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The Hunger Games: Catching Fire (feat. Isaac and Jonathan Walberg)
Sunday, November 24th, 2013—FilmThe Hunger Games: Catching Fire (USA 2013, Action/Adventure/Sci-Fi), Writers: Simon Beaufoy, Michael Arndt; Director: Francis Lawrence
It’s been nearly two years since my then-nine-year-old nephew Jon pointed me toward Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games series. His excitement over the books prompted me to read all three and invite him to write a joint review of the trilogy’s first movie adaptation (see The Hunger Games).
Now, with the second film installment, The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, the stakes are higher and the play is that much more intense, so I brought in extra reinforcement: Jon, now 11, plus his younger brother Isaac, 10, who has also read the books.
The trilogy is about a dystopian future in which the people of Panem (a fallen North America) are relegated to one of 12 districts, and all live in varying degrees of poverty. The districts are controlled by the wealthy Capitol, which hosts the Hunger Games as an annual reminder of their power and unrelenting rule. As per the Capitol’s decree, each district must offer up two young tributes per year to participate in a televised fight to the death.
The first book (and movie), The Hunger Games, sees Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) and her fellow District 12 tribute, Peeta Mellark (Josh Hutcherson), win the 74th edition of the competition. Catching Fire picks up with the two on a celebratory Victory Tour to the other districts, but soon takes a darker turn when Katniss, a threat to the Capitol and a symbol for the rebellion, learns that she and Peeta must return to the arena for the 75th round of the Hunger Games.
My nephews and I live in different provinces, so we saw the movie separately. While I watched it, I wondered whether some of the dark, disturbing images would be upsetting to Jon and Isaac.
Turns out, they weren’t too bothered by it. When we did our postmortem over the phone the next day, the boys agreed that the movie was sad, with Isaac calling out the Victory Tour as being particularly harsh (he’s right; Katniss and Peeta see innocent people killed ruthlessly by “Peacekeepers” simply because they stood up for their fallen compatriots). But overall, my nephews seemed inured to the roughness and fundamentally horrifying subject matter.
I can’t say the same. I was frequently holding back tears throughout Catching Fire, thanks to the closer look it takes at life in the districts and the aftermath of the Hunger Games; the devastating performances (lead by the amazing Lawrence); and the keen and powerful direction. This film is grittier and edgier than the first, showing a necessary roughness that makes it a more apt adaptation for the trilogy. And although it doesn’t stand entirely on its own (Isaac didn’t like how abruptly it ended, saying it “just stopped”—though that is true to the book’s ending), as the mid-section of a trilogy, that’s totally justified.
Loyal readers will notice a lot of missing, or altered, details, but I was impressed by how tightly the filmmakers cut out extraneous bits from the novel—those that are wonderful in a book but become plodding and redundant within the tighter timeframe of a movie—without losing anything essential.
Jon was more meticulous in comparing the film to the book: “I found that some of the ‘wow’ moments took longer in the book; they were better described.” He mentions a moment in the arena when Katniss is gifted a spile to draw water from the trees. “In the book, she wonders, ‘What can this be?’ before figuring it out. In the movie, she just says, ‘Oh, it’s a spile.’ If I hadn’t read the book, I would have thought that it was good the way they did that, but I noticed those kinds of things just because I was so focused on how the movie compared to the book.”
Jon and I also talked about how Catching Fire, like the first movie, shows less allegiance to Katniss’ perspective than the books do, taking time away from her point of view to peek behind the scenes of the Hunger Games. As Jon says: “In the book, they can take a lot longer to make us see how Katniss thinks. In the movie, it was pretty good but they could have done it better. They could have shown more of her emotions or her reactions to what people are saying.”
In that regard, I think Catching Fire got a lot nearer to the mark than the first film did, bringing us closer (often literally, with tight shots on Lawrence) to Katniss’ inner life. And although Catching Fire still offers an insider’s view of the Hunger Games’ mechanics, the filmmakers wisely keep the audience, along with Katniss, in the dark as to what the revolutionaries are planning.
Catching Fire also does a great job of drawing on the power of the image, sometimes replacing dialogue with a visual (there’s a particularly effective moment at the end of Katniss’ first meeting with the Capitol’s President Snow, played by Donald Sutherland), other times simply bringing home the adage that “a picture is worth a thousand words” (audience members gasped when Katniss hanged the dummy of former Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane). In Isaac’s words: “The movie is more exciting than the book because (in the movie) you actually get to see it.”
Catching Fire is an excellent contribution to The Hunger Games franchise, which is an interesting and important reflection of the times. As Jon says: “Right now, there’s a bunch of dystopian books and (Catching Fire) is one of those dystopian movies.” He’s right; these days, there are countless TV shows, books and films that explore dystopian futures, like next year’s Divergent and this year’s Elysium, all reflecting elements of a dysfunctional present.
The Hunger Games series draws frightening parallels to current events, ranging from oppressive regimes, to the discrepancy between rich and poor, to the obsession with appearance, and shows us the drastic, violent acts resulting from each. Whether inflicted by President Snow’s Peacekeepers, by desperate tributes in the Hunger Games arena, or as a result of the grotesque plastic surgery that’s all the rage in the Capitol, the damage is done.
And, because the franchise is presented in a way that’s high quality while also being palatable to younger audiences, like my little nephews, it spreads its message very effectively across a wide range of ages. Regardless of the level it seeps in at, consciously or subconsciously, people are taking it in.
Final verdict: Jon and Isaac really liked Catching Fire, I loved it, and we’re all looking forward to the two-part finale, The Hunger Games: Mockingjay. Bring on the next joint review!
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Thank you to my wonderful nephews for making everything more worthwhile.
And Happy Birthday to my wonderful friend CR, who totally gets the awesomeness of kids’ perspectives… and, of course, of Emoji.
12 Years a Slave
Sunday, November 10th, 2013—Film12 Years a Slave (USA/UK 2013, Biography/Drama/History), Writer: John Ridley; Director: Steve McQueen
12 Years a Slave is an exceptional film that is, sadly, based on the extraordinary true story of Solomon Northup, a free Black man who was kidnapped from upstate New York in 1841 and sold into slavery in Louisiana, where he remained until his rescue in 1853. The movie draws from the novel Twelve Years a Slave, Northup’s own account of his experiences in that period.
Watching 12 Years a Slave left me a bit wrecked, and judging from the sniffles in the audience, I wasn’t the only one feeling that way. It comes as a bit of a sock in the gut to reflect on the sickening way so many African Americans were treated for so long, on the twisted “logic” that rationalized their initial kidnapping and appropriation in the 1700s, and on the reality that racism and slavery still exist.
It’s particularly insightful to revisit that period through the eyes of Solomon Northup (played exquisitely by Chiwetel Ejiofor), a Black man who wasn’t raised to accept that African Americans in the 1800s should be enslaved. As a free man with a career, home and family of his own, Solomon is appalled and indignant when he realizes his kidnappers’ intentions. Coming from a place of freedom, he knows he deserves better.
Solomon is quickly beaten into the understanding that his views are no longer welcome, or safe to express. But because he wasn’t born a slave, he manages to preserve a core of dignity and self-worth throughout his horrendous 12-year sentence—even fighting back at times—in a way that none of the other slaves around him do; unlike them, he was raised to believe the truth: that he has every right to be treated with respect.
12 Years a Slave is director Steve McQueen’s third feature, following the phenomenal Hunger and Shame. After seeing his first two films, I’d pretty much decided to see anything he makes, and 12 Years a Slave only reinforced that decision. It’s more mainstream than his previous efforts, less edgy and stylized, but it still bears his artful touch, and does a wonderful job of serving Solomon’s heartbreaking story.
Amid the horror of the tale, McQueen sets the tone with close-up shots of, for example, the steamboat’s wake as Solomon and other kidnapping victims are shipped south, carried over by ominous music. When they get there, the camera takes time now and then to linger on glorious, drooping trees and sun splashed bayous, contrasting Louisiana physical beauty with the living nightmare that took place there.
Here, McQueen again reveals his love of the long shot, perhaps more effectively in 12 Years a Slave than ever before. In one scene, Solomon is hanged from a tree as punishment, his toes barely skimming the ground. Left to dangle, the world carries on around him; the other slaves keep working, children play, his master’s wife looks on from her porch. It appears calm and almost picturesque, if you can overlook the blatant inequality and the Black man clinging to life.
In spite of McQueen’s powerful use of still moments and beautiful shots, he doesn’t shy away from portraying the vivid ugliness that took place in America’s South. But he shows them in a way that’s far more respectful—and far more impactful, from my perspective—than Quentin Tarantino did in last year’s Django Unchained, which presents his unique take on slavery.
When I saw Tarantino’s film, I was disturbed and angered by the grotesque and cartoonish violence. (Honestly, I couldn’t watch most of the Mandingo fight or the scene when a slave was fed to the dogs, but unfortunately the context and audio it made very clear what was happening.) When I shared my thoughts about Django Unchained with a friend, she said the violence needed to be included in all its glory because it showed what really happened; without it, people wouldn’t understand the full force of the evil that was slavery.
I disagreed then, and still do. We don’t need to see gratuitous gore in order to be horrified. It’s clear from Tarantino’s films, like Inglourious Basterds and Kill Bill, to name but a few of his bloody works, that Tarantino relishes violence. It’s a stylistic choice that’s more about indulging his vision than capturing a period in history. I think he’s a fantastic filmmaker, but that doesn’t mean I think you need his brand of gore to understand the horror of slavery.
Not that 12 Years a Slave isn’t plenty violent. It depicts awful acts of physical and sexual abuse against Black slaves. But they aren’t gratuitous, in my opinion, and they’re certainly less glorified than what Tarantino shows in Django Unchained. Not only that, but McQueen also takes care to convey the prolonged, ever-present despair the slaves suffer beyond the lashings and beatings. He lets us see the emotional carnage brought upon people who have been cruelly and suddenly removed from their families, stripped of their dignity and treated without humanity. He shows us the relentless exploitation of African Americans as they’re forced to work to exhaustion in practically unbearable conditions, with the only possible reward for a day of extraordinary effort being exemption from the whipping post—for the time being, anyway.
As with his previous films, McQueen here also draws fabulous performances from his cast, including the stellar Ejiofor, Lupita Nyong’o as fellow slave Patsey, Benedict Cumberbatch and Michael Fassbender as slave owners Ford and Epps, and Sarah Paulson as Mistress Epps, as well as the ever-wonderful Alfre Woodard as Mistress Shaw, and Paul Dano, so great in Prisoners, as Ford’s head carpenter Tibeats.
With 12 Years a Slave, McQueen does an amazing job of giving life to Solomon Northup’s story. That’s the reason it’s so hard to watch. It’s also the reason you absolutely should watch it.
Girl Rising
Sunday, September 29th, 2013—FilmGirl Rising (USA 2013, Documentary), Writers: Various; Director: Richard Robbins
This weekend, I had the privilege of seeing Girl Rising, 10×10’s gripping documentary about nine girls from around the world, and why educating them—and every girl—is vitally important to our future.
Each of these amazing, resilient girls comes from one of nine countries: Afghanistan, Cambodia, Egypt, Ethiopia, Haiti, India, Nepal, Peru and Sierra Leone. They all have incredible stories to tell, each with unimaginable hardships, but also with hope.
Girl Rising features a beautiful mix of live-action, animation and narration, of reenactments and reimaginings, as well as real-life footage. It’s stunningly made, with fabulous cinematography, impeccable writing, and a unique approach to each story—fitting for nine unique and utterly captivating girls.
The film is also fair. It gives the girls a voice, which sadly has a lot to say about abuse at the hands of men, and being subordinated by both men and women. But it makes an effort to show positive male figures, like protective brothers and nurturing fathers.
Interestingly, the film is directed by Richard Robbins and its central narrator is Liam Neeson. To me, involving these men shows solidarity and an emphasis on healing the world together.
But that’s not to say the male voices overpower the female in Girl Rising. Women leave a lasting mark all over the film, from the producers to the writers to the rest of the narrators, who are all female and include the likes of Cate Blanchett, Anne Hathaway, Salma Hayek, Alicia Keyes and Meryl Streep.
See Girl Rising and I believe you’ll be deeply moved. The girls’ stories are sometimes painful, but always lead to powerful, triumphant endings. And between each one, you’ll discover overwhelming facts about the benefits of educating girls—benefits for them, their countries and the entire world.
I’m not sure when/if the film will get a wider release, but for now, you can visit GirlRising.com to arrange a screening, get more information and, of course, donate to one of the most important causes.
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Thanks to JW and LG for spreading the good word, and to CARE Canada for helping make Girl Rising possible.
Don Jon
Sunday, September 29th, 2013—FilmDon Jon (USA 2013, Comedy/Drama), Writer/Director: Joseph Gordon-Levitt
Don Jon is the feature film debut from writer/director Joseph Gordon-Levitt. In it, he plays a New Jersey guy named Jon who’s addicted to porn, not to mention church, cleaning, road rage and bedding women—the rituals that get him through the week (or day, as the case may be).
Jon is sexist, shallow and one-dimensional. So, not surprisingly, he winds up with sexist, shallow and one-dimensional Barbara (Scarlett Johansson), whose addiction to romantic movies feeds her unrealistic expectations of the opposite sex just as much as Jon’s addiction to porn feeds his.
The relationship plays out as you might expect. And then Jon gets to know Esther (Julianne Moore), who’s older and far more self-aware than either Jon or Barbara. She has rituals of her own to get her through the day (to lose herself, as Jon might say). But they don’t stop her from trying to make a connection to Jon.
There are two reasons I’m writing about Don Jon: First, because it’s part of a long line of exceptional work from Gordon-Levitt, and an early indication of what he might become as a director. Second, because, in spite of its focus on porn and countless close-ups of women’s bodies, the film offers a welcome counterpart to some of the other pop media out there today—the kind that doesn’t bother to show a different angle.
I have a particular piece of pop in mind, but I’ll get to that a little later. For now, it’s first things first.
In case it needs to be stated, Gordon-Levitt is a highly prolific and unusually gifted actor. He’s been in tons of first-rate films, including Brick, Looper, Inception, 50/50, The Dark Knight Rises and Lincoln.
He’s also founder of a really cool open-collaborative production company called HITRECORD. They’re putting out a slew of fascinating, high quality pieces, including books and even a forthcoming TV show. (Check out this call for artists for a documentary segment on unity.)
As a fan of Gordon-Levitt’s work, I was eager to see Don Jon. And I wasn’t disappointed. Already, with his first feature film, he comes across as an assured director with a strong grasp of visuals and editing. It’s not like he’s a rookie; he’s been on sets for nearly three decades and has already directed several short films. Still, Don Jon is an impressive first feature.
I’m looking forward to seeing Gordon-Levitt go further into creating mood through cinematography, and develop more complex storylines. But as it stands, Don Jon presents a lovely character arc, as Jon stumbles through romantic entanglements, and offers poignant observations on how we treat one another and the dangers of falling prey to the influence of popular media.
Which brings me to my secondary point. Because Robin Thicke’s idiotic song Blurred Lines certainly doesn’t deserve to be front and centre. It’s the kind of thing I hate so much that I wouldn’t normally give it any space on this blog. But it came to mind while I was watching Don Jon, so here it is.
I’d heard bits of Blurred Lines on the radio, and let it play because it’s catchy. But when the lyrics sank it, even just those approved for the radio stations I listen to, I tuned out; something about wanting a “good girl” who still likes to “get nasty” was a little off-putting.
Then, when the damn thing got stuck in my head again (“‘Catchy’ is not a redeeming quality,” says my wise buddy ACR), I looked the lyrics up and was totally appalled. The original version is beyond sexist; it’s misogynistic and threatening. I’m thinking of one line in particular, but the whole thing is just grotesque. Now when it comes on the radio, I always change the station, never mind how addictive the beat.
Anyway, I was really appalled and wanted to see what kind of reaction others were having to Blurred Lines. So I went online and found an interview in which Thicke acknowledges that his song is degrading to women, but says that it’s okay because he’s married and has respected women all his life. How big of him.
If that kind of “context” is going to carry any weight, it has to be established within the song. Take Eminem’s Love the Way You Lie, a far superior listen; yes, it’s got references to violence against women, but its lyrics have a clearly ironic tone. And by including the woman’s voice (Rihanna’s, no less, a woman who has borne evidence that abuse is no joke), he brings her perspective into it, redefining the lyrics and underscoring the irony.
Coming back to Don Jon, I’m not sure exactly at what point in the film I was reminded of Blurred Lines. But when Gordon-Levitt took care to show that people—of both sexes—are more than just their appearance, it made me very grateful that we also have men like him contributing to popular culture. And that he understands the importance of losing yourself with a real-life human being, one you can look at, but also one who is able to really see you.
Here’s to more insights like these, from Gordon-Levitt and all artists who want to create works that will bring people together, rather than further divide, isolate and objectify.
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“You better lose yourself in the music, the moment… You better never let it go.”
– Eminem, Lose Yourself
Prisoners
Wednesday, September 25th, 2013—FilmPrisoners (USA 2013, Crime/Drama/Thriller), Writer: Aaron Guzikowski; Director: Denis Villeneuve
I owe a thank you to Kickass Canadian Sam Hudecki for pointing me towards Prisoners—or, more to the point, for reintroducing me to the fascinating work of writer/director Denis Villeneuve.
Sam was a storyboard artist on Prisoners, not to mention a graphic artist on The Incredible Hulk and assistant art director on Splice. I met him at Queen’s University when we were both in the film program, and, to my great fortune, he wound up working as 1st assistant camera on my first non-student short, Sight Lines. He’s done amazing things since; check him out on IMDB.
Several weeks ago, Sam mentioned he’d had the pleasure of travelling to Georgia to work on Prisoners. So naturally I couldn’t wait to see it, especially when I realized it was one of Villeneuve’s films, and that its cast was ridiculously good: Hugh Jackman, Jake Gyllenhaal, Viola Davis, Maria Bello, Terrence Howard, Melissa Leo, Paul Dano. If I had a list of favourites, all those actors would be on it.
I saw Villeneuve’s 2000 feature, Maelstrom, back in my film school days, when my pal TS and I were regulars at Kingston’s The Screening Room. It’s been more than 10 years now, and I have to admit I don’t remember the movie too well. But what I do remember is all good. The film is narrated by a soon-to-be-departed fish, stars the fabulous Marie-Josée Croze, and demonstrates Villeneuve’s ability to reflect on and appreciate women’s issues (for example, abortion).
I was very struck by that, much as I was when I saw 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days, a staggering Romanian film that was also written and directed by a man, yet showcases a remarkably sensitive and insightful look at the particularities of being a woman. In both cases, I found it moving and reaffirming to see that kind of appreciation from male filmmakers.
Anyway, my own appreciation for Maelstrom, coupled with Sam’s connection to Prisoners, made me want to get reacquainted with Villeneuve before seeing his latest film. I finally got around to renting Incendies, the writer/director’s crushing 2010 drama that won eight Genie Awards (including for Best Motion Picture, Best Director and Best Adapted Screenplay) and was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film. Incendies was just as good as I’d heard. It had a very different flavour from what I remember of Maelstrom, but again it showed a real sensitivity to women’s issues, including rape, enforced pregnancy and a mother being separated from her baby.
So that’s where I was coming from when I saw Prisoners—from a place of great respect for Villeneuve’s profound humanity and artistry, and his talent for aligning himself with the views of the opposite sex. (I haven’t felt ready to watch his film Polytechnique, based on the horrific shooting of 14 young women in Montreal, but I’ll get there.) And while Prisoners doesn’t show the same sensitivity to women in particular as do some of Villeneuve’s other films, it still reveals the director’s underlying sensitivity toward the human condition in general, both in his touch with the actors and his ruminative, insightful camera direction.
Unlike Maelstrom and Incendies, Prisoners isn’t written by Villeneuve, and its lead characters aren’t women; instead, they’re two very macho men—Keller Dover (Jackman), a man on the hunt for anything that will lead to his missing daughter, Anna (Erin Gerasimovich), and Detective Loki (Gyllenhaal), the man officially charged with finding her.
There are many themes and symbols in the film. Religion, entrapment, prisons of all kinds—both of one’s own making, and those imposed by others—not to mention puzzles, snakes and deer.
Prisoners opens with a gorgeous shot of a deer, standing unknowingly in the crosshairs as Keller guides his son in making his first kill. From there, the film takes us through a maze of characters and storylines, as Anna and her friend disappear over Thanksgiving, and Keller takes the law into his own hands when a suspect is released from custody.
We’re privy to many points of view, and each is somewhat obscured as the story moves from one character to another, not always stopping to catch us up on what we missed in between. In this way, Prisoners creates a scattered feeling, like waiting helplessly (hopelessly?) for the missing pieces to fall into place. With the film’s emphasis on faith, maybe we’re meant to imagine that this is what it’s like to live in a godless world.
Still, for all its twists and turns, Prisoners has a strong emotional pull. That’s thanks to strong performances; dark, moody cinematography that calls to mind the graininess of film stock; and, most of all, Villeneuve’s artistic eye. Because of the director’s great vision, he turns what could have been a fairly typical thriller into something more layered and impactful.
Villeneuve is a gifted filmmaker and, by all indications, a remarkable person with a lot to say. I definitely want to hear more. (For more on this, see my Kickass Canadians article on Villeneuve.)
I’m looking forward to Villeneuve’s next film, Enemy, due out in a few months. It’s based on José Saramago’s book The Double, which I intend to read before the movie comes out. Saramago’s Nobel Prize-winning novel, Blindness, made an interesting film (see my Blindness review), and with Villeneuve reteaming with Gyllenhaal, a multi-faceted actor who excels onstage as well as the silver screen (see If There Is I Haven’t Found It Yet), this next adaptation is bound to be worth watching.
Plus, Sam returned for motion graphics and storyboarding on Enemy. How could I resist the work of so many great artists?
Blue Jasmine
Friday, September 6th, 2013—FilmBlue Jasmine (USA 2013, Drama), Writer/Director: Woody Allen
What can I write about Blue Jasmine that hasn’t already been written? The film has been widely heralded as a modern-day Streetcar Named Desire or Gone with the Wind, with Cate Blanchett’s brilliant depiction of a formerly well-to-do socialite, who grapples with newfound financial struggles and desperately tries to outrun a full-on breakdown, lifting Jasmine to the iconic status of Blanche DuBois or Scarlett O’Hara.
Blue Jasmine is a fantastic film that had me hooked from the moment I saw its trailer at a screening of Before Midnight. It’s one of Woody Allen’s finer works, and definitely his best in recent memory.
Thanks to Kickass Canadian Geoff Morrison for pointing out a great Entertainment Weekly review that outlines why Blue Jasmine is also the writer-director’s most relevant, topical film to date. The article is spot-on; Allen’s focus on the sharp downward spiral of a woman suddenly stripped of her financial and social status is a keen reflection of today’s economic uncertainty and spiritual void.
Because Jasmine defines her self-worth by such superficial and, evidently, evanescent qualities, she loses a lot more than dollars when her accounts are seized—she loses her fortune, her identity. Without a solid core to return to, Jasmine has nothing left. She starts to unravel, floating away scene by scene, her sanity practically vanishing before our eyes.
As with all his films, Allen assembles a strong supporting cast, including Sally Hawkins as Jasmine’s sister Ginger, and Alec Baldwin as Jasmine’s former husband Hal. But it’s Blanchett who takes the lead. She’s so mesmerizing and fully in the moment that I felt as if I were watching her onstage, in person, rather than a projection on a screen. It’s a staggering, note-perfect performance that builds to a quietly magnificent end.
Bravo to Blanchett, and to Allen for recognizing that all he needed to do was step back and let his star shine—and burn out, and come crashing down.
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For some reason, I’ve always associated Cate Blanchett with Tori Amos. Maybe it’s because both are so gifted, versatile and prolific. In any case, here’s an Amos song that reminds me a bit of Jasmine: Bells for Her.
The Hunt (Jagten) & Elysium
Wednesday, August 21st, 2013—FilmThe Hunt (Denmark 2013, Drama), Writers: Tobias Lindholm, Thomas Vinterberg; Director: Thomas Vinterberg
Elysium (USA 2013, Action/Drama/Sci-Fi), Writer/Director: Neill Blomkamp
I recently saw two very different films: Elysium and The Hunt.
I’d been greatly anticipating Elysium, having loved writer/director Neill Blomkamp’s previous feature, District 9. But I hadn’t heard of The Hunt until flipping through the Ottawa Citizen last week. A great headline (“Danish drama is a beautifully acted and subtle piece of moral drama”) and its star (Mads Mikkelsen) were enough to pull me in. Mikkelsen has been excellent in everything I’ve seen him in, including the wonderful Danish film After the Wedding. So the first chance I got, I was off to catch his latest film.
Set in small-town Denmark, The Hunt tracks a mild-mannered teacher named Lucas (Mikkelsen, in the role that won him Best Actor at the 2013 Cannes Film Festival). Laid off from his teaching job and battling his ex-wife over their teenage son’s custody, Lucas lives alone and spends his days working at a kindergarten. His lonely life takes a turn for the better, but it’s all shot to hell when one of the kindergartners—young Klara (Annika Wedderkopp), daughter of Lucas’ best friend, Theo (Thomas Bo Larsen)—tells a damning lie.
The lie comes about innocently enough. Inappropriately overlooked by her parents, Klara develops a crush on caring Lucas, who very appropriately rejects her clumsy, child’s advances. But the timing is terrible. Having recently glimpsed her older brothers’ porn magazines, and stinging from a sense of abandonment, Klara tells her kindergarten principal that Lucas exposed himself to her.
It’s a childish lie from a child in pain, and she quickly tries to retract it. But the lie takes on a life of its own. Her mother tells her that it did happen; her mind just doesn’t want to remember. Her principal, Grethe (Susse Wold), advises the students’ parents to look for signs of abuse in their children—bedwetting, nightmares and headaches. And her classmates soon follow her mismatched suit, making up their own stories about Lucas.
None of their lies turn out to be true, but that doesn’t matter to the townsfolk. It’s a hunting community, after all. (Even Lucas is seen stalking and killing a deer at the beginning of the film.) The Hunt narrows in on people’s reactions to the rumours, observing their need to target a scapegoat and their fear of standing out from the pack.
It’s an interesting premise, particularly for a film that presents an unusual take on the issue of sexual predation. Writers Tobias Lindholm and Thomas Vinterberg align the audience with the falsely accused “predator,” when, as a character in the film points out, Lucas is the exception; most of the time, the child isn’t lying. It makes me wonder why the filmmakers wanted to tell a story about that minority, when all too often people err on the side of dismissing a child’s cries for help, for fear of ruffling feathers. Still, it’s a powerful story worth telling, and one that extends beyond the film’s storyline, speaking more generally to people’s tendency to give in to mob mentality.
What’s remarkable is that Lucas never becomes bitter toward Klara. He doesn’t even seem to be in a hurry to declare his innocence, probably because he knows so firmly that he is. And the film lets that be. It doesn’t get bogged down in a mysterious “he said, she said” scenario or a fight to defend one’s honour. Instead, it keeps the focus simple, keeps the issue of herd behaviour directly in its crosshairs. And it’s more than enough to target.
Elysium, on the other hand, veers away from that kind of simplicity. As mentioned in my Elysium teaser, the film is set in the year 2154, when the rich live on a closely guarded man-made space station called Elysium, and everyone else lives on a ruined, overpopulated Earth. One of those remaining many is parolee Max (Matt Damon). When he’s exposed a lethal dose of radiation, he becomes hell-bent on getting to Elysium so he can hop into a miraculous med pod (there’s one in every home), which can cure whatever ails you in seconds. But it’s not so easy to get to Elysium. Those who try tend to be shot out of the sky—even when all they want is to land long enough to get medical treatment for their children.
If the filmmakers had focused more on that “simple” storyline, on the growing tensions between the haves and have-nots, I think Elysium would have been more powerful. Instead, they throw in several other complications, and the net result of the multiple storylines is that we don’t spend enough time with each character.
The movie also does many things right. Blomkamp is a gifted artist with a keen eye and a wonderful knack for directing action. While Elysium may not deliver on the promise of its premise in quite the same way District 9 does, the film offers a chance to see what Blomkamp can do visually with a bigger budget—and it’s awesome.
The extra funds also mean an impressive cast that includes the always-wonderful Damon, and Jodie Foster as Elysium’s Secretary of Defense Delacourt. Although my favourite casting choice was to bring back Blomkamp’s District 9 star, the immensely talented and, evidently, incredibly diverse Sharlto Copley. I didn’t even recognize him as psychopathic and sadistic special agent Kruger until the credits rolled. Very glad to see that the bigger-budget opportunities are extending to Blomkamp’s collaborator!
After starting out with a series of inspired shorts and a feature film as special and impressive as District 9, Blomkamp set the bar pretty high. From the get-go, Elysium had a tough row to hoe. And in many ways, it stands up well. It still holds the flavour of Blomkamp’s earlier work—his values, recurring themes and unique visual approach. But its narrative makes me wonder how much involvement the studios had, and how much freedom Blomkamp was given to tell the story he set out to.
So, two films worth getting to: See The Hunt for its thoughtfulness and artfulness, and a beautiful performance by Mikkelsen. See Elysium for its visuals and effects, its social relevance, and because it’s exciting and part of the body of work of an incredibly talented, thought-provoking young filmmaker who’s only just getting warmed up.
Elysium (teaser)
Wednesday, July 10th, 2013—FilmElysium (USA 2013, Action/Drama/Sci-Fi), Writer/Director: Neill Blomkamp
Very excited for the upcoming film Elysium, the latest from writer/director Neill Blomkamp. Have a look at the trailer and you’ll see why. Set in the year 2154, the movie pits Jodie Foster against Matt Damon, as she fights to protect the elite space station Elysium—safeguarding it for the privileged few while the rest of humanity scrapes by on a ruined planet Earth—and he does whatever it takes to restore balance to humankind.
After watching District 9 and Blomkamp’s short movie, Alive in Joburg, which inspired it, I’d see pretty much anything he makes; his work is bold, creative, insightful and thought provoking. The fact that Elysium stars two of my favourite actors sweetens the deal even more.
On a side note, Blomkamp’s next feature, Chappie (currently in pre-production), is based on another of his shorts, Tetra Vaal, about a robot in South Africa that helps police impoverished areas. It’s really cool that the filmmaker is getting the opportunity to revisit earlier projects, with a budget and ever-increasing recognition. To think he’s still only in his early 30s!
Elysium opens August 9, 2013. Check it out. I know I will.
Before Midnight
Friday, June 28th, 2013—FilmBefore Midnight (USA 2013, Drama), Writers: Richard Linklater, Julie Delpy, Ethan Hawke; Director: Richard Linklater
Before Midnight is the third installment of the ongoing love story between American Jesse (Ethan Hawke) and French Celine (Julie Delpy). First was 1995’s Before Sunrise, in which the characters meet at age 23 and spend a blissful night wandering the streets of Vienna, talking endlessly and falling in love.
Then, in 2004’s Before Sunset, the couple reconnects for the first time since Vienna. They spend an evening wandering the streets of Paris, talking, of course, and discovering that Celine never found true love, Jesse is unhappily married (with a young son), and they probably shouldn’t have parted nine years ago.
Now, in Before Midnight, Jesse and Celine are 41 years old, living together in Paris and raising their twin daughters. We catch them at the tail end of a summer holiday in Greece. Jesse’s 14-year-old son has just returned to Chicago, where he lives with his mother, and it quickly becomes clear, through more witty and winding conversation, that married life (or at least common-law marriage) has tested the strength of Jesse and Celine’s commitment to one another.
All the Before films have their charms and merits, and feature exceptional writing, acting and cinematography. But each one is more substantial than the last, and with good reason. The first is about falling in love; it should be the most frothy and fun. The second is about deciding whether to give the relationship a go. And the third is about trying to make good on that decision.
It makes sense that Before Midnight is the one that sticks with you the longest and packs the biggest punch. Eighteen years in, and with more than one night’s memories to build on, Jesse and Celine’s story is weighted down by much more baggage, but it’s richer because of it.
There are moments in each of the movies that carried over for me through the years. In Before Sunrise, there’s Jesse and Celine’s make-believe phone call in a restaurant, or Delpy’s perfectly delivered performance at the pinball machine, when Celine steals the conversation while staying totally focused on her game.
In Before Sunset, the ending sealed the deal for me. It was so leading and provocative, you didn’t need to see what was coming next. The film faded out on a fabulous note of anticipation.
In Before Midnight, it’s the lengthy conversation in a hotel room that left a lasting impression. The scene plays like a microcosm of Jesse and Celine’s relationship. They take turns dodging and tackling feelings of comfort, love, resentment, inadequacy, verbally waltzing through the bitter and the sweet and back again in the space of minutes, sometimes only even seconds. It’s an incredibly poignant look at married life, and so real and fluid that you almost forget you’re watching a performance.
I don’t know of any other films, or even television shows, that present live-action characters over the span of 18 years. It’s very special to be able to see these snapshots of Jesse and Celine’s life, presented in near-real time and taken as the actors age. It creates the magical sense that these characters really exist; that, rather than catching a movie, you’re actually catching up with old friends you don’t see often enough. (There’s even that trippy encounter you had several years back in Linklater’s rotoscoped wonder, Waking Life.) The Before experience is even more special given that the snapshots are so well executed.
Like its predecessors, Before Midnight has a hopeful but open-ended finish. Perhaps nine more years down the road, we’ll be treated to another day, or night, or few hours, in the lives of Jesse and Celine. Here’s hoping.
* * *
For GC.
Mud
Sunday, June 9th, 2013—FilmMud (USA 2012, Drama), Writer/Director: Jeff Nichols
Jeff Nichols has done it again. The writer-director’s latest creation, Mud, is as beautifully shot and soulfully written as his last feature, Take Shelter, which I absolutely loved. And although the two films’ plots are quite different, their territory is familiar; with Mud, Nichols again explores ideas of perception, and how our experiences and belief systems inform our take on reality.
Mud has also been found (by many a reviewer) to share turf with the works of Mark Twain—in particular, the escapes and escapades of two adventuresome young boys, Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. The movie is about 14-year-olds Ellis (Tye Sheridan) and Neckbone (Jacob Lofland), who go exploring in their boat and come upon a fugitive living on an island on the Mississippi River.
The fugitive’s name is Mud (Matthew McConaughey), and that fact, along with his disheveled look (complete with snaggletooth and hand-knotted hair) and freewheeling lifestyle (he sleeps in a boat lodged in a tree), not to mention his whimsical, childlike quality, almost make you wonder at first whether the character is imagined by the two boys. Mud certainly matches them—and Ellis in particular—in his raw emotion and fierce stubbornness.
You wouldn’t blame Ellis if he had constructed such a character. The boy’s life seems to be sinking beneath him, as he faces his parents’ separation and an impending move to the city, away from his beloved home on the river.
Ellis is also discovering girls. He’s got his eye on an older high schooler named May Pearl (Bonnie Sturdivant). And no matter how careless she is with his heart, it seems to belong irrevocably to her. Love and romance are lifelines for Ellis, and as he gets hit by a wave of change, he clings desperately to them.
So when Ellis learns that Mud’s crimes were committed in the name of love for his sweetheart, Juniper (Reese Witherspoon), he does everything he can to reunite the pair, even if it means butting heads (or fists and heads) with the bounty hunters who are hot on Mud’s trail. Neckbone, of course, comes along for the boat ride.
Mud is a special film that paints fairytale and coming of age with a slightly sinister brush. Its darker hues and fantastical tones remind me of several other great movies about children at odds with growing up: Where the Wild Things Are, Moonrise Kingdom, Winter’s Bone and even Son of Rambow.
The film is full of gorgeous imagery (flowing down the river; slowing long enough to linger on scrambling spiders or sun-streaked plants) and golden nuggets of truth and humour.
It’s also buoyed by exceptional performances. In particular: Sheridan, who debuted in Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life; Lofland, in his first movie role; and McConaughey, who uses Mud to further his habit of delivering ever-better performances.
I saw the film with two good friends, LG and TG. As we were leaving the theatre, TG asked whether Take Shelter depicted women as negatively as did Mud. I was too tired to get into it at the time, but I’ll say now that I don’t think Mud ultimately does portray women in a poor light. Ellis’ mother is revealed to be the stronger, more responsible parent. Juniper is redeemed. And although May Pearl is no gem, we see glimmers of brighter treasures to be found.
In the end, Mud suggests the promise of greatness—in love, but also in adventure, discovery and friendship. Ellis is left with hope, and so are we.
