Kelly Reichardt
2006
Kelly Reichardt isn't exactly a new voice in American independent cinema per se, but hopefully her latest picture, "Old Joy," will edge her further into the spotlight. This latest offering is a simple meditation on the exact point of a friendship's organic disintegration in the vacuum of an isolated weekend getaway.
Expecting father Mark (Daniel London) gets a call from out-there buddy Kurt (memorably but over-comically played by musician Will Oldham), who wants to know if he'd be interested in hitting up some hidden hot springs in the mountains. After an awkward exchange with third-trimester wife Tanya, Mark sets off in the family station wagon to meet Kurt. What follows is a minor journey between two men, contemplative and reflective, but far from serene. It slowly emerges that Mark and Kurt are a pair of puzzle pieces that no longer fit: seemingly hippy-calm Kurt is an aimlessly drifting bundle of anxieties, while grownup Mark bought into square society a long ways back.
Oddly enough, borders and confinement crop up frequently in a movie that spends much of its time outdoors. The confinement of the car provides an inescapable forum for bouts of uncomfortable catch-up and chitchat. Mark focuses on the road while Kurt regresses into himself with puffs off a weed pipe. The austere scenery is frequently focused on, but is perpetually passing, and one can palpably feel a yearning to reverse this inside-looking-out view. When the two camp out for the night they are just as confined within the low light of the bonfire and a tight camera frame. Finally at the springs, they break from each other and cocoon themselves in separate bathing tubs. The closeness and confrontation of the trip provides no jarring change or concrete resolve, just the solemn, mostly wordless, and bittersweet parting of friends no longer able to connect,
The performances are physically spot-on, and while Oldham and London tune in perfectly to the film's desired tone, delivered lines feel woefully scripted throughout the first half of the picture. Much like its subjects the film is bristling with honesty and control, and only slips when a beer-buzzed Kurt breaks the social contract by verbally lamenting the dissolving friendship. The soundtrack by Yo La Tengo is an unexpected treat, and easily the best film score I've heard in awhile. The steady, free-spirited guitar and gentle drumming provide an integral and life giving heartbeat that tends to provide a reflective segue way between key scenes. Being an ex Yo La Tengo fan I feel a bit embarrassed that I never saw the band's potential for film music.
While Kurt and Mark's relationship is clearly the focus of the film, the two supporting ladies leave powerful imprints, and have a strong, if ethereal hand in shaping it. Wife Tanya has only a few minutes of sreen time and a brief handful of lines, but her quasi- disapproving attitude and semi-nagging presence bind Mark in a way that is completely alien to Kurt's sensibilities. Her cellphone presence is Yoko Ono intrusive, not in an overtly vulgar sense, but as concrete proof of how far gone Mark is. The second lady, Mark's fabulously photogenic canine Lucy, comes along for the ride. Her reciprocated affections towards Kurt provide a subtle layer of tension. Wayward Kurt gets to goof off and play with Lucy, while sensible Mark is burdened with actuality of owning her and dealing with her "separation anxiety" as she barks from the unattended auto.
"Old Joy" really succeeds in its combination of performance, photography, and tone. Its a subtle mood piece that lingers with, and haunts you for awhile after viewing. Unspoken communication has rarely felt this intense on screen, and I think everyone can relate to the to the sad reality of drifting away from a once loved friend. Its this universal factor of human experience, realistically played to the hilt, that is the triumph of "Old Joy."
Review by Brett A. Scieszka
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Cache
Michael Haneke
2005
Its been a fairly terrible year for art-house movies thus far, and as far as I'm concerned the only really exciting cinema (besides the excellent "Wassup Rockers") has been pure genre. Therefore, I find it somewhat ironic that Haneke's latest stateside fare has a pervasive genre feel to it. This horror-tinged meditation on guilt and victimization benefits from an excellent pared-down cast, and thoughtful, deliberate visual direction.
Fancy-pants intellectual talk show host Georges Laurent (played by gallic perennial Daniel Auteuil), his book publishing wife Anne (Juliette Binoche!) and pubescent son are intimidated and threatened by a series of videocassettes showing a fixed frame of the Laurent house, complete with all the comings and goings of the family. The ante is upped to creepsville when graphically violent kid's drawings start accompanying the tapes, as well as footage of Georges childhood home. Through these drawings, tapes, and his own anxious nightmares Georges is forced to confront his relationship with a pseudo-adopted brother from his salad days, now a sadsack schlub who vehemently denies any relation to the Laurent family's misery.
Despite being a darling of the global film community, Haneke doesn't always hit the mark. With the utterly superfluous "Code Unknown" and the irritating genital-mutilating sensationalism of "The Piano Teacher" I had pretty much given up on this ex-pat Wunderkraut. However, Haneke's auteurist tendencies do wonders for this film, which is in essence, an incredibly basic stock horror story. The technical aspects of the film are praise worthy: great photography and editing really drive the story and compound the introspective quality the performances take on.
Auteuil does a superb job of conveying anxiety and dread, and as the skeletons begin leaping from the proverbially closet they leave lasting impressions on Laurent's face throughout the film's latter half. A nervous, and confrontational Georges begins to emerge and his caustic denial of guilt shifts sympathy towards the targets of his frustation. Often, Georges' frustration with prime suspect Majid, and his own wife is ugly and disconcerting.
This mystery manages to be wildly captivating and suspenseful. A prolonged scene involving a rooster beheading perfectly embodies childhood trauma, and no amount of forewarning can prepare the viewer for the wickedly graphic razor setpiece. This latter example is an apex that answers no questions and leaves the film to its unresolved nature, an ultimately melancholy and unsatisfying proposition. The last few long shots, an elegiac coda, remind us all of our own unresolved guilts waiting for us beneath the bedsheets
Review by Brett A. Scieszka
2005
Its been a fairly terrible year for art-house movies thus far, and as far as I'm concerned the only really exciting cinema (besides the excellent "Wassup Rockers") has been pure genre. Therefore, I find it somewhat ironic that Haneke's latest stateside fare has a pervasive genre feel to it. This horror-tinged meditation on guilt and victimization benefits from an excellent pared-down cast, and thoughtful, deliberate visual direction.
Fancy-pants intellectual talk show host Georges Laurent (played by gallic perennial Daniel Auteuil), his book publishing wife Anne (Juliette Binoche!) and pubescent son are intimidated and threatened by a series of videocassettes showing a fixed frame of the Laurent house, complete with all the comings and goings of the family. The ante is upped to creepsville when graphically violent kid's drawings start accompanying the tapes, as well as footage of Georges childhood home. Through these drawings, tapes, and his own anxious nightmares Georges is forced to confront his relationship with a pseudo-adopted brother from his salad days, now a sadsack schlub who vehemently denies any relation to the Laurent family's misery.
Despite being a darling of the global film community, Haneke doesn't always hit the mark. With the utterly superfluous "Code Unknown" and the irritating genital-mutilating sensationalism of "The Piano Teacher" I had pretty much given up on this ex-pat Wunderkraut. However, Haneke's auteurist tendencies do wonders for this film, which is in essence, an incredibly basic stock horror story. The technical aspects of the film are praise worthy: great photography and editing really drive the story and compound the introspective quality the performances take on.
Auteuil does a superb job of conveying anxiety and dread, and as the skeletons begin leaping from the proverbially closet they leave lasting impressions on Laurent's face throughout the film's latter half. A nervous, and confrontational Georges begins to emerge and his caustic denial of guilt shifts sympathy towards the targets of his frustation. Often, Georges' frustration with prime suspect Majid, and his own wife is ugly and disconcerting.
This mystery manages to be wildly captivating and suspenseful. A prolonged scene involving a rooster beheading perfectly embodies childhood trauma, and no amount of forewarning can prepare the viewer for the wickedly graphic razor setpiece. This latter example is an apex that answers no questions and leaves the film to its unresolved nature, an ultimately melancholy and unsatisfying proposition. The last few long shots, an elegiac coda, remind us all of our own unresolved guilts waiting for us beneath the bedsheets
Review by Brett A. Scieszka
Friday, September 01, 2006
House of Wax
Jaume Collet-Serra
2005
This film got a nice shot of hype due to Paris Hilton's shameless supporting role, but I think this kind of buzz may have negatively effected the film's release. Hilton's complete inability to act, coupled with her kitten-in-a-box level of cluelessness and exploited sexuality are genuinely cringe worthy - but enough with the all too easy dead-horse-beating that is Paris bashing - "House of Wax" is a surprisingly satisfying and genuinely rewarding horror movie.
The setup is straight stock - teens on the road in a rural area get massacred by completely nutzo locals. In this case the teens are on their way to a big football game and the wackjobs in question are twin brothers: one with a sadistic yen for "creative surgery," and the other, a talented wax-sculpture artist, who uses live unfortunates for models. Most of the action takes place in a classically desolate, creepy small-town complete with a wax museum literally made of the stuff.
There's some really good and creative slasher type violence here complemented by competent effects and makeups. The visceral horror elements are surprisingly hardcore and include but are not limited to: a finger severed with tinsnips, live third degree burn victims encased in wax, and an epically disgusting road kill pit that is brought so faithfully to the screen that it is physically nauseating to watch. Along with the stylized violence there's also a nice plot and story line that feels a little similar to Alexander Aja's remake of "The Hills Have Eyes." The complex backstory combination of mother-love, siamese twins, and macabre ghost town could easily become cheap sensationalism, or empty posturing, but is instead controlled and tamed to create a fine genre film.
On the downside, all the characters with the exception of the end survivors are dull and generally unsympathetic. There's also a lot of down time taken for exposition before the film kicks into gear, which feels like unnecessary dead air considering how unappealing these kids are. Also the quasi twist-ending, leaving the possibility of a sequel, seems like crass justification for a weak and underused plot point wasted earlier in the film.
The apocalyptic "Usher's House" climax is definitely worth a viewing. Its also important to note that this is not a remake of the 1953 Vincent Price movie of the same name. There's a few influences and references here and there but for the most part this is a completely different animal. Its a highly recommended film especially because I doubt many people have actually seen it.
Review by Brett A. Scieszka
2005
This film got a nice shot of hype due to Paris Hilton's shameless supporting role, but I think this kind of buzz may have negatively effected the film's release. Hilton's complete inability to act, coupled with her kitten-in-a-box level of cluelessness and exploited sexuality are genuinely cringe worthy - but enough with the all too easy dead-horse-beating that is Paris bashing - "House of Wax" is a surprisingly satisfying and genuinely rewarding horror movie.
The setup is straight stock - teens on the road in a rural area get massacred by completely nutzo locals. In this case the teens are on their way to a big football game and the wackjobs in question are twin brothers: one with a sadistic yen for "creative surgery," and the other, a talented wax-sculpture artist, who uses live unfortunates for models. Most of the action takes place in a classically desolate, creepy small-town complete with a wax museum literally made of the stuff.
There's some really good and creative slasher type violence here complemented by competent effects and makeups. The visceral horror elements are surprisingly hardcore and include but are not limited to: a finger severed with tinsnips, live third degree burn victims encased in wax, and an epically disgusting road kill pit that is brought so faithfully to the screen that it is physically nauseating to watch. Along with the stylized violence there's also a nice plot and story line that feels a little similar to Alexander Aja's remake of "The Hills Have Eyes." The complex backstory combination of mother-love, siamese twins, and macabre ghost town could easily become cheap sensationalism, or empty posturing, but is instead controlled and tamed to create a fine genre film.
On the downside, all the characters with the exception of the end survivors are dull and generally unsympathetic. There's also a lot of down time taken for exposition before the film kicks into gear, which feels like unnecessary dead air considering how unappealing these kids are. Also the quasi twist-ending, leaving the possibility of a sequel, seems like crass justification for a weak and underused plot point wasted earlier in the film.
The apocalyptic "Usher's House" climax is definitely worth a viewing. Its also important to note that this is not a remake of the 1953 Vincent Price movie of the same name. There's a few influences and references here and there but for the most part this is a completely different animal. Its a highly recommended film especially because I doubt many people have actually seen it.
Review by Brett A. Scieszka
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