Our last print issue came out yesterday. I’ll miss Houston dearly but new reviews and content will continue to appear on this website, which we have plans to renovate and upgrade from the current WordPress format. To avoid it from being sad and gloomy, I drew my farewell note out into a comic strip, with coloring work by my friend Jason Poland:
Romantic love has inspired more popular music and movies than any topic that I know of. People want to believe in love, or we must have been told that is what we should desire. Not only we have been told that true love will find you in the end, but a man once claimed that the love you take is equal to the love you make. That blissful feeling of all-encompassing devotion is the foundation of many relationships and families. But we all know there is dark side to this powerful emotion. Like a cute little Mogwai getting fed after midnight, things could turn from cute to ugly pretty quickly. Surely, the movies and songs about heartbreaks are just as popular as, if not more than, their chirpy counterparts. How do you shake away Wong Kar-Wai’s devastatingly beautiful In The Mood For Love? You just don’t. The arts see the beauty in our shattered dreams and immortalized them, for the most part, through rose-tinted glasses. Among the many love stories on celluloid in 2012, Terence Davies’s The Deep Blue Sea and Michael Haneke’s Amour stand out as two polar opposites yet they are also curiously connected to each other in their uncompromising take on the unnerving pain when love puts one between a rock and hard place.
Indeed, both films begin in quite the morbid fashion. Without any prompt, The Deep Blue Sea introduces its protagonist Hester (Rachel Weisz) by the way of her suicide attempt. In Amour, Michael Haneke also spares little time to unveil the bitter end of his leading lady. Since rarely do Haneke’s characters reach the end credits unscathed, the only surprise here is his decision to show us the results this early in the film. The Deep Blue Sea, though, caught me by surprise because I assumed it would be in the same vein of David Lean’s Brief Encounter or Wong Kar-Wai’s In The Mood For Love. Boy, was I wrong. As heartbreaking as the two previous films were, the devastation is not nearly as bleak as watching The Deep Blue Sea’s heroine swallowing sleeping pills and turning on the gas from her heater. Then Davies’s film cuts between several short flashback scenes of Hester recalling her time with her handsome lover Freddie (Tom Hiddleston) and her older husband William (Simon Russell Beale) while the soaring string compositions of Samuel Barber are playing in the background. The purposely disorienting editing drops the viewer into Hester’s whirlwind of affairs in intriguing fashion, thus eliminating any presumptions that this is just another generic period romance. Continue reading
Near the end of Terrence Davies’s gorgeously shot The Deep Blue Sea, Rachel Weisz’s landlady suggests to her lovelorn tenant that love, in the long run, is about wiping your partner’s butt till the bitter end. That pretty much sums up the premise of cinema’s favorite misanthrope Michael Haneke’s new film, Amour. But don’t be fooled by the title because it is unlikely you’ll feel warm and fuzzy after you watched this Palme d’Or winner.
Any semi-serious cinephile will be delighted to see two beloved icons of French cinema, Emmanuelle Riva (Hiroshima mon amour) and Jean-Louis Trintignant (Z, The Comformist), headline a major film in their golden years. They play a loving old couple who is self-sufficient and aging gracefully in their elegant Parisian apartment. For those of you who are familiar Haneke the Scrooge, I assure that the happy times won’t last more than fifteen minutes as Riva’s Anne suffers a stroke that has rendered her partially paralyzed. Along with the physical hardships comes the loss of dignity that causes her to see herself as little more than a burden to Trintignant’s Georges. The former piano teacher cannot play her instrument anymore, nor can she walk and bathe herself. Gutted by her painful reality, she makes her husband promise her that he will never admit her to a hospital again even though their daughter Eva (Isabelle Huppert, in a brief but welcoming appearance) has pleaded otherwise.
Haneke’s films, at their most divisive, are unrelentingly cynical (e.g., both versions of Funny Games). Amour is the Austrian filmmaker’s gentlest film in comparison to his many grim tales on human nature. The progression of the protagonists’ demise in Amour is one of pragmatic concerns, in lieu of his usual preference for the ideologically driven. Much of the film is devoted to the couple’s attempt to adjust their daily routine in accordance to Anne’s declining health. We see Georges cutting Anne’s food at the dinner table, Anne trying to read a book with one hand and other mundane activities inside their home. Haneke’s matter-of-fact presentation eschews judgment and invites the audience to be empathic towards the characters’ choices and actions, regardless of their ramifications. I find his films are at their best when he leaves room for grey area, which is what attracted me to his masterful Code Unknown in the first place and has brought me back for more punishing life lessons with each passing film.
Since the film begins with the story’s ending, Haneke has made it clear that he is not interested in shock tactics this time around. Instead, he leaves us with a pigeon, which perhaps could be a metaphor for the frailty of life, among other things. The scarce moments of tenderness in Amour, though fleeting, are cherishable. His refusal to dwell in sentimentality is vital to the scenes where Anne is flipping through a photo album of their better years, or when the couple is visited by Anne’s adoring student (played by pianist Alexandre Tharaud). Even at the age of 82 and 85, Trintignant and Riva are still titans of the silver screen. The French leading man masterfully provides nuance for a role that is marked by its quiet introspection. Riva, on the other hand, has a more physically demanding role to tackle. Her fearless performance is a great example of how physicality could be just as crucial as talent in the art of acting. For instance, when Trintignant’s Georges helps Riva’s Anne exercise her bare legs, I am floored by the vulnerability she displays. The predicament of these characters is as real as it gets for the aging actors, whom I shall applaud for their bravery and dedication to their profession.
Amour opens at Landmark River Oaks Theatre on January 18, 2013.
I have stated many of my reservations regarding Django Unchained in my review. Regardless of your opinion, it has proven to be a provocative movie. After seeing it for a second time on Boxing Day, here are some of my additional thoughts:
- One thing I neglected to talk about in my review is how badass Jamie Foxx is in this film, especially with Christoph Waltz and Leonardo DiCaprio stealing the scenes for much of the movie. Despite not being Tarantino’s first choice for the role, Foxx has proven to be the right man. The speech he gave at the end of the film is executed (no pun intended) like “shooting a dog in the street,” as one character would say. Will Smith might have done fine (we’ll never know), but Foxx has that edginess and attitude that I don’t see the Fresh Prince (aka Hitch) possess. Can you imagine Morgan Freeman playing the role of Stephen instead of Samuel L. Jackson? (That would actually be interesting.)
- A second viewing also gave me a chance to pay more attention to the use of music. The Morricone pieces fit swimmingly. Even the original music—a first in a Tarantino flick— is not bad, save for the Rick Ross snoozer that is confusingly out of place given how the tail end of that tough-guy rap song is paired with Django’s daydream vision of his beautiful wife Broomhilda. The James Brown/Tupac remix works fine with the gunfight scene and the John Legend song is tonally in sync with the rest of the soundtrack. Continue reading
In a conversation between pretend slaver Dr. King Schultz (Christoph Waltz) and plantation owner Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio), the former mentions his desire to change the name of the subject of their transaction—Eskimo Joe—to something with more panache. This exchange of seemingly little importance is merely a scheme Schultz hatched up with his partner Django (Jamie Foxx) for the purpose of saving the latter’s enslaved wife Broomhilda (Kerry Washington). Yet the word “panache” has stuck with me long after the screening, mainly because of how accurate it describes Quentin Tarantino’s approach to Django Unchained. Admittedly, panache has never been in short supply in his previous films but his latest is designed with the kind of fireworks that is aimed to maximize its appeal as broadly as a 165-minute violent R-rated picture can be. Continue reading
Following its annual tradition, Cinema Arts Festival Houston kicks off with an opening night screening at the Museum of Fine Arts Houston. This year’s opening film, Love, Marilyn, tracks the life and career of the perennial Hollywood icon Marilyn Monroe through archival images, interviews and most interestingly a series of dramatic readings of Monroe’s diaries and writings from her loved ones and associates. Since Monroe has been thoroughly documented and eulogized in almost every available medium for numerous of times, the dramatic reading undoubtedly stands out for better or worse. Director Liz Garbus casts a dozen of actresses (I lost count)— including Uma Thurman, Viola Davis, Glenn Close, Marisa Tomei—to recite Monroe’s journal entries in front of a green screen (which was then replaced by a variety of images in the resulting film). There are also the likes of Jeremy Piven, Ben Foster and Adrien Brody impersonating Elia Kazan, (the unreliable) Norman Mailer and Truman Capote in the same manner as the actresses did for Monroe. This device is bold yet distracting to the overall viewing experience. The idea of showing different sides of Monroe by having various actors pretending to be her might sound like a edgy idea on paper but the execution is rather shoddy. Often the readings feel like half-baked auditions at best and some of them sound cringingly silly (see Uma Thurman and Lindsay Lohan). The drifting camera movement and unflattering lighting were of no help to these unfortunate segments.
Despite its missteps, Love, Marilyn has moments of clarity, especially in depicting Monroe’s contractual dispute with 20th Century Fox and refuting her often misinterpreted persona as a brainless sex symbol. The film is largely sympathetic to Monroe’s struggle as a bright young talent who was ahead of her time yet it also generously absolves her personal failings as a case of being a victim of her circumstances. At the end, Love, Marilyn is a generous portrayal of a film star who is still loved and romanticized by so many.