infinitely more interesting person is so endearingly pathetic you can hardly bear to watch.

Lucio Giménez Cacho plays the teenager on the cusp of adulthood with appropriate impassivity. It's the occasional little gestures of curiosity or rapture that betray the hormones at work behind that mask of cool nonchalance. María Renée Prudencio is very affecting as the jealous-turned-despairing mother unprepared to watch her most prized possession drift away. A scene near the end where she goes to buy chips by herself will probably break the heart of every mom in the world.

Altogether the movie still gives the impression of being slight and unfinished, but as a yearnful, melancholic mood piece it is really quite lovely.

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.

Filmfest München: Pelo malo (Bad Hair)

It takes a while before the Venezuelan youth drama "Pelo malo (Bad Hair)" gets to its point and the way it concludes feels more like a hesitant, anticipatory semicolon than a solid period. Even then, the narrative wanders a little between two ends, never quite focusing on one course. It's safe to say the movie's not the most compact, concentrated effort out there.

That said, by building her film around a nine-year-old boy who's bent on straightening his unruly curly hair for a school photo shoot, writer/director Mariana Rondón has found a beautiful angle to look at gender roles in today's Latin America. More directly concerned with sexuality of prepubescents than, say, "Billy Elliot", it examines those identity-defining moments in life where one's first confronted with attraction, and those are, needless to say, quietly volcanic moments. Convincingly written and gently played by Samuel Lange Zambrano, the film instantly gains a clarity and an edge when it deals with such precious, mysterious, terrifying episodes where a young person learns more about himself and grows further away from innocence.

Other than that, being a Latino film, a celebratory joie de vivre cannot miss. Though it's decidedly held back overall, there's one musical number in the movie featuring a grandma singing and dancing with her grandson. And the minute mouths are opened and bodies start swaying, it's just all second nature to them and cinematic fireworks for us.

Short takes

"Tracks" chronicles one girl's journey through the vast expanse of the Australian outback with four camels and a dog. It's easy to like since the concept behind it about men versus nature is graceful in its simplicity and the movie itself is competently made throughout. The photography is unsurprisingly gorgeous, capturing the barrenness of the desert and the translucence of the ocean in all their grandeur and purity the beauty feels holy sometimes. As a dramatic feature it's rather undercooked, though, limited in its ability to surprise and move by the trappings of a real-life story. The challenges along the road are all more or less forseeable and none of director John Curran's attempts at developing an emotional association with the protagonist, whether from the angles of a love interest, a loyal pet or a troubled past, has the needed space to brew.

"Neighbors" by Nicholas Stoller has a premise that shouts comedic potential but never really delivers on that promise. The script lacks fluency and in its haste to pack gags and retain a shred of emotional relatability somehow misses both the anarchic outrageousness and the tender core it aims for. Even with a brisk running time of 96 minutes, the jokes often feel repetitive or forced. All the major cast members have their moment to shine but none is consistently good. Faring especially poorly is Seth Rogen, who has rarely tried this hard and come off so obnoxious on the big screen. The talented Rose Byrne is mostly wasted in her flustered efforts to catch up with Rogen's obvious, excessive improvisation. And Zac Efron is just not very funny. That the movie gets stolen by a dialogue-less infant says a lot about the quality of the material.

"Reaching for the Moon" tells the romance between famed American poet Elizabeth Bishop and Brazilian architect Lota de Macedo Soares in by-the-book biopic format, with all the ups and downs pretty much mapped out from start to finish. Director Bruno Barreto hardly ever tries anything remotely innovative, so while the two-hour film flows by smoothly enough, it also remains resolutely unremarkable. Technical aspects are uneven. Best in show is the diverse, subtle costume design while the original score is constanttly overwrought, adding unnecessarily sentimental notes to an already soapy narrative. Lead actress Glória Pires has charisma to spare but is rarely given worthy lines to deliver. Views of Rio de Janeiro's sweeping coastline and Samambai's lush ridges offer welcome respites from the stupor of melodrama.

"The Selfish Giant" is the kind of movie to watch when one's feeling a little too comfy in their blessedly unchallenged existence. Set around an impoverished community in rural England, it's about people who have not known one easy day in their life. Through lucid lensing that communicates a depressing urgency and puts the ugliness of it all in striking focus, writer/director Clio Barnard hits that gritty note from the get-go and never strays. With sober, compact language, verbal or visual, she takes you to a place and time that feels awfully real. Child actor Conner Chapman is so well-versed in the calloused language of the abused and so practiced in the expressions of the perpetually disappointed it's heartbreaking to watch. Not terribly original but authentic to a fault, this movie is a powerful, relentlessly bleak dose of social realism.

Berlinale: En du elsker (Someone You Love) / Praia do futuro

Danish family drama "En du elsker (Someone You Love)" is built on a fairly formulaic set-up and ends with an extra helping of kitsch, but the experience of watching it turns out to be a surprisingly painless one and actually quite moving here and there. Principal reason for that is the quality of the performances, which are individually fantastic and collectively winning. Playing an aged musician caught up by his own past when confronted with a grandson, Mikael Persbrandt is effortlessly riveting. Just taking a look at his face, open, weary like an antique map with entire histories etched on it, and you'd be ready to buy his character's professional cynicism, trained callousness and chronic commitment-phobia right off the bat. His every move and pause carry with them an invisible weight that instantly captivates.The same can be said of both supporting players, Trine Dyrholm and Sofus Rønnov. The former brings her usual tranquility and down-to-earth appeal to the part of the veteran music producer while the latter shows a remarkable level of concentration and composure in many stare-downs with his estranged granddad. Thanks to the collaboration of these gifted, fearless performers, as well as the mostly unfussy, perceptive direction from helmer Pernille Fischer Christensen, there are next to no squirm-worthy moments in a film that could have gone Schweiger in so many ways.

Brazilian-German competition entry "Praia do futuro", about the romance between a Brazilian lifeguard and a German motorcycle racer, starts off slowly and never quite picks up speed. Most of the movie is dedicated to scenes of casual acts that are not very expressive of an inner drive or inarticulate conversations that don't really go anywhere. In fact, the two unhappy lovers spend much of their screen time establishing that they have nothing to do in the hometown of the other. That nothingness certainly comes across. In the third act, when the younger brother with abandonment issues shows up, there are finally signs of dramatic potential but the promise of sparks soon tapers off as more wrong questions are asked and non-answers given. Writer/director Karim Aïnouz has serious problems communicating what he's trying to say, both visually and especially verbally. In the end, that dull opacity and sluggish passivity leave one cold. The cinematography, while not exactly outstanding, is easily the most striking feature of the film. That final shot, following two motorbikes as they glide and swerve through a mystic fog with oiled, noiseless agility, is gorgeous and poignant like few others from all the 100 preceding minutes.

Berlinale: Aloft / Hoje eu quero voltar sozinho (The Way He Looks)

Peruvian writer/director Claudia Llosa's follow-up to her Golden Bear-winning "La teta asustada (The Milk of Sorrow)", "Aloft", is a serenely told, well acted, and, depending on your acceptance level of high-minded tales of forgiveness with an element of supernatural healing powers, affecting familial drama about guilt and salvation. Like all films dealing with manifestly spiritual subject matters, it walks a very fine line between the inspirational and the ludicrous. In this case, I'm willing to give Llosa a pass for being just this side of ridiculous, mostly because she has assembled a cast of actors that brings genuine emotions and compelling presence to the table. Mélanie Laurent is as dependable as always playing the disarming outsider with an unforeseen side of fragility, Cillian Murphy reminds us how forceful and convincing he can be even without cosmetic deformation or creepy accents. Jennifer Connelly does what she does best here, all soulful stares, tear-streaked daze and otherworldly aura. Unfolding in a slightly cheesy parallel structure, the movie itself cannot be called clever for its writing or original in the narrative, but the performances elevate it above melodramatic sappiness so you leave afterwards with a taste in your mouth that's probably nothing new or exciting but also not terribly disagreeable either.

The signs of inexperience and the strains of a streamlined, sugarcoated ending show in the second half of "Hoje eu quero voltar sozinho (The Way He Looks)", a Brazilian teenage dramedy about a blind schoolboy discovering sexuality and falling in love. But the first half of this impossibly sweet movie is a pitch-perfect celebration of the joys, doubts, fears and heartbreaks of adolescence that tip us into adulthood. Writer/director Daniel Ribeiro achieves the miraculous feat of capturing on film the most deeply personal yet universally relatable feelings of longing, vulnerability, anticipation, and that leap of the heart caused by the lightest brush against someone special. And it's all absolute fireworks. His screenplay is a marvel of empathy and the way he directs, traceless and organic, makes you forget there's a camera rolling. That he chooses to tell this story with a protagonist who can't see is a great touch in that the blindness of attraction and the terror of crossing into the unknown could find both literal and metaphorical expression. The three lead actors have wonderful chemistry together, the familiarity with which they interact with one another is the priceless ingredient to a successful depiction of romance. Otherwise the cinematography is blissfully sun-drenched and the soundtrack delightfully put together. All in all, a breezily enjoyable ride with a youthful beat.  .

Berlinale: 那夜凌晨，我坐上了旺角開往大埔的紅van (The Midnight After) / Historia del miedo (History of Fear)

Hong Kong sci-fi /horror comedy "那夜凌晨，我坐上了旺角開往大埔的紅van (The Midnight After)" is overlong and doesn't quite know how to wrap things up in a disorderly third act. The tricky note of creepy hilarity is not always struck perfectly, partly due to the uneven acting, the spotty dialogue dub and the music that's used a bit too heavy-handedly now and then. However, for a good chunk of time, the magic is there: a deliciously evil plot with a familiar but nonetheless irresistible hook, colorful characters carefully arranged in a constellation of surprise, marvelous veteran actors like 林雪 (Suet Lam), 任達華 (Simon Yam), 惠英紅 (Kara Hui) who can be relied upon to deliver their wicked lines with utmost precision at pivotal moments, and above all the zealous, unbridled commitment of director 陳果 (Fruit Chan) to scare and entertain. For well over an hour these pieces are in place and the devilishly funny movie hits that sweet spot time and again, hard. On a technical level, the cinematography is probably too polished for its own sake but the production design and the visual effects are ace- seeing one of the most densely populated areas of the world completely deserted is just so wrong in all the right ways.

Up until its very last 15 minutes or so, Argentinian competition entry "Historia del miedo (History of Fear)" consists almost exclusively of scenes where unrelated people do chores, play pranks, idle or be otherwise occupied, all with a wooden look on their face and never giving any hint at possible connections between the activities or why we should even care. Worse still, the scenes depicting these largely unknown characters carrying out tremendously unexciting tasks are often cut off mid-action, again without warning or explanation. The utter plotlessness and an overwhelming sense of pointlessness make watching the film a vastly trying experience. Starting with the late dinner scene with an- again, completely out-of-the-blue- game proposal, writer/director Benjamin Naishtat finally displays at least an inkling of interest in building something substantial, and in those ending moments one could vaguely sense the promise of tension or harm, but then it just concludes in yet another limp question mark. One must ask what such an underdeveloped, pretentious, stylistically anemic film is doing at the Berlinale at all, let alone in competition.        

Short takes

"I Used to Be Darker" is obviously made by someone very creative. It features wonderful musical performances and is, with bouncy colors leaping at you everywhere, never bad to look at. But even with a compact length of 90 minutes there's not nearly enough material to frame and underpin that scattered prettiness. Instead, the movie drifts along between the songs devoid of a narrative hook and what few actual plot points there are, are characterized by an inconsequential triviality so one never feels quite engaged on any intellectual level. Director Matthew Porterfield has an eye for catching the vibe and seductive aliveness of youth with his lens but fails at telling a story through it. Ned Oldham and especially Kim Taylor are much better singers than actors, commanding your attention effortlessly with their distinctive voice but missing here and there when something needs to be communicated through expressions or body language. Like its catchy title, the movie looks and sounds cool but doesn't really mean anything.

"Le Week-end" by British director Roger Michell touches on surprisingly heavy subjects in an otherwise comedic setting and gets lost now and then in some turbulent emotional shuffles. The script by Hanif Kureishi dares to recreate the mysterious, ever-elusive tapestry of sadness and elation that's called life, and is responsible for the admirably eloquent, if not always convincing words pouring out of the characters. The narrative imperfections and tonal imbalances notwithstanding, in the end it's hard not to be won over by this aggressively charming little movie with a lot to say. As a husband too smart for his own good and a wife too "attuned to her unhappiness", Jim Broadbend and Lindsay Duncan are impeccably cast and both give performances that are alternately breezy, cold, endearing, cruel, unfailingly captivating. Jeff Goldblum is also delightful in a lively supporting role, complementing the changing couple dynamics in all the right ways. Shot in frustratingly beautiful Paris with a dash of drunken jazz, the film might not hit all the marks with the intended symphony and intensity, but there's no end to its loveliness.

"The Immigrant" is an astonishing mess considering the talents involved. The story of a polish immigrant caught between two American cousins with dubious intentions while she tries to rescue her sister from deportation is not so much ludicrous as it is awfully ill-developed. Plot lines swim in and out of focus pretty arbitrarily, none of which quite carries the narrative potential or emotional heft needed for a feature film. The feelings of mistrust, hatred, attachment even sympathy between the three main characters are probably kept intentionally ambivalent by director James Gray but it does nothing to help give this movie shape or substance. There are some nice 1920's set pieces and serenely composed shots like the final frame, but the way they're used feels repetitive and the somberly waxy color palette tends to bore after a while. Marion Cotillard and Joaquin Phoenix both show occasional bursts of brilliance in their portrayal but the quality of the performances is nowhere near consistent. The ineffective, distracting score sounds out of place throughout.

"No se aceptan devoluciones (Instructions Not Included)" starts off promisingly enough, borrowing an admittedly formulaic storyline of the playboy father suddenly confronted with responsibility in the form of a child but sprinkling it with splashes of Mexican tropical flair and an organic humor thanks to the earnest deadpan of lead actor Eugenio Derbez. But the cliches that just keep coming soon catch up on all that goodwill, sucking away the last bit of plausibility and killing the sweetness irrevocably despite the relentless, slightly exaggerated sense of innocence shouting from the fairytale color schemes. Derbez, who also made his feature film directorial debut with this movie, keeps things going at a brisk pace and shows good timing in the first act, but then loses sight of the big picture when he tries to balance the comedy with an illogical custody drama that feels forced the entire time, and finally just drowns in way too much mush. The cast beside himself isn't very good, which contributes strongly to the feeling of TV soap in some emotional scenes.

Short takes

"Una noche" is somewhat simplistically written and the acting isn't top-notch but boy does this thing look pretty. The emerald of the Caribbean Sea, the sapphire of the Cuban sky and the dusty sparkle of the wide, dilapidated, breathtaking expanse that is Havana are doused here in a kind of sunshine so generous, brilliant, furiously sexy that's just unseen anywhere else in the world. Watching it, you can feel the colors and vibrancy blaze off the screen and it's electrifying. Even though the movie loses quite a bit of steam in the second half, feature film debut writer/director Lucy Mulloy shows great instincts by the portrayal of adolescent angst and all the uncontainable urges of youth. Music-wise, the cello-centric score can be a downer sometimes but whenever anybody opens their mouth to sing, it's like getting your soul massaged by those sticky Spanish syllables. In short, a feat for the eyes and ears, and for all its faults, this movie is so alive like few others in this past year.

"Disconnect" is an embarrassingly transparent "Crash"-wannabe so you know it's not aiming too high to begin with. But then writer Andrew Stern and director Henry Alex Rubin go on to tell their unbearably solemn, moralistic tale with such stupendously broad and coarse strokes, indicting every one of their witless, humorless characters and probably even the audience members for some sketchy offense, that the resulting film makes Paul Haggis' blunt, sappy Oscar-winner look like a masterpiece of tact. Atrociously written without an inkling of the challenges in finding a connection in an age of ceaseless communication, poorly acted and loudly directed, this is not just an all-out cringe-fest, but an assault on the senses and a crime against human intellect- hands down the worst movie of the year (and I say that as someone who has sat through "Grown Ups 2", "血滴子 (The Guillotines)" and "Kokowääh 2").

"O Som ao Redor (Neighboring Sounds)" is an obscurely intriguing, technically refined but ultimately unsatisfying film. Revolving around several households in an affluent Brazilian residential area, it deals with such subjects as the ruthless economic gaps left behind and the collective memories wiped out for the sake of redevelopment, albeit in a stealth, almost cryptic way. Director Kleber Mendonça Filho has a knack for delivering striking images with distinct framing and bold color choices. The aural design of the film is even more accomplished, integrating the lush sea breeze, the vaguely disturbing street noise, the untraceable thudding of a restless city into a carefully constructed urban soundscape that's dramatic in and of itself. The story proves too abstract and shapeless though to back up the many hints and teases, leaving one craving for more substance, more answers to questions the filmmaker doesn't even bother to ask.

"Concussion" rides on the strength of a rounded, nuanced lead performance by Robin Weigert, who plays the middle-aged lesbian mother-turned professional call girl with equal amounts of seduction, self-assurance and sympathy it's hard not to side with her. Compared with the similarly themed "Jeune et jolie", however, and it's clear the very American approach and aesthetic of debut writer/director Stacie Passon can't quite get the mystifying pull, the impenetrable mechanism of sexuality across like the French film does. Which is why when it fails to provide compelling motivations for such drastic changes in life, the movie doesn't entice with the blanks to fill but registers as underwritten, creatively limited. Tech details shine a pristine indie quality that helps create an intimate atmosphere but nothing truly stands out.