Is the Man Who is Tall Happy? (2013)

"Could anything be more brain tingling than the man behind Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and The Science of Sleep animating his afternoon spent with the great Noam Chomsky?" This is how the Penguin Think Smarter Newsletter presents the experimental documentary by Michel Gondry, but let me tell you one thing: experiments are always interesting, but not  always successful. 

Is the Man who is Tall Happy? (2013), the film which screens imminently in Edinburgh Film Festival, has already -lucky us- screened in Luxembourg Film Festival end of February; it was the only one that made me leave my cosy room and make my way to the cinema which was, after all, less than fifteen-minutes walk away. I cannot say I didn't enjoy seeing it. An extremely self-conscious conversation (and, yes, I love that) between Gondry, who was commenting between bits of dialogue on his French accent which was apparently hard to get, the phrasing of a question which was not clearly understood by the other party and so on so forth, and one of the greatest thinkers of our times, Noam Chomsky. 

Hand-made animation, funny and colourful intertwined with philosophical concepts on their way to their simplified version (sic). You know what? As much as I enjoyed watching this delirium of words and images, I couldn't help coming out of the cinema feeling confused to a certain extent. Why? Because it is humanly impossible to grasp 100% of what is going on on screen. You will get most of it, if you manage to stay focused -that becomes harder at times, exactly because of the "distracting" animation, but you won't have the feeling you fully "got it", except if you've studied Chomsky beforehand, I guess. Image and words are fighting one against the other for the viewers' attention, I'm afraid, and I'm not sure who wins in the end.

Sacco & Vanzetti (1971)

I am not sure why this post was not on time. Or, maybe I am: it is not the easiest thing on earth to write about social injustice, the shortcomings of Law as a social practice and the uptightness of the upper management (sic). Hierarchy is a wall more unbreakable than the Berliner wall -that had to fall, eventually.

To cut a long story short, as this post comes quite late -it was originally planned to glorify the successful event organised by Cinematheque de la Ville de Luxembourg with the opportunity of the screening of Sacco & Vanzetti (1971), the original feature film by Giuliano Montaldo- injustice is hard to cope with and even harder to digest. But we manage to live with it every single day, just as we manage to pretend we don't quite care.

The screening was a clear success, the venue almost sold out thanks to the Italians -I've noticed these bravissimi Italiani in Luxembourg, how they are sticking together and showing fraternity in every possible sense, whether it is to go and have a pizza or an aperitivo all'italiano, or to support a cultural event. And this was a big event indeed, as the director himself, now well at his eighties, was invited to present his film and take questions from the audience. 

The moving film was contrapuntal to the allegro director, who was lively and energetic and told us about his future plans to do a biographical documentary on Gian Maria Volonté, a leading Italian actor.

As for Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti, they were courageous and true to themselves and they deserve all our respect -I'm thankful to the film that acquainted me to their story. They stood for what they believed until the end and they died in the electric chair only because the "upper management" could not accept that they lived through vehemently xenophobe times and immigrants were not welcome at Massachusetts (or elsewhere, for that sake), let alone immigrants with anarcho-communistic tendencies.

The Grand Budapest Hotel (2013) and its Glorious Tenants

Wes Anderson is an addiction; it's something you either get or you don't; and, if you've kept the child you once were untouched and safe in a small corner of your mind, then you probably adore his sensitivity, love for colour, detail, humour and bias for action. Because his characters are big children: they do not think a lot (overly contemplating before doing is a sign of old age,  after all), they act. Action is character, they say, don't they?

The film is inspired by the ambience, style and small-town allure of Stefan Zweig stories, which creates a burning necessity for the following rhetoric question: doesn't great literature make good material for cinema more often than not? Even if a well-known issue on film adaptations exists? Wes Anderson explains his choice in a lengthy   interview on the classic Austrian author, and as we brought the subject about, you may allow me to point out that project Gutenberg has no short stories of him whatsoever (so I will have to actually buy a real book to read some).

I don't know exactly why it took me so long to finish this post. I've watched this movie a bit more than a month ago, and it still is the last movie I've watched (sic). Not counting same-country, lacklustre stuff that are watched mainly for the sake of it. Not only it is the last movie I've watched, but it's the last movie I've watched and want to recommend it to whoever asks for a recommendation and the last movie whose cinematic style I feel defines/describes me. Today I found myself once more having a chat on how I find that Wes Anderson fans are the right crowd for me. So, yes, in the end this post is not so much about this particular Wes Anderson film, but a thankful note to the director himself, for giving me the opportunity to unconsciously dig in the psyche of people I meet, finding gold where I was not expecting it.

An exuberant story of affairs full of affection between people desperate for love and reassurance leads to the stealing of an invaluable painting, the gloomy research of the causes of death of a rich lady -a quest for truth which ends ups quite badly-,  just before fugitives of all sorts try to escape their destiny or save the lives of others and become rich at the same time, not quite in this order. A story-in-a-story which references/parodies real life events in a hilarious way; that doesn't make them less sad on their own merit, though. But life is not a 100% pleasant thing, just like yummy cakes do not come without malevolent consequences, just like The Grand Budapest Hotel is not what it seems to be in the end.

Live Cinema: Orphans of the Storm (1921)

Orphans of the Storm is an animal shelter in Riverwoods, Illinois; that's what I learnt from a comprehensive search on Google, where the above shelter features as the top result and a far more popular one than the film it got the inspiration for its title in the first place.

I honestly hope, thought, that you guys have heard of this epic film, the last commercial success for D.W. Griffith and a not a less grandiose one; Not quitting the habit of  high production values and bigger-than-life story lines, after The Birth of a Nation (1915), Intolerance (1916) -which I dearly remember watching on my name day in National Gallery's Auditorium in London years ago-, Broken Blossoms (1919) and some others in between, Griffith decided to take on French Revolution from his point of view, always a particular one: this time he wanted to preach against Bolshevism (funny word, ainnit?)

He used as first material the well-known play by D'Ennery The Two Orphans and he managed to stretch it up to three (!) hours with intermission. I had the chance to see the original roadshow copy, just as I had the big, admittedly, chance to enjoy the use of the loo during the intermission. The screening was the glorious ending of a very good season of Live Cinema, a successful joint venture by Cinematheque de la Ville de Luxembourg and Philharmonie over the years. On 2014 I also managed to watch the re-mastered copy of Pandora's Box by G.W. Pabst, with lovely Louise Brooks in her signature hairdo as Lulu with live music from Ensemble Kontraste conducted by Frank Strobel. If that one was an interesting experience - a Lulu of giant proportions leading men to destruction behind the conductors baguette-, The Orphans of the Storm (1921) was an all-in-all thrilling experience.

Audiovisual Pleasures when Traveling

Earlier this week I was travelling to and back from Prague, not on a plane, nor by car, neither by train. And exactly because of that, I was the blessing that is called free time immobilised. Why is that, you will ask. Let me explain: the aforementioned ways of travelling no matter how different they are, have one similar result: keeping us busy. Not sure if it applies to others, but for me taking the plane means a lot of organisation and serious item selection and separation (liquids here, heavy stuff there, fragile goods where?), which brings along stress, just like the never-ending controls, check-ins and so on so forth. Little time to rest and be peaceful/ready to concentrate on something other than the trip per se. Travelling by car implies company, and your company wants to converse, wants you to be a good dj and stuff, occasionally he even wants you to drive a little bit so that he gets some rest (what the fuck). No free time for extracurricular activities there. Train comes handy, cause it surely gives more time for contemplation; the voyage is normally long, but the landscape distracting, just like the various stops on the way. You cannot help listening to the bizarre names of the stops in between, noticing new passengers coming in or going out, staring at interesting strangers if not the strangely-shaped trees that for the fraction of a second collate with the horizon and little time is left for you to read or write, let alone watch a movie. Because, this is what I'm talking about: the impossible deed of watching a movie on the move.

But, yes, earlier this week I made it. I opted for a bus from Luxembourg to Prague, and, what a joy, I was left exhausted in my not-so-comfortable seat, ready to endure a ten-hour-trip armed with unusually quiet co-travellers and a small screen stuck on the back of the seat in front me. A vast (sic) choice of films and TV series awaited me. I finally had the time to fill my gaps when it comes to recent and not-so-recent cinematic releases. On the way to the exceptionally gothic Czech capital I watched Argo (2012), the oh-so-acclaimed film I once scoffed on the basis of its fame -sometimes too much praise gets on my nerves, you know- only to realise that it is a good film indeed. I love to find out that I was wrong; I enjoyed a messy and long-haired Ben Affleck, full of poise and secret agent allure, as much as I found the atmosphere in '79 Teheran intimidating and threatening, even a bit exaggerated so (been in Teheran ten years ago, the early years' roughness had worn off, but, oh well, it is an "unfree" place to a certain extent).

The Wind Rises (2013) as an ode to mortality

It was in France quite some time ago that I was acquainted with anime, manga culture and boys who loved playing video games. Interesting boys, in general, sometimes even exciting. At a later point,  when I realised that they were more boys than men, I felt disappointed. C'est la vie, I guess.

Spirited Away (2001), Howl's Moving Castle (2004) and that anime version of Metropolis  (2001) made my heart beat fast back then. Same goes for Akira (1988) -how did it slip my mind that as a child I was given a View-Master and an Astro Boy reel; that was the humble beginnings of my love for that which does not exist. It was Candy Candy who taught me romance, after all.

French boys are all around these days, but they grew up. They even learnt how to hide their liking for anime and video games. And Hayao Miyazaki created this other imaginary boy, Jiro who is dreaming of airplanes and seems to be very much like Peter Pans who don't want to grow up. The character Jiro Horikoshi is loosely based on the life of an engineer of the same name who designed Japanese fighter planes during the World War II. 

Jiro in The Wind Rises (2013) -title borrowed from a poem by Paul Verlaine which goes: "Le vent se lève! il faut tenter de vivre!" (The wind is rising. We have to try to live!) - is dreaming of flying planes as a child and finds peace and solitude on his home's rooftop, until he finds out that he's nearsighted. Amending his dream, he wants to design those "beautiful dreams waiting to be swallowed by the sky”, and as a student he daydreams when eating mackerel of the curves of his future planes, similar to those of fishbones. He succeeds in working for a company making war planes, and in fact his success gives a controversial feeling overall; in essence he is helping people kill and getting killed, but I guess fulfilling one's dream is the pointer here and not the unpleasant details. Too much analysis spoils the whole thing, as it's hard to believe that the boyish, sweet character that Jiro is in the film could actually design the  Mitsubishi Zero airplane used by Japan for kamikaze operations.

Discovery Zone Film Fest is coming to town

I've been talking about Discovery Zone Luxembourg City Film Festival ever since it was born on 2010. It's one -the biggest- of the cinematic events that makes us happy here in the Grand Duchy.

And, if I would be to describe it once more to the international community who is discovering it right now, I would start like that:

"Discovery Zone is the one and only international film festival in Luxembourg. It takes over the city for two weeks and, apart from a catchy name, it also comes with a lot of cosmopolitan charm."

You can read the rest of the article on Delano online or get your copy in the newsstand. And there's something more you can do: you can make sure not to miss it. If you're around, the festival opens Friday and runs through March 9.

Key people with us this year: Michel Gondry with his new documentary Is the Man Who is Tall Happy? (2013), an animated conversation with Noam Chomsky, Clemence Poesy with a Robin Hood Tax campaign film and Luc Dardenne giving a free Masterclass, already fully booked.

The Long Goodbye (1973): A Philip Marlowe like no other

In this unforeseen neo noir Robert Altman is moulding the Philip Marlowe one would like to have as a son, a brother, why not, a father for his (better, her) child. Because, alas, we would all like to have Philip Marlowe as a lover anyways, no matter how harsh, senseless or misogynist he seems at times (speaking mainly of on-screen portrayals here); we all share some excitement for the strong, brainy guy who always has it his way.

Well, you know what? This one doesn't. First of all, his lovely cat abandons him and he is looking for her day after day to no avail. Then, his best friend betrays him. But, this is not all: third and foremost, the woman he was helping while being enchanted by her, the woman for which he was run over by a car was playing with him all along. She left town with someone else, without even saying goodbye.

This Philip Marlowe may be mellow, but he is no fool. He manages to see things through in the end. He even manages to pull the trigger, cause there's one thing he cannot stand: betrayal (me neither).

His image equally defines him: with fluffy hair and old-fashioned look, as opposed to his contemporaries, Robert Altman "takes this anachronistic man-apart concept literally" here. Raymond Chandler is the first to present Marlowe "as a kind of anachronism", already in his book, though. As "a man out of step with the changing world, though he’s clearly not a step behind, but rather a step ahead. This is an older Marlowe, and thus technically wiser, but no less foolhardy and devil-may-care.", as Christopher Schultz says in LitReactor.  

Les Ames de Papier (2013)

I have to admit my main interest in this film was its female lead, Julie Gayet. Who has been the main interest of too many people lately, namely France's first man, and the new eye-candy or should I say prey for media in France and the rest of the world alike. Yes, I went to see the film out of curiosity; Imagine, Gayet is announced as the president of the Jury at Discovery Zone film festival in Luxembourg, possibly tied to life as the president's significant other, and I was unaware of her existence -or should I say talent- until now.

West Side Story (1961)

I practically never comment on musicals (this doesn't mean I don't watch them), but today I felt like revisiting the emblematic West Side Story, as seen by Jerome Robbins and Robert Wise. They had a great soundtrack to work with, as well as a great cast, including Natalie Wood on the principal role of Maria, and then of course Rita Moreno and George Chakiris (son of Greek immigrants), who both won an Oscar for Best Supporting Actor.

The sole reason I go crazy over watching clips on YouTube and sobbing all afternoon is my recent viewing of West Side Story at the Grand Theatre in Luxembourg. All in all not a bad production; I like the costumes, the dancing and choreographies. The cast was oh-so-vigorous and Maria and Tony were good in singing. But, singing, acting and dancing all at the same time is not an easy thing, this is taken for granted; no one to blame, it's just the way it is. No matter how moving the show was, for its charm and tearful storyline, the orchestra could not keep the burden of the excellent Sondheim lyrics and Bernstein score on its shoulder. It would need better chorale and individual singing to uplift our ears, but that will be for next time.

Thirsty for the real thing, I start to appreciate the singing in the film version of the West Side Story, where, in fact, the singing voices do not belong to the actors on screen. Jimmy Bryant is the singing voice for Tony, Marni Nixon is Maria, Betty Wand is Anita and so on so forth (I have to thank them for making the film experience complete). A mix of frank and sensitive music and lyrics -my favourites songs are definitely Maria and Tonight-, but also playful and ironic songs like America and Officer Krupke make this film truly enjoyable (even if I heard that some people find it a tad too long and occasionally boring). The set, the colours, everything is pleasant, just to leave us with a bitter feeling for the lost romance.

Lady in the Lake (1947)

Seeing everything from the protagonist's  point of view is not an easy thing; especially if the protagonist is Philip Marlowe, a private detective, who goes through a set of weird situations, some of them involving unusual degree of physicality.

To cut a long story short, I was never punched in the face before. This was the first time in my life, and it was quite upsetting. Even if I didn't actually feel the pain in my face, I was literally taken aback, jumped on my cinema seat dressed in red and shouted. Yes, I was the only one in the audience who shouted, but I am well-known for my unusual degree of identification with two-dimensional heroes and anti-heroes alike.

Mr. Montgomery was successful in his choice of the subjective camera/point of view in what was his directorial debut, Lady in the Lake (1947). An unusual choice indeed, disorientating at times, but it drags you into the action all right. We don't mind at all that the camera itself is the main character, who is in fact visible only in reflections; his hands or other part of his body are visible sometimes, but that's enough. Montgomery is, after all, not the most handsome Marlowe that ever saw the light of day -Humphrey Bogart's representation is unbeatable. Raymond Chandler's book with the same title was good material to start with, even if Chandler himself was not happy with Montgomery's effort to recreate his atmosphere, what's more, without using the script he provided to MGM.

Great experience, good acting from icy slash brainy Audrey Totter -who becomes as tame as a sheep in the end of the film, to my surprise- and a very original and experimental way of filming, that apparently inspired Gaspar Noé in his film Enter the Void (2009). Peter Bradshaw explains it all coherently, even if he snubs the original attempt of the camera viewpoint in favour of the latter. Well, Gaspar Noé is known for treating provocative material, so there's a bigger shock factor there. But, shock factor alone cannot make a good movie, Peter, dear.

Golden Globes 2014: Full List of Nominations and Winners

First of all, hail Robin Wright (nice photo by Jordan Strauss/AP). The House of Cards deserved more awards, in my opinion, but anyways. I'm also very happy for Alfonso Cuaron getting Best Director Award for Gravity and for some others. Of course, I'm content for all the winners and nominations alike -I do have a question, though: how did The Past made it in the list for Best Foreign film in the first place? They certainly were far better films out there, but buzz and renowned talent involved is always something that one can hardly beat, I know.

Here is the full list for those (like me) who were not in a hurry to read it before, courtesy of the Telegraph.co.uk (the films link back to the Telegraph reviews, in case you are interested to read them). I've placed the motion picture categories first, and the rest follows: