Charlie Countryman goes to Bucharest

Film critics are not as mean as we think. Film critics watch a shit load of mediocre films. And, film critics get tired of watching those mediocre new releases day after day. They do feel the desperate need to get it out of their system. And, that's why they are being mean -I do understand, and I sympathise.

"This is a movie with a chalk-outline around it", Peter Bradshaw wrote on The Guardian. And it gets worse: "this catastrophe of a movie zigzags drunkenly between action-adventure and surreal comedy with some magical realism slopped over it like ketchup", states with no mercy Stephen Holden on New York Times. Yet, this far from the worse film either of us has seen, and we all know it deep down. It is a film with Shia LaBeouf though, and reviewers do not like him quite as much as teenage girls do. Well, I do not like him either, but the film was ok, leaving its cliches behind. No matter the bitter reviews, The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman (2013), as the film is also known, got a Golden Bear nomination at the Berlinale and is the first feature by talented director Frendrik Bond who was into music videos and ads before.

Interesting visually, how could it not be, as it was set in Bucharest, such a vibrant and not as mundanely central European -not like the cities we're used to roam around, so to say. So, the backdrop is inspiring, the lovely quasi-Romanian and destructive female lead is inspiring, too, even if she is plain American and in fact under her skin hides a short-haired Evan Rachel Wood. Mads Mikkelsen is not doing much with his role, but we still like him. Music is good (featuring Moby in the soundtrack), whereas rhythm sometimes not particularly so.

All the lonely people

After eating a box of chocolate truffles dipped in glitter in an effort to cure my not-feeling-well mood, and after remembering that last night I practically devoured 3 doughnuts with cream filling inside the super-market, cause there was no way I could wait to pay for them first, Eleanor Rigby came on my mind. Not specifically her, but all the lonely people who walk in the city and pretend to be too busy even to smile to the person they just crossed, while in reality they would love to drink a coffee or a beer with someone. But, not just anyone, and that's where the problem (if you can call it a problem) lies. 

Lonely people are in fact a bit too selective. They are fond of their memories, and they are sentimental. They find it hard to attach, and even harder to detach. They cherish imaginary friends and relationships, and keep a place in their heart for those who are no longer around. They are maybe introverts or just highly sensitive or just deeply hurt. Or nothing from all the above -I won't pretend I have the key to human psyche. 

I know that in this particular case, Eleanor Rigby is deeply hurt indeed. Profoundly sad and lonely she is, only because she felt the ultimate bliss, only because she knew how it is to be in love with the one. Until things went sour. Jessica Chastain is the redhead in the poster and the disappearing girl in the title. Her other half on screen for this set of films is James McAvoy. They are both brilliant -some of those actors whose performance is rarely questioned, just because they seem so natural in everyone's shoes. Why did I say "set of films"? If you're wondering, you probably haven't heard that newcomer Ned Benson had the poignant idea to shoot two films with the same title, and the exact same story, only different. One is from the point of view of the guy, the other is from the point of the view of the lady, that's why we have The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby: Him (2013) and  The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby: Her (2013). 

I have watched both films back to back, which is the right thing to do, after all, to notice similarities and differences.  Giving credit to popular belief that men and women have a totally different point of view  and react in a different way to the same situations (or else Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus), Benson decided not only to include new, unknown parts of each characters' story in each film, but also to have the actors give a slightly different performance in the same scene from one film to the other, whether it is for the tone of voice, facial expression or even the words they decided to use. How does it feel when each party feels that it's the other one to blame?

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.

Good to meet you, Walter Mitty

Not sure why I have/had a more or less snobbish attitude towards american comedy (that statement doesn't hold true in the case of rom coms, which I rather enjoy watching with my sisters). Thinking about it, I reach the conclusion that I was rather dragged to different genres of movies as a result of my hanging out with not exactly the members of humour appreciation society. On my way to change this (sounds like a good new year's resolution, doesn't it?), the first movie for 2014 has been high spirited one, almost a comedy (but not quite).

A lot has been written on Walter Mitty. They called it mediocre, they called it bad, as well as "the oddest film of the season" -film critics can be mean, when they are let down. But, I also saw Mitty in a list with the 50 best films of the year. The film opened on Christmas day in States and it definitely has some charm, even if it falls short  of fully adhering to a genre. It's classified as both drama and adventure on IMDB. It's classified as comedy, too. Based on a famous (American-literature-wise) short story by James Thurber, the Secret Life of Walter Mitty has had  an earlier version of its main character in flesh and bones in the 1947 adaptation.

The film may be narcissistic and all that -it's a trap one can rarely escape, when directing and starring in the same film like Ben Stiller does here; but it's also funny and sweet and tender. It may have nothing new to offer, it may be highly unrealistic in its portrayal of a dull Life's employer who is fantasising most of the time, instead of taking action, until he becomes almost a superhero, but it's more than a decent film. Personally, I found it had a good pace, some very funny moments and good acting. It could draw me into it, which is a factor to be taken into consideration. But, who knows, maybe that was only because I am a Walter Mitty of sorts.

Gravity (2013) is much appreciated

I never thought I would write an elegy for Sandra Bullock. But, when they say "never say never", I guess they are right; I totally feel like writing an elegy for her performance in Gravity (2013), indeed. Even if part of the credit goes to the Alfonso Cuaron for being the director he is (a director able to achieve concrete results with a largely abstract scenario like this one), his female lead cannot go without praise.

Do you personally know any Greek person called Papadopoulos?

Only one person in my close environment is actually called Papadopoulos and I grew up and lived in Greece for the longest part of my life. Still, everyone insists that Papadopoulos is the most common Greek surname and wikipedia confirms it. Now, a film that started small but gets bigger and bigger came forward to cement the belief, placing its main characters' surname right there on the top of the film poster.

And, no, I don't have a problem with that, my only comment is that of identifying it as yet another cliche. Having said that, out of a bunch of cliches there is always the possibility to see emerge something actually good. But what's good about a film describing the story of a successful entrepreneur with Greek origins being financially downgraded due to the stock market crisis? Mr Papadopoulos, the main character played by Stephen Dillane is rich but not alive, and the journey to his roots (meaning: family, national origin, humble beginning) allows him to discover that there is life out of the "rich and successful" scheme. It may sound banale, but it ends up being liberating.

Papadopoulos and Sons owns a brand that does well in the supermarket shelves in the UK; what's their product? Feta, haloumi cheese and other Greek delicacies. Until they lose everything and have to go back to their dad's first job: frying the national English junk food, fish and chips. What a semantic inversion -I can't help commenting on it: an expat who's rather an immigrant (cause these things differentiate in a way, check it out) proudly trades with his homeland's goodies when he belongs to the upper class. If he owns the factory, then it's comme-il-faut for everyone to tell him how they love the tasty native treasures he produces. But, how did he start out, how did he conquer the foreign topos? Not by selling his stuff or being himself; his identity was not so relevant, was shyly concealed in his first venture into business: he was selling the popular dish the nation he wanted to conquer liked to savour; fish and chips was what it took to conquer the UK market, pretending to be just like them. Until he could be proud, and not ashamed of being different.

Alfred and Alma: Hitchcock was not alone

"Alma was to become Hitchcock's closest collaborator, but her contributions to his films (some of which were credited on screen) Hitchcock would discuss only in private, as she was keen to avoid public attention."

That being noted by one of the master of suspense biographers', I am keen to feel that it maybe was otherwise. Hitchcock was probably too egocentric; that's another suggestion that hides in a not quite recent biography by Stephen Rebello under the title Alfred Hitchcock and the Making of Psycho. The book was published in the nineties, but it got made into a film last year. Hitchcock (2012), features an obese (for the role's sake), but still not as much as needed, Anthony Hopkins in the title character and Helen Mirren as Alma, the director's invisible wife and collaborator. 

Weird enough, but I've never heard of that poor wife, until I watched the film. That great wife. Brave wife. I've heard numerous stories about Hitchcock's obsession with his blondes, probably exaggerated, annoying stories. I took it that he was apparently not married, to have the recklessness to allow his obsessions to become public. But, no. He was married all the way, and his supportive wife was there for him, put up with his fantasies and even helped him when things got rough career-wise.

18 Meals (2010) or Life is Served

18 Meals is not a brand-new film, but it made it to the Spanish Film Festival (Festival du Film Espagnol) in Luxembourg only now. Good for us.

First thing I saw was quite some improvisation; it originally made me a bit dubious, but then certain characters and the pleasant rythm of the film won me over. 18 Meals (2010) was actually concocted in a rather experimental way: "Shot over nine days, the project began as a series of improvisations but very well-paced editing and a top-grade ensemble cast makes for an enjoyable, if not entirely filling, spread." to cite Hollywood Reporter.

Love, death, revelations, day-dreaming, everything can happen while eating. Or drinking. During the meal we are in a relatively calm state of mind; in a state of mind ready to be confused.

Eating is a bodily act; it calls for a certain ease from stress, also a certain degree of receptiveness, right? If we are opening our mouth to receive food, if we are ready to give to juicy-crunchy-colorfoul-tasty-light-unhealthy bits of nourishment the right to fill us up and keep us alive, then we are bound to be open to other things, too. Like sad or happy news and announcements, wedding proposals, work agreements, creative brainstormings and the like. There, you finally got the point of dining and wining in every single occasion -well, a great deal of meals are taking place to simply celebrate life, but that doesn't fall under my category. So, you can fall prey to somebody easier if you are his guest, that is. If he himself wants to devour you.

Lines of Wellington (2012)

There was, apparently, a great deal of buzz for what was the up-and-coming project of Raul Ruiz in 2011. Then, sadly enough, he passed away. His wife, a certain Valeria Sarmiento, chilean film-maker and Ruiz's collaborator took over the project and happily finished it; a bit more than two hours of epic deeds, blood, corpses, the madness of war; with a quasi-stellar cast: John Malkovich as General Wellington - he could be a Buffon-, Marisa Paredes and numerous others who mainly do more or less cameo roles, but they are oh-so-glamorous: Melville Poupaud, Mathieu Amalric, Michel Piccoli, Catherine Deneuve, Isabelle Huppert, Chiara Mastroianni and we're not yet finished: there are also the young and beautiful Elsa Zylberstein and Jemima West.

We're talking about a French-portuguese co-production and there are plenty of well-known Portuguese actors in lead characters -I only decide not to mention them by name, because probably they don't make any sense to most of us. The film was also cut in a TV-series version and was sold -as far as I know- in Canada (!); it was also released in Portugal, under the title As Lignas des Torres Vedras (2012). 

The Past (2013)

When we are talking about actor's and actresse's vehicles, this is what we have in mind. Berenice Bejo certainly did not need any more vehicles for herself, after her triumphant silent worldwide-hit The Artist (2012), but she had to prove than she can be jovial no more; she had to be on the verge of a nervous break-down (sic), incapable to control her sentimental life or her acts, lost in the turmoil of mixed feelings.

La Cage Doree or On being a foreigner

The Golden Cage is exactly what we are all looking for; ready to give up freedom for comfort, security and quality of life. Quality of life stands for things we can own, not abstractions. Being bohemian is not declared as a component of high standards of living, so freedom, is ruled out of the equation. Freedom is not of this world anyway.

So, you actually have to choose between the following two: do you want to be poor (in a crisis-struck or plain poor country) or do you prefer being a foreigner (anywhere else)? This is the burning question of our generation. It has always been for me, coming from one of the so-called countries of the south. Classified as rebellious, lazy, irresponsible countries.

Il Bidone (1955) or is Fellini able to do a bad movie?

It's always an issue when it comes to film criticism: do we value the whole or the parts? Can we give our opinion separately on the actors, on the scenarist, on the director and all the rest involved. In the end, can we value a film for its sentimental impact to us as empathetic individuals rather than for its compliance to the rules of film making?

I couldn't tell about you, but I can. I've learnt that films are more that a set of rules put together, films are life if they succeed to and plain dull if they don't. That's why it made me mad to see that Il Bidone or The Swindle or even The Swindlers (1955) left reviewers aghast; they didn't know what to make of it, apparently. They called it a morality tale and a cynical comedy together; I will only agree with the second. The influential back then Bosley Crowther of the New York Times wrote it was "a cheap crime thriller", only to complete his harsh statement with some buts, so as to still acknowledge the film's virtue.

Passion (2012)

I watched Passion (2012) some time ago, and, alas, I was not so eager to write about it. Not that I found it dull or deprived of charm, no; the two leading ladies and their rage to devour each other, the mise en scene and certain twists and unpredictability kept me going while in the cinema. When the film finished, though, the only thing that stayed was a little curiosity on how Brian de Palma got interested in directing Passion: I didn't see it so much as his type of film.

Short Cuts (1993)

I watched Short Cuts because of Raymond Carver featuring as a basic ingredient in the film. Robert Altman is an equally good reason to watch  a film, but my mood was  not compatible with his take on life and human relationships that day; it was Carver's point of view on the everyday as a constant melancholic dead-end that I was looking for.

The topic of film adaptations has always been a cumbersome one; not everyone agrees on their merit, neither on the way they should represent a book on screen. Should they stay true to the ambience, the occurrences, the characters, true to the author in a certain sense? Or are they allowed to take liberties, to invent new scenes that serve the cinematic medium, and twist the ending to please the audience of the multiplexes? In theory, a film director can do whatever he wants with a text, as long as he references the author in the right way. If the film cites "inspired by", it's always a better solution; "based on" goes a bit too far and creates foul expectations.

The concert (2009)

It was not always clear that snobbery is the most problematic act of them all; it took me years to realise. Once upon a time I remember myself scoffing at people; as  well as I remember my mother reproaching me with the who-do-you-think-you-are look, and that was probably the best thing she ever did. She taught me to treat my fellow humans as equals. Not with lengthy explanations of any kind, no; only with a transient mood, a sense of empathy I could not grasp at the time -it seemed as an act of unneeded kindness. Until my little self grew up to understand that status quo,  education, looks, taste and so many other things that falsely define us in life are not a product of choice, but rather a mere gift of chance.

The Beekeeper (1986)

Theodoros Angelopoulos left us a year ago; Greece is now even poorer and world Cinema, as well. His poetic  images depicting nature in his home country are unprecedented; I honestly hope someone else will emerge to show Greek landscapes as stunning as he did. Till then, the gap between visual narration that is insinuating instead of revealing and the post-modern parables with an emphasis to urbanism, which is the strength of contemporary Greek filmmakers, will remain vast.

Death in Venice (1971)

My sister was looking for me yesterday night. From her faraway country, she needed to talk. Urgently. I was concerned. She started crying before having the time to explain what it was all about. When she found her breath, she told me the story of somebody who had just died. A friend of hers, or better, a flirt of hers. Middle-aged man who appeared to be a workaholic. Working and living in his office, with no family to support he rarely allowed himself the pleasure of inertia. No holidays, love affairs, shopping sprees to hold him back from work. And from making money. In their short encounter, he confided that he was dreaming to start living after his upcoming retirement. After years of hard work, he could finally allow himself to take a break; to search for human contact; to heartily give his savings colorful material shapes like comfort, luxury and beauty. But his heart did not take his plans into account and stopped beating unexpectedly, paying him with all the time off he ever wanted. Albeit, in darkness.

Gustavo Santaolalla or Biutiful Sounds

Biutiful (2010) got awards and nominations everywhere from Cannes and Kodak Theatre till the numerous critic's associations all around the States, the Goya Awards (Spain) and the Ariel Awards (Mexico) , but my aim here is not to meticulously praise its endless merits. My aim is to remember one of its most attractive yet alienating features, its music. Leaving Xavier Bardem and the multi-layered plot aside, Gustavo Santaolalla is one of the key names in this beautifully sad film.

Gangs of New York (2002) or Why, Cameron?

"America was born in the streets" stated the posters when Gangs of New York was ready to conquer the theater screens; and that was years after Scorsese stated his intention of making the film. Some concepts are hard to materialise, especially if they evolve around the "think big" motto. And Martin Scorsese was never quite a fan of whatever small; that's why we love him.

The Convent (1995)

Religiousness is embedded in everyday life, you cannot escape it. There's no point even in trying; frankly, I've given up. I prefer to submerge in the religious experience nowadays, not as a believer, but as a tourist. Religions have certain things to bring to a dry post-modern life, as Alain de Botton noticed recently.

Having visited the Cathedral in Nancy and having bought  a dozen of the famous macarons, I settled in my couch and decided to watch the seven-year-old Convent (1995); not so much for the pious title, as for his stars and especially his perennial Festivals favourite Manoel de Oliveira. I started eating the macarons -they were made following a secret nuns' recipe- and I pushed play. The titles were a bit kitschy -a canary yellow tone- but auterism is bizzare sometimes, so I persevered.