The Brave One (USA/Australia 2007, Crime/Drama/Thriller), Writers: Roderick Taylor and Bruce A. Taylor; Director: Neil Jordan

Jodie Foster was my childhood idol. I thought she hung the moon. In junior high, I turned my best friend, SM, onto her after my class presentation on the actor. (I might have traumatized my other classmates by showing clips from The Accused and The Silence of the Lambs…) Anyway, after that, SM and I started renting a lot of Foster’s earlier work. I loved her strength and intelligence, and the attention to detail she gave each of her characters. I can’t think of anyone else quite like her in the industry.

These days, it seems that Foster has largely retreated from acting, stepping out only now and then to make an appearance in more commercial fare. It’s exciting that she’s pulled her focus to working behind the camera. But it doesn’t mean that fans like myself don’t miss seeing her perform in higher caliber films.

All this to say that I really didn’t like The Brave One. I recently rented it because Foster was starring, and because it’s directed by The Crying Game’s Neil Jordan, so I figured it couldn’t be that bad. And yet…

I disliked the film from the get-go. It begins with an over-zealous attempt to sell us on just how very much in love New Yorkers Erica Bain (Foster) and her fiancé David Kirmani (Naveen Andrews) are. And then, quite quickly, the couple leads us down the garden path to a brutal attack in Central Park that leaves David dead and Erica in a coma.

When she wakes up, Erica struggles to return to the life she used to lead. But she finds it impossible and sets out on a quest for vigilante justice. Along the way, she befriends Detective Mercer (Terrence Howard), the cop who is investigating her crimes.

In my review of 3:10 to Yuma, I referred to the benefits of bringing a director with a history of more “sensitive” films to the action movie genre. It worked in 3:10 to Yuma. It doesn’t work in The Brave One. Rather than bringing a human touch to the excitement of a thriller, The Brave One is left somewhere in no-man’s land; it’s neither poignant and sensitive, nor exciting.

One example of this failed merger occurs just after Erica and David have been attacked. As the medical team handles their bodies and removes their clothing, we cut back and forth to the couple making love, caressing those same body parts and removing clothing in a very different context. It should work; it’s a beautiful concept, a stark contrast. But it just doesn’t. The first cut to the love-making is confusing and feels out of place. It was too early in the film for me to believe in their all-consuming love and to feel a sense of loss at the end of their relationship. But mostly, the camera direction and editing are lacking.

The script also has its shortcomings. Erica hosts a radio show about New York. After the attack, she begins to reflect on-air about reports of her own crimes, and eventually takes questions and comments from listeners. Her ponderings and self-analysis come off as contrived, adding to the film’s self-consciousness.

The concept of a woman turning to violence after being horribly assaulted calls to mind Patty Jenkins’ 2003 film Monster, with Charlize Theron playing real-life prostitute turned serial killer Aileen Wuornos. Monster is much more convincing than The Brave One in many ways, but the biggest one for me is the transition the film’s leading characters go through. Played phenomenally by Theron, Wuornos doesn’t stand back and analyze her actions or motives the way that Erica does. Violence against men is the only way she knows how to respond to the horrific violence that was committed against her. It seems genuine and believable, although disturbing and tragically sad. But with Erica’s process, it feels as if she’s holding the viewer’s hand, explaining herself through voice-overs and radio scripts just in case we couldn’t make the leap ourselves. All of this adds up to The Brave One coming across as silly: an unsubtle film about vigilante justice, that fails to add anything new to the dialogue about when right is wrong and wrong is right.

If that weren’t enough, there are a couple oddly-placed references to the Iraq war. Are we supposed to draw a link to Bush’s “lawful” violence and the “vigilante” justice the terrorists are forging? Is the attack on Erica meant to represent the 2001 attack on the city itself? I don’t have a problem with drawing that parallel, but it can’t be accomplished with two asides about Iraq. Better to leave it out entirely.

Foster and Howard are excellent actors, and it’s worthwhile watching them in action. But if you’re looking for great performances and great movies all in one, see Foster in The Silence of the Lambs, The Accused, Taxi Driver or Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore (among others). For Howard, it’s hard to beat Hustle & Flow: “You know it’s hard out here for a pimp / When he’s tryin to get his money for the rent / For the Cadillacs and gas money spent / There’s a whole lotta bitches jumpin ship.”

4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days (Romania 2007, Drama), Writer/Director: Cristian Mungiu

[Spoiler Alert: I give away a few plot points, but none that aren’t revealed relatively early in the movie. And this film’s worth lies in the telling at least as much—if not more—as in the story itself.]

4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days packs a solid punch. It’s incredibly powerful. But it doesn’t throw any quick jabs. Instead, it plays out slowly with very few cuts. Writer/director Cristian Mungiu pulls back the curtains on several moments in a difficult day in a young woman’s life, and lets us watch what unfolds.

The film opens with two students in a dorm room in 1980s communist Romania: Otilia (Anamaria Marinca) and Gabita (Laura Vasiliu). Otilia has just agreed to help Gabita with something, but we don’t know at first what that something is. It soon becomes clear that she has committed to helping Gabita get an illegal abortion.

And so begins Otilia’s day. We follow her on the bus; trying to get her favourite brand of cigarettes, which happens to be on the black market; re-arranging plans with her boyfriend; trying to book a hotel room for the abortion; meeting Bebe (Vlad Ivanov), the man who will perform the abortion.

The way in which the day’s dark and disturbing events are mixed in with the minutia of Otilia’s everyday life is disconcerting. Lying appears to come very easily to her, presumably a result of the nanny state she grew up in. The ease with which she moves from running errands, to arranging an illegal abortion for a friend who is nearly five months pregnant, makes you wonder what other terrible things Otilia has had to endure just to survive.

Because Mungiu lets most of his scenes play out in a single long shot, we see Otilia’s life in greater detail than most films allow; little slices of life cut out from a very heavy day. The dinner scene in which Otilia first meets her boyfriend’s parents is one of my favourites. Otilia is packed into the middle of the crowded frame, flanked by her boyfriend’s relatives and family friends. She’s visibly uncomfortable, both physically and psychologically. The scene plays without cutting to the dinner guests who sit off-camera. Instead, the focus is on Otilia as she tries to cope with the tedious and needling conversation, all the while preoccupied with Gabita’s plight back at the hotel. We begin to feel as trapped as Otilia.

Another wonderful moment takes place when Otilia checks in to the hotel. The details of the conversation between Otilia and the receptionist are impeccable. It’s the kind of thing that might seem boring in real life, but because it’s captured on camera it becomes imbued with a larger-than-life quality; it somehow takes on greater importance and meaning.

As a result of its heavy subject matter, some of the “everyday” detail in 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days is a little hard to take. The scene in which Bebe very matter-of-factly describes the procedure really upset me. I felt nauseous, faint, even shaky; completely knocked off my feet. It took me awhile to peel myself off the ropes and unfurl for the rest of the movie.

The abortion scene itself I couldn’t watch. I had hoped that it would happen off-camera, as another of the film’s upsetting moments does. But no such luck. From the little I did see, Mungiu doesn’t show anything graphic or gory. The scene was shot from a side angle. But just knowing what was going on was more than I could handle; I had to close my eyes and plug my ears for most of it.

Despite the fact that even writing about those two scenes has me feeling a little queasy, Mungiu clearly knows how to get as much impact out of what he doesn’t show as what he does. When Bebe demands money that the women don’t have before agreeing to carry out the procedure, Otilia consents to having sex with him as a tradeoff. But instead of showing us what takes place, we leave the room with Gabita and wait with her in the bathroom, sharing in her dreadful anticipation, imagining the worst.

When it’s over, Otilia rushes in to the bathroom wearing only her t-shirt. It’s perhaps the least gratuitous example of film nudity that I can think of. Gabita rushed out of the hotel room without a thought about getting dressed; her only concern was getting away from Bebe and washing him from her body.

I was shocked to discover that this film was written and directed by a man. I’m sorry if that offends, but to find that a man could have such empathy and appreciation for these things—a woman’s perspective on love and sex; her moods, which are presented here as having perfectly logical, understandable explanations; the emotional impact of a man invading her body, whether invited or not, whether medical or sexual—and that he would feel compelled to write about them, is not something you come across every day. I think it’s wonderful that he put this film out there.

I highly recommend 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days. The actors are outstanding, particularly Marinca who appears in every scene and absolutely carries the film. And you’d be hard-pressed to find a recent movie with as much impact; as a testament to this, it won the top prize at the 2007 Cannes Film Festival, the Palme d’Or.

You might still be able to catch the film in some repertory theatres, and it’ll be available to rent soon. Just be forewarned that it deals with some heavy subject matter. And if you’re at all squeamish about gynecological topics, you may need to plug your ears and avert your eyes for some of the film. I’m still reeling from a couple of those scenes.

Once (Ireland 2007, Drama/Music/Romance), Writer/Director: John Carney

I fell in love with this movie.

Once is about two soul mates who meet in Dublin: an Irish guy (The Frames singer Glen Hansard) and a Czechoslovakian girl (Markéta Irglová). They never give their love a name—in fact, we never even learn their names—but they don’t need to. A connection like that doesn’t need a label; it just is.

The couple isn’t ready to be together physically. She has an estranged husband in the Czech Republic to whom she feels tied; he still mourns an ex-girlfriend who broke his heart. Perhaps because they hold back from each other, the romance has room to breathe and makes the film even more tantalizing for the viewer. You long for them to come together, maybe even more than they do themselves.

Once is a musical, but the most unusual I’ve ever seen. You might not even realize it’s a musical if you weren’t told. The songs, all haunting and gorgeous, flow organically from the film’s narrative. The guy is a guitarist, the girl a keyboardist, and both are singer-songwriters. We hear them sing to themselves and to each other, and later recording an album. The songs allow the couple to express their feelings to one another, even if they were written with other people in mind.

They fall in love over the course of one song, singing a duet of Falling Slowly in a music store. But Once sealed the deal with me when the girl goes for a walk at night in her pajamas, singing along with her walkman. She could have been me. Except without the howling dogs and shattering glass.

Rent this movie. It’s one-of-a-kind. I think it’s impossible not to be stirred by it. Only the most cynical of you will manage not to fall head over heels for Once. And you’ll still like it enough to call the next day to see how it’s doing. This one’s hard to get off your mind.

* * *

I can’t get this song out of my head; check it out – Falling Slowly with clips from Once. And another goodie: Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová playing the song live. I like the recorded version better, but Glen’s intro is pretty funny.

The Believer (USA 2001, Drama), Writers: Henry Bean, Mark Jacobson; Director: Henry Bean

I rented The Believer not long ago. Ryan Gosling. Wow. He just keeps impressing me more and more. Although I’m wondering what TS, who recommended The Believer, liked so much about the film as a whole. I thought it had a few very strong points, but overall, I found it to be lacking.

Gosling stars as Danny Balint, a conflicted young man who is both Jewish and a neo-Nazi. Hence the conflict. The movie is based on the true story of Daniel Burros, a KKK member in the 1960s who killed himself when he was revealed by a New York Times reporter to be Jewish.

What I enjoyed most about the film were Gosling’s performance and some aspects of the writing. Gosling is outstanding. He portrays what is essentially a gross magnification of people’s tendency to hate in others what they hate in themselves, while still giving Danny real soul and substance. As for the script, I appreciated the way it delves into Danny’s unique perspective on Judaism. Although that often made me feel more like I was digesting a sermon than enjoying good dialogue, Danny’s background and insight brings particular resonance to his arguments about why he hates Jewish people. Knowledge is power, and here, he uses it for the greater harm.

The problem I had with The Believer is that, while the filmmakers, and of course Gosling, do a good job showing how conflicted Danny is as a young adult, I couldn’t see how he went from being a devout student of Judaism to a violent, hateful neo-Nazi. It didn’t help that the actor playing Danny as a youth doesn’t look or act anything like Gosling.

Also, the black and white fantasy sequences are a little reminiscent of made-for-TV movies. Every time the music kicked in for one of those sequences, I had to fight the urge to hit fast-forward. It just didn’t work for me.

I don’t mean to dismiss The Believer entirely, but I wouldn’t recommend watching it unless you want to study/enjoy Gosling’s performance, or try to wrap your head around some of the points Danny makes—if for no other reason than to examine how people can turn on one another so drastically and use their inside knowledge to do wrong.

Control (UK/USA/Australia/Japan 2007, Biography/Drama/Music), Writer: Matt Greenhalgh; Director: Anton Corbijn

I finally made it back to the ByTowne! And I didn’t even have to renew my membership, thanks to BD’s free movie passes.

We saw Control last week. (Wow—just writing this makes me crave ByTowne popcorn…) It’s a stunning, hyper-realistic documentation of the life of Ian Curtis, (Sam Riley) the deeply talented, volatile lead singer of England’s Joy Division. As Curtis’ problems with epilepsy, and self-diagnosed and misdiagnosed drugs, spiraled out of control, his depression and self-destructive tendencies worsened until he committed suicide at the age of 23.

The script is based on Touching From a Distance, a memoir written by Curtis’ wife Deborah. It unfolds very well, asking viewers to make a few leaps rather than spelling everything out word for word. And it doesn’t hurt that the dry British sense of humour comes through in little bursts.

Adding to the realism is the fact that Control is directed by Anton Corbijn, the photographer for Joy Division during the band’s heyday. With exceptional direction and gorgeous black and white cinematography, Corbijn recreates the atmosphere of Britain’s 70s rock scene with an insight that could only come from someone who lived through it. The film is a brilliant, bittersweet tribute to Joy Division, featuring some outstanding performances. Riley in particular is pitch-perfect; he delivers a painfully beautiful portrayal of Curtis’ mental illness.

Control is a bit like a stiff drink. It’s not everyone’s taste, so I don’t recommend it unilaterally to all of you reading this blog. But if you’re in the mood for something unusual, dark and honest, see this film. It will certainly be time well-spent.

Now I’m going outside to spend time in the cold, cold snow.

Me and You and Everyone We Know (USA/UK 2005, Comedy/Drama) Writer/Director: Miranda July

This was one of my favourite films of 2005. It’s such a funny, quirky, insightful piece full of odd-ball characters who do completely bizarre things that might seem insane in the real world, but just make them all the more endearing in the film. Like Richard (John Hawkes), who sets his hand on fire as a tribute to his failed marriage.

Me and You and Everyone We Know is about a lot of people who are all connected in some way. The main character is Christine Jesperson (Miranda July), a performance artist who pays the bills by driving elderly people around town. She instantly falls in love when she meets Richard, who is trying to deal with life as a newly-single father of two sons, Peter (Miles Thompson) and Robby (Brandon Ratcliff). The boys are resentful of their new living arrangements, and escape to the computer where they create intricate drawings using symbols and letters on the keyboard, and engage in online sex with Nancy (Tracy Wright), who runs the gallery where Christine wants to show her work.

The film was written and directed by July, and her background as a real-life performance artist really comes through. Aside from the fact that Christine is also a performance artist, there are parts of Me and You and Everyone We Know that are almost experimental. Odd little moments sneak up and insinuate themselves in the film, even though they’re completely outside of the narrative structure. Like the scene where the goldfish is stuck on the car roof.

A few things I love about this film:

1. The opening scene, when Christine does both voices for the two people in the photograph.

2. The scene in the gallery elevator, when Nancy refuses to accept Christine’s video in person and insists that she mail it back to her. (“But I’m right here.”)

3. Robby’s idea of online sex: “Back and forth. Forever.” Turns out some people really are into that kind of kinky shit.

4. The way that Richard and Christine instantly connect on their stroll down the sidewalk. Even though he completely freaks out afterward and shuts her down.

5. The push/pull dance of the ME and YOU shoes.

6. The tender moment on the bench when Nancy realizes that her online “lover” is actually a four-year-old boy. And then he comforts her instead of the other way around.

7. When Christine comes up behind Richard as he leans against the tree, and curls her fingers around his. Their chemistry is so intense in that moment.

Me and You and Everyone We Know is wonderful and sometimes absurd, and most of all, it makes you feel. I wish I’d made this film. Rent it!