Berlinale: Mr. Holmes / Angelica

(Originally appeared in EXBERLINER on Feb. 9, 2015)

As part of the official Competition lineup but screening out of competition, "Mr. Holmes" tells the story of the world's most famous detective fighting against senility and trying to restore the truth about a case that had eventually sent him into retirement.

The plot is richly layered and carefully structured. Starting from present England, where Holmes, now 93, is a grumpy, testy old man living in a countryside house no longer bothered by other people's problems. It soon becomes apparent, however, that he can't find peace in his twilight years of chronic forgetfulness without figuring out what had actually transpired more than 30 years ago that broke his heart so and effectively ended his partnership with Dr. Watson. Thus begins a densely-packed journey in and out of memory, fiction, reason.

Ian McKellan is simply marvelous as Sherlock Holmes. Playing both older and significantly younger, his demeanor, speech, expressions change drastically to be convincing in both cases. It's not the make-up that does the trick, but the weariness in his look, the looseness in his posture, the cadence in his voice. The editing is also strong, weaving different timelines into an engrossing, constantly surprising narrative. American director Bill Condon shows an able if not particularly subtle hand conducting this piece of many themes. Minor complaints aside – the actual mystery at the center of the story is strangely forgotten for long stretches of time and finally too easily resolved – this is old-school storytelling at its most familiarly delightful.

The Panorama selection "Angelica" is set in Victorian London. After a taxing birth, young Constance is medically advised and warned to stay abstinent for the rest of her life. Her suppressed sexuality coupled with the accidental discovery of her husband's work releases panic and violent hallucinations in her that only get stilled by the comforting company of a fraudulent medium Anne.

People will be forgiven for hating this movie because of the over-the-top, spottily rendered supernatural scenes. The luminescent virus or the naked phantom are certainly poorly designed and just plain silly. But the film actually uses all that loudly reinforced impression of backward sexual politics and mental health care to illustrate the plight of women living in that era. Seen from this angle, the trashier the effects and hence the more ignorant and hysterical the heroine appears to be, the more emphatically it's making its point. Like the pang of genuine sympathy Anne feels toward her willing prey at their first meeting, the audience is put in the shoes of a choiceless, voiceless woman fighting for the safety of her child and may just be ready to look beyond the hysteria and see a strong, scared soul.

Both Jena Malone and Janet McTeer are more than solid in their roles as Constance and Anne. The former breaks your heart with her feigned composure over the shattered nerves. The latter brings an excellent counterbalance to the screen with her robust frame and steely gaze. Cinematography and costume design are outstanding, bringing all kinds of beautiful shapes and shades to life.                

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: Victoria / Härte (Tough Love)

(Originally appeared in EXBERLINER on Feb. 7, 2015)

Just minutes into German writer/director Sebastian Schipper's competition entry "Victoria" and there's no mistaking where the movie takes place: club beats, disco strobe, graffitied surroundings, anonymous bodies dancing in reckless euphoria at 4 in the morning as a young girl from Spain tries, in accented English, to flirt with a bartender she takes to be Swedish. Welcome to Berlin.

As it turns out, Berlin would serve as more than just the geographical setting of this story, which sees a group of youngsters first embracing then fleeing the night, but also a sort of spiritual underpinning if not justification for the craziness that goes down. During the first scene where the titular character Victoria has a heart-to-heart with the male lead Sonne, it's revealed that she's left behind many a dashed dreams and wasted years back in Madrid to land in the European capital of drifters and dreamers. Although this fact alone can't nearly explain her motivations and reactions later on in the film, where things spiral down to some pretty ugly depths, it's one of those cases where a city is so closely connected with a type of mindset it begins to directly help shape characterization. We get the sense that Victoria has made the leap to Berlin to actively turn back on her old suppressed self and seek liberation. Might this be the reason why, even when it's clear that the guys she meets outside the club are trouble and when their requests of her get fishier and nastier, she still plays along without much protest?

Asking questions along these lines is fun but not enough to sustain a feature film, let alone one that runs 140 minutes. A significant chunk of this movie, which proceeds in real time and is done entirely in one take, is spent on silly, insubstantial bantering between the characters. These long, at times interminable-feeling sequences are not only grating for their stupidity and repetitiveness, but do nothing to involve or raise the emotional investment of the viewer. So even when there are places where a potent feeling of empathy threatens to break out, that never truly happens and we're mostly left wondering just how foolish one has to be to do the things these kids do. This serious lacking in screenwriting aside, "Victoria" is not without its merits. Schipper is a fine director with an assured command of mood and atmospherics. The couple of sequences where he pulls the sound and inserts a soothing, cosmically tender music are great touches, releasing a breezy, wondrously youthful energy in the night air. It's just unfortunate that whenever the speaking resumes, everything becomes instantly less interesting.

Both leads are strong. Laia Costa displays an impressive reserve of explosive feelings she's able to tap into with great immediacy. Frederick Lau has proven time and again he's good at playing the marginalized/asocial and as the stunted, hard-boiled Sonne he gives yet another performance full of instincts and quirks. The camerawork is of course the biggest selling point of the single-shot film. Unlike "Birdman: or the Unexpected Virtues of Ignorance", however, the cinematography here is not technically flawless nor rhythmically hypnotic. While the accomplishment of clearing the thousands of logistic hurdles faced by such a project is no doubt formidable, this decision to make no edits doesn't always feel necessary and leaves a slight hint of childish bravado behind.                      

Another, very different Berliner film which opened the Panorama Special this year- Rosa von Praunheim's unconventional biopic "Härte (Tough Love)"- provides this year's Berlinale with a healthy dose of WTF-eccentricity that any self-respecting international film festival must serve. Detailing the life story of local martial arts celebrity Andreas Marquardt, the film is composed in equal parts of candid interview footage (of Marquardt as well as his longtime partner Marion) and dramatizations of his troubled past.

Making no excuses for its kitsch factor and positively delighting in being comically in-your-face, this movie magnifies its own loopiness through preposterously fake set pieces, exaggerated emotional cues and ultra-cheesy camera angles. Shot in hollow, cheap-looking black and white, the overall effect of the staged part of the film is that of a poorly produced telenovela mocking its own lack of taste.

As laughable as the blunt cinematic strokes may come across, this is certainly a story worth telling and knowing, if for no other reason than how krass Marquard's life is. From a sexually abused and physically assaulted child to a pimp with pathological hatred of women, from a sentenced and imprisoned criminal to a Karate instructor for kids, this is one heck of an eventful ride. And it might possibly be argued that in order to process memories fraught with such trauma and unspeakable horrors, an approach as outrageous as this would actually be called for.

In that case, production and performances would of course be impossible to judge by regular criteria. One could just see the film at their own risk. If the enthusiastic response at its premiere screening in Zoo Palast is any indication, however, not a few should be won over by its very peculiar brand of charm.      

Berlinale: Queen of the Desert / 45 Years

(Originally appeared in EXBERLINER on Feb. 6, 2015)

Legendary German director Werner Herzog returns amid fevered anticipation with a biopic of famed British traveller/archaeologist Gertrude Bell to this year's Berlinale. What turns out to be most surprising about "Queen of the Desert" is not the fact that Herzog, known predominantly for his male-centric, hot-blooded filmography, decides to train his focus on a female protagonist for a change, but just how unapologetically, almost gooily old-fashioned his approach to the project is. After a quick set-up of the geopolitical backdrop surrounding the collapse of the Ottoman Empire in the early 20th century, we jump 12 years back in time to find a young, rebellious, fiercely intelligent Gertrude suffocated by the prospect of a domestic life. Her father indulged her wish to be out in the world and sent her to the British Embassy in Teheran. Little did he know this would be the beginning of a lifelong, ever deepening passion to explore and perhaps, to escape.

The narrative is strictly linear, at times pedantically so, moving from one milestone to the next. And with all the stations of her life the film tirelessly chronicles, it does get caught up in details and can be pretty exhausting. What's potentially an even bigger turn-off for viewers is the grand emotions that are poured into many of the scenes. Shot against vast deserts, gorges and other literally awesome geological formations, the words and gestures of affection the characters share often prove even larger. And the way Herzog milks every last drop of romance out of candlelit interiors or windswept exteriors might be a bit much for those with a low sugar tolerance level.

That said, there's plenty to admire about a production that so painstakingly recreates the opulence of a bygone era and so earnestly seeks to make sense of a woman's lonesome path. The art direction of the film is superb. From the granite baths and silken drapes of the various estates or diplomatic agencies to the fragrant bustle of a Persian bazaar, the set pieces look exquisite and are often cast in a delicious, soft glow. Nicole Kidman carries the film with great confidence, reminding you in just a handful of key scenes- notably the textbook "devastation-upon-hearing-tragic-news" reaction shots-  what tremendous, nuanced control she has over her physicality. As the love of her life Henry Cadogan, James Franco is also in fine form, with his usual smarm reduced to a rare minimum. All in all, it's a worthy competition entry that should delight some for being pretty, thorough, dreamily traditionalist and draw the derision of others for those same reasons.

Coming off the success of critical darling "Weekend", British writer/director Andrew Haigh's comes back with another relationship drama "45 Years". Again it's all about two individuals and the changes in their understanding, appreciation of each other. Only this time it's a man and a woman at the center, and instead of marking the beginning of an affair, it maps the downfall of a decades-long marriage. Kate and Geoff Mercer are a week away from celebrating their 45th anniversary when the news comes that the body of Geoff's previous love Katya has been found frozen in a Swiss glacier. For him this stirs up all kinds of buried memories and regrets, but it might prove even more difficult for her to come to terms with a man she suddenly sees in a new light.

The premise of the story packs an instant hook and promises all kinds of insight into the human mind. In execution it's significantly less exciting, as Haigh fails to fully substantiate or make relatable the doubts and fears of these characters. Hammering repeatedly on a phantom from half a century ago that should all of a sudden become the unnamed shadow of their married life and deal the final blow to their relationship is not entirely plausible, making their sulks, distress, breakdowns look like a petty case of jealousy. The insufficient plotting also contributes to a padded feel, damaging for a film running just over 90 minutes. In contrast to "Weekend", which was also a simple story with few complications, this time around the emotional force that should drive forward the narrative mostly just isn't there.

As Kate, Charlotte Rampling is her old magnificent self. Her portrayal of someone slowly unraveling is technically impeccable and as always a joy to behold. Smartly ending the film on her face, the film manages to capitalize as much on that mystical, slightly unsettling appeal of hers as possible, but eventually the limitations of the role prevent this performance from being a clear knock-out. As Geoff, Tom Courtenay fares considerably less well, coming off strangely robotic in many scenes. On rare occasions the strengths of Haigh and his cast do come together though. The last stretch of the film, for example, offers a couple of penetrating looks inside Kate's seriously ruffled psyche, sending jolts of electric currents through a restrained if lax narrative. It's a shame, then, that these moments are too few and far between to piece together an altogether more compelling picture.

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.

Berlinale: Nobody Wants the Night

There are definitely things to like about Spanish director Isabel Coixet's polar circle-set drama "Nobody Wants the Night", which opens the 65th Berlinale today. Telling the story of Josephine Peary- wife of famed expeditionist Robert- who sets off for the North Pole in search of her husband at the dawn of the last century, it begins on a strong note by introducing a wonderfully unconventional, impenetrable heroine. Educated, opinionated and fiercely determined, this is not someone to be talked off an idea by her male compatriots. She delights in the fruits of her own hunts and holds an almost Darwinian outlook on life, believing in the superiority of grand, adventurous human endeavors. It's rare to find such a self-assured female protagonist in a period piece and her combination of intellect, ambition, elegance and an elusive need to find her spouse makes for an intriguing character study.

Portrayed by Juliette Binoche, whose face remains one of the most exquisite, volatile, captivating objects to consider, every minute shift in temperament of Josephine bubbles clearly to the surface. She brings a modern woman from an old world to life and you could just revel in the mystique of that performance. Elsewhere the art department and the cinematography are also unexpectedly potent for a filmmaker not necessarily known for visual pizzazz. The textured set decoration and costume design are shot in honey-colored sunbeam and fifty shades of white, projecting all levels of warmth while looking awfully pretty.

But then the movie hits its half-way mark. Josephine reaches the last known post of her still missing husband and meets an Inuit girl Alaka. The remaining hour will be about the evolving relationship between these two and it gets more and more boring by the second. The previously complex-appearing Josephine is soon reduced to the role of the passively waiting wife. And in part due to the less-than-subtle performance by Japanese actress Rinko Kikuchi, Alaka never comes off as this pure, enlightened being but more of a caricature of uncivilization. The scenes of cultural clashes and gradual mutual appreciation between them are written with a whiff of (unintentional) condescension and quite uncomfortable to sit through.    

In short, this is a film with an exceptionally female-centric narrative set in the refreshing, breathtaking icescape of the Arctic that sees its life drawn out by an inexplicably overblown second half. It'll take something else to kick this year's Berlinale properly into high gear.    

Jupiter Ascending

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

Even to someone who's ready to defend "Cloud Atlas" anytime, it's clear that the Wachowski Siblings have let their size problem run out of control with the follow-up to that millennia-and-continents-spanning epic.

The inheritance dispute at the center of "Jupiter Ascending" is wrapped inside some imperial power games, reincarnation myths and intergalactic politics, a touch of Shakespearean tragedy, and complemented by certain domination/harvest plans. Aliens, humans and an entire hierarchy of unspecified species populate a mind-boggling universe whose order and rules of entitlement would seem to take a book to explain. By all appearances, the Wachowski's have lost their ability to tell a story of moderate scale and reasonable budget since their breakout sci-fi classic "The Matrix", which was in fact an indie-spirited, highly conceptual movie that only got blown to monstrous proportions in its sequels. Their latest, original screenplay feels like a botched hybrid of larger-than-life ideas that's undoubtedly grand in vision but lacking in craftsmanship at every turn.

Technically this movie also leaves much to be desired. While the production and especially the costume design wows in moments of otherworldly beauty, with a million gowns, uniforms, headpieces, gears, ornaments, vehicles splashed across the screen, a homogeneous or harmonious design is missing. Same goes for the action choreography, which produced some memorable scenes like the final chase/combat between lead actor Channing Tatum and a giant lizard or the spatial ballet of Tatum's character after being ejected out into void, but also numerous terribly unexciting shoot-outs or flight sequences. Cinematography and score are neither here nor there, both contributing to an overall hurried sense of unrefinement.

There are some obvious casting problems, starting with the female lead Mila Kunis, who, with her well-groomed features and dreamy eyelashes, never for a second looks like a lowly maid. Douglas Booth is another one who stands out like a sore thumb beside the other two young British actors cast as his rival siblings. Of these Eddie Redmayne is also the best in show by far. As the evil, hollowed-out heir apparent, he communicates an inner vacuum not just through the parched lips and dead eyes, but also a peculiarly whispery voice/speech pattern that renders his every blink and utterance an effort.

Stuffed, loud, erratically executed, the few patches of fabulousness aren't enough to disguise the fact that "Jupiter Ascending" is a big, busy mess.