Marcel Marx (André Wilms) and Idrissa (Blondin Miguel) in Aki Kaurismäki's LE HAVRE.

If Aki Kaurismäki is to be believed, Le Havre is still the kind of neighborly town where you can wake up your doctor from down the street in the middle of the night because your wife is ill. Such heartwarming hospitality depicted in the Finnish filmmaker’s fictionalized version of this port city in Northern France is closer to a Yasujiro Ozu movie of the 1930s than that of real world in the 21^st century. I can guarantee you will see the word  “fairytale” in any given review of this film.

True to the director’s distinctive style, the characters in Le Havre speak monotonously and gesture with restrain, which young viewers may akin to the quirkiness of a Wes Anderson feature. But Kaurismäki cannot be any further away from Anderson’s ultra-hip aesthetics of the privileged crowd. Hobos and wrinkled-faced working people in frugal attire are more in line with the kind of stories that the Finn likes to tell. Le Havre’s hero Marcel (André Wilms) is a poor but content shoeshiner who has inadvertently crossed paths with Idrissa (Blondin Miguel), a child refugee from Africa. Without hesitation, Marcel and his friendly neighbors decide to help the boy reconnect with his family as they shield him from the police officers, led by the unrelenting Detective Monet (Jean-Pierre Darroussin), whose vague intentions offer an ambiguous threat. The plight of immigrants is in the forefront of the film, despite its unabashedly optimistic take on human nature.

Le Havre is unapologetic for its innocence and complete lack of cynicism. “I have no answer to this problem, but I still wanted to deal with this matter in this anyhow [sic] unrealistic film,” Kaurismäki put it plainly in his director’s statement. The police chief, who is biggest threat to the hapless Idrissa, can only be heard but not be seen while the nosy neighbor who snitched on the heroes is played by the legendary Jean-Pierre Léaud with the sort of oddball grumpiness that makes it impossible to dislike him. There is simply no room for villains. In theory, such an attitude should have produced a sugarcoated melodrama. Yet in Kaurismäki’s hands, Le Havre comes out as so surreally hopeful that it takes advantage of its audience’s suspension of disbelief like a fantasy or sci-fi movie. Kaurismäki toys with the level of realism by altering between meticulously color-coded and dramatically lit indoor scenes and the naturalistic sceneries of the outdoor locations. Viewers are grounded to the pressing reality which the characters face while not being fooled in believing everything that is shown on the screen.  At a time when even television shows are imitating real life, it feels ironically yet also refreshingly honest for a filmmaker to be confident enough to show some flair in his mise en scène without being sidetracked from his thematic focus.

Le Havre will be play at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston on 2/18 (1:00pm & 7:00pm) and 2/19 (5:00pm).

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Fresh from his success with Trouble In Paradise, Lubitsch recruited three of the biggest stars to take the lead in this outrageous picture. Miriam Hopkins, who was a charming pickpocket in Trouble, plays Gilda—the center of affection between two longtime friends and starving artists. Frederic March—Hopkins’ Academy Award-winning co-star in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde— plays one of her admirers, Tom, who is a playwright of un-produced plays. The last piece of the trio is George, a boorish painter played by a young and dashing Gary Cooper. But lest we forget Glida’s friend and employer Mr. Plunkett (Edward Everett Horton), aka the “man who did not get to first base” and whose self-righteous stance against the protagonists’ bohemian lifestyle is best summed up by the immortal line: “Immorality may be fun, but it isn’t fun enough to take the place of one hundred percent virtue and three square meals a day.”

Penned by Ben Hecht of the Scarface and Underworld fame, Lubitsch’s version bears little resemblance to Coward’s play—a sacrilegious move that was much to the dismay of critics and the playwright. Right from the start, Lubitsch had set his footprint for the picture. Gilda is introduced to the two men on a train in a good five-minute wordless sequence, which was a clever buildup that draws influences from his silent film years without reverting to slapstick comedy. Then he toys with a bit of French that delivers its humor without the need of translation.  Only after these scenes play out does the film go in full gear with the zinging dialogue that is often associated with Lubitsch, though Design for Living exercises a tad more restraint in its sharp spitfire wits than his other comedies, such as To Be or Not to Be and A Shop Around the Corner. Such space allows the film to develop the drama and flesh out these characters.

Since these were the days before the Hays code, sexual innuendos are merely served as appetizers. There is no beating around the bush. It doesn’t take long before Gilda utters the dreaded “s” word. As daring as it may sound in the 1930s, this gal is having sex with two different men. Heck, forget about the ‘30s, it is safe to say that at least half of this country today still cannot accept the notion of a woman with multiple partners without passing any moral judgment–much. Lubitsch’s female characters are always ahead of the curve and these ladies are as flesh-and-blood as any Hollywood movie would allow. But Gilda is absolutely one of a kind. As she is trying to explain why she is having relationships with both Tom and George, Gilda proclaims, “A thing happens to me that usually happens to men.”—A line so wickedly clever that it satirizes the double standard of gender roles while openly admitting her natural desire is rebelling against the arbitrary confines of monogamy.

Lubitsch revels in provoking hot-button topics in his comedies. Trouble in Paradise and To Be or Not to Be ruthlessly satirize the storms of their time (The Great Depression and Hitler’s rising respectively) when no one else was ready to crack a joke. To describe the “Lubitsch Touch”— a famous term coined to describe his filmmaking magic— is not an easy task since there is no concrete formula to his brilliance. Many good directors can benefit from sharp writing, talented actors and spot-on timing but what separates Lubitsch from the rest of the pack is his uncanny ability in infuse humanity into his comedies. An oddball situation (e.g., a three-way relationship) starts as a pivot for the movie’s humor yet it does not dictate how the drama flows. The characters are not the sum of their quirks, nor are they merely deliverers of punch lines.

In the midst of all the hoopla around the eccentric love triangle, friendship plays an unexpectedly important role in Design For Living. Despite their conflicting interest, Tom and George genuinely care for each other and, at their best attempt, refuse to let their pursuit of Gilda stand between them. Meanwhile, Gilda’s relationship with the pair also grows beyond the sexual attraction. The film is not meant to be an attack on monogamy—its characters, even after letting their personal desire get the best of them, are more thoughtful and conflicted than a stiff like Mr. Plunkett gives them credit for. It is a delight to see a romantic comedy that is able to encompass the levels of complexity in human relationships.

Design For Living is available on DVD.

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A festival patron in Lynne Hershman Leeson's !WAR installation

Judging by the audience’s mixed reaction to the opening night’s feature, Downtown Express, it was hard to envision that the 2011 edition of Cinema Arts Festival Houston would exceed the heights of last year, which ended inside the halls of Ryan Middle School with an ecstatic audience cheering on the hometown heroes of Kashmere Reunion Band at the end of the almost-cancelled screening of the documentary Thunder Soul. Although Downtown’s screening at the Museum of Fine Arts Houston was well attended, the crowd’s reaction was lukewarm at best, despite cautious praise for the film’s music performed by musicians such as singer-songwriter Nellie McKay and violinist Philippe Quint. But the festival’s programming in days to follow had thoroughly exceeded my expectations and it was encouraging to see how the festival’s unique identity has taken shape in its third official year.

Since its preview test run in 2008, Cinema Arts Festival has always set its focus on arts of various forms (including cinema) and the artists themselves. Each year, artists of international acclaim and local filmmakers present their work and share their insights at the largest film festival in Houston. In the last couple years, appearances of movie stars like Isabella Rossellini and John Turturro had sparked interest from the usually apathetic Houston moviegoers and cinematically challenged local media. These appearances had been instrumental in making the festival the talk of the town in early November. With Ethan Hawke as the lone (and borderline) red carpet attraction, this year’s lineup is less glamorous but certainly has more to offer to dedicated cinephiles.

And what’s a better way to cultivate a new generation of cinephiles than exposing young’uns to independent filmmaking? Early in the morning on Thursday, November 10th, three local documentary filmmakers—Alex Luster of Stick ‘Em Up, Jena Moreno of Stitched and Ford Gunter of Art Car: The Movie—presented clips from their respective projects and discussed the blood, sweat and tears behind their labors of love with Houston Film Commission’s Alfred Cervantes. A group of high school students was among the audience, eagerly asking the filmmakers questions related to the artistic process.

Later that day, I opted for the screening of Lynn Hershman Leeson’s documentary !Women Art Revolution at the Musesum of Fine Arts Houston after I missed it the day before. Hershman Leeson, who was a guest of the festival’s preview year in 2008, returned to Houston with a documentary chronicling the Feminist Art Movement from the late ‘60s to today. Guided by the director’s narration of the movement’s trajectory, WAR is surprisingly personal and intimate because her own evolution as an artist and woman is inseparable to that of the fate of her peers. The relatively straightforward documentary is unlike her experimental work in form, yet its exploration on the concept of identity is a thematic continuation of her repertoire. In addition to the film, Hershman Leeson also created an interactive video installation (which was presented at the MFAH as well) and she uploaded hundreds of hours of interview footage on her website to celebrate this underrated part of history.

Godfrey Reggio at the MFAH

Documentaries are particularly enticing in this year’s program. Friday night features the 1981 groundbreaking Koyaanisqatsi. In its glorious 35mm print, Director Godfrey Reggio’s visual poetry remains as awe-inspiring as it was when first released nearly thirty years ago. Koyaanisqatsi transcends the confines of time’s passing—its images are both historic and prophetic, warning us to the pitfalls of a life out of balance and foretelling the perils of an industrialized existence. Philip Glass’s musical score is also definitive to the film’s energy and it is safe to say this is one of the great achievements by the legendary composer. The post-screening Q&A with Reggio was quite a captivating experience. The New Orleans native, who has spent many years of his life as a community organizer, teacher and member of a Catholic order, was eloquent and thoughtful in his responses to the questions from the audience. For a director who does not have a single spoken word in his films, he surely is one riveting speaker.

To put it bluntly, Saturday’s midday screening of Thomas Mao at Edward’s Greenway was a bore. The fictional feature revolves around the interactions between a European artist and a Chinese innkeeper who is hosting the confused traveler in his secluded hut in rural China. Gags in relation to cultural misunderstanding were trite and off the mark, which I suspect much of it is, ironically, lost in translation since actor Thomas Rohdewald’s English dialogue is awkward at best. The dream sequences and the twist at the film’s end were not sufficient enough to spark life into what seemed like an poor imitation of an Apichitpong Weerasethakul film. In the evening, Rice Cinema hosted Nostalgia for the Light, a Chilean documentary set in the Atacama dessert that draws the link between the star-gazing astronomical observatories and a group of women looking for the remains of their relatives who have disappeared for political reasons during Pinochet’s regime. A standing ovation is well-deserved for director Patricio Guzman, who has woven a narrative between two seemingly unrelated subjects which results in a work of genius that is heartbreakingly human and yet profoundly enigmatic at the same time. His attempt to strive for universality through the cosmic draws coincidental yet unavoidable comparisons to the most talked-about film of the year, The Tree of Life. While Malick’s gorgeous-looking film is guilty of hard-selling its vision of a higher ground, Guzman’s empathic documentary pave the way to a spiritual connection rather effortlessly.

Patricio Guzman (second right) at Rice Cinema

Just how much should technical proficiency weigh in our assessment of a filmmaker? The success story of Jersey Village native Robbie Pickering’s Natural Selection could very well be a case-in-point on the state of American independent filmmaking. The SXSW-winning feature about a religious woman who embarks on a journey to look for a young man who could have been the product of her husband’s secretive sperm donation is a well-executed debut feature with a carefully constructed screenplay, fine acting performances, and professional cinematography on a budget. But like many of its indie counterparts, Natural Selection relies too much on quirks for laughs and the sum of its parts has not quite brought anything new to the table. This is not to discount Pickering’s abilities because with the right fortune, he will be equipped to be a career filmmaker. But such is the problem with American cinema—many burgeoning directors either go on to take the helm for major studio projects or produce technically-sound “art films” to please the awards-dispensing establishments. Filmmakers who feel compelled to take bold artistic risks are consequently short in supply (and low in demand).

Also shown on the last day of the festival, John Ford’s 1927 lost gem Upstream is decidedly more daring than its cinematic descendents. The ensemble comedy features a group of struggling performers in a boarding house, with the love triangle between a knife thrower, his target girl and a bashful thespian taking center stage. These were the days before Ford became a household name and the young director was not shy to experiment with narrative structure and comedy. Though it is not as polished as his later works, Upstream is a delight nonetheless and the live music provided by composer Donald Sosin and company is a real treat for fans of silent cinema.

My adventure with the festival ends with a sold-out screening of Wim Wenders’s 3D documentary Pina. The sudden death of its subject, dancer and choreographer Pina Bausch, two days before rehearsal filming almost put an end to the project before it even began. Thankfully, Wenders and the dancers of Bausch’s Tanztheater Wuppertal go outside the box with a dance film to pay tribute to one of the most influential modern dancers. Pina consists mostly of a series of Bausch’s choreographies by her company’s dancers, who all take turns recalling their relationship with their beloved friend and leader through whimsically constructed interviews (conducted in each dancer’s native language). The 3D technology provides the space for viewers to fully experience Bausch’s visceral and evocative choreography. Though my knowledge of dance is admittedly limited, it did not take long for me to recognize how gender dynamics and the agony of yearning are heavily embedded in the motions. Wenders does not dare to dissect Bausch’s craft with any explanation because he sincerely believes that the art can speak for itself.

Michael Fassbinder and Keira Knightley in A Dangerous Method

David Cronenberg has carved a highly respectable career out of making films that tap into the freakiest of human sexuality. A Dangerous Method—a fictionalized account of the early career of psychoanalysis pioneer Carl Jung—looks rather tame in comparison to depraved gynecologists in Dead Ringers. But with less graphic provocation comes more intellectual stimulation. The detailed discussions of the psychoanalytic theories of the Freudian times are very much accurate, but more importantly, the film also provides insight on Cronenberg’s career-long fascination with sexuality and violence.

Carl Jung (Michael Fassbinder) is a medical doctor who has only begun to experiment with “the talking cure” to treat hysteria when a young Russian Jewish aristocrat named Sabina Spielrein is sent to his clinic. The field of psychology has yet to take shape, hence Jung begins to consult the man who invented psychoanalysis— Sigmund Freud (Viggo Mortensen). Jung starts to see the progress of his treatment as Sabina begins to trust him and disclose her embarrassing sexual secrets. Everything seems to go well and the intelligent Sabina goes on to become a medical student, with the intent to become a psychoanalyst one day. But when his former patient expresses her interest in a sexual relationship, the straight-laced Jung is equally troubled and intrigued.

While Jung was agonizing over the proposal, Freud sent him one of his patients, Otto Gross (Vincent Cassel), a renegade psychoanalyst who has little regard for social norms. Though Jung is supposed to treat the anarchistic sex freak, he ends up being influenced by Gross’s unconventional philosophy instead. When Jung asked Gross to consider exercising restraint, the free-loving libertine denounces repression—a recurring theme in Cronenberg’s films—as the root of mental illness and proclaims such practice is the reason why the hospital is bulging at its seams.  Cassel has undoubtedly established himself as the go-to guy for playing the sleazy sexual deviant by now, after last year’s Black Swan and another mischievously seductive performance in this film. His portrayal of Gross is humorous and over-the-top, yet he was also intellectually convincing at the same time. Humor is very much an underrated strength in Cronenberg’s repertoire; I would defer you to the grotesque yet underhanded humor in The Fly. The banter between Jung and Freud’s love-hate relationship is just as amusing (not to mention Freud’s phallic-shaped chair). Cronenberg has the keen sense to inject the right dose of humor in the darkest material.

By giving an ample amount of time depicting Jung’s two influential yet separate relationships, A Dangerous Method did not relegate Sabina and Freud into one-dimensional roles as the mistress and the mentor of the protagonist. Sabina’s theory on sexuality as simultaneously a transformative and destructive force serves as the cerebral pivot for the characters’ rational faculty. But it is Jung’s affair with her that daintily unravels a lasting heartache.

A Dangerous Method is playing in select theaters.

All that comes with a price. An evening show costs $7.50 dollars, but there will be an additional amenity fee that ranges from $1.00 to $3.00 (depending on the day of the week and time of the day). Although the top-notch facility is a nice change of scene, the whole system seems to make it deliberately complicated for potential patrons to figure out the exact cost of their tickets. Sundance is clearly positioning itself to be a high-end movie experience— an audacious attempt to lure moviegoers as many has opted to spend the evening in front of their Blu-ray equipped flats-screen televisions. Clearly, convenience has trumped over the cinema experience for most audiences and theaters today are in dire needs to find more reasons for potential customers to pay them a visit.

Regardless of all the peripheral service the theater can provide, a movie theater is only as good as the movies it shows. So far, looking from its opening lineup, Sundance seems to have much to offer— Werner Herzog’s death row documentary (filmed in nearby Huntsville) Into the Abyss is a must-see and Lars von Trier’s cosmic endgame Melancholia is arguably the most anticipated film of the season. Clint Eastwood (J.Edgar) and Martin Scorsese (Hugo 3D) are also on the schedule. For those who are into the more mainstream fares, there will be teenaged vampires and Muppets at your service.

Based on Daniel F. Galouye’s novel Simulacron-3, World on a Wire is set in a world where scientists at a government-funded institute named IKZ have developed a computer program that can simulate real-life conditions in an artificial world. Inside Simulacron, the world inside the computers, the programmers have created thousands of  “identity units” whose reactions to the simulations can be used to predict the needs and trends of the real world. Dr. Henri Vollmer (Adrian Hoven), the technical director, becomes increasingly delusional and paranoid shortly before his death by accident. His colleague and replacement, Dr. Fred Stiller (Klaus Lowitsch), raises questions about the suspicious circumstances surrounding Vollmer’s demise. His doubts only grow stronger when another co-worker, Gunter Lause (Ivan Desny), vanishes right in front of his eyes and everyone else seems to have no memory or record of Lause’s existence. Meanwhile, Stiller’s boss and CEO of IKZ, Herbert Siskins, is plotting to use Simulacron to benefit United Steel, a corporation that hopes the new technology will help to predict the demands for its products. Unconvinced by their persuasion, Stiller takes aim at uncovering the sinister scheme behind the Vollmer-Lause incident.

Donning a tilted fedora that recalls the image of Joseph Cotten in The Third Man, Stiller questions the people of interest like a private eye in a noir— only instead of starkly contrasted black-and-white, Fassbinder treats us with the bright-lit colors of the Seventies. While going after his usual suspects, Stiller is also sidetracked by his attraction to his newly-hired voluptuous secretary, Gloria (Barbara Valentin), and Dr. Vollmer’s beautiful daughter, Eva (Mascha Rabben), whose cold as ice demeanor makes for a perfect Brechtian femme fatale. By the end of the first part, Stiller is knee-deep in a conspiracy that turns his world upside down. Haunted by his discovery, Stiller plunges to the pits of his paranoia. Is there a puppet master behind the scene trying to silence him? Or is he delusional and suffering a nervous breakdown?

Questions regarding reality and human consciousness have become hugely popular among science fiction films, such as Blade Runner and The Matrix. In all honesty, Fassbinder’s film is not an originator of these topics as they have been thoroughly explored in the writings of Kurt Vonnegut and Philip K. Dick. But I can’t help but marvel at how much World on a Wire is ahead of its time even in the most trivial detail: Stiller travels from the simulated world back to his reality by means of a pay phone— something that audience will see decades later in The Matrix. Fassbinder, however, has no desire to impress his audience with special effects. The set and costumes are not tailored to look futuristic but the director usual flamboyant sense of style is in no short supply: suit jackets with wide lapels, flared bottoms and luscious curls (for the women) are paired with the most ridiculously fabulous studio set. Fassbinder’s otherworldly ability to utilize mirrors (and other reflective objects) in a shot is absolutely mind-blowing. Scene after scene, he manages to find a way to use his actors reflection within the frame.

World on a Wire is often compared to Jean-Luc Godard’s Alphaville because both films diverge from cheap thrills of what is expected of a sci-fi flick. It concerns itself with the existential dilemma that comes with our technology. Inside the world of Simulacron, none but one of the identity units knows that it is not real because the scientists figure their artificial beings will not be able to come to terms with living and functioning under such false pretense. “Einstein,” the only identity unit with this knowledge, serves as their insider when any systemic glitches need to be resolved. Hence when Einstein decides to escape to the real world, Stiller is forced to grapple with the possibility that what he knows as “reality” could just be a simulation of a world above him. The alienating acting style, which is heavily influenced by Fassbinder’s compatriot Bertolt Brecht, forces viewers to actively acknowledge that the film is only a representation of reality. Instead of immersing themselves into the story, viewers are given the opportunity to reflect on the same existential angst that Stiller has to face.

World on a Wire is playing at the MFAH on 10/7 (7:00pm), 10/8 (7:00pm) and 10/9 (5:00pm).

Ryan Gosling in DRIVE

Adjust your expectations. Drive won the Best Director at Cannes for Nicolas Winding Refn earlier this year but it is not the usual festival-friendly artsy movie. To avoid the fate of being on the wrong side of history, the Robert De Niro-led jury made the obvious decision by handing out the prestigious Palme d’Or to the philosophically ambitious The Tree of Life, which is arguably the most anticipated film at Cannes in recent memory. I can imagine that the gesture of rewarding Refn’s action thriller was the jury’s subtle way to claim they can appreciate an entertaining studio flick as much as a high-minded artsy drama. And what a way to stick it to the controversial Lars von Trier by crowning another Dane?

After making a name for himself in his homeland with the Pusher trilogy, which chronicles the Copenhagen’s underground world of pimps and drug lords, the Dane has found further success with his stylized violence in the British film Bronson, a biopic of the titular career criminal played by Tom Hardy, whose stock has skyrocketed later for his role in Inception. In his stateside debut, Refn continues his streak of gory spectacles. Starring indie darling Ryan Gosling, Drive’s storyline is the classic noir formula. Guy falls for girl and takes a big risk for her but ends up paying a steep price for the troubles. In the case of Gosling’s anonymous driver, the quiet loner is a mechanic and part-time stun drive by day and getaway driver for criminals by night. He never loses his cool and is always in control. Then he meets and falls in love with his neighbor Irene (Carey Mulligan) and her son Benicio (Kaden Leos), whose father Standard (Oscar Issac) is serving time in prison. The film’s tone shifts to a much dark shade soon after Standard came home, when the self-sacrificing Driver decides to help him in a heist after the ex-con and his family was threatened by his former crime boss, Cook (James Biberi).

The film’s opening heist sequence, which depicts Gosling and company smartly dodging from the police in downtown Los Angeles, almost misleads me to believe Drive will be a cerebral thriller. The shit hits the fan quick when Standard and Driver’s pawn shop robbery went awry. Refn switches gear in spectacular fashion with the film’s most purist Hollywood car chase that is more Bullitt than Fast and the Furious. Stripped of any of the music that plays a prominent role in the rest of the movie, the car chase is all muscle and none of the unnecessarily gimmick. Two relatively modest cars, a Mustang and a Chrysler, duke it out the old school way in the highways of Los Angeles that would make William Friedkin proud. There is nothing outrageously creative in the scene, but Refn understands execution trumps invention when it comes to genre exercise.

In many ways, Drive is a series of very elaborate set pieces that showcases Refn’s vibrant use of violence to punctuate the film’s fatalist undercurrent. The Danish auteur displays considerably more flair in the subsequent sequences, starting with the motel shootout that follows the aforementioned car chase. Judging by the audience’s reaction in the preview screening I attended, many were startled by the sudden turn for the gore when most of them were expecting for free entertainment in the form of some pre-packaged popcorn thrills. Much like Driver’s blood-soaked face at the end of the shootout, my fellow viewers (and their infants) were in for a ride that had more than they bargained for.

Drive only gets more violent from there and it will surely turn off many who does not have the stomach for it. However, it is hard to not give credit to Refn for being such a devil for skillfully wrapping his poison with a pretty candy wrapper. When the poker-faced Driver threatens Cook in a strip club dressing room with a bullet and a hammer, the setting is elaborate and carefully designed. Surrounded by bright lights, mirrors and naked women (who defies logic by sitting calmly as Driver holds Cook down), the sequence is menacing and glamorous at the same time. The elevator fight scene is the most stylized of Drive’s set pieces. First, Driver and Irene’s kiss is cued by dramatic lighting change and background music, then scene turns from romantic to chaotic with a slow-motion combat. Many of these highlights of the film are featured in the trailer, which I suggest you to avoid for the sake of preserving all the fun for the actual viewing.

Refn’s amusing mise en scène ensures Drive won’t become just another Jason Statham-type movie and his use of ultra violence will please the fans of Park Chan-Wook and Quentin Tarantino. I can also sense a hint of Eighties action movie in the veins of Michael Mann’s Thief and Drive’s hot pink title in a cursive font definitely reeks of that era. Channeling the style of Western civilization’s most embarrassingly decadent decade is not easy and Refn does it with a suitable dosage of faux-Eighties instead of taking a straight shot of I-Love-the-80s. The synth-influenced soundtrack composed by Cliff Martinez, keeps the film marching to the beat and the  of synth-pop songs by lesser-know bands breaks the tiresome habit of studio films using ten seconds of the hippest hits of the moment. The scorpion on the back of Driver’s jacket serves as a neat little tribute to Kenneth Anger (Scorpio Rising), the pioneer of utilizing pop songs in film.

Gosling operates out of his usual heartthrob roles (The Notebook, Blue Valentine) as the man without a name in Drive. The part is tricky because he has very little dialogue or expression to convey, which can easily be the type of generic action hero that Keanu Reeves is known for. Nor does he possess the sort of badass persona of Clint Eastwood. Fortunately, his innate sensitivity provides a bit of unexpected depth to this blank slate of a character, making his fateful turn to darkness a grimmer transformation. Even though the film is not meant to be a piece of contemplative cinema, most of the supporting cast proves to be ample ammunition to keep this bloodbath rolling. Bryan Cranston and Ron Perlman executes in their usual fine form, but Albert Brooks, who plays the ruthless crime boss Bernie Rose, steals the show with his shockingly brutal and scary performance— a brilliant casting move that is against the type of funny guy roles Brooks is used to play. Sadly, the female characters are given the pedestrian treatment: Blanche (Christina Hendricks) is a robbery accomplice in high heels that plays no important part to the story; Carey Mulligan, a promising talent whose recent career is marked by too many interchangeable roles as the love interest, is given little to work with. Such is the fate of many women in a noir film—looking pretty and pretty dull. On that note, Drive almost comes across as a parody of chivalry.

Our sponsor of the issue. Where the masterworks will be shown.

Page One: Inside The New York Times

“Just because you put on a fucking safari helmet and look at some poop doesn’t give you a right to insult what we do,” David Carr interjects calmly during his interview with Vice magazine co-founder Shane Smith, who was putting down The New York Times as he boasts his poop-sighting, cannibalism-exposing video report on Liberia. It is early in Page One: Inside The New York Times that director Andrew Rossi and co-writer Kate Novak establishes the straight-shooting Carr, a media reporter of The Times, as the unwavering advocate for the one of the largest newspapers in the United States. The showdown (or smackdown) between Carr and the Vice dudes is only the tip of the iceberg in the inevitable struggle old media institutions face as technology rapidly changes the way we acquire information.

Despite its title, Rossi’s documentary spends relatively little time showing the general operations of the newsroom. Instead, he sets his camera mostly on the Media Desk staff, whose job is to report on the changes in the media industry. The fact that The Times created this meta-reporting department in 2008 speaks volumes to how quickly the media business is evolving in the internet age and the challenges an old institution faces in order to stay relevant. Newspaper circulations and advertisements have dropped sharply in the past ten years. Many once proud metropolitan papers have folded but The Times, which has its fair share of struggles, still stands tall in the industry. Page One has no shortage of industry insiders giving their two cents on the obvious gloom and doom for newspapers, yet at the same time many (including Carl Bernstein) stress the importance of a trustworthy institution and the craft of journalism. On the flip side, internet media outlets like Gawker and The Huffington Post enjoy the status of dinosaur killers and declare the new way delivers more stories faster to the public. Gawker’s slogan is “Today’s gossip is tomorrow’s news” and Newser’s motto is “Read less know more”. There is no secret that we have reached the age of cheap, fast and out of control.

David Carr of The New York Times

When Wikileaks released a video of U.S. Army helicopters killing dozens on the ground in Baghdad, questions were raised about the necessity of a middleman like The Times when allegedly raw information can be distributed to millions easily. Allegedly,” because as groundbreaking as Wikileaks was, its operators had a clear and forthright agenda. Page One attempts to use a few headline news stories like this one to illustrate this epic battle between the old and the new. As Wikileaks continues to release confidential diplomatic cables, the spotlight turns to its collaboration with media establishments like The New York Times, Der Spiegel and The Guardian to expose government secrets, much like the old times of Watergate. Perhaps this strategic arrangement has vindicated, albeit momentarily, the Times’s status as a trusted name for the purpose for spreading the information effectively.

The physical existence of a newspaper has come to symbolize a romantic and almost nostalgic idea in the face of competition against the online page-view vultures, at least in the eyes of the Page One filmmakers. But inclusion of the Tribune Company’s downfall in the film, through Carr’s reporting, serves as a cautionary tale of how any media giant can go down the drain in the wrong hands. Page One greedily attempts to cover the defiant struggle of The Times on both a macro and micro level. While the documentary is handsomely edited and earnestly crowd-pleasing, the amount of material and subplots is overwhelming and distracting. Carr, who turned his life around after his bouts with drugs and struggling as a single parent, is incisive and charming enough to command a documentary of his own. Promising young reporters like Tim Arango and Brian Stelter also provide a fascinating look into the professional trajectories of the paper’s staff. The documentary has no shortage of interesting material, but it suffers severely from a complete lack of focus. Rossi and company try to cramp too much in one film and seemingly has no desire to cut out anything relevant to the cause. Showing reporters at work is an enticing angle. As is The Times’s struggle as a company. Maybe iPad will save the day. Okay, editorial meetings are cool, too. They are all supposed to serve the film’s narrative, but Rossi can’t seem to tie them all together. Having a story-worthy subject is only half the battle (or probably way less than half) in documentary filmmaking. The most successful documentary filmmakers instill their mise en scène through astute and clear-eyed editing that draws a film out of hundreds of hours of footage. Page One is a noble effort in telling the story of The Times fighting the good fight but the overloading headlines will have you flipping through the pages.

Page One: Inside The New York Times is playing at the MFAH on 9/1 (7:00pm), 9/2 (9:00pm), 9/3 (9:00pm), 9/4 (7:00pm)   and 9/5 (2:00pm).

This issue is sponsored by The Glassell School of Art. Click the above picture for info on their Film Salon class.

Dead at the age of 29, Jean Vigo left the world with only 1 full-length feature (L’Atalante) and three short films, yet his influence on French (and World) Cinema is tremendous. So when Criterion Collection announced the release of his complete work in one 2-discs set, I was more than ecstatic. Criterion’s PR handlers sent me the final product a couple weeks ago (to review for the next issue of Film Monitor), but I haven’t gotten a chance yet to watch it since my time was devoted to Page One: Inside a New Times and other movies that opened (or about to open) in Houston. Here’s a sneak peek of the DVD packaging (designed by Jason Hardy), which is top-notch, even when comparing to their always terrific designs. The booklet inside (always my favorite thing in Criterion’s releases) is printed in four different pastel color papers and I especially love the envelope shape logo. I shall review the actual films soon, but even just by the look of the set, I’d say this is a must-buy. Go find one at a store tomorrow, August 30. (I’ve watched L’Atalante in the past and it was magical; I’m certainly looking forward to the legendary Zero de Conduite.)