Another beautiful, brilliant work from legendary filmmaker Werner Herzog, the genius behind the documentary Grizzly Man (see May 18, 2009 post) and the war drama Rescue Dawn (see November 1, 2008 post).

Into the Abyss is, as its subtitle spells out, “A Tale of Death, A Tale of Life.” It’s a compelling documentary about the crimes of Michael Perry and Jason Burkett, and the aftermath of their actions. Both men were convicted of a triple homicide in 2001 in Conroe, Texas. Perry received a death sentence (which was carried out on July 1, 2010), Burkett a life sentence.

Perry was executed just eight days after Herzog interviewed him. Before and after the execution, Herzog picked up powerful footage of the people who were touched by the murders. We hear from Perry and Burkett, but also near-victims of the crimes, the families left behind, Burkett’s wife and convict father, and, hauntingly, a former Death House Captain who finally forfeited his pension to quit his job early because he couldn’t bear to take any more lives.

Sometimes Herzog shows us imagery, mainly of the places Perry was executed and the victims were murdered. But for the most part, he just steps back and lets the people and their stories speak for themselves. And they do, resoundingly.

Herzog created such an effective film in part because he asks excellent questions. But more importantly, he listens very well. To hear what Into the Abyss is saying, that’s all you have to do.

Everyone who speaks to Herzog’s camera, and to us, demonstrates the importance of compassion, that we are all connected, and that we’re more alike than different. The murderers, the survivors, those who raised them, the people who love them and those who hate them, the people who support capital punishment and those who don’t; Herzog lets us see why his subjects feel the way they do.

There may be evil in the world, but you won’t find it here. Instead, you’ll find people, all with different backgrounds and circumstances—some who had the odds tragically stacked against them from birth, and some who dealt with it better than others.

All you have to do to understand is listen.

I’ve been asking my good pal Rob Cohen (Kickass Canadian, filmmaker, comedian, part-time weirdo) to co-write a blog post practically as long as I’ve known him. So for more than four years now.

This year, the process finally got going when he asked whether I wanted something new (he’d sift through the pile of premium screeners he regularly gets as a member of the Writers’ Guild… sigh…) or something old. I threw him the ball and he offered up Outland, an old-school movie with that old-school charm you just can’t find anymore. There’s a certain quality or timbre to its tone. It’s less about fuss and gimmicks, more about stripping things down to the bare bones to really let the story and characters breathe.

Outland’s plot is straightforward. Marshall William O’Niel (Sean Connery) is assigned to a mining colony, where he keeps shady drug smugglers and other mischief-makers in line, and struggles with missing his wife and son. Oh yeah, and the colony is on Jupiter.

That’s pretty much how the setting is handled; it’s taken totally in stride. Outland is a regular story that just happens to be set in an extraterrestrial context, making it technically sci-fi but, practically, much more about a man trying to do the right thing by his morals, his employers and his family.

For me, that approach is one of the movie’s greatest charms. On top of that, it features solid performances, especially from Connery and Frances Sternhagen as his colleague Dr. Lazarus (Bunny from Sex and the City, Cliff’s mother on Cheers).

So a lot to like there, but I wasn’t sure I’d jump to recommend Outland as a must-see film. Which is where Rob comes in.

ROB: Thanks, Amanda. Well-written, and no-one will know how drunk you are. I like Outland because it is a classic story, aka a Western, but re-done in a new environment.  Even though it takes place in space, in the future, you feel like it could be anywhere. I don’t want to give anything away, but the story is simple, the cast is amazing, and it has all of the elements of a great “who-done-it.” Could be made today, and with the same story.

AMANDA: Thank YOU for not making fun of me for watching Sex and the City. I thought for sure that’d be your first dig. And don’t worry, I’ll edit your typing so no one will know you spell it “no-one.” So you think Outland stands up against some of the great classics? I’m wondering what made you shortlist it as one to recommend, out of all the movies you’ve seen… 

ROB: I think Outland is a classic, but almost a forgotten classic, given that most people don’t remember it. They still think Sean Connery was Bond, then went away, then came back as Indiana Jones’ dad. The storytelling in Outland is classic, and I think the movie holds up today. Maybe some of the technology is cheesy, but a great thriller, with great actors. Peter Boyle is great!

AMANDA: Got it. So you want to pull it up from the caverns and bring it to light so others can enjoy it?

ROB: Yes. People should know this film. It is cool, and will always be a “hidden gem.”

There’s been radio silence for a while, as Rob is super busy prepping and shooting whatever it is he’s directing these days. He can be vague. So that’s all we wrote on Outland. Fun movie. Worth a watch.

Thanks Rob!

Uh-oh, my first post since January… I’ve been neglecting this blog a bit.

I’m back at it with The Hunger Games courtesy of my brilliant eldest nephew Jon. Only nine years old, he gobbled up the Suzanne Collins trilogy last December over the holidays. So I quickly followed suit to prepare for this joint post.

I’d heard of the books before Jon started talking about them, but hadn’t read them because they seemed a little simplistic when I flipped through them at the bookstore. Still, I thought the premise was fascinating.

The Hunger Games trilogy is set in a post-apocalyptic North America known as Panem. Twelve districts live at the mercy of the wealthy Capitol. Every year, each district pays penance for a rebellion led by the decimated District 13 by offering up one boy and one girl (known as “tributes”) between the ages of 12 and 18 for a televised fight to the death. Tributes are drawn by lottery, and viewing of the Games is mandatory.

Collins says she got the idea for The Hunger Games while channel surfing. She caught flashes of reality shows featuring young people competing at all costs for the given prize (money, weight loss, love, you name it), intercut with footage from the Iraq war. “These two things began to fuse together in a very unsettling way,” she said. “And that is where I got the idea for Katniss’ story.”

Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) is the heroine of The Hunger Games. A resident of District 12, she volunteers as tribute when her younger sister’s name is drawn. She leaves behind her family and the boy she loves (Gale Hawthorne, played by Liam Hemsworth) to fight fellow tribute Peeta Mellark (Josh Hutcherson)—the boy who loves her—along with 22 other youth.

The idea is incredibly disturbing, perhaps all the more so because of its timeliness. Those in power viciously exploiting others. People with almost nothing forced to sacrifice everything for the bare minimum. Children killed for the world to see. People’s lives reduced to entertainment, with viewers playing the odds, hedging bets and even sponsoring their favourite tributes. Collins had plenty of source material, and she draws on a lot.

I ended up liking the books much more than I expected, particularly the first. But the power of Collins’ idea was somewhat lost in translation to the screen. That’s largely due to the fact that The Hunger Games is a horrifying story targeted at teens and pre-teens. In her books, Collins found the right tone to capture her dark subject matter without indulging in gory detail that might scare away a Young Adult rating. But when the film shies away from getting too gritty, it winds up being less powerful and disturbing than it should be. I’m not asking for explicit violence, but I think something like The Hunger Games merits a somewhat heavier treatment. You don’t want to make killing too pretty, after all.

Jon lives in another province, so we didn’t see the movie together. But one of the first things he mentioned after watching it was that his screening started with a warning: The Hunger Games isn’t recommended for younger audiences. I asked if he found the movie scary. He said, “It wasn’t even really that scary, but it was a bit sad. Twenty-four people being put in an arena and forced to kill each other is kind of sad.”

Jon also said there wasn’t really anything about the movie he didn’t like. “It cut out a lot of parts, it added in some parts. In some parts you can’t understand the movie as well without the book.”

Generally, I agree. It’s a solid adaptation that lost some details along the way, and threw in others to try to make up for them in short order. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.

In some cases, the transition to film brought key moments to life. When District 12 silently salutes Katniss for her bravery, the absence of sound and the mood it creates is captured in a way that can’t be matched in writing. In other cases, there were missed opportunities, like when Katniss and Peeta are first paraded before the Capitol. The glory of their fiery robes wasn’t anywhere near what I’d imagined from the book.

One overriding issue for me was that the movie took away too much from Katniss’ perspective, which is all we have in the book. It’s too bad, because Lawrence, who was so amazing in Winter’s Bone (see August 22, 2010 post), was perfectly cast and could have carried the piece. But that would have led to a very different film that might not suit its young target audience—especially not if they haven’t been prepped by the books.

At the end of the day, Jon came out a happy camper, which makes the movie a hit in my mind. He liked the costumes and the characters, and had this to say in sum: “People should watch The Hunger Games because it’s quite a good movie. But they should also probably read the books first, because the books have more in them.”

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I love you Jon. Keep reading.

You can find the previous Kickass Canadians segment, featuring Amma Bonsu and Ray Zahab, right here.

Hunger (UK/Ireland 2008, Biography/Drama/History), Writers: Enda Walsh, Steve McQueen; Director: Steve McQueen

Watch either of Steve McQueen’s first two feature films, Hunger and Shame, and it’s abundantly clear that this man is a more than just a filmmaker—he’s an artist.

I saw Shame first, a few weeks ago, and was mesmerized. Shame is the most desexualized sex film I’ve seen since Shortbus (see July 25, 2007 post). It spends a few weeks in the life of Brandon (Michael Fassbender), a New York City businessman and sex addict. His sexual encounters—which are many and varied—aren’t sexy; they’re sad, desperate and full of self-loathing. But he’s been plugging along, getting through life, succeeding on paper and indulging his compulsions.

All that changes when his younger sister Sissy (Carey Mulligan) drops into the city and makes herself at home in his apartment. The siblings have some deep-rooted history that’s never discussed but is always present. It’s some of the best backstory I’ve ever seen, brought perfectly to life by Fassbender and Mulligan, but never belaboured in expository dialogue. What’s clear is that there was something dark in their upbringing, and that whatever it was has left Brandon doing his best to shut out the world and his emotions, numbing himself to everything except what he feels (or tries to feel) during sex, and Sissy doing everything she can to connect emotionally with anyone who will have her (for however brief a time).

Shame is an incredibly sad film. As Fassbender plays him, Brandon despises himself, can’t even stand his reflection in the mirror. There’s a powerful drawn-out threesome in which Brandon displays a plethora of emotions (or, as MF said it best, “a blender of emotions”). It’s in stark contrast to his usual cool exterior, and it serves to show that sex is perhaps the only situation in which he can try to feel or express anything—to find sense in that churning blender. There’s pleasure, to a degree, but more predominantly there’s pain, anguish, rage, frustration, sadness and aching self-loathing.

I saw an interview that featured one of the Shame crew talking about how Fassbender was an interesting and fitting choice to play Brandon because of his prior work with McQueen. In Hunger, Fassbender plays Bobby Sands, the Provisional Irish Republican Army prisoner who died in the 1981 Irish hunger strike. Bobby’s only freedom was in exerting control over his body. Brandon, meanwhile, presents the opposite extreme; he’s a man with every external freedom and opportunity, but he’s imprisoned by his body and by what he feels compelled to do with it. I tend to agree with that crew member. The casting makes for a fascinating study in contrast. And if any actor can go from one end of the scale to the other, and portray both exquisitely, it’s Fassbender.

There are many, many aspects of Shame (and Hunger) that impressed me deeply and deserve attention. But in the interests of time, I’ll touch only on the two that left the greatest mark: McQueen and Fassbender.

McQueen clearly structures his shots not only to tell a story, but also to create art, to portray beauty (even in sadness and pain). Near the beginning of Shame, Brandon walks naked from one room to another, hitting his answering machine to let it play back the message it took while he was fornicating. But the full frontal shot isn’t gratuitous. Sure, there were other ways that McQueen could have shown Brandon retrieving his messages; but in this way, not only do we understand that his nakedness is unabashed, displayed without affection or sentiment, we also see the beauty of the shot, with the dividing wall separating the light that shines from either room, framing the image, creating exquisite contrast.

There are countless examples in both Shame and Hunger of McQueen’s vision, gifts and artistic fearlessness. Shame features a beautiful tracking shot of Brandon running for several minutes through New York City at night. He’s just running, but there’s so much more to see; the scene-within-a-shot is loaded with questions (what’s he running from?) and information about the character (his body seems to be the constant target for his repressed emotions).

Hunger could easily fill a length post of its own. McQueen’s feature debut, which won the Caméra d’Or prize for best first-time director at the 2008 Cannes Film Festival, is more experimental than Shame, less conventional. McQueen reveals his love of long shots here even more than he does in Shame. The most noteworthy shot runs more than 15 minutes, featuring a conversation between Bobby and his priest as they talk, predominantly, about the religious morality of going on a hunger strike. But there are other incredible examples, including the shot of a custodian making his way down a long corridor, mopping the filthy hall as he slowly gets closer and closer to the camera.

The film also features several lovely examples of McQueen’s desire to observe, to capture moments. There’s a scene in which one of Bobby’s inmates reaches through the window bars and lets a fly climb onto his fingers, watching, wondering, connecting to something from the outside world—something with the freedom to roam in and out of prison.

Suffice it to say that McQueen is a tremendous talent and, from the sounds of it, a really cool person. His background is in visual and multimedia art; he went to Iraq in 2006 as an official war artist, and was appointed Commander of the Order of the British Empire in 2011 for services to the visual arts.

Then there’s Fassbender. There are a lot of great actors working onscreen today, and I’ve written about many of my favourites on this blog. Fassbender is absolutely among the best. He’s astonishingly good in Shame, and I’m surprised he wasn’t nominated for an Academy Award (but no matter—he’s already won many other Best Actor nods for the role). To see him so good in such a dark, serious, agonized performance, you might expect him to project some of Brandon’s torment in real life. But then you catch him as the young Magneto in X-Men: First Class; or as British spy Lt. Archie Hicox in Inglourious Basterds; as a deeply troubled, somewhat condescending but intensely passionate Edward Rochester in Jane Eyre; as a charming, boyish bloke with a seedy underbelly in Fish Tank; as a gritty yet surprisingly vulnerable assassin in Haywire; as a restrained, cerebral Carl Jung in A Dangerous Method… Fassbender is equally convincing in every part, no matter how different one is from the next. And if you check out an interview or two of the man, you’ll find a funny, sweet, humble, quick-witted singing Irishman, one who appears to bear no similarities, save physical beauty, to Brandon.

Fassbender and McQueen make an incredible team. I’d make a point of seeing anything either artist is involved with. Shame is a masterpiece, and although I think it missed its beat just slightly in how it ended (the wrap-up takes just a bit away from the subtlety we see throughout the rest of the film), I highly recommend it—as a movie and as a work of art.

In my teaser about Melancholia and Take Shelter (see November 11, 2011 post), I mentioned being curious about the two films because of their exploration of impending apocalypse and mental illness, and the question of perception vs. reality. In the end, I only made it to Take Shelter during the films’ runs at The ByTowne, so Melancholia will have to be a rental or download for me. But Take Shelter absolutely didn’t disappoint. It’s a fabulous film—one well worth seeing and, if you’re into the nerd thing, analyzing.

To recap from the teaser, Take Shelter assumes the point of view of Curtis (Michael Shannon), an Ohio construction worker who’s beleaguered by the sudden onset of disturbing dreams and visions about a violent storm that promises to bring about murky acid rain and possibly the end of the world, at least as we know it. Curtis’ episodes are so powerful that they leave a physical mark that carries over to the rest of his waking life.

Making matters more complicated—or perhaps simpler, for everyone but Curtis—is that he has a family history of paranoid schizophrenia, with an onset age right around his. While everyone in his life seems to arrive at the conclusion that he’s simply presenting the first symptoms of the disease, Curtis seems to know better; rather than just accepting that medication and therapy are the answers, he begins building a storm shelter, with money his family really can’t spare.

One of the things I was interested to see in Take Shelter was the treatment of Curtis’ perceived reality in contrast to the reality presented through the rest of the characters, and whether it would really matter whether or not Curtis was right or delusional, given that his experience would always be framed by his perspective. As presented in this film, if not everywhere else, the difference between what may “really” be out there and what’s in our minds starts to matter when we’re no longer able to function alongside the people around us—even when we’re right.

The film also offers an interesting study from a mental health perspective, both of the symptoms of the disease and of people’s tendency to dismiss any difference as something “other”—they’d rather label Curtis as diseased, even without a proper examination, than try to understand what’s foreign to them or face something they may not want to.

I can’t say enough good things about Take Shelter. The script is among the best, with impeccable dialogue that never reveals too much and rings utterly true. The film features a great score that’s suitably spare and haunting. Its imagery is demurely beautiful, and its performances are superb. As Curtis’ wife Samantha, Jessica Chastain doesn’t have a lot to do, but she’s lovely in the role and provides a solid platform from which Shannon is able to anchor his exceptional portrayal.

Shannon is racking up the Best Actor nominations for his work here, and deservedly so. He’s fantastic. From quietly tense moments to those filled with frustration and rage, he’s always perfectly on key. There’s a scene in the storm shelter when he holds the camera’s attention for several beats, and each time, his inner turmoil is so plainly, perfectly conveyed. I’m sure we’ll be seeing much more of Shannon after this.

Writer/director Jeff Nichols does a formidable job of bringing the viewer into Curtis’ world, and then of turning it around and making it our own, giving us something very big to reflect on. It’s a deeply impactful film, with wonderful glimpses of the good in humanity (the bond between Curtis and Samantha is especially beautiful, clearly built on trust, respect and kindness), and important questions about the darker choices we’ve made and continue to make, and what the potential consequences may be.

Take Shelter (USA 2011, Drama), Writer/Director: Jeff Nichols

After a client rescheduled this afternoon’s meeting at the last minute, I found myself with some unexpected free time. I opened up the file for a new script I’m working on, but whether it was from mental fatigue, or creative drought, or simply procrastination, I found myself thinking instead about a couple completed films I’m excited to see. So I decided to write a teaser, as I haven’t done one of those in awhile. Plus, these films are likely already playing—or about to be released—in a city near you, so hopefully this post will get you geared up for some great cinema.

Melancholia and Take Shelter will both be showing at The ByTowne this November and December, and I’m taking the leap and pre-recommending each of them. I’ll make sure I get to Take Shelter, and if I make it to both films, I’ll see if it works to compare and contrast them in a joint post. The potential seems to be there.

Each of these movies features a writer/director combo—Danish Lars von Trier for Melancholia and American Jeff Nichols for Take Shelter. Having the same person fill those pivotal roles often yields the best results, because the film’s mastermind truly understands its original vision and is closer to it than anyone.

I haven’t seen anything by Jeff Nichols, who just broke onto the directing scene in the past few years, so I can’t comment on the creations of his mind. But I saw and very much liked two of von Trier’s previous films, Dancer in the Dark and Dogville. Both were dark and took creative risks that, in my opinion, really paid off. It’s been too long since I saw Dancer in the Dark for me to talk specifics, but I remember it being harrowing, moving and bold, and featuring a very brave and raw performance from Björk. (She won Best Actress at the 2000 Cannes Film Festival, where the film also picked up the prized Palme d’Or award.)

I rented 2003’s Dogville more recently and was impressed with its production concept. The film, which stars Nicole Kidman and the ever-extraordinary Chloë Sevigny, among others, is shot on a very minimalist soundstage, a feature it proudly hides in plain sight. But the excellent actors play the location—standing in for a small mountain town—very straight, and the effect is incredibly convincing. The characters are pretty twisted, and lure the plot into some dark alleyways. But I’ll leave it at that for now; Dogville definitely offers enough for a post of its own.

All that to say, von Trier productions work very effectively, having been written and directed by the same mind, and I’d expect the same from his latest venture. Melancholia explores the struggles faced by a young newlywed woman (Kirsten Dunst, in the role that won her Best Actress at the 2011 Cannes Film Festival), who is grappling with depression, and impending apocalypse due to a mysterious, fast-approaching planet that is expected to collide with Earth. The film also stars Kiefer Sutherland, and the alluring Anglo-French actor/singer Charlotte Gainsbourg, from I’m Not There (see April 6, 2008 post) and Michel Gondry’s The Science of Sleep.

Nichols joins in on the apocalyptic fun and games with Take Shelter, this time from the point of view of a small-town Ohio man tormented by a series of paranoid visions about the end of the world. Like Melancholia, this film stars some terrific actors: Michael Shannon, from Revolutionary Road (see February 10, 2009 post), and the incredible Jessica Chastain, from The Tree of Life (see July 15, 2011 post), The Help, The Debt and a slew of heavy-hitting films coming down the pipes.

What interests me about Melancholia and Take Shelter—besides the talent behind them and the outstanding reviews they’ve garnered—is that they both deal with impending apocalypse and psychological disturbance, and they both seem to blur the line between the two, prompting questions about how much is really out there and how much is in our minds. And, given that the experience of reality is always so skewed by individual perception, when does it really start to matter?

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Another ByTowne flick that looks amazing is the Korean film Poetry. It just finished its run at the theatre last week, and I wish I’d made the effort to get there in time. But I’ll be renting or downloading it when I can, and I can pretty confidently that it’s sure to be worthwhile, so if you’re looking for a good art house pick, look no further.

Poetry is about a 60-something woman, who, upon learning of her Alzheimer’s diagnosis and her grandson’s violent crime, enrolls in a poetry class to finally give voice to something that has always been inside her. The film should bring a particularly informed and resonant perspective, given that it’s written and directed by former South Korean minister of culture Lee Chang-dong. It won Best Screenplay at the 2011 Cannes Film Festival and, from what I’ve seen and heard, promises to be artful, thoughtful and intelligent—the kind of film that opens the door to further insight and exploration.

I haven’t been paying enough attention to George Clooney as a filmmaker. He’s very good. I saw and really liked Good Night, and Good Luck, and heard great things about Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, both of which Clooney directed. But I guess his standout performances in a range of solid films, including Syriana, Michael Clayton (see October 28, 2007 post), Up in the Air, Fantastic Mr. Fox (an incredible animated film) and the Ocean’s flicks, overshadowed his reputation as a director. They have for me, anyway, but no more.

From its opening shot through to its closing one, The Ides of March makes it clear that Clooney has a strong appreciation for the tools of cinema. And he wields them well, delivering a finely polished product that features a few neat twists and crevasses—if not in its story, than in its telling.

It’s hard for me not to compare The Ides of March to Drive (see September 17, 2011 post), another film released this autumn that stars the phenomenal Ryan Gosling. While The Ides of March isn’t as inventive, creative or daring in its direction, it’s still far and away more sophisticated and on pitch than most studio fare, and suggests even greater work to come from Clooney.

The film spends a few pivotal days in the life and career of young Stephen Myers (Gosling), a press secretary—“the best media mind in the country,” in fact—working for Governor Mike Morris (Clooney), who’s running in the Ohio presidential primary. Stephen quickly finds himself in the thick of political scheming and scandal, involving the Governor, intern Molly Stearns (Evan Rachel Wood), campaign manager Paul Zara (Philip Seymour Hoffman) and the opponent’s campaign manager Tom Duffy (Paul Giamatti), and aided and abetted by reporter Ida Horowicz (Marisa Tomei). His character is put to the test, and it isn’t long before he graduates from loyal idealist to vengeful cynic.

The Ides of March is based on the Broadway play Farragut North by Beau Willimon. (In one production, Chris Noth played Hoffman’s role.) I can see how the premise would work well on stage, but Clooney veers away from being overly theatrical by making full use of the cinematic mechanisms at his disposal. In the opening scene, in which Stephen preps the stage for one of the Governor’s speeches, Clooney highlights the showmanship involved in politics without betraying the platform of realism (as opposed to theatricality) that he establishes throughout the film. You’ll need to see the film to appreciate what I’m saying, but through the lighting, cinematography and editing, Clooney brings the viewer onside with Stephen in a moment that could be interpreted as fantasy, and then cleverly reveals how it fits into his everyday reality.

As is frequently the case when good actors direct, The Ides of March features fantastic work from exceptional performers. Tomei in particular creates a very thoroughly etched, interesting character. Hoffman and Giamatti are always great, and Gosling’s star just seems to keep soaring higher with each film he shoots. He’s so very good at hitting the nuances of every character he plays. I find him utterly mesmerizing to watch, much more for his craft than his admittedly handsome features. There’s a scene at the campaign headquarters, just after the fun hits the fan, when Stephen strides into the building and summons Molly into his office. Everything about him—from how Gosling walks, or moves his eyes, or even lifts a pen—perfectly captures the character’s motives, feelings and intentions. Great acting is in the details, and Gosling is impeccable.

But back to Clooney… Watching The Ides of March, I got the sense that he’s building to something pretty great. Not only is his filmmaking growing stronger, but he’s using it more and more as a means of voicing his own political leanings—a good thing, in my opinion. Critics of The Ides of March have argued that it doesn’t cover any new ground, as far as the ins and outs of politics. Perhaps not. But it does showcase exceptional talent—on the part of everyone involved, cast and crew alike—and is surely an important step along the way to many of its players perfecting their games. That makes it newsworthy in my books.