Sergei Bodrov
2007
Award winning director Sergei Bodrov’s Mongol is a research-informed cobbling of the early life and rise to power of the boy/man who would eventually become the infamous Genghis Khan. Genre nuts will be delighted to see Tadanobu Asano (Ichi the Killer, Vital) taking over the role of the famed barbarian king. Filmed in the same windy steppes in which Genghis himself was reared Bodrov strives for an earnest verisimilitude in depicting the life of twelfth century Mongols in a film of Russian production, subtitled from Mongolian, and starring a multiethnic cast.
Ostensibly, the film takes the form of the historical epic with its sweeping, omnipresent landscape and tale of a hero rising from dire circumstances. However, there’s only one large-scale battle, and Temudgin’s (Genghis Khan’s birth name) presumably Machiavellian rise to power is glossed over in a few title cards. What’s left is the many hardships suffered by a thrice enslaved boy, a complicated and competitive relationship with his blood brother Jamukha, and most prominently, a romance between him and wife Borte. Think Braveheart minus all those expensive battle scenes.
Of course, the stereotypical view of Genghis Khan is that of a loin-clothed brute surrounded by a harem of slave wenches, wolfing down a mutton shank and sucking liquor from a wineskin (you remember Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, right?). This is the old legend that Bodrov intends to rectify. There’s a tremendous remoteness in Asano’s performance that’s also in opposition to the classic Khan myth. The hedonistically rampant Id of legend is played as a soft-spoken introspective man who frequently prays, and appears completely unimpressed by material gain.
No attempt has been made to candy-coat Mongol life, in which prepubescent boys pick out their wives for marriage and men raid other tribes when they’re not drunkenly wrestling before the bonfire or heading to a nearby kingdom to unload slaves. Yet the rule of law remains vital and is oft mentioned (though sometimes broken), while the dual bonds of family and society hold together a certifiably bona fide culture. It is in this milieu that Temudgin marries for love in youthful defiance of his father, and secretly breaks Mongol law by going to war over a woman when his wife is apprehended by a rival tribe. There’s definitely a degree of tried and true movie magic in Bodrov depicting Temudgin as the sentimental Casanova in a decidedly unsentimental culture – an exaggeration in favor of provocation.
The majority of the film takes place outdoors, making the foreboding hard-scrabble landscape a perpetual backdrop to the action. The cinematography devoted to the steppes is a bit of a letdown, adequate, but by no mean awe inspiring. Instead the empty land acts as a brilliant stage for the audio in which the pound of every hoof cuts through a nearly oppressive stillness. This amplified sense of sound lends a tremendously visceral nature to the storytelling too, as Temudgin runs from would-be captors his fatigue doesn’t come so much from the weary look on Asano’s face, but from the sound of his ragged footsteps.
Out of the three battle scenes the first two, smaller in scale, feel much more satisfying than the final climax. The use of CGI blood has really come a long way and looks excellent here as Temudgin hacks away at masked assailants from a rival tribe and litters the ground with the corpses of Jamukha’s army in another. A particularly effective device is used in the latter of these two fights in which a time cut brings us to the end of a battle to find the ferocious Temudgin still making mincemeat out of enemies after all his comrades have bought the farm. The final showdown is much less exciting in its predictability with aerial shots full of little CGI ants on each side against a sandy, unconvincing CGI backdrop.
Bodrov does a hell of a job in inventing a new mythos for an established historical figure. Considering the film is supposed to be the first installment of a trilogy on Genghis Khan it will be particularly interesting to see what the director does with this unique take on a man whose empire covered half the globe.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Reprise
Joachim Trier
2006
Joachim Trier’s debut feature Reprise is a solid art house import with an incisively penetrating tendency towards character study – a film that elegantly portrays the youthful condition in which anything is possible, both for better and for worse. Despite the remarkable display of candor and insight there is an unpleasant degree of filler in the form of woefully conventional and hackneyed devices: the party scene music video, the young protagonist meeting and receiving advice from his hero, the boorish fratboy eventually sucking face with a girl he had previously offended, and a wedding epilogue. Ironically these are all clichés that the two young authors at the center of Reprise would find genuinely hokey.
Fast friends Phillip (Anders Danielsen Lie) and Erik (Espen Klouman-Hoiner) chide each other and giggle nervously as they are preparing to send out their first manuscripts to publishers. A self-conscious zoom into the mailbox-slot heightens the couple’s anxious optimism and zips ahead in time to where the butterflies have subsided and we find that gaunt, beaky Phillip’s book has achieved a minor cult success leading to a heavy dose of insecurity and psychological damage. Erik, disappointed but undaunted by his manuscript’s rejection, continues plugging away while becoming increasingly wary of Phillip’s fragile wellbeing.
The majority of the film’s success lies in the tremendous performances of these lead roles. Erik’s “straight-man” is full of youthful yearning and a palpable striving for greatness, which Trier takes to task by imbuing the blonde moppet with a harmlessly comic does of pretension. The film starts in earnest with Phillip being released from the pysch-ward after a suicide attempt, and the core of Danielsen Lie’s performance suggests a jaded world-weariness so profound that becomes no longer a question of whether he’ll publish another novel, but whether he’ll make it through the night. Its a show-stealing performance in which nearly every scene involving Phillip is so charged with tension, so riddled with anxiety, that there’s a strong element of classic suspense ingrained within the drama.
On the periphery of these sad young literary men are friends, girls, and the humdrum lull of life in Oslo. Phillip’s girlfriend Kari (Viktoria Winge) is primarily, though unintentionally, responsible for his growing dementia, and their mutual refusal to let go is a constant source of concern. Its not hard to see how one could lose his mind over such a gal considering that Winge’s radiant beauty is frequently and hungrily meditated upon in Trier’s starry-eyed lens. If there’s such a thing as “screen presence,” than she’s got it in spades. Most of Erik and Phillip’s leisure time is spent with a small coterie of friends, mostly ex-punks who’ve eased into advertising jobs and chronic beer swilling. These are the kind of guys who will keep one grounded, a colorful and necessary entourage of jokesters that adds a sense of fun and lightheartedness to a film mainly concerned with a pair of heavy-minded boys.
While many of the stylistic devices in Reprise verge on annoying, (superfluous use of flashbacks, an amateurish reliance on voiceover) the use of sound in key emotional scenes is stunning. Many conversations between Phillip and Kari are imbued with a poetic disjoint between sound and image, with conversation taking place while the screen presents tender touches, and close-ups of neck napes, hair wisps, and furtive glances. It would be the stuff of cheesy romance fiction were it not handled with Trier’s exuberant heart-on-sleeve sensibility – the kind of openness and vulnerability presented by many great authors.
While all the cutesy male bonding and quasi-macho pose is funny and familiar, the depiction of women is a bit troubling. When Phillip flies Kari to Paris in an identically retrace of the trip where they fell in love, she’s subjected to some of Phillip’s most unhinged mental malaise yet acts fairly oblivious to the awful position she’s been thrust into. Its an outrageous display of passivity, more the fault of the script and direction than that of the actress. Meanwhile Erik’s long-suffering girlfriend is used more as a device then presented as a real character. Finally, there’s plenty of discussion between the boys about how women are the bane of male creativity. None of this proves to be much of a deal-breaker however, as Trier’s light touch prevents things from becoming a royal PC bummer.
2006
Joachim Trier’s debut feature Reprise is a solid art house import with an incisively penetrating tendency towards character study – a film that elegantly portrays the youthful condition in which anything is possible, both for better and for worse. Despite the remarkable display of candor and insight there is an unpleasant degree of filler in the form of woefully conventional and hackneyed devices: the party scene music video, the young protagonist meeting and receiving advice from his hero, the boorish fratboy eventually sucking face with a girl he had previously offended, and a wedding epilogue. Ironically these are all clichés that the two young authors at the center of Reprise would find genuinely hokey.
Fast friends Phillip (Anders Danielsen Lie) and Erik (Espen Klouman-Hoiner) chide each other and giggle nervously as they are preparing to send out their first manuscripts to publishers. A self-conscious zoom into the mailbox-slot heightens the couple’s anxious optimism and zips ahead in time to where the butterflies have subsided and we find that gaunt, beaky Phillip’s book has achieved a minor cult success leading to a heavy dose of insecurity and psychological damage. Erik, disappointed but undaunted by his manuscript’s rejection, continues plugging away while becoming increasingly wary of Phillip’s fragile wellbeing.
The majority of the film’s success lies in the tremendous performances of these lead roles. Erik’s “straight-man” is full of youthful yearning and a palpable striving for greatness, which Trier takes to task by imbuing the blonde moppet with a harmlessly comic does of pretension. The film starts in earnest with Phillip being released from the pysch-ward after a suicide attempt, and the core of Danielsen Lie’s performance suggests a jaded world-weariness so profound that becomes no longer a question of whether he’ll publish another novel, but whether he’ll make it through the night. Its a show-stealing performance in which nearly every scene involving Phillip is so charged with tension, so riddled with anxiety, that there’s a strong element of classic suspense ingrained within the drama.
On the periphery of these sad young literary men are friends, girls, and the humdrum lull of life in Oslo. Phillip’s girlfriend Kari (Viktoria Winge) is primarily, though unintentionally, responsible for his growing dementia, and their mutual refusal to let go is a constant source of concern. Its not hard to see how one could lose his mind over such a gal considering that Winge’s radiant beauty is frequently and hungrily meditated upon in Trier’s starry-eyed lens. If there’s such a thing as “screen presence,” than she’s got it in spades. Most of Erik and Phillip’s leisure time is spent with a small coterie of friends, mostly ex-punks who’ve eased into advertising jobs and chronic beer swilling. These are the kind of guys who will keep one grounded, a colorful and necessary entourage of jokesters that adds a sense of fun and lightheartedness to a film mainly concerned with a pair of heavy-minded boys.
While many of the stylistic devices in Reprise verge on annoying, (superfluous use of flashbacks, an amateurish reliance on voiceover) the use of sound in key emotional scenes is stunning. Many conversations between Phillip and Kari are imbued with a poetic disjoint between sound and image, with conversation taking place while the screen presents tender touches, and close-ups of neck napes, hair wisps, and furtive glances. It would be the stuff of cheesy romance fiction were it not handled with Trier’s exuberant heart-on-sleeve sensibility – the kind of openness and vulnerability presented by many great authors.
While all the cutesy male bonding and quasi-macho pose is funny and familiar, the depiction of women is a bit troubling. When Phillip flies Kari to Paris in an identically retrace of the trip where they fell in love, she’s subjected to some of Phillip’s most unhinged mental malaise yet acts fairly oblivious to the awful position she’s been thrust into. Its an outrageous display of passivity, more the fault of the script and direction than that of the actress. Meanwhile Erik’s long-suffering girlfriend is used more as a device then presented as a real character. Finally, there’s plenty of discussion between the boys about how women are the bane of male creativity. None of this proves to be much of a deal-breaker however, as Trier’s light touch prevents things from becoming a royal PC bummer.
Mr. Lonely
Harmony Korine
2007
For a long time I've been fairly dismissive of Harmony Korine, but after recently reexamining his work I was pleased to find that my relationship to the auteurist art punk has become more of a love/hate affair than one of total disinterest. Korine's latest film, clearly his most mature and arguably most accomplished, now threatens to tip the scale in his favor. Mister Lonely may be the director's turning point from sleazy quasi-exploitative youth shockers, to well crafted adult cinema.
Barely successful Michael Jackson professionally impersonates the King of Pop, but has been relegated to honing his craft in Parisian parks and hosting the occasional gig at the local old folks home. After a flirtatious run-in with a Marilyn Monroe (Samantha Morton) impersonator Michael is swept away to a castle in the Scottish highlands, and is introduced to a seemingly utopian community of celebrity impersonators ranging from James Dean to the Queen of England - from The Pope to the Three Stooges. Theirs is a childish fantasy world marred by the love triangle between Michael, Marilyn, and her capricious and abusive husband Charlie Chaplin. These impersonators' well meaning escapism is further complicated by the stony realities of diseased livestock and an apathetic public. After all, what's a performer without an audience?
For Korine, this is a remarkably restrained film in which the signature white trash/ghetto-fab freak show is replaced with competent acting and believably honest sentiment. In dealing with a cultural phenomenon like celebrity impersonation Korine benefits by bringing forth a host of characters that create certain presupposed impressions. Therefore unsurprisingly, both Michael and Marilyn have a childlike naivety, James Dean and Sammy Davis Jr. are preoccupied with style, while Abraham Lincoln and the Pope are prone to spout off in blustery bouts of public address.
The major roles are superbly acted, with Morton's Marilyn as the proverbial cherry on top in a performance that trumps the real McCoy in its delicate vulnerability. Her imperfect looks and non-cover-girl figure lend her a satisfying accessibility: the cinematic equivalent of comfort food. Along with Marilyn, Diego Luna's Michael is given more dimension with characterization beyond his self-assumed identity. At times he seethes with the quality of an awkward tween in a man's body, something like a low self esteem Peter Pan. Denis Lavant as Chaplin effectively creates a two-faced clown with his tomfoolery and pratfalls masking a wickedly pitted face, and cruel dark eyes. Also of note, Werner Herzog puts in his second appearance in a Korine film, after his turn as the maniacal patriarch of Julien Donkey-Boy. This time he plays Father Umbrillo, a wisdom imparting missionary priest who leads a troupe of flying nuns. As an actor, one can only expect Werner Herzog to play Werner Herzog - not necessarily a bad thing considering his powerful presence and subtly comic delivery.
Seeing as it hardly pertains to the main action, Father Umbrillo's clucking and kibitzing is the kind of superfluous indulgence that could weaken or muddy the film, however Director of Photography Marcel Zyskind's photography of miraculous nuns falling through clear blue is genuinely breathtaking, and ads a playful layer to the wide-eyed tone. Much of the cinematography is effortlessly intimate with probing closeups and candid performances. Sammy Davis Jr. practices his routine on the castle parapet, and Buckwheat swoons over the chickens he's charged with caring for.
Mister Lonely is not wholly without its detractions. Abe Lincoln possesses a notably foul mouth, and his frequent cussing is played more for cheap laughs than worthwhile characterization. Michael's jaunt in the old folks' home gives us a hefty dose of Korine's standby anthropological gawking, as the near-catatonic elderly grotesques are wheeled up to the camera lens. Admittedly this scene is played with a degree of playful fun as opposed to the bratty pretensions of Gummo's (1997) "Down Syndrome beauty," but nevertheless the scene retains a hokey element of misplaced comic relief.
It would be trite to say that Mister Lonely is a coming of age picture, yet it has many of the genre's trappings, and many familiar tropes are used. Questions of identity, longing, and confusion with one's place in the world are core themes of the film, and if that doesn't speak volumes of the modern teenage experience I don't know what does. The film ends with an uncertain future for the commune, and not all characters make it through. Michael has returned to the Parisian streets Marilyn found him on, but his Scottish adventure has created a sea change in his identity which provides a new set of challenges and a new purpose. For Korine, like Michael, this appears to be a step towards a change in his identity as an artist. He's the same man at heart, just a little more grown up now.
2007
For a long time I've been fairly dismissive of Harmony Korine, but after recently reexamining his work I was pleased to find that my relationship to the auteurist art punk has become more of a love/hate affair than one of total disinterest. Korine's latest film, clearly his most mature and arguably most accomplished, now threatens to tip the scale in his favor. Mister Lonely may be the director's turning point from sleazy quasi-exploitative youth shockers, to well crafted adult cinema.
Barely successful Michael Jackson professionally impersonates the King of Pop, but has been relegated to honing his craft in Parisian parks and hosting the occasional gig at the local old folks home. After a flirtatious run-in with a Marilyn Monroe (Samantha Morton) impersonator Michael is swept away to a castle in the Scottish highlands, and is introduced to a seemingly utopian community of celebrity impersonators ranging from James Dean to the Queen of England - from The Pope to the Three Stooges. Theirs is a childish fantasy world marred by the love triangle between Michael, Marilyn, and her capricious and abusive husband Charlie Chaplin. These impersonators' well meaning escapism is further complicated by the stony realities of diseased livestock and an apathetic public. After all, what's a performer without an audience?
For Korine, this is a remarkably restrained film in which the signature white trash/ghetto-fab freak show is replaced with competent acting and believably honest sentiment. In dealing with a cultural phenomenon like celebrity impersonation Korine benefits by bringing forth a host of characters that create certain presupposed impressions. Therefore unsurprisingly, both Michael and Marilyn have a childlike naivety, James Dean and Sammy Davis Jr. are preoccupied with style, while Abraham Lincoln and the Pope are prone to spout off in blustery bouts of public address.
The major roles are superbly acted, with Morton's Marilyn as the proverbial cherry on top in a performance that trumps the real McCoy in its delicate vulnerability. Her imperfect looks and non-cover-girl figure lend her a satisfying accessibility: the cinematic equivalent of comfort food. Along with Marilyn, Diego Luna's Michael is given more dimension with characterization beyond his self-assumed identity. At times he seethes with the quality of an awkward tween in a man's body, something like a low self esteem Peter Pan. Denis Lavant as Chaplin effectively creates a two-faced clown with his tomfoolery and pratfalls masking a wickedly pitted face, and cruel dark eyes. Also of note, Werner Herzog puts in his second appearance in a Korine film, after his turn as the maniacal patriarch of Julien Donkey-Boy. This time he plays Father Umbrillo, a wisdom imparting missionary priest who leads a troupe of flying nuns. As an actor, one can only expect Werner Herzog to play Werner Herzog - not necessarily a bad thing considering his powerful presence and subtly comic delivery.
Seeing as it hardly pertains to the main action, Father Umbrillo's clucking and kibitzing is the kind of superfluous indulgence that could weaken or muddy the film, however Director of Photography Marcel Zyskind's photography of miraculous nuns falling through clear blue is genuinely breathtaking, and ads a playful layer to the wide-eyed tone. Much of the cinematography is effortlessly intimate with probing closeups and candid performances. Sammy Davis Jr. practices his routine on the castle parapet, and Buckwheat swoons over the chickens he's charged with caring for.
Mister Lonely is not wholly without its detractions. Abe Lincoln possesses a notably foul mouth, and his frequent cussing is played more for cheap laughs than worthwhile characterization. Michael's jaunt in the old folks' home gives us a hefty dose of Korine's standby anthropological gawking, as the near-catatonic elderly grotesques are wheeled up to the camera lens. Admittedly this scene is played with a degree of playful fun as opposed to the bratty pretensions of Gummo's (1997) "Down Syndrome beauty," but nevertheless the scene retains a hokey element of misplaced comic relief.
It would be trite to say that Mister Lonely is a coming of age picture, yet it has many of the genre's trappings, and many familiar tropes are used. Questions of identity, longing, and confusion with one's place in the world are core themes of the film, and if that doesn't speak volumes of the modern teenage experience I don't know what does. The film ends with an uncertain future for the commune, and not all characters make it through. Michael has returned to the Parisian streets Marilyn found him on, but his Scottish adventure has created a sea change in his identity which provides a new set of challenges and a new purpose. For Korine, like Michael, this appears to be a step towards a change in his identity as an artist. He's the same man at heart, just a little more grown up now.
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