Petra Costa's Elena is a haunting and deeply personal documentary that attempts to piece together the tragic events that led up to suicide of the filmmaker's older sister Elena. Starting from the beginning, Elena gives a detailed and personal look at the family of Elena and Petra, daughters of a Brazilian radicals' living in Brazil under military dictatorship. Having the same dreams of becoming an actress that her mother did, Elena moved to New York City to pursue her dream, leaving her family and seven-year sister, Petra, behind. Over time, Elena's correspondence with her family trailed off, becoming despondent and distant. Years later, Petra herself becomes an actress, heading to New York in search of her own path, but also looking for answers centered around her troubled sister. With an aesthetic framework that can only be described as a fever dream of emotion and feeling, not structure, Petra Costa constructs a cinematic essay of her sister's life, being a beautiful evocation of loneliness, loss, guilt, grief, and happiness. Dreamlike and disjointed, Elena is a film rooted in emotion, being from the viewpoint of a woman in Petra Costa who is still trying to unravel the circumstances that led her sister to her untimely demise. Using lots of old home movies, letters, diary entries, and expressionistic photography, Petra Costa's film provides an intricate portrait of her older sister, but more importantly a detailed account of family trauma and the dramatic impact that the most seemingly small details can have on the psyche of the individual. Told through the point-of-view of Petra's pieced together memories, Elena paints a portrait of a woman in her sister that was deeply struggling with her perceived failures, which slowly wore down her psyche and confidence, being unable to breakthrough and realize her dream of being an actress and model. One of the more interesting aspects of the film is how it contrasts the vast similarities between mother and daughter, showing how at one point the mother's life was headed down a similar path of destruction. The film doesn't give many answers, being from the point-of-view of someone who simply can't have them all, but Elena does capture how fragile life can be, using the juxtaposition of mother and daughter. Elena struggled to find self-worth in an industry that showed little interest, but what makes the film great is simply watching her young sister, the filmmaker, attempt to understand such complicated aspects of life. At its best, Petra Costa's Elena is a film that attempts to comprehend death, being a visceral ballet of grief and guilt that by its sheer creation alone, becomes a beautiful soul-healing tribute to her sister that is a defiant act of creation and love in the face of trauma.
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Walerian Borowczyk's The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Miss Osbourne is a strange, one-of-a-kind take on the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde tale that is a bizzarre collage of sex, violence and beautiufl imagery. The story is centered around Dr. Jekyll and Miss Fanny Osbourne's engagement party, which sees the couple invite over numerous prestigous members of bourgeois respectibility. Being a Walerian Borowczyk film, this version of Mr. Hyde is an ultra-agressive, sexual predator, whose violent passion and carnal desire leaves his victims deceased. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Miss Osbourne identity crisis is one between intellectualsim and primal urges/sexual appetite, with the burgeouise intellectual identity being juxtaposed against Mr. Hyde's seuxal deviancy to great effect. Beautifully photographed in a spacious Victorian? house, Borowczyk uses the home to great effect, lighting the scenes of philosophical banter in bright spaces, with Mr. Hyde lurking in the dark hallways and dimly lit rooms of the spacious home. For those not familiar with his work, Borowczyk's films are nearly all sexually charged in their raw and surreal depicions of sexual urges and carnal desires of humanity. What makes The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Miss Osbourne unique is how Fanny Osbourne's transformation represents her giving into her sexual appetitite, joining Mr. Hyde in malevolent sexual depravity with glee. A horror film of sorts, Borowczyk's The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Miss Osbourne is a solitary take on the old tale. Drawing comparisons to some of Bunuel's most acclaimed work due to its surrealistic nature, Jan Nemec's A Report on the Party and the Guests is a politically-charged film that's as challenging as it's ultimately rewarding. The film follows a group of well-versed, happy picnickers who are accosted by a strange man, Rudolph. Rudolph has a legion of followers who do whatever he wants, and he attempts to play games with the picnickers, in some strange attempt to indoctrine them into his group. The picnickers are invited to a party, that in itself is completely bizarre and nonsensical to the guests, but the group slowly begins to fit in and and feel wanted. While I am unfamiliar with Czechoslovakian politics of the time, A Report on the Party and The Guests appears to be a seething political satire aimed at the government, commenting on conformity, and one's desire to fit in and feel a part of something, no matter how ridiculous or senseless it may be. Party and the Guests shows how an individual can become absorbed into a group, with many of these guests beginning to slowly rationalize the absurd behavior of the party, convincing themselves that it's normal and for the greater good. At one point, a character has had enough and renounces the party, refusing to lose his free will. The patrons simply view him as lost, sending out a search party to bring him back to the collective. Party and the Guests is a challenging experience that is made manageable thanks to the sadistic character of Rudolph, an engaging and mysterious character that has a great balance between terrifying and whimsical. He alone is worth the price of admission alone, and while I appreciated Nemec's film, I found myself wishing it had been even more surreal and over-the-top.
Ned Rifle is the third and final chapter in Hal Hartley's acclaimed tragedy/comedy series centering around the exploites and misfortunes caused by one, Henry Fool. Picking up after the events of Fay Grim, this film follows Ned, the son of Fay and Henry Fool, who on his 18th birthday decides to leave witness protection, and seek out his mysterious father. Intent on killing the man responsible for destroying his mother's life, Ned's plan becomes further more complicated when he crosses paths with the sexy and strange Susan, who herself has crossed paths with Henry many years ago. Hal Hartley's Ned Rifle is a worthy conclusion to this one-of-a-kind series, continuing to raise many of the same questions in America, pertaining to the conflict between art and commerce, intellectualism, culture, and religon. Featuring Hartley's fantastic dialogue, Ned Rifle sees how two young individuals in Susan and Ned have had their lives effected by Henry Fool, with Hartley's penchant for the hyper-literate dialogue being as memorable and one of a kind as ever. In the hands of most filmmakers, the story of Susan and Ned would be insufferably sad, but Hartley's wit and deadpan humor make Ned Rifle another unique film, that beautifully balances its comedy and tragedy in capturing the journey of these two souls. I've always been a fan of these films just for the Henry Fool character alone, a symbolic force of despair in which Hartley juxtaposes addiction, filth, and ribaldry with intellectualism. Any discussion on the relationship between these two very different forces is endlessly fascinating to me, with Thomas Jay Ryan being as memorable as ever in the role. Hartley's deadpan tone is alive and well in Ned Rifle, with Audrey Plaza being memorable in the role of Susan, an actress that perfectly fits into Hartley's unique demands. Tonally, Ned Rifle is full of despair but also intellectual glee, being another film where Hal Hartley's love of cinema shines through, as he waxes poetic to the viewer, offering nuggets of wisdom about life and art. While Ned Rifle doesn't quite reach the heights of its predecessors, it's a worth conclusion to Hartley's Henry Fool trilogy, being another truly one-of-a-kind work by a self-reflective filmmaker operating outside of the mainstream. Set in the world of a warren of rabbits, Watership Down follows a group of rabbits lead by Hazel, who leaves their Sandleford warren for new lands after Hazel's younger brother Fiver, a seer, receives dark visions about the warren's imminent demise. Along with a handfull of other Rabbits who believe Fiver's vision, the brothers set off to search for a new home, free of tyranny and human intervention. Facing pressure from the Owsla for leaving the Warren, the rabbits eventually escape, soon discovering the grim and dangerous nature of the world around them. Martin Rosen's Watership Down is a landmark animated feature, known for its geniune depicition of life and death that made it a film a little too mature for young audiences. Featuring an emtionally poignant and poetic narrative, Watership Down's grim tale feels only associated as a children's film due to its beatufiully flawed watercolor animation. While the character motions and animation itself may be considered a bit clunky by today's standards, Watership Down is a striking feature, as Rosen's beautiful use of color and framing elevate the film to a truly immersive experience. Watership Down is a very mature story with gravitas, and even though it is far too violent and heavy for children, its portrayal of the fragiility of life and the importance of sacrifice make it a film full of valuable lessons. The whole mythology of the world created in Watership Down is compelling, with an opening sequence that uses a different type of animation to explain the creation myth of these rabbits, one in which they are near the bottom of the food-chain, hunted by a host of different predators. The whole story feels epic, yet intimate, with my favorite sequences being centered around the "black rabbit', a mythical creature symbolic of the grim reaper. Watership Down is really a story about survival, perserverance, and the importance of freedom, using these cute, furry bunnies too tell a poetic story of life and death. With her mother leaving the country for several months due to work, young Lil has no other choice but to move in with her father. Along with her beloved dog Haden, Lili moves in to her father's home, but it quickly becomes clear that He isn't that fond of the animal. When the State discovers Haden, they demand he pays the tax for having a mixed breed animal, leaving the the father to refuse payment, abandoning Haden on the streets in front of Lili's eyes. Kornel Mundruczo's White God is a clever, angry fantasy film that uses an incredible amount of dog actors to tell a striking albeit vague parable that winds up being more bark than bite. White God truly has two lead protagonists, with Lili and Haden occupying a lot of screen time, interweaving their paths back to each other. The much talked about orchestration of dogs in this film is certainly impressive, but what White God is able to do with its dog actors in important emotional scenes stood out. White God deserves a lot of credit for creating some immensely emotional sequences with Haden, as this dog is thrown onto the dark streets of society, being abused and around the stench of death. The human side of the film is what struggles in White God, with a lot of the characters motivations feeling forced to serve the story. White God portrays Hungary as a sad and bleak place, with the father, Lili, and Haden feeling unloved and unappreciated. Be warned, towards the end of White Dog takes on the persona of a horror movie, with Haden and his other sheltered and abused friends (dogs), lashing out on society in violent ways. While I must admit there were times I had trouble taking the film seriously, it must be understood that this film is very much in the fantasy realm, being larger than life in some respects in an effort to trumphet its blurry message. White God's parable is up to interpretation, but the film does show the reflective nature of negative forces on society, with abuse and neglect along Haden's journey turning him violent towards society. The film could be interpreted as a commentary on Immigration or class status, but I tend to think the film works best if you just consider it a film about the importance of love. Sidney Lumet's The Offence is an explosive film centered around Johnson, a British police inspector, who becomes emotionally shaken by a recent child molestation case. Johnson is the character who finds the child in the aftermath of the events, with this shattering of innocence that Johnson witnesses shaking him hims very core. When the main suspect is brought in Johnson interrogates him, and in an escalation of anger he kills him with his own bare hands. Lument doesn't tell this film in chronological order, with a timeline that jumps all over the place, being a symbolic of Johnson's psyche that seems completely fractured. As the film progresses, Lumet makes it clear that this incident alone didn't push Johnson over the edge, but the tipping point in which he had taken all he could. This is one of Connery's most compelling performances, being an emotionally shaken man due to the heinous crimes committed, bringing a gravitas to the performance as he displays pentup anger and agression towards the darker aspects of human nature. Johnson's character goes through an existential crisis of sorts, uanble to comprehend how this type of behavior is possible. Another interesting aspect of the film is how Lumet draws parallels between the cop and criminal, arguing that both are haunted by darkness that eventually leads them down a similarly dark path. The Offence is certainly an underappreciated film in Lument's canon, with the filmmaker using space to great effect in this film, with depth of field in his compositions that captures the emotions of the scene. The exteriors are almost entirely nightscapes, giving the film a dark setting that perfectly mimic's the themes and narrative of the film. SIdney Lumet's The Offence is a frenzied tale of a man whose been pushed over the edge, featuring maybe Sean Connery's greatest performance. Hank, a Wildlife preservationist, lives a secluded and harmonious life alongside an abundance of big cats, including Lions, Tigers, Cheetahs, and Leopards, on a preservation in the African plains. Literally living among the these animals, the lions and tigers are densly populated all around Hank's home, even overflowing into his household's stairwells and living spaces. When Hanks's wife and children come to visit him in Africa, a long-brewing power struggle between the head of Lion's erupts, threatening the lives of Hank and his family. One of the most insane films ever committed to celluloid, Roar is a unique film for its ability to capture true fear, with line between acting and reality blurring constantly, due to the unpredictable "ad-libbing" of these animals. Roar is notoriously known for its hellish production, that saw countless injuries to cast and crew, floods, and fires, taking over 5 years to complete. In a way, Roar is basically the most insane family movie ever conceived, with writer, producer, and director Noel Marshall casting his entire family in the film, using music that would feel right at home in any Disney film. Roar is such a unique film because it's a narrative that is relient on these 100+ untamed animals, creating one of the most strange, unpredictable, and unforgettable experiences that is equally as entertaining as it is insane. With cinematography from Jan De Bont, Roar is actually an inventive film visually, managing to capture the chaos of the film on screen, for better or worse. Insanity is the only way to describe Roar, with Noel Marshall's performance as Hank being one of the most brave and ballsy performances ever commited to celluloid. While Noel Marshall's Roar isn't a good film in the traditional sense, it's one of the most unique films I've seen, being a film that captures the unpredictability of mother nature on screen, in all its absurd glory. After taking down the deadly mercenary Owen Shaw, Dominic Torretto and his crew had thought they finally were free from the criminal world, but Shaw's brother, Deckard Shaw has other plans. From the opening scene of Furious 7, James Wan wants you to know how dangerous a man Shaw is, as Wan captures the absurd destruction one man is capable of. The Fast and the Furious franchise has its detractors, but the film is so endearing due its realization of knowing exactly what its audience wants to see. This segment in the Fast and Furious franchise once again reinvents the film in a way, being almost a revenge story, as Shaw murders Han, targeting all of Don's "family". The Fast and Furious franchise ignores all the rules of physics and good taste, being an extravagant adrenline rush of attractive woman, car porn and absolutely insane action sequence that ignore physics, biology, and pretty much every rule in the book. From a stylistic perspective, Furious 7 is basically a music video with strung together action sequences that are well choreographed and ludicrious. The narrative is clever, with Dom having to work with another "Ghost agent" in Kurt Russel in the same "you help me, I help you" narrative of the past films. What makes it fun is Statham's Shaw is a wild card, who appears out of nowhere, targeting Dom and his crew with lethal precision. Furious 7 is a surprising strong tribute to Paul Walker, with a poetic final sequence that really captures how much Walker meant to the cast and crew of these films. By now, you should know if you appreciate the Fast & Furious franchise, with Furious 7 delivering another self aware, audience-serving adrenaline rush that is the defintion of dumb fun. Newlyweds Peggy and Mark seem to have the ideal life, between Mark's successful job and Peggy's pregnancy, the couple are seemingly headed towards domestic bliss. Unfortunately tragedy strikes in the form of a miscarriage, sending the this typical Southern housewife in Peggy on a journey of spiritual discovery that quietly threatens to destroy not only her marriage with Mark, but many of her long-term relationships. Paul Harrill's Something, Anything is a meditative study of the importance in finding oneself, showing how society norms should never dictate ones own happiness. Peggy is a woman who bought into societies ideal of happiness, with the loss of her child leaving her with a lack of purpose. Paul Harrill's film uses this character to capture the importance of self-reflection, and finding one's own happiness, arguing that true happiness comes from inside and is never dictated by outside-influences or societal norms. Even before the miscarriage occurs, the film subtly suggests a small riff in the marriage of Mark and Peggy, with Mark being very career-focused and financially-driven, inattentive to Peggy's needs on an emotional intimacy level. Something, Anything is a deeply intimate experience but as the film unfolds it becomes a quietly seething commentary on the social norms of success, arguing against the materialistic and economically-fueled measurements our Capitalistic society uses to measure personal happiness. From Peggy's husband to her co-worker and friends, nearly every character outside of Peggy is fueled by materialism in one way or another. A great example of this over-arching theme takes place right after the tragedy, with both Peggy's husband and parents offering gifts and vacations to her, essentially trying to buy her way back to happiness. Obviously both the husband and parents have sweet intentions, but the film uses this to beautifully to demonstrate how much of our societies perceived happiness is dictated by monetary value. Paul Harrill's Something, Anything is a delicately assured feature debut, offering a poigant portrait of the importance of finding success and happiness within oneself. |
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June 2023
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