Review: "Force Majeure"

Director: Ruben Ostlund
Runtime: 118 minutes

If you're thinking of going on a ski trip with a significant other soon, then perhaps it's best to hold off on seeing Force Majeure until you get back (hopefully in one peace). After seeing Sweden's official submission for the Foreign Language Film Oscar, that trip to Boulder or Aspen isn't going to look like the best idea. Director Ruben Ostlund, in his fourth feature, has created an often beautiful-looking film, but the scenic backdrops of the Swiss Alps come with a price that's both acidly funny and brutally uncomfortable. We kicked off October with Gone Girl, a stylish mystery that was also a the perfect anti-date movie. Though quite different in set up, Force Majeure is a great way to end the month; it's the perfect Omega to Gone Girl's Alpha.

Ostlund's previous three films have all dealt with people facing tense situations, but in Force Majeure, he's able to poke and prod at that most sacred source of right-wing comfort: the nuclear family. The opening scene literally positions Tomas (Johannes Kuhnke), Ebba (Lisa Kongsli), and their two children as a picture perfect family. On a five day ski trip in Switzerland, they're undergoing heavy coaching from a photographer as they pose against the towering mountainside and immaculate powder. Sure, it's a bit of an annoyance, but hey, at least we'll get some cute family pictures, right?

Unity is the initial defining trait of the well-to-do Swedish quartet. They ride the ski lift quenue together, all sleep in the same cozy bed, and even brush their teeth together on four identical electric toothbrushes. They were basically made to be in an Ikea catalogue. Sure, Tomas has a habit of working too hard (early on, Ebba teases him about checking his iPhone), but the first day on the slopes proves to be exactly what they need.

Unfortunately for the family (a surname is never given), the mountains have other things in store. In what has become the film's signature shot since its premiere at Cannes, everyone watches a controlled avalanche on a perfectly situated open-air restaurant. It looks as picture perfect as the opening photo session, until it gets a bit bigger and appears to be heading straight for the the spectators. Turns out, it's a false alarm, but too much has already been set in motion. While Ebba does her best to grab the kids, Tomas pulls a George Costanza, and takes off on his own, knocking over others along the way. Everyone is understandably shaken-up about the incident, but they get through the rest of the day perfectly fine. Until the kids finally go to bed, and Ebba voices her concern about Tomas' actions.

What Force Majeure lacks in character backgrounds or motivations, in makes up for with increasingly intense in-the-moment verbal sparring. The immediate aftermath presents a bit of a lull, as the family (mostly Ebba) processes the event, but then the first dinner scene arrives and squirm-inducing disagreements drop Tomas and Ebba off on a perilously slippery slope. As the couple tries to explain what happened (Tomas denies the accusation that he ran away), Ostlund carefully chips away at his lovely little Ikea family. Ebba gets the spotlight first, and watching her trust in Tomas crumble is when Force Majeure starts to deliver. Both actors are excellent, and his shift in perspective across the film's two hours gives the film a well-rounded, increasingly awkward, sense of characterization. At first, it seems like only Kongsli is going to really get to dig into her role, but the shift to Tomas (the accused) is handled seamlessly over the course of a double date dinner scene that oh-so-lightly tips its hat to Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

With Tomas knocked down off of his pedestal as the presumed protector and provider, Ostlund's sly subversion of gender roles really starts to give Force Majeure its unique edge. Struggling spouses aren't anything new, but the hypothetical quality is a source of the film's bursts of caustic humor. The film's second half positions itself as the story of a man trying to reclaim his his title as head of the house, but Ostlund's endgame is more than just a war of the sexes. The most important scene of the film, involving one character's blatant emotional manipulation of others, is but a pyrrhic victory. Balance is restored, but only on the surface. Ostlund's conclusion is able to come full circle without taking an accidental, sexist step backwards.

Despite the cramped spaces and tense dialogue scenes, Ostlund's visuals are equally informative. The ski lift queue, first seen as just another passage, becomes a cramped, suffocating space when revisited. Everyone is sneaking looks at each other, trying to gauge what Tomas' move would be in the face of another potential disaster. The picturesque ski resort starts taking on a menacing quality, it's ultra modern log cabin aesthetic becoming less comforting with each passing scene. The resort may not be Switzerland's answer to the Overlook Hotel, but it doesn't exactly offer solace or warmth. The rumblings of nearby explosions - set to cause more controlled avalanches - create a perfect natural soundtrack for the film's emotional escalation.

For all of the film's tightly-wound conversations, Force Majeure is still a beautiful looking film. Stellar photography captures the sleek drabness of the hotel, as well as the overwhelming size and majesty of the mountains. A sequence with Tomas and his friend Mats (Kristofer Hivju, also wonderful) enjoying a guy's day on the slopes demonstrates that Ostlund is as talented at framing shots as he is dissecting his characters under a microscope. Interior visuals have great fun playing with space, as in one very funny conversation between Mats and his girlfriend in a narrow elevator. The repeated musical cue, from Vivaldi's Four Seasons, serves as a sinisterly funny marker of the passage of time. Editing is elegant and simple, and keeps the story moving along as smooth as a brand new Maserati (or rather, Volvo).

In a year with so many wonderful accomplishments, it's hard to believe that there's room left for something to grab hold on one's attention. Force Majeure may not have Boyhood's structural conceit or Birdman's simulated single shot, but it brings a completeness to the table that has eluded so many of 2014's very best films. Ostlund's ability with tone and pacing (not to mention his actors) is never less than outstanding. The subject matter may be wince-inducing, but the execution is so graceful that looking away is never an option. That is, unless you're still planning on taking that ski trip.

Grade: A

Review: "Omar"

Director: Hany Abu-Assad
Runtime: 96 minutes

For a film featuring a love triangle, constant paranoia, and betrayal, Oscar-nominated Palestinian thriller Omar rarely grabs one's attention. Though competent enough on all fronts, Hany Abu-Assad's topical film is ultimately built on flimsy emotional and psychological foundations. Rather than sink its hooks in and then dig deep, Omar is barely capable of poking beneath the surface once all of the narrative elements are established.

The end result is particularly disappointing because of the effortlessly handled opening act. Despite the gunshots and police abuse, watching young rebel Omar (Adam Bakri) sneak around Jerusalem hammers home the banality of the setting's violence and chaos. Watching military police taunt Omar by forcing him to stand on a rock for hours is only moderately tense as cinema, which somehow becomes unnerving in retrospect. These instances are eerily common place, and even expected. The near misses with the police are woven into Omar's life as if they're simply part of his daily schedule. 

Yet these establishing scenes, which also introduce love interest Nadia (Leem Lubany), and Omar's rebel comrades Tarek (Iyad Hoorani) and Amjad (Samer Bisharat), aren't given enough meat to support what follows. When Omar is roped into being an informant for Israeli authorities, the film seems ready to truly take off from a narrative standpoint. Instead, it starts to unravel. 

The most troubling thing about Omar's main plot is how little the film touches on Omar's psychological dilemma. Yes, he'll have to make choices about what he does or doesn't reveal, but Abu-Assad's thin screenplay allows for little room for the stakes to really settle (outside of the obvious). On the surface, we can see what Omar stands to lose, but the pacing just keeps clipping along, never bothering to dwell too much. Ironically, the somewhat nimble pace ends up working against the thriller elements of the story. After a point, Omar becomes mildly frustrating, as it goes through the motions. Only when the physical movement is at its height, as in a pair of dynamic on-foot chases, does Abu-Assad's approach actually connect. 

The glimpses of actual humanity, meanwhile, are often swept aside. That doesn't mean that certain moments don't register, however. A scene where Omar and Israeli agent Rami (Waleed Zuaiter) share a laugh over the latter's wife and mother hints at what Omar could have been. There's actual complexity there: for all of the fear and manipulation, two diametrically opposed individuals can still bond over a simple, human moment, even as they're surrounded by conflicting circumstances. At the very least, a deep examination of this would have acted as a counterweight to the bloodless love triangle entanglement that arrives at the midway point. 

Even the writer/director's protagonist becomes partly culpable in the film's noble failure. Handsome though he may be, Bakri can't manage to project his internal turmoil. This single change would likely have upped the film's quality by quite a margin. Though the actor emotes effectively, never straining for show-off moments, there's a lack of true complexity. Rather than find ways of showing Omar's stressful situation, Abu-Assad and Bakri leave the make-up and fake blood to show us the damage. It's all about appearances with Omar, and sadly nothing more. 

Grade: C

Review: "Chicken with Plums"

Director(s): Marjane Satrapi and Vincent Parronaud
Runtime: 93 minutes

It takes a different set of skills to successfully execute live action film making and animation. And the transition from one to the other also comes with its own challenges. One need look no further than Pixar alums Brad Bird and Andrew Stanton to see where going from one style to the other can work (the former's Mission Impossible 4) and flounder (the latter's - admittedly very pretty - John Carter). Now what about merging the two together? An even bigger artistic, technical, and logistical uphill climb. You wouldn't know it, however, if you went by the unqualified success that is Chicken with Plums. Written and directed by Marjane Satrapi and Vincent Parronaud, this sophomore effort from the creators of Persepolis (2007) is a small, vibrant, and emotional tale of life, death, love, and desire. 

Set in Tehran but starring an array of actors (all of whom speak in French) from across the globe, Satrapi and Parronaud have seemingly reversed their focus as storytellers. Where Persepolis (a more politically involved work) tracked the growth of a girl in Iran under the Shah, Plums deals with a middle-aged man reflecting on his past as he contemplates his own end. Mathieu Amalric (The Diving Bell and the Butterfly) plays Nasser Ali Khan, a highly respected violinist whose instrument has been broken. His quest for a replacement proves fruitless, even after he acquires a Stradivarius. Having lost all zest for life, and deciding that suicide presents too many problems (humorously rendered in fluidly integrated mixes of live action and animation), Khan simply gives up the will to live, and waits in his room for death to come. 

From this point on, the film is divided among Khan's last eight days. Yet rather than turn this narrative device into a creative crutch, Satrapi and Parronaud bring the Khan's days alive to marvelous effect. Shifting among live action, animation, and hybrids of the two, Khan's time spent wasting away is anything but a drag. By turns lively, exciting, odd, somber, and darkly humorous, the co-directors weave a beautifully constructed, constantly-moving journey through their protagonist's dreams, memories, and fantasies. Some are fleeting, like Khan's lustful daydreams of a visit from Sophia Loren, where he finds his head squished in her comically exaggerated cleavage. Others go on longer and incorporate all three styles of filmmaking. This includes the best segment, wherein Khan meets with Azrael, the angel of death. Fittingly, the encounter isn't dour or frightening, but oddly funny, and engaging. Contrary to instinct, the cartoonish elements of the film's sequences actually add to its depth. Think of Khan's encounter with Azrael as the more vivid cousin to the knight's encounter with Death in The Seventh Seal (fittingly, both scenes involve chess). 

And as the narrative moves closer towards Khan's death, Satrapi and Parronaud's narrative tapestry only grows deeper and richer. The animation may bequeath a lighter, fantastical touch, but at the end of the day the writer/directors never lose sight of where their tale is headed. Dropping in on memories of Khan's first love, and his subsequent forced marriage to Faringuisse (Maria de Madeiros) adds nuance to what could have been a surface-only affair. The film's tone and style suggest something broad and manipulative, yet despite the story of lost love and the charming score, Chicken with Plums establishes itself as a rich and engrossing fairy tale. 

Anchoring all of it is Mathieu Amalric, who uses his sensitive, Gallic face (and somewhat bulging eyes) to breathe tremendous life into Khan. His conversations with his wife are expertly handled, suggesting a man who is split between the love for his current wife, and the haunting memory of his first love. Not helping matters is the fact that, despite some deep seated love, Khan and Faringuisse's marriage is severely strained. Though Khan proclaims himself an artist, it's been a long time since he's worked, putting all of financial burden on Faringuisse, who believes he should support the family as the patriarch. Their relationship also plays a key role in Khan's melancholy, yet the script avoids the pitfall of turning Faringuisse into a one-note harpy. The story belongs to Khan, but the film is wise enough to give other characters a fair shake, and never justifies some of Khan's behavior, even as it helps us understand him. 

For all of its fanciful imagery, real, animated, or both, what makes Chicken with Plums the surprisingly moving success that it is comes down to Satrapi and Parronaud's ability to always keep Khan's story front and center. The animation and visuals are often wondrous, with swirling lines and layers popping out like a subtle pop-up yet the directors never indulge just to show off their visual prowess. It may not make quite the mark that Satrapi and Parronaud's debut made, but at the very least it further establishes them as a storytellers gifted at capturing the imagination emotionally and visually in excellent balance. 

Grade: B+

Review: "Bullhead"

Director: Michael Roskam
Runtime: 123 minutes

Questions of masculinity run throughout Michael Roskam's agricultural thriller (stay with me) Bullhead. Whether it's an undercover gay cop or a man coping with a horrific injury from his past, the heart of the film, aside from its twisty plot involving a battle between cops and smugglers, comes down to what it means to be a man, and the lengths people go to in order to feel content with their masculinity, whether to themselves, or to others. It's territory rife with potential for cliches, yet Roskam, in an impressive debut, pulls it all together beautifully. With the help of a stunning turn from leading man Matthias Schoenaerts (also seen this year in Jacques Audiard's Rust and Bone), Bullhead cements itself as one of the year's most gripping films, foreign language or not. 

However, let's first clear up a bit of date confusion. Bullhead was nominated for Foreign Language Film at the most recent Academy Awards. However, unlike winner A Separation, the film received no theatrical (festivals don't count) US release in the 2011 calendar year. So, for all intents and purposes, for the US (and for all other Oscar categories), Bullhead is a 2012 film with an unfortunate early release date that has killed any chance it might have had of earning some other awards love from the Academy. A shame, because Schoenaerts' performance alone is worthy of some attention come year's end (but more on that later).

In short, the plot involves cattle farmer Jacky (Schoenaerts) being approached to make a deal with some nefarious beef traders, who specialize in using illegal steroids to help the bulls mature faster. Elsewhere, a police officer's murder, and the subsequent investigation, set in motion a related chain of events involving an undercover policeman with connections to Jacky's past. Predictably (one of the few instances where the word applies), the investigation and Jacky's involvement with the beef traders are set on a inevitable collision course. Thankfully, Roskam's storytelling more than compensates for the one seemingly obvious aspect of the story, and keeps one off edge as to exactly how or when the forces on opposite sides of the law will meet. 

Jumping between Jacky and gay cop Diederick (Jeroen Perceval), Roskam manages to impressively weave the story together, little details, side characters, and all, for most of the film's 2 hour duration. As writer and director, Roskam has a mostly successful concept of gradually developing the film, while offsetting said development with lots of fluid camera work. The character of Jacky, in particular, is almost always in movement, his bulky, steroid-enhanced frame often trudging across the screen in some direction. And when Jacky is in stasis, the emotions start to bubble forth, and Schoenaerts handles the releases of deeply felt rage, emasculation, and vulnerability with a beautiful and understated intensity. As important as Dierderick is to the plot, the film's heart ultimately lies with Jacky, his layers peeled back with careful measure. 

Outside of the main duo, the cast is uniformly capable, though they're all ultimately side characters who do more to influence the plot than develop the film's themes. At times, this can lead Bullhead into iffy territory. Towards the middle of the film, the narrative threads surrounding the investigation and Jacky's life start to feel too separate for their own good, despite the efficient cutting. There is also the risk that, with so many supporting characters who strictly serve the plot, the film might alienate some viewers in this midsection. Some films have their weakest moments at the beginning or end, but Roskam's troubles (though never major problems) pop up in the middle, which slightly throws off the narrative progression between its ample set up and its move towards the finish line. 

This small quirk aside (it barely qualifies as an error in my eyes), however, does little to diminish the film's power once it ramps up for the home stretch. As the main threads of the story begin to re-intertwine, Roskam and his co-workers on both sides of the camera are able to make the film really connect. And if the film's quality dips in the middle,the quality of Schoenaerts' work only goes up and up the whole way through. Rich, moody cinematography and effective musical contributions only enhance the experience, and the big emotional (and physical) climax is a rousing success, despite the dour tone. Jacky may spend the majority of the film feeling incomplete as a man, but his journey as handled by Roskam, is wholly satisfying and moving.

Grade: A-

[Short] Review: "The Raid: Redemption"

Gareth Evans' The Raid: Redemption might have one of the most efficient set ups in recent memory: a young cop leaves his pregnant wife and father behind to be part of a massive effort to clear out an apartment complex full of criminals, only to find himself the last man standing. Yet if it sounds like Evans' film is little more than a disposable cops and criminals action flick, I'll have to stop you right there. What The Raid lacks in depth it makes up for with incredible film making skill, creating an intense and visceral thrill ride that is easily one of the best action films to come along in years. 


And even though the narrative gradually fills in a few critical story developments along the way, Evans' sense of pacing never gets thrown off. He knows how to build tension, stage fight scenes, and still knows when to slow things down just enough for you to catch your breath. Just about all of the action in The Raid is jaw-dropping, not only because of its incredibly taut, lightning-fast choreography, but also because Evans captures the action so well, refraining from over-editing or a dependency on a shaky camera to create a sense of chaos (as opposed to, say, The Hunger Games). Some of it can border on exhausting, such as a 2 on 1 battle near the end, but the payoff is always worth it. Evans has crafted something so lean and devoid of narrative or stylistic flab that there's not much else to The Raid other than its set up, some light smatterings of backstory, and tons and tons of action. And it all works because the direction is so focused, and the execution so intense. Evans' film is more concerned with action than other well made style-over-substance films of late (such as Hanna), and that might make it a weaker film from an artistic standpoint, but the film as a whole is so insanely gripping and visceral that it hardly matters. Throw in dedicated (albeit one-note) turns from the cast and a perfectly matched electronic score from Joseph Trapanese, and you really can't ask for much more. This is no-nonsense action filmmaking at its absolute pinnacle.

Grade: B
The Action: A

Review: "Footnote"

The fun of this time of year is that, while the studios shell out lots of dreck, smaller theaters begin releasing foreign films that went through the previous year's festival circuit without an American theatrical release. First it was The Kid with a Bike, and now there's Footnote, which claimed the screenplay prize at the 2011 Cannes Film Festival. A dark, semi-humorous take on father-son rivalry in the world of academia, Joseph Cedar's film has quite a lot going for it, awarded screenplay included, although it does have some flaws that hold it back from being a truly great or memorable work.

Eliezer (the father; Schlomo Bar-Aba) and Uriel Shkolnik (the son; Lior Ashkenazi) are both scholars of Talmudic Studies in Israel. Eliezer comes from an older, more strictly scientific school of thought, while Uriel leans toward a more modern, theoretical and aesthetic form of inquiry. As the film opens, Uriel has just been invited to join a prestigious academy, the latest in a series of professional successes. Divided by title cards, the first segment is referred to as the worst day in Eliezer's life; the older man has been trying to ear recognition with his hard work for years, while his son constantly earns accolades. This all changes, however, when Eliezer earns the important Israel Prize, which Eliezer has entered for the past 20 years. Except that he didn't. Shortly afterwards, Uriel learns that he was supposed to win, but a clerical error led to the award going to his father. What could have been an easy fix soon becomes a complicated illustration of the pair's rivalry as it ascends to new heights.

And right off the bat, what's good and bad about Footnote becomes quite clear. Cedar has moments of visual quickness and quiet emotional power, bolstered by Amit Poznansky's energetic score. At the same time, the pacing is inconsistent, at times deeply compelling, as in the scene where Uriel learns of the error, and at other times too languid for its own good. The opening is effective, but Cedar takes more time than he needs to get to the critical turning point in the narrative, without establishing his characters as much as he thinks he has. It doesn't take much to make the point that Eliezer's years without recognition have left him bitter and anti-social, but Cedar drags out some of the opening as though giving us more of it will make the 'twist' more effective. It doesn't. The screenplay, in one of its few weak spots, also includes a handful of pointless diversions, one involving Uriel's clothes going missing while he's at the gym. The shenanigans (which end with Uriel running around in a stolen fencing uniform) are only used so that Uriel can see his father being extremely happy and sociable (from a distance), and it seems like an awfully contrived way to get to the scene. There's also a subplot involving Uriel's son Josh, which, despite being appropriate thematically, distracts from the central conflict, which is all the film really needs to be successful.

Yet for the handful of annoyances, Cedar provides quite a lot to enjoy, even if the first act disrupts the pacing of the remainder of the film. The writer/director delivers some fun visuals, namely in a fun sequence done as though it were an animated presentation on a projector. The score, though sometimes mixed too loudly, lends the film a nice energy the few times it's used, and when the writing is spot on, everything comes together beautifully. Scenes like the above-mentioned revelation regarding the mistake, or a bitter interview between Eliezer and a young journalist, register on multiple levels. This is largely thanks to the excellent work from Bar-Aba and Ashkenazi, who dig into these characters and make the rivalry, which rarely involves incidents with the two men sharing the screen, really come to life. Bar-Aba ultimately says fewer words, but he communicates, especially in one of the earliest shots (a long, slow, zoom in on his face) the sense of dejection that Eliezer has dealt with throughout his career. Just as fierce is Ashkenazi. The film has been billed as a mix of comedy and drama, although it really leans toward the latter, with only small group of lines that really produce a chuckle. The film gains its personality because it rests on the shoulders of the rivalry, and as such it's largely bitter.

Yet the bitterness never sinks the film. Quite the opposite; it gives Footnote a stronger sense of purpose, even when the pacing falters. So when it moves into its ambiguous conclusion, there's no frustration, because Cedar has given us the right questions to mull over that a more explicit ending would have robbed us of. Whatever its flaws, Footnote ends with its best foot forward, and concludes in a manner that feels appropriate given its overarching themes. While the resolution to the problem remains something of an issue, the ambiguity of the aftermath actually deepens the film's effectiveness, when it could have come off as a cop-out. The rivalry may still be intact, but that actually makes Footnote more satisfying, because, as is often the case in real life, a more concrete resolution wouldn't make the relationships any less messy. Cedar's film may have its rough spots, but its strengths do a such a generally fine job of balancing the scale, that as time passes it's easier to let them slide, even if they can never be completely ignored.

Grade: B/B+

Review: "A Separation" (2011)

Certain themes in A Separation, Asghar Farhadi's widely acclaimed Iranian social drama, are, on some level, universal. Legal disputes, marital struggles, relationships between parents and children; these are all things which on some level, connect to us, whether it's on a personal or distant level. Yet what makes A Separation different, and potentially off-putting, is that the film functions as both a social drama and a look at modern Iranian society. This being the case, certain aspects - namely why characters do what they do - can be frustrating to watch, because they wouldn't be major issues in western society.

These are, however, not problems with the film, but simply issues in Iran, and to confuse them with the strength of the acting, story-telling, and writing, would be a mistake. This is an excellent, well-told story about a series of circumstances and attitudes that are so foreign to the western mindset that it's easy to label them as archaic. But in A Separation's specific case, it's not because Farhadi's writing is dumb or contrived; it's simply trying to be accurate in depicting a frustrating society. This may keep the film from being traditionally "enjoyable" in any sense, but as a striking and eye-opening piece of social film-making, its power is undeniable.

Set in contemporary Iran, the film starts off with Simin (Leila Hatami) trying to seek a divorce from her husband Nader (Peyman Moadi). She wants to leave the country with their daughter Termeh, he doesn't because of his old, Alzheimer's-afflicted father. The key problem: Simin can't leave with Termeh unless Nader leaves too, or at least gives his consent. Since he refuses, the divorce request is denied, so Simin decides to live with her parents while she continues to try and convince Nader to allow Termeh to leave. With Simin's absence, Nader hires a very religious (in contrast to the rather secular-seeming Nader and Simin), slightly squirrelly woman named Razieh (Sareh Bayat) to take care of his father while he is at work.

If this seems like enough to fill a single film, it probably is, but Farhadi keeps adding angle after angle to his expansive (yet ultimately intimate) tale. The result is a rich, often tense narrative that gives a piercing look at a world and lifestyle that is hard for anyone not from the region to fathom. In one of the most informative (and, from an objective standpoint, frustrating) scenes comes when Razieh discovers that Nader's father has soiled his pants. Yet before she goes to help him change and clean himself, she paces in thought, and then calls her imam to ask if it will be a sin to touch a man, despite the circumstances. But as strange (and even silly) as some of these actions seem, they are equally compelling and enlightening. Coupled with the rapid, high-strung dialogue exchanges, what could have been a fairly mundane domestic drama elevates itself to become an almost epic tapestry of motivations and goals. Even from the opening scene, a single near-static shot where Nader and Simin argue their cases before a judge, it's difficult not to be gripped by Farhadi's exchanges, which often occur between two diametrically opposed characters. That the dialogue is delivered with such blistering intensity by the cast doesn't hurt. What could have come off as over-written or stagey feels perfectly natural in the hands of the ensemble, especially the clashes between Nader and Simin.

Where A Separation runs into trouble is that it is so intent on using its story to paint a portrait of Iran, that is often comes off feeling academic. Gripping, yes, but still missing just that extra element of heart, the absence of which doesn't become fully apparent until after the credits have started rolling. Farhadi's characters do not lack depth, nor do they feel like puppets. At the same time, each one seems calculated to serve the plot strictly to the point of servicing the message. But the bigger issue, however, is simply that as good as Farhadi usually is at making the points he wants to make, he sometimes makes a point multiple times. The story is draining enough as it is, and the occasional repetition throws off the generally well-executed pacing and story flow.

But in the end, these quibbles do little to diminish Farhadi's achievements. Though its visceral engagement comes more on an intellectual (rather than emotional) level, its effectiveness is difficult to shake. What starts as a simple desire for a divorce gradually and elegantly evolves into a larger narrative without ever losing its emotional intimacy. It may not be an enjoyable viewing experience, nor a cinematic journey you'll be jumping up and down to take again any time soon, but it is, ultimately, important and must-see viewing.

Grade: A-/B+

Review: "Poetry"

For the past few years, South Korean cinema has made its mark with gritty crime stories and outlandish horror thrillers. For the most part, they’ve been quite the success stateside, at least critically if not commercially. This has, however, created an unfortunate stereotype around Korean films: that they must, in some form or another, feature grisly violence. But even though Chang-dong Lee’s Poetry involves a death as part of a subplot, it couldn’t be any further from the crime or horror trends that have swept up his contemporaries.

Though the film opens with a suicide, Lee’s film is not meant to accelerate one’s pulse. The death that begins the film plays but a small part in the limited, yet languid tale of self-discovery. Yang Mija (Jeong-hie Yun) is an elderly woman living in a small town with her grandson. Upon discovering that she has early signs of Alzheimer’s, she forgoes treatment, and enrolls herself in a poetry class, only to soon discover a rather unpleasant secret in her family.

As a story, the whole thing moves at a pace that borders on glacial. Lee is clearly striving to let the story unfold at a pace that suits its protagonist. Yet even though this leads to any number of spots where you may wander off, the piece as a whole does build to a quietly satisfying conclusion. At the same time, I wish he had kept the pacing the same but simply made the film about 30 minutes shorter; the same emotional goal could have easily been reached. I don’t mean to sound like a stereotypical member of the instant gratification generation, and I love many long films. But those films seem to earn it. With Poetry, the pacing, which was obviously meant to be reserved and contemplative, risks dipping into boredom. Lee never allows this to happen, but Poetry does, especially in its first half, teeter dangerously on the border between methodical and dull.

What holds it all together, though, is Ms. Yun, who gives a lovely, understated, and graceful performance as a woman trying to find herself in a world that is starting to leave her behind. This isn’t a terribly flashy piece of acting, but Yun is always interesting to watch, never letting her character’s out-of-touch nature become cloying or irritating. Mija is not a cartoon of an old woman; she is a fully developed human being who demands our attention, even though her goal – to break through her creative struggle and write a poem – may seem trivial. The screenplay lets this element develop so naturally that by the time it comes to a close, it’s hard not to be touched, albeit from a distance.

The key subplot, which involves Mija’s grandson, is the element that doesn’t quite gel, at least when it comes down to specifics. Given the severity of what is going on in the background, the reactions from just about everyone involved don’t seem strong enough. A different, less inflammatory secret (or at least one from further back in time) would have suited the movie’s aims better. What we’re left with never feels as though it reaches a proper resolution physically (though it does thematically).

But even though the film have its problems along the way, it is ultimately a journey worth taking. Yun’s delicate and beautiful performance is worth it, even though the film around her isn’t quite as well-executed. One can only hope that Mr. Lee and Ms. Yun will soon reunite on another project, one where director and actress are on the same level. The result, I imagine, would be cinematic poetry.

Grade: B/B-

Review: "13 Assassins"

For no worthwhile reason, Houston's (currently only) indie/art house theater was showing Takashi Miike's 13 Assassins once a day, at 11:59 PM. Why? No earthly idea. I understand this sort of time slot for cult films or midnight premieres, but for regular showtimes? Thankfully, all was not lost, as I learned from a friend that the film was currently available OnDemand (I sing your praises, Lords of Comcast), and I was able to see Miike's film at a reasonable hour, which is good, because I would have hated to have fallen asleep during such an entertaining film.

Set in Shogun-era Japan, the film opens just as the country is entering an era of peace. Almost. The problem is that one of the high-ranking shoguns has been succeeded by the sadistic Lord Naritsugu. And as far as major villains go, Miike has fashioned a truly despicable one. I won't reveal details, but to say that Lord N is cruel and de-sensitized regarding violence is a tremendous understatement. Deciding that this cannot continue, a group of older samurai gradually build up a team of samurai from nearby towns, and begin their plan to attack Naritsugu's traveling forces.

This is not a complicated tale, nor a terribly long one (2 hrs) when compared to classics like Seven Samurai (which is, itself, not terribly complicated). It is, however, a well-executed and exciting story, propelled by Miike's swift direction. Of the 13 (one of whom is not a samurai), most aren't really given much in terms of development. The majority of the film is the gathering of the men, and then the move to get ahead of Naritsugu before staging their assault. Yes, one older samurai has a scene where he sits before his family's grave and promises to see them in heaven soon, but it's not exactly hard-hitting stuff. If anything, we get to know Naritsugu better than the heroes, and at best he's something of a one-note psychopath.

This is rather remarkable, though, because of how Miike manages to generate some semblance of emotion during the film's stunning climax, a battle of 13 vs. 200 that lasts at least 30 minutes. As we see the 13 gradually worn down, it's hard not to feel a sense of sadness and exhaustion equal to that of the men. We may not know much about them, but with the line between good and evil so bluntly drawn, and with the villain as despicable as he is, the sadness comes from the broader view: we're watching evil win, despite valiant efforts by the forces of good against overwhelming odds. It may not equate to brilliant writing, but its low-key effectiveness in this regard is a testament to Miike's ability to generate emotion out of thin characters without obnoxious and manipulative techniques.

The director also deserves credit for his ability to create such exciting action without crossing the uncomfortable line to where violence and death are trivialized. Nor does he overdo attempts at "realism" by making the film as gory as possible. Like the film's simple costumes and sets, the violence rings true. It's engaging, but not choreographed or stylized to death (that said, the way Miike turns a small village into a total death trap is devilishly clever). That he shoots action scenes with a general sense of clarity amid the chaos (as in, actually pulling the camera back far enough so we can see what the hell is happening) is yet another plus. This is not a film of great depth, or of stoic philosophical musings in the age of the samurai. It is an action movie, one worth watching for the elegant simplicity of the film making, the understanding of violence and its consequences, and its ability to generate a reaction despite a script that doesn't place character development anywhere near its list of top priorities. And while 13 Assassins may not rank among the samurai classics of decades past, it certainly blows most modern Hollywood explosion-fiestas out of the water.

Grade: B

Review: "Incendies"

A few weeks ago, in my review of The Double Hour, I made several comments about the delicate nature of plot twists, and how they can make or break a film. Despite my reservations about the big twist in Giuseppe Capotondi's film, insofar as to how it would be received by audiences, I came to think of myself as a fan. I bring this up because the film I'm about to discuss, the Canadian Oscar nominee Incendies, also incorporates several significant twists, but with uneven results.

Jumping between the present day and the Lebananon-set wars of the 70s, Incendies opens with brother and sister Simon and Jeanne Marwan receiving letters as part of their mother Nawal's (Lubna Azabal) will. The letters reveal a mission of sorts. They are to track down a father who they thought was dead, and a brother whose existence they've been ignorant of until now. Simon (Maxim Gaudette) has no desire to retrace his mother's past, leaving Jeanne (Melissa Poulin) to piece together a painful history by herself. As she begins her search in Lebanon, we see Nawal's devastating story unfold.

The film's title, when translated to English, roughly equates to 'scorched,' which is appropriate on several levels. But as a family drama/mystery, Incendies is very much a slow-burning story. Pacing is elegant and methodical, though never sluggish, and jumps between and among time periods and locations are handled efficiently, with bright red labels dividing the film based on characters or locations. As adapted from Wadji Mouawad's play by director Denis Villeneuve, the film sets its sights on communicating the lives of many by examining the lives of a few, and in this, it's a success. The wars in Lebanon, between right-wing Christian nationalists and Muslim refugees, destroyed many lives, and left scars on countless others. Villeneuve's mix of wide shots amid the scenes of searching, violence, and horror helps establish that the atrocities faced along the way were not limited to just a few. This is a stark film, one that is about excruciating pain, yet avoids countless opportunities to descend into overwrought, manipulative misery-porn.

As a commentary on the horrors of ethnic and religious violence, Incendies' somewhat exhausting story certainly leaves a harsh impact. However, the film's initial momentum, so elegant in its dispensation of information, starts to wear off. Throughout the first hour, maybe more, the images carry the movie, revealing horrible events both to us, and to the modern segment of the story. As it progresses, however, Incendies falls into the trap of telling instead of showing. Suddenly, we're given the present, the past, and characters in the present yapping about what happened in the past. The reintroduction of Simon later in the film only throws things further off balance. For a film that repeatedly references mathematics and equations, Incendies increasingly loses precision, made worse by how effective it is for the first half.

Upsetting the equation even further are two twists, doled out in relatively close proximity to each other. The first is acceptable. It acts as a perfectly horrid revelation that helps shed light on why Nawal kept the secret until her death. That Villeneuve feels the need to relay it to one character via mathematical dialogue is slightly less satisfying, and results in a gasp of shock that borders on funny. Unfortunately, a second arrives, and it's intimately linked to the first. In conjunction with each other, they threaten to send the film flying into soap opera territory. Villeneuve and his actors handle these twists well (aside from the aforementioned gasp), thankfully, and lend a sense of gritty naturalism to moments that should feel grossly out of place. Yet they still don't quite fit into the overall flow. The story is more than compelling enough as is, yet it begins to feel less like a natural progression of events, and more like a series of events built solely to culminate in horrific (not to mention Oedipal) shocks.

This leaves Incendies in a tricky place. It certainly has its merits, from the bare photography to the generally restrained performances. Azabal's work as the emotionally scarred Nawal is the most effective, seeing as this is more or less her story. We only see Jeanne and Simon develop as it relates to discovering their mother's past, and that development feels, at best, rather hollow. A third character (who I can't reveal) is also a potential goldmine for emotional exploration, but is reduced to little more than a bringer of trauma and a plot point. Like a busboy trying to balance too many plates, the increasing scope of the script begins to overwhelm the movie to the point where it becomes an unwieldy burden. And though the film's methodical pacing isn't an issue on its own, the overall running time left me ready for a denouement at several points before the final fade to black. As a work that wants to examine the broader consequences of religious and ethnic (and even gender) violence with a mix of the intimate and epic, Incendies certainly does scorch some images into your mind. The problem is simply that it doesn't know when to quit the deluge of misery in its quest to become some sort of modern Greek tragedy.

Grade: B-

Review: "La Doppia Ora (The Double Hour)"

Used in the right (or wrong) places, a twist can make or break a film. Those sudden shocks, those revelations that transform our perspective of what previously occurred, can take a brilliant film to new heights, temporarily elevate an adequate one, or wreck whatever goodwill was built up prior. Keeping twists a secret is also key. Ads for Neil Jordan's The Crying Game literally advised people, "Don't Let Anyone Tell You the Twist." It's all of this that makes the key twist in Giuseppe Capotondi's The Double Hour so fascinating, and so difficult, to discuss.

Originally released in 2009 in its homeland of Italy, Capotondi's debut received acclaim and scooped up awards for Best Italian Film, and Lead Actor/Actress at the 09 Venice Film Festival. Upon finally landing in the US, it's easy to see what most of the fuss was about. After an abrupt opening in which hotel cleaning woman Sonia (Kseniya Rappoport) receives a nasty jolt at work, we're thrown into a speed dating set up. There, the shy Sonia meets the introverted ex-cop Guido (Vincere's Filippo Timi). The two strike up a brief relationship, before chaos and tragedy strike.

Unfortunately, to go into greater detail would spoil the fun of Capotondi's sly little thriller. 'Sly,' to some, that is. If there's one twist worth talking about (without revealing), it's the big one, and it happens smack dab in the middle of the film's 1 hr. 45 min. run time. Why? Because it's so thoroughly disruptive and game-changing, that once the initial shock wears off, it will either keep you further hooked through the film's conclusion, or leave you shaking your head in disappointment. The film's main strength, and therefore its main failing, is how severely the twist is likely to divide viewers. Consider me a member of the twist fan club. While my initial reaction was a mix of shock and "uh oh, did the movie just fly off of the rails?" I've come to appreciate the risk Capotondi took by taking such a big leap. How the twist alters the previous hour or so is significant enough to make detractors see it as an invalidation. I see it as a risk that pays off, in that it brings to life the subtle oddities of the first hour's cinematic construction. The script's level of subtle and overt detailing is impressive. It gives us glimpses, and never defaults to pieces of exposition in anything bigger than bite-size form.

As for other twists, I can't say as much, good or bad. Its elegant construction and careful dispensation of information and twists are reminiscent of Guillaume Canet's Tell No One (2006/08). The film's first half hour almost convinced me that Capotondi was ripping off of Canet's work. And, like Tell No One, I suspect that not all of Capotondi's twists and turns completely hold up to scrutiny. Both are films that, especially in Capotondi's case, succeed because of their directors' abilities to fully immerse the audience and allow them to suspend their senses of disbelief. And whatever its twists may be, the script does deserve credit for balance of character and thrills, and Capotondi, in turn, deserves credit for bringing this facet to life so effectively. The intrigue and tension comes entirely from revelations relayed via dialogue, not from car chases, shoot outs, or hidden bombs. The closest thing the film has to a typical thriller scenario is actually the least engaging part of the story. Capotondi's film is able to transform into a very different sort of film at the halfway point, with surprisingly satisfying results despite an ending that hits too soon.

Lending the film an extra air of believability are the two leads. Now, despite the acclaim, I'm not quite sold on Rappoport and Timi's work here as award worthy. That said, they're certainly intriguing and well-played, Rappoport especially. But this is a film where characters come second to plot construction. The leads emote with conviction and restraint, but as written Sonia and Guido aren't quite as deep as Capotondi and the writers would like us to believe. Some have labeled the film as a film about loss and redemption disguised as a thriller; I'm tempted to say it's the reverse. Its lack of more traditional thrills, not to mention the back story that unfolds throughout, suggests a slightly lightweight drama about loss and redemption that gains its heft by adding a heavy dose of twisty narrative structure.

In the end, none of this is entirely a bad thing. Like Joe Wright's Hanna, or the aforementioned Tell No One, the eventual victory of style (and story) over substance actually works in the film's favor. It doesn't mean that there aren't flaws, and it doesn't mean that the film shouldn't have aspired higher. What it means is that style (namely some brief-but-killer first person and rack focus work) over substance doesn't have to be a bad thing. Sure, The Double Hour could have been a full-fledged meditation on coping with the past and present, but that would have robbed it of its ability to truly thrill, despite richer characterization and stronger performances. By melding the two, and leaning in favor of mystery/thriller elements, The Double Hour is able to posses an elegantly quiet and somber air, all while trapping viewers who succumb to its wiles in a dizzying story. In embracing the elements of both sides at this particular balance, Capotondi's debut entertains without feeling ludicrous or silly (as opposed to, say, Fast Five), even if parts of it may very well be those things deep down.

Grade: B/B+

"Biutiful" - REVIEW

Many theorists and art critics would argue that artists must evolve, and that to repeat one's self stylistically would be detrimental. Now, when it comes to theory, I'm far from being an expert, but for any artistic or philosophical theory, it always seems to me that there are more than a few exceptions. Unfortunately, director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu isn't such an exception, and his latest film, Biutiful is unfortunate proof that old (and not entirely good) habits really do die hard.

Set primarily in Barcelona, Biutiful tells the story of Uxbal (Javier Bardem), a corrupt cop whose life is slowly coming undone. In addition to the cancer that he has left untreated for too long, Uxbal must deal with raising his children, his undependable ex-wife (Maricel Alvarez), and helping illegal immigrants from Senegal and China stay undetected while they try to do business across the city. If this sounds like a recipe for something unbearably bleak, it is, although thankfully Inarritu is less indulgent and contrived here than he was in Babel.

This is largely thanks to the fact that the film only has one true protagonist, whereas Inarritu's three previous films have all depended on fractured narratives colliding with each other. As Uxbal, Bardem navigates all of the character's angles with skill and restrained power. It's unfortunate, though, that the film around him isn't of equal quality. Despite the narrowed focus, Biutiful still has prominent vestiges of Inarritu's previous work, and tries to shoe-horn in additional important characters, such as a widowed Senegalese women, and a pair of gay Chinese immigrants. Of the supporting characters, the only one who really comes through in the writing is Alvarez's Marambra. It's a passionate performance, and her broken chemistry with Bardem clicks (if anyone wants to do a Spanish remake of Blue Valentine, look no further for your leads) in all of the right ways.

In fact, if Inarritu had kept the focus more on Uxbal's family, instead of throwing everything at him all at once, Biutiful could have been a much more effective (and shorter) film. As it is, though, it's too long considering how average the execution of all of the subplots is. It's not exactly boring, but throughout the 2 hr 15 min runtime I kept waiting for "the good stuff" to happen, which is never a good sign. Special mention should go to Rodrigo Prieto's cinematography, though, for the richly composed images of outer decay. On the other hand, the sound design, while effective, is often distracting, and there are any number of moments when people hug when I swear you can hear the static coming off of their hidden microphones. Meanwhile, Gustavo "why the hell did I win back-to-back Oscars?" Santaolalla's score feels simplistic and derivative, and rarely contributes to the moods or emotions of the film.

These aspects make Biutiful a frustrating experience. It's certainly far from being awful, but there's so little that deserves praise outside of Bardem, Alvarez, and Prieto. It's the kind of film that, despite possessing a small handful of strong elements, you have a hard time recommending because of everything else around them. You want to root for Bardem, but Inarritu makes it difficult because he refuses to really change his game, which results in a middling effort on almost all fronts.

Grade: C

"Dogtooth" - REVIEW

In recent years, the select group of AMPAS members who decide on the nominees for Best Foreign Language film at the Oscars have strayed toward a mix of critical favorites, and "safe" traditional films. And even when they reached into slightly new territory - 2008's animated documentary Waltz with Bashir - they've ended up choosing a safer film (09's The Secret in Their Eyes over favorites The White Ribbon and A Prophet). It's circumstances like these that make me wonder how on earth they even let Dogtooth, Greece's (now nominated) submission, within five miles of the list of finalists, as it's one of the more unsettling films of 2010 (or any year).

Set somewhere within Greece, the film focuses on a nameless couple and their three nameless children, all of whom look to be in their late 20s/early 30s. And right from the beginning, it's clear that they're, um, different. The siblings listen to a tape that instructs them on the meaning of several words. For example, a "sea" is a type of chair, and a "telephone" is what one uses to sprinkle salt on food. In addition to their unique vocabularies, the children are also in constant competition with each other, performing endurance contests (such as holding their breath under water) to earn stickers. Clearly, the kids (and the family as a whole) are not all right.

And for much of the film, this is all director Yorgos Lanthimos gives us: examples of the family's weirdness as the parents terrorize their children into submission. Perhaps even more disturbingly, Lanthimos and co-writer Efthymis Filippou refrain from going overboard on all fronts (that is, aside from the sexual angle). There's no score to speak of, or any eerie sound effects, and the film is starkly shot, as if to make everything going on seem plain and ordinary. The effect is that the film becomes more disturbing after it's over, because Lanthimos doesn't play up the weirdness at every chance, nor does it stick out like a sore thumb. Save for a few scenes at the father's office, the household is all we know, and one becomes eerily accepting of what's going on.

However, this concept can only take the film so far. Even at a clean 90 minutes, it does tend to lag in the second half. After minutes and minutes of merely showing us the life that the family lives, the film tries to introduce a story of escape. But because the characterization has been limited to the weird and strict rules the children live by, there isn't much to go on, and the change one sibling goes through just sort of happens after one incident. Lanthimos also goes a bit overboard in what he shows when it comes to the sexual side of the characters. It's not quite pornographic, but it does verge on being indulgent and in slightly poor taste. And when the actual plot reaches its conclusion, the film goes out with too much of a whimper. I understand what the last shot is trying to say, but the timing and location feels a bit lightweight when it should be more suspenseful. To put it simply, if you're one of those people who hated the way the Coen brothers ended No Country for Old Men, then you'll likely hate this ending in equal measure.

Yet even with its flaws, Dogtooth remains a quietly effective, occasionally jarring piece of work. What it lacks in fully fleshed out characters, it makes up for in the quietness and restraint of its execution. And while it might not be entirely successful at accomplishing all of its thematic and story telling goals, it's an uncompromising vision of a seriously messed up family that will likely shake you up quite a bit when it cuts to the credits. Oh, and AMPAS members, it would make an inspired choice for the Best Foreign Language Film Oscar *hiiiiiiiiiiiiiint*.

Grade: B

Birds of a feather: "Mother" (Korea) and "Vincere" (Italy)

Thanks to my new personal god, Netflix InstantWatch, I was lucky enough to view two foreign films that, given my recently established criteria, make the list for 2010. I've had a lackluster year in foreign language viewings (The Millennium trilogy and I am Love), and I'm desperate to find something worthwhile to put in my personal rosters. And while I didn't necessarily love either of the two films I watched, they're certainly better than the four mentioned above, and they feature two wonderful performances. And as I watched them, I had eerily similar reactions in regards to what I thought were the strengths and weaknesses.

What I liked:

The standouts from both films are their leading ladies: Mother's Hye-ja Kim and Vincere's Giovanna Mezzorgiorno. One fictional, one real, both rich, complex, surprising (especially Kim) performances that rank among the year's best. Were they both in English (and actually given a campaign), I have no doubt they would have taken in a sizable heap of critics awards at the very least (Kim managed to claim one, I believe from LA).

The production values, especially the cinematography. Vincere's visuals are certainly more obviously striking, and it fits with the bombastic tone of the whole film. Among its best is a shot of an open air structure as light and smoke filter through after a bombing, while the silhouettes of civilians run in panic. There's also a fabulous sequence involving Ida (Mezzogiorno) hanging onto an iron gate while snow pour down that stands as one of the loveliest visuals of the year. That said, Mother's camera work has its own, less flashy, pleasures, namely a handful of wide landscape shots. And of course, the final shot is a (very strange) thing of beauty.

The second halves. Both films run a tad over 2 hours, and both films also improve as they move along. As Mother enters its second hour, the story becomes more intriguing, and the mystery becomes more prominent. The tone also becomes more consistent, as does the type of music used in the score. The last 30 minutes take the film in an unexpected direction that's both twisted and satisfying. As for Vincere, it improves a little earlier (close to the 45 minute mark) when the historical aspects of the story have been cleared and the script narrows its focus down to Ida Dalser's confinement to an insane asylum. Though it sometimes becomes a little repetitive, Mezzogiorno is always there to keep the story worth sticking with, even if it does conclude with all-too-predictable historical title cards.

What I didn't like:

The first halves. Though Mother opens strongly, the remainder of the first hour feels uncomfortable, and in places simply strange. There are some very weird attempts at humor that don't really connect at all. As for Vincere, it can be strangely edited and even verges on confusing in spots. And when it's not doing that, it's being wildly bombastic, with intrusive (and sometimes repetitive) title cards and music that at one point resorts to having a chorus shriek "GUERRA!" over and over again.

The music. While both films have some fantastic music in their scores, there's also a fair amount that doesn't quite work. Mother's score occasionally jumps into this awkward Jazz-lite style that seems to want to wring some sort of forced deadpan comedy out of the story. Vincere's score on the other hand gives in to the urge to be as bombastic as one of Mussolini's speeches.

Mother: B/B+(?)

Vincere: B

Release Date Issues: Where the Foreign Films Are

One of the biggest issues in regards to figuring out one's personal lists of favorites/bests of the year is release date issues. If a film was initially released in 2003, but didn't make it to your country (say, the USA) until 2004, where does it go? Ultimately it comes down to a personal choice. The case I brought up is Lars von Trier's Dogville, which didn't arrive in US theaters until 2004 (and was deemed Oscar eligible), despite prior releases in other parts of the world in 03. So where does it go? Personally, I put the film in 2004, but I know many who (if they like it) put it in their list of favorites from 2003, because that was when it first hit theaters period. Whichever side you choose, it's a clean break. Unfortunately, not all films are.

Consider the French film A Prophet. Like Dogville, it hit theaters in other countries before landing in the US in March of 2010. But here's where things get murky: the film was nominated for an Oscar for 2009...and yet a handful of critics groups have given it awards or recognized it in the past few weeks as a 2010 film. So where the hell does it go? Obviously, you're free to decide for yourself, but the point of this post is to clarify where this blog (from now on) stands on this often confusing and frustrating issue. The basics are as follows:

• If a film is eligible (ie: makes the Oscar longlist) for any Oscar category (or scores a nomination) for a given year, then that's what year I'm considering the film and any performances/techs in it.
• If a film is not on an eligibility long list whether due to disqualification or lack of submission, then the film is placed in the year that it first arrives in US theaters, even if it only makes it to New York and LA.

So, to clear up a few highly anticipated releases of mine...

• Biutiful: 2010
• Applause: 2010
• Vincere: 2010
• Mother: 2010
• Everyone Else: 2010 (only released theatrically in NYC in the US...wow)
• Certified Copy: 2011
• Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives (Cannes Champion): 2011
• Of Gods and Men: 2011

And now that this is out of my system, I'm going to continue my internal rant about how much I hate delayed/staggered release dates for indie and foreign films. Film is a universal languages, but there are many variations on how to speak it, and I think it's a shame that so many interesting films from the rest of the world have to travel such exhausting paths to make it to our shores.

Trailer for Jean-Luc Godard's "Socialisme"

I know it's silly, but why does it strike me as weird that someone like Godard is still alive and making films? The director of such French classics as A bout de Souffle seems like he should be decomposing in the earth with Fellini and Bergman as I type this, instead of still actively working. Maybe it's just because his films aren't usually treated as events (ie: "BLANK: the new film from Martin Scorcese/The Coen bros/Tarantino/Tim Burton/Alfonso Cuaron/etc...) anymore, or maybe...well, honestly, I don't know. Regardless, this, erm, "trailer" (using that word loosely as this looks more like a sizzle reel) is kind of intriguing, despite the fact that it gives you nothing to go on (more on the film HERE). The vague description is intriguing, although I'm really just interested to see how Godard utilizes this video in the background of one scene.

Chilling trailer for critically hailed French drama "A Prophet"