Fall Screening Log (Grades)

The White Ribbon (Michael Haneke, 09) B [2nd screening; Sept 2009: A-]
Fantastic Mr. Fox (Wes Anderson, 09) B
Broken Embraces (Pedro Almodovar, 09) C
The Lovely Bones (Peter Jackson, 09) F
It's Complicated (Nancy Meyers, 09) C+
Crazy Heart (Scott Cooper, 09) C
Nine (Rob Marshall, 09) C+

The Hangover (Todd Phillips, 09) C

A Single Man (Tom Ford, 09) C

Up in the Air (Jason Reitman, 09) C-
Avatar (James Cameron, 09) B-
The Young Victoria (Jean-Marc Vallée, 09) C+
The Princess and the Frog (Ron Clements, John Musker, 09) C+
Precious: Based on the Novel "Push" By Sapphire (Daniels, 09) B
Amelia (Nair, 09) C-/D+
Good Hair (Stilson, 09) C-
This is It (Ortega, 09) C
Where the Wild Things Are (Jonze, 09) B
Summer Hours (Olivier Assayas, 08) B
The September Issue (R. J. Cutler, 09) B-
Cairo Time (Ruba Nadda, 09) B
Paranormal Activity (Oren Peli, 07) C+
A Serious Man (Joel and Ethan Coen, 09) C
Bright Star (Jane Campion, 09) B
W. (Oliver Stone, 08) C+

TIFF 2009 Home

I've taken notes on all screenings so far. Reviews probably won't appear until after the festival, since I'm juggling work, school and the films themselves, but at least the note-taking is a step forward. :)

Thursday, September 10th
An Education (Lone Scherfig) C
Antichrist (Lars von Trier) B+

Friday, September 11th
Eyes Wide Open (Haim Tabakman) B
Face (Tsai Ming-liang) C+
Hotel Atlantico (Suzana Amaral) w/o [first 45 min: C-]
City of Life and Death (Chuan Lu) B

Saturday, September 12th
Ahead of Time (Robert Richman) B-
Women Without Men (Shirin Neshat) C
The White Ribbon (Michael Haneke) A-
The Window (Buddhadev Dasgupta) B

Sunday, September 13th
Cleanflix (Andrew James, Joshua Ligairi) C+
A Shine of Rainbows (Vic Sarin) B-
Carmel (Amos Gitai) C

Tuesday, September 14th
The Day Will Come (Susanne Schneider) C
White Material (Claire Denis) B+
J'ai tue ma mere (Xavier Dolan) C

Wednesday, September 15th
Leslie, My Name is Evil (Reginald Harkema) C
Like You Know It All (Sang-soo Hong) C
Heiran (Shalizeh Arefpoor) B

Thursday, September 16th
The Damned United (Tom Hooper) B-
The Private Lives of Pippa Lee (Rebecca Miller) B-
A Brand New Life (Ounie Lecomte) B-
My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done? (Werner Herzog) C-
Love and Other Impossible Pursuits (Don Roos) C+

Friday, September 17th
I am Love (Luca Guadagnino) A-
To Die Like a Man (Joao Pedro Rodrigues) C
Glorious 39 (Stephen Poliakoff) D+

Saturday, September 18th
Police, Adjective (Corneliu Porumboiu) B-
Soul Kitchen (Fatih Akin) B-

Desperate Times...

I 've caved (sigh).

Yes, follow me on Twitter. If I can't even write 140 words about a film, then I'm really in trouble.

Oscarzzz

+PICTURE: Slumdog Millionaire (Insert "it is written" tagline here. If it were up to me, I'd write down "Milk", but I can't fight with destiny - or bad taste - can I?)

+DIRECTOR: Danny Boyle, Sunshine (You know that looks better.)

+ACTRESS: Kate Winslet, The Reader (I don't think a Melissa Leo win is totally out of the question, and if there was another month of campaigning left, I feel like the actress - who's my favourite in this category - could have pulled it off. Still, Frozen River came out on DVD two seconds ago, and I'm thinking she's peaked too late. I know screeners have been floating around for a while, but I feel like more people have seen the Daldry film at this point. Along with the "Give it to Kate" issue, etc, etc.)

-ACTOR: Mickey Rourke, The Wrestler (I don't know if anyone is itching for another uncomfortable, thorny Penn speech - not when Mickey can make them cringe and guffaw at the same time. Since Penn was due a SAG prize anyways, the combined forces of BAFTA + GG give Rourke the upper hand here.) [Penn wins his second Leading Actor Oscar.]

-SUPPORTING ACTRESS: Viola Davis, Doubt (Penélope Cruz may have won the BAFTA, but she wasn't up against Davis or Winslet. And I'm thinking that the "Doubt needs to win something for acting" argument actually might hold some water.) [Cruz pulls through.]

+SUPPORTING ACTOR: Heath Ledger, The Dark Knight (To anyone who's predicting an upset in this category: if there was a backlash against him, it would have happened by now. A year of front-runner talk, and nothing's really changed.)

+ADAPTED SCREENPLAY: Simon Beaufoy, Slumdog Millionaire (I seriously doubt that he has any competition in this category, although David Hare should have a speech ready just in case.)

+ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY: Dustin Lance Black, Milk. (The only assured victory for Milk, and Wall-E has Animated Feature all locked up anyways.)

+ANIMATED FILM: Wall-E (Should just be called "The Pixar Appreciation" Category)

+DOCUMENTARY FEATURE: Man on Wire (There's no reason to believe its winning streak throughout awards season will suddenly cease here.)

-FOREIGN-LANGUAGE FILM: A three-way race between Waltz with Bashir, Departures, and The Class, and I'm betting on the humanism of the latter to emerge the victor. [The late word on Departures proved to be more than just rumour.]

+CINEMATOGRAPHY: Anthony Dod Mantle, Slumdog Millionaire (Going with the "flashiest = best" theory. Although a Dark Knight win wouldn't be surprising at all.)

+ART DIRECTION: Donald Graham Burt and Victor J. Zolfo, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (Spoiler: The Duchess)

+COSTUME DESIGN: Michael O'Connor, The Duchess (Repeating my commentary from last year: bad reviews don't really matter in this category. See Marie Antoinette, Memoirs of a Geisha, and Elizabeth: The Golden Age.)

+EDITING: Chris Dickens, Slumdog Millionaire (Grrr, one of the most frustrating races of the night. I want to predict The Dark Knight here, since action films often score in this category, but this is the year of Slumdog after all.)

+MAKE-UP: Greg Cannom, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (But all the nominees are very much in the race.)

-ORIGINAL SCORE: Thomas Newman, Wall-E (I love Rahman, and I've worshipped him for years, but is there really a score to Slumdog Millionaire? My view is that there are more memorable songs in the film than actual instrumental pieces. Newman is way overdue, and animated films have a great track record here.)

+ORIGINAL SONG: A.R. Rahman and Gulzar for "Jai Ho", Slumdog Millionaire (Although "O Saya" is the clear standout here)

-SOUND MIXING: The Dark Knight [Oscar goes to Slumdog]
+SOUND EFFECTS EDITING: The Dark Knight
(Probably not the smartest move, but since The Bourne Ultimatum did it last year, why not the biggest blockbuster of last year?)

+VISUAL EFFECTS: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (Should be an easy get, IMO, but it's hard to know how big the Button-backlash really is.)

MY TALLY
Slumdog Millionaire - 6
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button - 3
The Dark Knight - 3
Wall-E - 2
The Class - 1
Doubt - 1
The Duchess - 1
Man on Wire - 1
Milk - 1
The Reader - 1
The Wrestler -1

16/21 = 76%


Oscar's TALLY
Slumdog Millionaire - 8
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button - 3
The Dark Knight - 2
Milk - 2
Departures - 1
The Duchess - 1
Man on Wire - 1
The Reader - 1
Vicky Cristina Barcelona - 1
Wall-E - 1

Stir in the Black Chicks

Is a pathetic gesture toward representation better than none at all? These seem to be the two options for women of colour in Michael Patrick King's limited, unfettered world view. Or at least, for Jennifer Hudson, who portrayed Carrie Bradshaw's assistant in that big-screen adaptation of Sex and the City last year.

In this article, King talks a little about his plans for the sequel (help us), and then touches on the issue of colour in the television show:

"It can't be called Sex and the City without a little color—it's just wrong. Women are very nice when they figure out who I am. And the only negative comment I ever got about the series was every now and then, some woman of color—whether it'd be Latina or an African-American—they'd stop and say, 'Where are the sisters?' in my ear, and I was like, 'Yeah, where are they?'

Playing assistants and enablers to spoiled egomaniacs, apparently. No thanks, Michael. If your lame inclusion of the Louise character is the best we can hope for, along with the same baggage of appalling power dynamics as in the first film, stop trying now. Your self-congratulatory pat on the back for choosing Hudson over Isla Fisher seems to be the extent of your progressiveness.

I'd rather you kept the universe of the series insular if this is what we have to look forward to ("a little color"). I'm happy that women find you "nice" and non-threatening once they meet you, but that doesn't mean they should celebrate the fact that a seemingly authoritative voice like yours finally decided to throw them a bone.

Last Minute Predix

Do I care? Should I care? Maybe I'm just grumpy. Barring a not-altogether-impossible-last-minute Wrestler shockeroo, I don't really care enough about the Best Picture frontrunners (my admiration for Milk and The Dark Knight aside). 

But I know I'll look back in a couple of months and kick myself for not having at least one set of predictions for the records. They're nice time capsules, and I always enjoy looking back on what was speculated versus what the Academy was actually feeling.

BEST PICTURE (4/5)

1. Slumdog Millionaire +

2. Slumdog Millionaire

3. Slumdog Millionaire

4. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button +

5. Slumdog Millionaire 

6. The Dark Knight - 

7. Frost/Nixon +

8. Milk +

---

9. Wall-E

10. The Wrestler

Missed: The Reader

Okay, cheekiness aside, I think those "familiar five" films recycled throughout awards season are defo. our nominees. At the time votes were due, these were the only titles on everyone's minds (see the boring guilds' choices). I suppose Wall-E's entirely possible too, and I'd be excited to see such a development (I'm not crazy about the Stanton picture, but I can understand the love). Either way, if it does make the shortlist, I'm guessing that Milk surrenders its spot to the animated feature, not Frost/Nixon.

BEST DIRECTOR (3/5)

1. Danny Boyle, Slumdog Millionaire +

2. David Fincher, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button +

3. Christopher Nolan, The Dark Knight -

4. Ron Howard, Frost/Nixon +

5. Darren Aronofsky, The Wrestler -

---

6. Gus Van Sant, Milk +

7. Jonathan Demme, Rachel Getting Married

Missed: Stephen Daldry, The Reader (now 3/3 in this category. Damn.)

Again, I think Frost/Nixon is more of a player in this race than people imagine, and Van Sant is the DGA-nominated director who's in most danger of getting lost in the shuffle, not Howard. Wish it was the other way around, but I'd be thrilled to see Aronofsky get in either way.

BEST ACTRESS (3/5)

1. Meryl Streep, Doubt +

2. Anne Hathaway, Rachel Getting Married +

3. Sally Hawkins, Happy-Go-Lucky -

4. Kate Winslet, Revolutionary Road -

5. Angelina Jolie, Changeling +

---

6. Kate Winslet, The Reader +

7. Melissa Leo, Frozen River +

If I do badly in the female acting categories, I blame it on Kate Winslet and her loony category fraud this year. Just like how Leonardo DiCaprio ('07) and Scarlett Johansson ('04) screwed me over in their double-bill years. Anyways, standard five here too - I can't imagine them leaving out Sally Hawkins after LAFCA and NYFCC.

BEST ACTOR (5/5)

1. Sean Penn, Milk +

2. Mickey Rourke, The Wrestler +

3. Frank Langella, Frost/Nixon +

4. Brad Pitt, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button +

5. Richard Jenkins, The Visitor +

---

6. Clint Eastwood, Gran Torino

7. Dev Patel, Slumdog Millionaire

I just don't wanna see Gran Torino, kay?

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS (4/5)

1. Viola Davis, Doubt +

2. Penelope Cruz, Vicky Cristina Barcelona +

3. Marisa Tomei, The Wrestler +

4. Kate Winslet, The Reader -

5. Amy Adams, Doubt +

---

6. Taraji P. Henson, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button +

7. Rosemarie DeWitt, Rachel Getting Married

Go, go, go DeWitt!

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR (4/5)

1. Heath Ledger, The Dark Knight +

2. Dev Patel, Slumdog Millionaire -

3. Robert Downey Jr., Tropic Thunder +

4. Josh Brolin, Milk +

5. Michael Shannon, Revolutionary Road +

---

6. Philip Seymour Hoffman, Doubt +

7. James Franco, Milk

I may be (v. v.) stupid to exclude Hoffman, but I think Shannon's not entirely out of the race, and could surprise in manner of Djimon Hounsou in the year of In America. 

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY (3/5)

1. Woody Allen, Vicky Cristina Barcelona -

2. Dustin Lance Black, Milk +

3. Andrew Stanton, Wall-E +

4. Robert D. Siegel, The Wrestler -

5. Mike Leigh, Happy-Go-Lucky +

---

6. Jenny Lumet, Rachel Getting Married

7. Martin McDonaugh, In Bruges +

Missed: Courtney Hunt, Frozen River

They're probably off of the Coen Brothers for a while, WGA nod be damned.

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY (4/5)

1. Simon Beaufoy, Slumdog Millionaire +

2. Peter Morgan, Frost/Nixon +

3. Eric Roth, Robin Swicord, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button +

4. Jonathan Nolan, David S. Goyer, The Dark Knight -

5. David Hare, The Reader +

---

6. John Patrick Shanley, Doubt +

7. Justin Haythe, Revolutionary Road -

...

I will leave the tech races to people who are actually good at that stuff. Good luck to you all, and I'll catch up with you after the announcement tomorrow.

Happy Nomination Day!

Not interested

"That is such crap. How dare you be so fraudulently flirtatious, cowardly and dysfunctional? I am not interested in emotional fuckwittage. Goodbye."

- Bridget Jones, "Bridget Jones's Diary" by Helen Fielding

The Reader

I first encountered Bernard Schlink's novel The Reader in a first-year undergraduate seminar I took about five years ago when I was eighteen, entitled "Poets and Power: Art Under the Nazis". The course examined the artistic output of the Weimar Republic, including the shifts in aesthetic and thematic ideals that emerged with the rise of the Third Reich. Schlink's novel represented a distinct break in the novels and films we studied in class, because it deals very specifically with a post-war, post-Holocaust sensibility. That is, how did (and does) Germany come to terms with such a recent, unfathomable genocide? What reparations - if any - can be made to make sense of it? And can a court of law properly judge the actions of people rooted in such a particular time and context?

The Reader - more than any of the other great texts we looked at - drew me in immediately because of these themes, and I even led a class discussion on it (not very confidently, I must add). I was, and continue to be, fascinated by the notion of a collective guilt, and how the Holocaust is constantly grappled with through art and scholarship. Moreover, is this kind of production helpful, or does it lead to some sort of cathartic change? It was an especially timely book to read in the wake of Roman Polanski's The Pianist winning several Oscars earlier that year, which sparked a discussion about whether or not depicting the Holocaust on film is possible, or even morally sound. As well, I was taken in by the book's frank depiction of a trangressive, shocking physical relationship, as well as Schlink's description of a young boy exploring his budding sexuality. Ultimately, it is a book I feel rather protective of, so when I heard about the film adaptation by director Stephen Daldry and screenwriter David Hare, I knew it would have to rise to the occasion to impress.

Unfortunately, I am not sold. To be fair, Daldry has a reputation for ambitiously choosing "unfilmable novels" to bring to the screen, between this one and Michael Cunningham's The Hours. That film, despite its transparent parallelism between the lives of three women and uneven acting by an impressive ensemble, remains a film I am enraptured by, that keeps opening up with new surprises (good and bad). For better or for worse, The Hours sparks mutual adoration and dissent, even inside my own head. On the other hand, I can't see myself retuning to The Reader in the coming years, which (for the most part) coasts on the surface from beginning to end. Employing an Atonement-like narrative conceit, with Ralph Fiennes's character Michael looking back on the happenings of his youth, it goes through the motions without really leaving any lasting impressions. Despite the subject matter, it's terrified of getting its hands dirty (even the explicit sex scenes are oh-so-tastefully-rendered, and a wordless scene set inside the current Auschwitz museum rings hollow), and the result is a prestige picture that reassures rather than one that unsettles.

(Possible Spoilers ahead) If you've read enough about the film, you've probably already discerned that the Oscar-buzzed Kate Winslet plays Hana, a mysterious thirty-something woman who has a summer fling with a teenaged boy named Michael (a terrific David Kross, the film's unquestionable standout) in the late 1950s, in a small German city. Their secret relationship, which starts off as purely physical, is also informed by connecting over literature. Michael reads, out loud, his school-assigned texts to Hana, and she listens intently to his every word. The affair is brought to a sudden end when she unceremoniously disappears, and Michael is left crushed and confused. Years later, now a serious law student, Michael is horrified to cross paths with Hana once again: she is on trial for war crimes committed during the war. The film then shows, over a period of years, how Michael is both drawn to re-enacting his former role as reader to this listener, as well as fearful of the unavoidable psychic self-damage of doing so. Divided across several timelines (Michael's teenage years, the trial, the bulk of the eighties, and "current day" 1995), The Reader examines how these two individuals remain connected by this problematic, disturbing bond and a secret neither are willing to expose.

Fascinating, powerful stuff to be sure, but these emotions are irreparably reduced due to running time constraints and Hare's unfortunate, mannered writing choices. For example, the adult Michael's enduring trauma and emotional distance are given the shorthand: a briefly-seen lover of his ponders lamely what it takes to "get inside [his] head", and an awkward reconnecting with his adult daughter Julia is largely a wash (despite an earnest Hannah Herzsprung). The same critique extends to the handling of Michael's law seminar, in which his professor (Bruno Ganz) explicitly doles out the film's Major Themes about Guilt and Intent, instead of letting the tense court scenes speak for themselves. This may extend to a greater problem of the screenplay overstating its ideas, which plagues many challenging book-to-film adaptations. Everything is tasteful and agreeable to a fault: it's proficiently acted, looks pretty, and gets the point across, but in a wholly impersonal way.

This extends to the acting as well, which, aside from the aforementioned Kross, fails to really ignite. I love Kate Winslet, but she is miscast here; while she intuits rightly to underplay Hana and convey most of her action through using her face, the threat of violence and domination in her relationship with Michael never really convinces. This was much more palpable in the book - in reality, Winslet doesn't seem like she could hurt a fly, and one wonders what a Kidman (cast when Winslet couldn't initially fit it into her schedule), a Binoche (also once considered for the part), or even High Art's unpredictable and underrated Radha Mitchell would have brought to it. It certainly doesn't help that Winslet's old-age makeup - which she wears throughout the second half of the film - is utterly ridiculous and distracting, making her resemble Gollum from Lord of the Rings. Meanwhile, Ralph Fiennes does what he can with limited time onscreen to make Michael's wistful gazes and lapses into memory seem natural as opposed to demands of the script. Lena Olin has a memorable scene towards the end of the film with Michael, as a survivor once acquainted with Hana, appropriately discerning and formidable.

It seems almost easy to sum up a review with a "the book is better", but it best reflects my feelings about the film. I don't feel Daldry, Hare, and company lend much more to the proceedings than translating Schlink's text to the screen. It's a faithful adaptation, that's for sure, but not very exciting or lasting. I can't recommend it as anything beyond that. C

Re: Synecdoche

To think I almost banished this to the "wait for video" list. As Miranda Priestly would say, "Thank God somebody came to work today."

And I would thank Charlie Kaufman too, for this absolutely bewildering, difficult, hysterical, and frankly painful film about the end of life (not just main character Caden's, but the entire human race). It scared the hell out me, even when I was laughing despite my grimaces and sharp inhales of breath, two hands over my mouth.

I wonder if Kaufman has read the work of George Saunders, because this is exactly how an adaptation of that writer's work would play out. It also reminded me of Margaret Lawrence's The Stone Angel, another demanding and taxing work about the slow degradation and breakdown of the human body. For the first time (in a long time), I'm tempted to write about this one in greater detail. Stay tuned.

How are you all doing at the movies? Use the comments section.

End of the Year

2008. Another year, another year of cinema. And since most of us loony critics parse our calenders by film release patterns and movie seasons, all of us know that the "holidays" aren't about Christmas or Thanksgiving or New Year's. No, they're about more important things like pouncing on the Oscar bait as soon as possible, gossiping about FYC ads, and thinking about what our top tens will look like come January. And of course, the year doesn't really end until those statuettes are handed out and everyone can let out a collective sigh and get back to their lives.

At least, that's just me.

Now, I may not be as active on here as I once was, but I still do get excited about the movies around this time of year. I still have oodles of films to see, and that's why I want to share my list of the most anticipated, as well as the titles I'm apprehensive about, and the ones I'm outright dreading.

SIGN ME UP

(i.e. I'm going because...)

1. Milk - Two words: Van Sant.

2. The Wrestler - Aronofsky intriguing, maturing.

3. Il y a long temps que je t'aime - High brow angst.

4. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button - Fincher's opus.

5. Synecdoche, New York - Kaufman. After The Savages, PSH = a favourite.

6. Waltz with Bashir - The Persepolis of the year?

7. The Reader - Love the book; high expectations.

8. Doubt - I'm going to watch Ms. Davis; Streep a happy side attraction.

9. The Class - Dangerous territory, but I'm hopeful. Plus, as a teacher...

10. A Christmas Tale - Desplechin; interested to see his next.

I LIKED YOU UNTIL I SAW YOUR TRAILER

Revolutionary Road - I'm going for Shannon.

Australia - Kidman = robot; Jackman = porn.

Valkyrie - Does anyone even know what to think about this project anymore?

Quantum of Solace - Was on-board until the deadly word-of-mouth.

Yes Man - Carrey doing comedy, but Peyton Reed! And that supporting cast!

DRAGGED KICKING AND SCREAMING

Gran Torino - See Clint glower and snarl and grrrr.

Frost/Nixon - Garish aesthetic; Langella loud.

Defiance - Zwick makes me sick.

The Day the Earth Stood Still - You lost me at "Keanu Reeves plays an alien..."

YOU WILL HAVE TO PROP UP MY CORPSE

Marley & Me - No, not me.

Four Christmases - One is plenty, thanks.

Seven Pounds - See Smith suffer with dignity part 2

The Four Meme

It's something, however small. And these are always fun to fill out! Remember how these were all the rage in the blogging world a couple of years ago?

Four jobs you've had in your life: video store clerk, research assistant, CSR at clothing store and Academic English teacher (at present)

Four movies you could watch over and over again: That modern-day Pride and Prejudice reworking, this moony Shakespeare adaptation, a film about three witches causing trouble in Salem, and probably the ultimate comfort-food-as-film: Little Women

Four places you've lived: Toronto (and its many suburbs), Dubai, Minneapolis, and Houston

Four TV shows you love to watch: I don't have cable, so I'm kinda out of the loop lately, but I'm always spinning the DVDs of Slings & Arrows, 3rd Rock from the Sun, Arrested Development, and (of course) The Simpsons

Four places you've been on vacation: Dar-es-Salaam, New York City, Stratford, Muscat

Four websites you visit daily: Facebook, In Contention, IMDb, and (cheating here, I know!) my blog list (Nathaniel, Nick, JA, Glenn, dl, etc)

Four of your favourite foods: Dosa, Falafel (or even a hummus/pita approximation), dhal and brown rice, and injera

Four places you'd rather be right now: 

1. NYC visiting my sister, my brother-in-law and my brand-new baby niece Ava!

2. At the gym, training for the marathon I'm supposedly running in the spring

3. At the movie theatre, watching Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, Synecdoche New York or Milk

4. Finished my graduate school application (which I should be working on RIGHT NOW.)

Four bloggers you're tagging (not sure if you've done this one already, but if not...): Glenn, dl, David and Sultana

TIFF Update

Yaseen Ali here. In short, I am alive and watching movies, a fact the sidebar can attest to. I figured I should post something to accompany those grades, if only to push down that Sex and the City tirade posted way back in June (!). Onto better shores.

So. Another exciting TIFF event has come and gone. I enjoyed myself these last few days, even if I didn't hand over my whole life to the festival this year like usual. Juggling a busy work schedule teaching at U of T and moving downtown from the suburbs at the beginning of the month, I had intuited correctly that doing any more than twelve films would be ludicrous. And moreover, I loved the breathing room I enjoyed in between screenings.

I plan to write one or two full-length reviews (most likely for Lorna's Silence and Disgrace), but if you want to ask any specific questions, feel free to use the Comments space. It's always more fun that way, in my opinion.

Since I don't have internet at my new place, my updates will be a little erratic, but stay tuned.

Sex and the City

*This review contains major spoilers. If you wish to have a "virgin" movie-watching experience, please return following your screening to read and comment*

Tellingly, I feel compelled to preface this review by stating that I am an unapologetic, die-hard fan of Sex and the City, at least in its television incarnation. I own most of the seasons on DVD and will probably wear out my discs due to compulsive watching. No doubt that this disclaimer is meant to preemptively dodge (or confront?) the allegations of sexism and hypocrisy that have been leveled at male film critics - particularly straight men - who seemingly turned a collective cold shoulder to this much-hyped film adaptation of the hit HBO series. While I agree that a degree of misogyny was certainly present in the media's response to the film, I take some offense at the implication that all male critics and writers who disliked it should automatically placed in the woman-hating camp. That's a much-too simplistic reading, because the film genuinely stinks, no matter which way you slice it. In my opinion, Sex and the City is much ado about nothing, offering no sound justification for its existence (other than the obvious fiscal reasons). By the end credits, I felt like I was back at square one. Director Michael Patrick King's screenplay is a perplexing rehash of the same old, same old - Mr. Big's commitment issues, Miranda's pessimistic view of romance, and Samantha's inability to remain monogamous. We passed the "Best Before" date, and it was years ago, folks.

Picking up four years after the season finale (in which all four gals "found" stability and romance in the form of monogamy), the happenings of Sex take place over the course of a calender year. Writer Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker) is back for more adventures in the Big Apple, along with her best friends Charlotte (Kristin Davis), Samantha (Kim Cattrall), and Miranda (Cynthia Nixon). You know the drill... men enter the picture, and chaos ensues. What is perhaps most depressing (and disturbing) about Sex and the City: The Movie is how conservative and regressive it is at the core. From its repulsive insensitivity towards racial politics to its paper-thin characterizations of pretty much everyone (except the exasperating Carrie character), the film spins its wheels in the mud for two-plus hours. The writing is gutless in churning out happy endings for all involved. Charlotte is able to birth a biological child like she always wanted, and Miranda forgives Steve (David Eigenberg) for his indiscretions. Meanwhile, not only does Carrie reconcile with the man (Chris Noth's Mr. Big) who has inflicted non-stop emotional abuse for ten years, but the two of them actually decide to get hitched in spite of the disastrous results of the first attempt (some people just can't take a hint). Once again, marriage is presented as the solution to all problems, flying in the face of the counter arguments articulated from the show's very first few episodes. Samantha's final-act decision to leave her boyfriend Smith (Jason Lewis) in order to love herself is interesting and makes up for her nonsensical behaviour in the final season, but it barely registers with the other gals taking centre stage.

The less said about token African-American Louise (played by Jennifer Hudson), who serves as Carrie's personal assistant, the better. Existing pretty much only to facilitate Carrie's character arc, Louise enters well past the one-hour mark and exits after fulfilling her subservient duties. While it is refreshing to see more a little diversity reflected in this world of outrageous white privilege and displayed wealth, the status quo definitely remains the same. Sex and the City remains hopelessly ignorant of anything outside of its self-contained bubble, and this feeble attempt at inclusiveness rings totally false. The gay characters (also reduced to helpful sidekick status) are treated with even more homo-hatred than usual. Competing queens Stanford (Willie Garson) and Anthony (Mario Cantone) show up only to scurry around in the background, offering a bitchy one-liner when necessary. The worst moment involving these two occurs in a scene in which the two men - who absolutely despised one another during the course of the show - act completely out of character and make out at a New Year's Party. While my audience predictably collapsed into hysterics and hoots, I felt cheated that the filmmakers had taken the easy way out.

Ludicrous plot holes also damage the screenplay's credibility, particularly the scenes leading up to Mr. Big's bout of cold feet. Are we to believe that relationship expert Carrie - even now, after all these years - is unable to detect the reluctance in this non-committal man? Forehead-slappers like "Carrie, I need to know that it's just you and me" would be laugh-aloud funny if they weren't so ghastly when delivered in context. Even more illogical is Miranda's angry aside to Big ("You two are crazy to get married!") playing a factor in his no-show at the alter, set up to generate a future rift between her and Carrie once the the truth is revealed. The entire script is built upon lame contrivances like these, drawing out the conflicts for hours until they can be tidily dealt with and filed away in the concluding moments. The humour, on the other hand, is surprisingly juvenile; when poo jokes and colouring-as-sex euphemisms are set up to garner the big laughs, there's detectable desperation in the air. There is little-to-no sex. The puns are stale. It is a giant commercial for numerous designer labels, Mercedes-Benz, Starbucks, and the Apple Store. (Side note: was there even a budget for the costumes, since drippy name dropping shamelessly occurs throughout?) The straight male characters barely register, coming across as either selfish jerks (Big, Steve), or devoted super-husbands (Harry, portrayed by Evan Handler). It makes no sense. The list of grievances goes on and on...

The four main ladies are all exceptional actors, but Davis, Cattrall and Nixon can only do so much. Davis's interpretation of Charlotte is more of a walking caricature than ever, and her storyline is not as juicy as the other ladies'. Kim Cattrall once again delves into Samantha's aggressive sexuality, allowing herself to be covered with sushi pieces in one scene and - in a bizarre moment - called to task for gaining some weight by her insensitive gal pals. The actress continues to do brilliant work with her face, and her willingness to play clown is commendable as ever. As for the lovely Cynthia Nixon, King and editor Michael Berenbaum box Miranda into such a restrictive corner that the talented artist is unable to give a more nuanced reading. This is not the Miranda who so vibrantly stood out in the past; here, she is like a completely different personality - cold, one-dimensional and just plain petty. Unsurprisingly, Sarah Jessica Parker enjoys the bulk of screen time, and while the capable actor has grown comfortable walking in the character's Blahniks, Carrie is more unappealingly self-absorbed than ever. Jennifer Hudson is robotic, while Chris Noth can barely muster up enough energy to recite his lines with conviction.

I had my reservations about Sex and the City as a feature-length film, but I was not expecting it to be this inept. Even read as a fantasy or as a fluff piece, it still registers as deeply problematic and limiting in its view of these women's professional, professional, and sexual lives. The television show, exaggerated as it may be, still manages to deliver insightful, entertaining commentary about women dealing with ever-shifting gender roles, institutionalized inequality, and sexual politics. This film offers nothing as complex during its running time, instead focusing on inane plot twists and flashy designer pornography, ultimately settling on a farce of a finale that left more than a bitter taste in my mouth. Proceed with caution, particularly the fans - this is not the same show you once loved. D+

My Kid Could Paint That

Amir Bar-Lev's My Kid Could Paint That (2007) first came to my attention after Mike D'Angelo assigned it a rare A- during last year's Sundance Film Festival. Even before reading about the film's subject matter, it was the provocative title that first caught my eye. Taunting and contemptuous, I was expecting a quirky indie comedy with eccentric parents, their exasperated children, and an all-around kooky premise. Doing a little more research, I was excited to learn that this title had been assigned to a documentary feature about then four-year-old Marla Olmstead, the controversial artist whose abstract expressionist paintings have become the objects of major scrutiny. The young girl, initially received as a genius by the art community and beyond, became a notorious personality following a 60 Minutes II segment which suggested that her parents must have played a major role in the production of these pieces. Their conclusion was made as a result of a controlled experiment in which Marla was unable to produce anything at the same level of her prior work. Let the debate begin...

The first two acts of the film are dedicated to exploring both sides of the debate, making the case for and against Marla. The first thirty minutes document the euphoric highs experienced by the family prior to that polarizing news program, and reactions from Marla's parents, supportive gallery owner Anthony Brunelli, and opinionated journalist Elizabeth Cohen (the writer who first reported on Marla's pieces). Post-60 Minutes, Bar-Lev tracks the turning tide and the effect it has upon patrons and the once-adoring media. As further videotaped painting sessions with Marla occur and more troubling evidence emerges, her genius reputation becomes less assured.

The film, ostensibly a "did-she-or-didn't-she" exposé and set up as a fall-from-grace, movingly develops into a much more complex meditation on even bigger questions about modern art. Fittingly, Marla remains a distanced, sidelined figure in this film ultimately about adults grappling with issues about representation, the "truth", and the innocence of childhood. Ultimately, Bar-Lev isn't interested in whether or not Marla actually created these pieces, but how her involvement with the contemporary art community has sparked a discussion about the very nature of how art is consumed and received. Most compelling is the question of whether or not the artist can be removed from the equation when their art is finally displayed to the public. More to the point, would these paintings have been as successful if the public was unaware that a four-year-old had painted them? Would it make a difference? (Read: How could it not?) Bar-Lev also considers the ethical matters of journalistic voyeurism into this child's life (including us viewers as a culpable audience to it), and to what extent Mark and Laura Olmstead are responsible for the onslaught of praise, criticism, and fascination that Marla will surely have to negotiate for the rest of her life.

My Kid Could Paint That particularly shines in its self-reflective segments regarding the relationship between the director and his subjects, and what each party owes the other. Bar-Lev became quite close to the Olmsteads and their children over the course of filming, and was forced to "write" himself into the piece once issues of trust and exploitation began to surface. The director handles this portion of the film with sensitivity and restraint, and the tension between his understandable guilt and his role as director is palpable. One such moment towards the conclusion involves Bar-Lev point blank asking the couple about the credibility of Marla's work. The response by the couple, especially in Mark's expressionless dodging and Laura's wrenching realization that yet another attempt to exonerate the family has failed once again, is deeply unsettling. I highly recommend watching the extra material included on the DVD, the majority of which would have benefited the film (which runs a much-too-brief eighty-two minutes).

As with any successful documentary, the fascination and questions extend far beyond the limitations of a feature-length film. Indeed, the fallout between Bar-Lev and the Olmsteads during the film's release (the parents have expressed dismay at the director's shift in perspective) adds another layer to the drama, as well as the fact that Marla's paintings continue to successfully sell and are shown at galleries despite all the mud-slinging. The speculation will surely continue as Marla grows older and, eventually, will be asked to comment on these happenings as an adult. B+

Me Actually Being a Writer Again

*We interrupt this blogging dry-spell to bring you the following breaking news item*

Apparently, there is more to having a movie blog than regularly posting grades on the side column and uploading DVD screen captures. Who would have thought? Once upon a time, I was aware of this and was churning out reviews and opinion pieces weekly, but I somehow let a few months of post-graduation burnout stretch into almost years of inactivity.

Embarrassing statistic: in one calender year, I have published only thirty-one "articles" of varying length and quality. It's like I've forgotten how to do what was once second nature - watch a movie, and write about it. Soon, the whole process started to feel more like a chore than a passion (a nagging feeling I'm sure many bloggers experience at one time or another).

What has changed now? Maybe it's the fact that university courses no longer control my creative output and reading lists. For the first time in a while, I'm reading solely for pleasure (I've devoured about ten novels since classes ended, and about half of that in terms of non-fiction). And - for the first time since high school - I've become seriously fascinated with and serious about the writing process. As in, this is what I want to do with my life, in any realm (journalism, fiction, academia, curriculum planning, etc).

So.

Rather than let the blog continue to gather dust or just abandon ship, I'm staging a self-intervention to truly assess where this project is headed. I've decided to take myself a little bit less seriously - no more writing towards a lofty end goal (OFCS accreditation, a writing career, high traffic, and related delusions of grandeur) and instead start writing for myself (shocker of shocks!). I'm not promising multiple posts per day, but there will certainly be more activity on the blog, and not just film-related. That's a promise.

Growing Accustomed to a Face

"Omar wished, not for the first time, that he was someone else. Someone like [his brother] Sharif, who was confident enough to be himself, and was loved and liked for being who he was. Omar felt he, by comparison, was a faker, a dissembler. He had carved out a niche for himself, created an identity for himself in reaction to Sharif. If Sharif cared nothing for books or academia, then Omar could care for nothing else. If Sharif was to be the rebel, then Omar could be the model student. Omar found it relatively easy to be a model student, in that he found it easy to be quiet, clean, attentive, punctual and rigorous in handing in well-prepared work. He discovered that being a model student meant that everybody, including his teachers, mistook him for a bright student. And yet Omar sincerely believed that he was blessed with neither superior intelligence nor original thought; he had only two abilities, the ability to read quickly, and an excellent memory that allowed him to memorize and repeat all he read.

He looked this face reflected back at him [in the mirror], blank, expressionless, pale. Even his colour was indistinct; he was neither brown nor white. It could be anyone's face, he thought to himself. It was a blank canvas. He looked at the family photos on his shelf, and imitated his mother's articulate, thoughtful expression, and then his father's handsome laugh, and then his brother's sexy smoulder. He blinked and looked at himself again. If it could be anyone's face, that meant he could become anyone, he could mould it into the face he wanted. The face of a someone, rather than an anyone; someone who was intelligent and academic."

- from Bitter Sweets, by Roopa Farooki

It's finally happened.

You're so full of surprises, I'm speechless.

These tears dry on their own

Smack dab in the middle of my afternoon jog yesterday, I came to a sudden, significant self-realization: I have not cried outside of a movie theatre in five years. The last time I became emotional to the point of tears was after a crunch period in my first year of university; writing final three papers simultaneously one night proved to be the trigger, and I lashed out at a family member only to break down, overwhelmed with guilt and exhaustion. I feel fairly certain that this is the last time I cried with such force, in public, for reasons completely unrelated to any cinematic experience. More and more, escaping in film is becoming the means of expressing emotion for me, and I don't know if this is a good thing or bad. It's not a problem of being unable to cry: only that I can't do so in "real life".

Indeed, I can recall plenty of times that I've welled up at the plight of a character or a collage of sights and sounds with relative ease, but am hard-pressed to recall a similar reaction in any other context. I wept throughout all of Satyajit Ray's Pather Panchali, possibly my favourite film of all time. A second screening of The Fountain - a film which I found hokey and vague the first time around - hit me hard for reasons that are still unclear to me. Watching Mira Nair's adaptation of The Namesake was jarring only because it's rare to see my experiences reflected so precisely in a cinematic medium. Stories about first-generation South Asian-Americans or Canadians negotiating identity, family relations and history are, to put it mildly, not "hot" properties for film companies today. Most recently, Persepolis had me giggling through my tears, moved by Marjane Satrapi's nakedly honest reflections about her early years situated across several countries and cultures. Essentially, the cinema hall has become - for lack of a better word - my confessional, and everything I want to suppress and hide emerges in full-force. I suppose it's the only place where I feel comfortable doing so. The darkness and insularity provides a sanctuary for anonymous, private grief. And this is why it is hard to convince friends, family members and others in my life that film is more than an interest or hobby for me. It allows me to breathe, escape, and function. Without it, I don't know who I am.

Perhaps some of you may be wondering why this should be cause for concern? I suppose I am over-thinking this to some degree, but when I look back on my childhood, I am struck by how emotional I was in my early years. Even watching wedding videos of my aunts' marriages at the age of six was enough to send me over the edge, and I would have to leave the room and beg an adult to turn off the television (the sight of a bride leave her father's house is always a tremendously sad moment for Indian families.) I would collapse into sobs at the end of Robert Munsch's book Love You Forever, every time, because I had this intense fear of my mother dying and feeling powerless to protect her. Attending funerals, having heart-to-hearts with friends, thinking about those who had passed on - these all used to stimulate the waterworks. Part of growing older allows a person to feel more secure about themselves and the world around them. Of course, I don't miss being a nervous wreck all the time, but I do miss the part of myself that was able to feel so completely and unreservedly. I'm afraid I've lost that part of myself, or become closed off from expressing it in relation to other people in my life.

Obviously, powerful art has this kind of effect on all of us, and it is certainly clear why we are so absolutely invested in film. Thinking back, I've probably done this to protect myself from the ridicule and scorn of others. I was constantly criticized for being so emotional, for not being "tougher" and less sensitive. As such, most of my teenage years were spent trying to prove my "stability" and sensible nature, throwing myself into schoolwork and other activities.

... Hm. I'm clearly going to be thinking about this for weeks on end. What about the rest of you?

Movie thoughts going through my head today

(Self-mantra: I will do this weekly, I will do this weekly, I will I will I will...)

1. No detailed Oscar postmortem this year (I imagine you all sighing sighs of relief); indeed, what can be gushed over, dissected, and criticized that hasn't been already? Highlights: Academy Award Winner Tilda Swinton, the Once song winners, everything Jon Stewart post-opening monologue and the voters' quality choices (minus Original Screenplay and Visual Effects.) Fashion choices were decidedly ho-hum this year, with my shout-outs going to a select few: Katherine Heigl (reminiscent, somehow, of A+ Charlize Theron in year of Cider House and my favourite out of the legion reds), Diane Lane (best fashion accessory: Josh Brolin; also works vice-versa), Jennifer Hudson (say what you will about the boobs, it was a vast improvement over last year and I like the freshness), Penelope Cruz (didn't like it much on the Red Carpet, but definitely grew on me by the time she presented Foreign Language Film) and Tilda (she has her share of detractors, and I prefer her BAFTA dress, but this midnight number still won me over.) [EDIT: And The Lovely Laura Linney of course! How could I forget?]

Major grievance: who was in charge of choosing the clips this year? Were they even watching the precursor races this season? Fact: Daniel Day-Lewis had some great moments in There Will Be Blood beyond "I've abandoned my boy!", and the Academy would have earned points if they boldly went with milkshake fun. Ditto for Ronan's "Yes, I saw him with my own eyes", Bardem's "Friend-o" and Blanchett's "I'm a hurricane or tsunami or whatever." And out of one-hundred-and-two minutes of running time, why did they have to choose the Norbit make-up clip in which Eddie Murphy plays an offensive Asian stereotype?

Finally, unless you were watching the Red Carpet arrivals on CTV, you probably missed this keeper: Ben Mulroney *totally* got burned by Julian Schnabel, but to be perfectly honest, the grating entertainment guru had it coming (the co-host of eTalk Daily and son of former Prime Minister Brian Mulroney, he's the equivalent of a Canadian Ryan Seacrest.) He called The Diving Bell and the Butterfly and Before Night Falls "triumph(s) of the human spirit", to which Schnabel responded curtly, "That sounds like a cliché." Mulroney countered with something along the lines of "Well, clichés can often be true!", but Schnabel, eyes rolling, had already walked away mid-interview.

2. A few of my fellow bloggers have already made closure with the year that was 2007 and have posted predictions for next year's awards season. Just skimming over these makes my head spin, but the Oscar addict within has obviously been sparked. Milk and Revolutionary Road seem like popular predictions, which surely means that one of these will falter at the finish line. Is it just me, or does Doubt look like another Proof in-the-making? Adaptations of heralded plays rarely find favor with Oscar, although I suppose that the drool-worthy cast makes a big difference. I'll agree with Streep and Adams (for now), but I'm thinking snubs in Picture/Director/Actor/Adapted Screenplay. By the way, can I just say how pleased I am that the amazing Viola Davis is returning to the big screen in two films this year? This woman can do miracles with minutes - nay, seconds - of screen-time.

I'm not going to offer extensive thoughts on this issue until September (at the earliest), but for now, let me just say that:

(a) I don't see the Heath Ledger posthumous nod for The Dark Knight happening.
(b) Kate Winslet stands a good shot of winning Best Actress this year; let's just hope that her campaigns for Revolutionary Road and The Reader don't confuse voters in a Leo DiCaprio 2006-type situation...
(c) ...unless Julianne Moore gets nominated for Blindness; then which Oscar bridesmaid will the Academy rally behind?

3. As if this past week hasn't been euphoric enough for rabid actressexuals everywhere, Nick Davis of Nick's Flick Picks has unveiled his long-in-the-making project ("The Best Actress Academy Awards") rating, ranking and celebrating Oscar's favorite Lead Women. Most people who read this blog will likely already know about this delightful development, but if this somehow comes as news to you, off you go! I have spent 95% 40% of my weekend reading his yearly profiles, and feeling shamed about how much catching up I have to do. But I will certainly be using Nick's recommendations as a guide on where to start, and if you're feeling relatively newbie, so should you.

4. My friend Alex and I have recently established a movie-going tradition: if anything in the "step-to-rep" genre (my coinage) is released theatrically, we are all over it. Preferably on opening night, to view it with audience members who actually like this sort of thing. What began as an experiment with the god-awful Step Up has continued with classics such as Stomp the Yard and most recently Step Up 2 the Streets.

Quite honestly, I don't go into these street dance slash b-boying slash b-girling films with an agenda. I try my best to keep an open mind and seek out potentially novel ideas being articulated about race, education and class in America. Unfortunately, each one of these has been a disappointment in this regard (although I must confess that the choreography on display and watching these dancers face off has been a real pleasure to watch.) Often, these plot lines follow a familiar path (troubled at-risk teen is forced to attend a snooty prep institution against his or her will; deals with torn allegiances between their authentic street roots and the new possibilities that lie ahead; and finally discovers that dance/stepping/stomping will help them articulate their frustrations to fruitful ends.) The conventional formula aside, the characterizations and situations are regressive to the point of insulting stereotypes (a stock Asian-American character in the latest vehicle speaks with a thick accent, and is employed as a cheap joke - "I love Amelicaaa!"). The depictions of masculinity are even more clueless (the weakness of the sissy boys in dance class is constantly placed in contrast to the brawn of the male lead) and all characters of colour are reduced to easy caricatures. Here's hoping that the just-announced Step Up 3-D can marry an imaginative storyline with exciting stepping moves. C-