Girl Number 9 Review

To slightly skew Marshall MacLuhan’s famous saying “the medium is the message”, I think it’s also fair to say that art should be designed for the medium for which it was intended. For example, a film like Where the Wild Things Are is meant to be seen on a big screen, where it is arguable that a movie such as Love Happens has no real big-screen advantage. I’ve always considered it plus when a story comes to be through whatever medium by utilizing that medium to the story’s advantage. And such a story is Girl Number 9, that latest work by Dan Turner and James Moran (writer of various Doctor Who and Torchwood episodes, as well the brilliant horror-comedy Severance).

According to an interview with Scott Weinberg, Moran and Turner decided on the format first and built the story around it. They built it around the internet, which was a good move considering the viral marketing that can get your work seen by millions in the blink of an eye. Girl Number 9 is told in six episodes coming to a total of a little under thirty minutes. So about the length of a TV show, or a longish short film. Gareth David-Lloyd (who played Ianto Jones on Torchwood) is Detective Matheson; he and the police has finally caught a serial killer they believe is responsible for the horrible deaths of seven girls. Apparently the killer only wants to talk to Matheson, for reasons that turn out to be core-chillingly frightening. I won’t give away any more of the plot, considering the length of the film. The key to writing for the internet seems to be to keep it tight, keep it fresh, keep it to the point and don’t meander, lest you loose the attention of your audience. And keep that attention tightly in your grasp.

Moran and Turner have done a bang-up job with GN9. I waited until all six episodes were online, though I still had to watch them one at a time, and every time I was screaming at my computer to hurry up and load them (can’t imagine the state I would have been in if I watched each one as it was uploaded). More is packed into this than in some seasons of television shows – but in the best way possible. I mean more emotionally, psychologically, and most definitely physically. Moran and Turner strip the story down, giving just enough dialogue and information so that the viewer cannot help but be completely engaged. Through this bare-bones operation, they are able to get at the core of the story quickly and effectively, without unnecessary setup or fanfare, making it all the more tangibly real and frightening.

Not only have the creators made a story perfectly suited for the internet, but they also take full advantage of the size of the screen the film will be viewed on. The scenes are tight, set in small places with usually only a few characters. The scenes between Matheson and the killer, Boylan are brilliantly composed. Matheson goes from the moody darkness of the police squad room, where everyone hides their eyes from the lack of light and pays little attention, to the bright, tiny interrogation room where he cannot hide literally or figuratively from Boylan’s insane proposition. Boylan, in his white prisoner jumpsuit, is certainly not an angel, but the whiteness gives him an air of purity: he is pure in his sadism, with a mind that will not try to hide behind rules and regulations of society or the police.

I am a great lover of short stories and short films because of work such as GN9: no muss, no fuss, just get to the story and have your audience riveted fast and dirty.

Rage Review: Sally Potter’s Venture into Mobile Territory

Any new project by veteran filmmaker Sally Potter deserves attention. Any new film project which markets itself to mobile phones and the internet almost exclusively also demands attention. Put these two things together and you have Potter’s newest and most (at least technically) daring work to date. Rage is her new film set in the precarious and arguably vain world of fashion. The premise is fairly simple: a student by the well-chosen name of Michelangelo interviews a series of important (and not-so-important) people during New York Fashion Week, filming them on his mobile phone. This particular year, murders take place and everyone is a suspect and a figurative victim of the crime.

While in the past Potter has trained her keen eye through the traditional film lens, this project was designed to be viewed on mobile phones and computer screens. For a filmmaker like Potter, whose past works (Orlando, The Tango Lesson, Yes) has been feasts for the eyes on the big screen, the decision to format her film for the mobile screen is an interesting if almost unfathomable one. How does one adjust for the change of spectrum and viewing? What is the new spectatorship and how do you account for their sensibilities? Can it be called a film if it was not designed for traditional cinema viewing?

I’m guessing the movie was not actually filmed with a mobile phone (the quality is just too good), but the perspective is meant to replicate the feeling. The characters are placed in front of a backdrop that changes colour depending on the character and the mood. They are interviewed at different points during the week, giving their perspectives on the fashion industry and the crimes that have occurred. There is the ingenue model, the designer, the new discovery, the police detective, the critic, and the marketer, among others (played by veterans such as Judi Dench and Dianne Weist, to American character actors such as John Leguizamo and Steve Buscemi, and new talents Lily Cole and Riz Ahmed). As this is supposed to be a mobile phone, this is slightly shaky-cam style. The voice of Michelangelo is only heard once, at the end of the first day, but barely. As a result, the characters sometimes repeat his questions in an annoying way (and I can’t help but think Potter could have found a way to write dialogue around that problem, or have the voice of Michaelangelo included). However, this is a minor misgiving, as the story itself is definitely up to Potter’s standard of revealing the dark side of beauty.

As stated, Rage was designed to be watched on either a mobile phone or via the internet. Although shown at Berlinale (Berlin’s major film festival) earlier this year, it was not meant for the big screen. Indeed, I doubt it would even be appropriate for television. Potter is a filmmaker who knows her medium. Since this is supposed to be filmed on a mobile phone, the scope of the frame is limited. Most of the shots are medium close ups to close ups. This means the focus is entirely on face and body language, highly appropriate for a piece on fashion. The intimacy of the projection is matched with the intimacy of the filming. The spectator is put in the place of Michelangelo, since there is no visual or aural identity attached to him. His only identity becomes that of whom he is filming – how he sees them and how they project themselves into his camera.

In effect, Michelangelo is the famous “Fool” of Shakespearean literature: he is used only when there is something to gain, not seen as a threat or even a person (as he is hiding behind his camera). But he knows and sees all. Of course, this being the postmodern age, he broadcasts what he sees onto the internet. Then the spectator moves from being Michelangelo to the his audience, viewing it on the internet. We are the Fool’s audience, the ordinary citizen who can either find themselves “discovered” and ruined in a single day (like the character Vijay), or the murdered (whose identity we never find out).

In one of the final scenes in the last episode, Michelangelo is interviewing Mona (Judi Dench), a fashion critic, when chaos is heard off-camera. The camera doesn’t leave her face, and Mona indicates at one point that Michelangelo is crying. The camera has never left her face during the screams. Michelangelo then would seem to be the anti-war photographer, the opposite of Steve Buscemi’s character. Or perhaps that is not true; Michelangelo knows that everyone will photograph or film the dead; he is trying to capture the people behind it.

As I write this, I realize the most important character in this film is Michelangelo, and by extension the spectator. By using mobile phones and computers as the method of communication, Potter has achieved the ultimate recognition of the spectator as the main component in the story (keeping in step with today’s on-demand culture). We want to watch films on our phones and computers, we do not want the hassle of leaving our safety zones, we want what we want when we want it, and we want it now. So this is what Potter gives us: a story of the ultimate vain art form, fashion, and shows us its true and very ugly face. Is it, then, the face of the spectator that is being turned to the mobile phone? Are we watching a screen or a mirror?

TIFF 09 Review: Enter the Void

I don’t think a title has ever been more accurate for defining a film. Nor has a film been as divisive in recent festival memory as to whether it is a work of genius or an exercise in audience torture. This is not necessarily a film to love or hate though. Rather, like his earlier film Irreversible, director Gaspar Noé, Enter the Void is as much an experiment in filmmaking and ways of storytelling through the medium of film as it is entertainment.

Oscar, a young American, makes money dealing drugs to support himself and his sister, Linda (who works as a stripper) in Tokyo. Their parents have been dead since they were children and they have only each other to rely on. Oscar is killed by police in the small toilet of a bar, and the film acts as his spirit flying over the city, recalling how he came to the point of his death, and what happens to his friends and sister after he is gone.

The film remains literally Oscar’s eyes, both before and after death. While he is alive, his blinking serves as a convenient point to cut in takes, as well as a way for the audience to feel as though they are him. After his death, the camera stands right behind his head as though he cannot see his own face, but can now see how other people viewed him in life. The problem was, he is/was an uninteresting person, and I did not really care that he was killed. Nor did I care very much about the other characters.

But I don’t think that was the point. Like Jean-Luc Godard, Noé is experimenting with film itself, and with the viewer’s concept of what film is, and what narrative should be. What if the camera were truly an eye, giving us both objective and subjective experience at the same time? Are we too used to even typical art-house films from Europe to understand the potential of the medium, to reach outside our usual narrative for a more realistic perspective?

That being said, it’s still too long by about thirty minutes, and I admit I dozed off a few times. But I’m glad I saw it, if only because it is a film I will definitely think about for a long, long time.

TIFF 09 Review: A Town Called Panic

One of the few animated films to be shown at the Cannes film festival (not only this year but in the festival’s history), this strange little gem from Belgium starts at a cracking pace that it easily sustains for 75 minutes of roaring fun. It is also the first G-rated film to be shown in the Midnight Madness program at TIFF, and it shows that you don’t need sex, violence or gore to have a subversive, “WTF” kind of film.

Giving a short synopsis of the plot is difficult, as it will probably make little sense. But here goes: Horse, Cowboy and Indian share a house in their village. It is Horse’s birthday, and Cowboy and Indian decide to make him a brick BBQ as a present. Something goes terribly wrong in the ordering of bricks, and chaos for them and the rest of the town ensues. Horse and his companions must search the over and under worlds for bricks, while the animals and people of the town eat their way through giant slices of bread and make Vladimir Horowitzes out of donkeys.

In order to picture this, you must picture the animation. It is stop motion, first of all, using generic plastic toys of varying sizes (for example, the toy Janine is almost twice the size as the toy Steven, her husband). Animals not only graze as per usual, but also take music lessons. And ponds can lead to strange underwater worlds were brick houses are common, only upside-down. Or maybe it is our world that is upside-down.

Knowing that the film came out of episodic television had me a little worried going in that I would get bored; but I can’t remember the last time I was less bored in such a frenetically paced film (which can often become boring despite their pace). I also rarely stopped laughing, and when I did it was only to marvel at the genius of the writer for finding the most inventive plot twists, and the animators for matching it. Bizarre and sophisticated enough for adults and children, A Town Called Panic makes you want to live in an upside-down house occupied by a horse.

TIFF 09 Review: Leslie, My Name is Evil

Only a Canadian could make a campy pseudo-musical film about the Manson Family. While perhaps fading from the memory of those not alive at the time, Charles Manson is still one of the icons of crazed cult leaders and serial killers. Director Reginald Harkema (A Girl is a Girl, Monkey Warfare) creates a visually stunning romp through the late 1960’s that uses fairly standard imagery to ask some interesting questions. Is it really possible to learn from history? And if so, do some people even care to do so?

Leslie is an all-American girl: a good student from a good family, who will probably get married and have a good family. That is, until her father leaves the family and Leslie devastated. She gets pregnant, her mother forces her to have an abortion, and she becomes a flower child. Leslie then finds solace and purpose in the arms of Manson and his followers. Perry is a straight-laced Christian boy who is studying chemistry. He is surrounded by a family who believe the gun is the way to save the world for Jesus, and a girlfriend who won’t let him go below the neck without a ring on her finger. Perry is assigned as a juror to the Manson trial, where he becomes infatuated with Leslie. The clash of these two cultures at this time period is not unexplored territory; rather it is in the execution that Harkema challenges the viewer.

Virtually every shot is thought-out to the last detail, making it a visual feast. Harkema knows how to centre his camera, so the viewer is forced to listen to the words and see the visuals as both complement and contrast. By stripping away subtlety and a certain amount of reality, Harkema exposes the hypocrisy of both extremes. This richness lays bear the arguments put forth by both sides: the blind hypocrisy of Perry’s father and his rants on the “godless commies” as well as Mansions on the “fascist pigs” sound like so much empty posturing.

Ryan Robbins is particularly striking as Charlie; he conveys his strange and powerful seduction through wild and disarming eyes. Complemented by solid performances by the rest of the cast, Harkema creates a campy yet believable society. The end is not surprising, but it isn’t meant to be. Regardless of the facts, most people will take security no matter the lives it might cost, American or otherwise.

TIFF 09 Review: [Rec]2

The past few years have seen Spanish horror burst onto screens around the world thanks to some fairly high-profile Spanish directors making films in Hollywood, and Spanish films being remade for US audiences. [REC] was remade into Quarantine, though there is no news on whether Quarantine 2 will be made (I haven’t seen it, preferring my horror in its original packaging). While perhaps not quite as frightening as the original, [REC] 2 still had the audience jumping out of its seat fairly frequently.

Picking up a mere 15 minutes after the first film left off, a SWAT team goes into the quarantined apartment building with a health official to try and assess the situation. They make their way to the penthouse, the source of the outbreak. And there it turns out that the health official is really a priest, and that the contagion is the devil, and the devil is spreading.

Unlike the original, which used only one camera perspective, directors Jaume Balagueró and Paco Plaza smartly expand the number of cameras. Each member of the SWAT team has one, allowing for shifts in location, and a few times picture in picture (so you can see the zombies coming from all directions). And since there is less constant violence, it allows the viewer, and the characters to a certain extent, to step back and examine the situation. Whereas in the first film the viewer was in the place of the firemen and news crew, having no idea what was happening, now the audience can think (and often say out loud) ‘No, don’t go in there!’ in traditional horror film fashion. The use of several cameras is an added bonus, as the multiple perspectives allows for the idea of the spread of the virus/devil, and the likelihood of its escape. As well, the additional of the Priest is a great throwback to The Exorcist – and this priest is just as stubborn and self-sacrificing.

As stated, there are fewer frightening moments, but then ones that do come are all the more frightening from the build-up of tension. Throw in a group of stupid teenagers in the wrong place at the wrong time, a survivor from the first film, and some pretty frightening and blood-thirsty children, and [REC] 2 is a fine follow up to the original, and hopefully the second in a trilogy.

TIFF 09 Review: White Material

The films of the incomparable Claire Denis are subtle lessons in semiotics. They are like moving photographs, or graphic novels with almost no words: the viewer must (and can) put together the story from the images, like they are a fly hovering with no knowledge of past context.

The third of Denis’ African-centred films, White Material stars Isabelle Huppert as Marie, a French woman running a coffee plantation in an (deliberately) unnamed country with her ex-husband and son. With the government in turmoil and rebels running loose in the countryside, her workers have deserted her right before the harvest. She seems to be the only one determined to stay, even after the army deserts the country and her ex-husband (Christopher Lambert) conspires to leave her behind.

This has probably the most comprehensible narrative of any of Denis’ films, and the most overtly political. Marie is as much a part of the land as those who were born there; but her skin keeps her an outsider. She never stops moving; if she did, she might have to realize that defeat is inevitable and the longer she waits, the less departure alive is assured. Denis creates both sympathy for and anger at Marie. She is not a stereotypical colonial overlord, yet her insistence on remaining borders on madness.

Those around her have their own madness as well. Her teenage son is humiliated by child soldiers who strip him in the wilderness; the citizens of the country are understandably hesitant to leave the confines of their villages, though are forced to for money. Child soldiers run rampant; they are not loyal to any side of this war, only to themselves. They are hungry, dirty, heavily armed children with no sense of right and wrong.

This is a washed-out world; a world where life is slowly dying and efforts to revive it are fruitless. When Marie goes into town, she changes out of work clothes into a sundress and sandals. These only proceed to make her stand out more in the bright colors of the traditional African dress around her. While Denis’ previously films have been experiments in surrealism, this is more impressionistic. It is not tied to a particular place, or time, but remains a snapshot of this world at a standstill, on the edge of a knife.

While perhaps not the masterpiece that Beau Travail was, this film still manages to pack a punch. A slow, haunting punch to the stomach that can see the viewer in the place of Marie, recklessly holding on to something that is not worth her life.

TIFF 09 Review; Air Doll

Japanese director Hirokazu Koreeda has written and directed some of the most sublime, strange and touching films to come out of his home country in recent years, including After Life and Nobody Knows. Unfortunately his most recent film, Air Doll, is not as original or interesting.

A sex doll comes to life while her owner is out of the house. She wanders the streets in her French maid uniform, discovering the world as a child does. She finds a job in a video store, where she begins a sweet romance with a fellow employee, while she must return at night to her owner. Certainly, actor Du-na Bae does her job very well as the doll Nozomi. As she tries to cover the seams on her skin, or bravely stay still while her owner uses her as a physical and emotional receptacle, the viewer cannot help but sympathize. But something is still missing.

This becomes a fairly typical fish-out-of-water story, examining not only the innocent discovering the harshness of the world, but how society treats women. Nozomi is a literal doll for her owner, a woman whose only functions are to keep her master company and help him get off. But he is not necessarily to blame. Like many of the people Nozomi encounters, he finds his life unfulfilling, and seeks solace in a creation that cannot hurt him. Nozomi tries to fill her emptiness the way that those around her do, but like most people, is unsuccessful.

Probably the most touching moment in the film is when Nozomi gets a cut; of course, being an air doll, her body empties, and her co-worker at the video store uses his own breath to restore her. Touching, yes, but a bit too predictable. The film fails to capture the originality of purpose. Even the climactic conclusion, while interesting enough, failed to resonate the way Koreeda’s other films have.

TIFF 09 Review: The Loved Ones

The Loved Ones

People who insist that small towns are better places for raising children than cities always amaze me. The typical arguments are that people are friendlier, there are fewer places for kids to get drugs, wide-open spaces for them to run around in, and that you can always know where your child is. These people need to see The Loved Ones, the fantastic film debut of Australian director Sean Byrne, to know that drugs are just as common in small towns, kids get lost in the wilderness, and that there are really crazy people in the outback.

Brent is having a more difficult time than most teenagers. His father was killed in a car accident while Brent was driving, and his mother will not let him drive or even get in a car — try to survive in a small town without one. He is withdrawn and turns to drugs and taking physical risks in a strange almost-death wish. A girl at school, the seemingly shy Lola, asks him to the prom; but he kindly turns her down, as he is going with his girlfriend Holly. But that might not have been the best response for Lola.

Australian horror films have a knack for going places that their US counterparts would never dare. And they like their murderers crazy without explaining why. You’ll not meet a crazier one than Lola, the hot pink boy-mad teenage murderess of The Loved Ones. You see, it turns out that Lola always gets her man, thanks to Daddy, whom she has wrapped around her finger in one of the greatest pseudo-sexual murderous couples in film. They kidnap young Brent and force him to participate in Lola’s freaky prom at their farm in the outback.

Byrne has an incredible talent for rhythm and pacing. The film begins fairly slowly, as the viewer witnesses Brent disappear into web of darkness whose only way out is his girlfriend. But once the scene opens on Lola’s prom, Byrne cranks the pace and does not let up. He is not afraid to use long takes to build tension, twisting every last minute like a knife twisting through skin. Byrne builds it up and then lets it burst like a gushing wound. Lola seems to have met her match in Brent, who finds a new found desire for life when his is truly threatened. With shades of Carrie and Misery, this film had me cheering.

The young cast is superb, in particular Robin McLeavy as Lola, who will crawl on broken bones before giving up her man. With a fantastic soundtrack, and one of the best long-take endings I’ve seen on film in a while, The Loved Ones is a smart, funny and roller coaster ride entry into the teen horror canon.

The Loved Ones won the TIFF 09 Midnight Madness Audience Choice Award. Well deserved.

TIFF 09 Review: Bright Star

Just because a film is set more than a few decades ago, doesn’t mean it’s a period film. And just because events happened in a particular kind of society 200 years ago, doesn’t mean they are not relevant today. Jane Campion made that clean with her feature The Piano, and she has returned to these roots in her new work, Bright Star.

Set in the last years of the life of Romantic poet John Keats, it follows the story of his love affair with Fanny Brawne, a young woman with a talent for creating clothes as beautiful as Keats’ poems. Both have few options open to them. Keats’ family is poor, and while he is talented, he cannot make a living as a writer and must rely on financial support from friends to stay alive. As a woman, Brawne must marry to survive. However, she is not interested in marriage, and can make a living from her fashion talents.

The early scenes of the budding romance are near perfect: Brawne tries to find a way into Keats’ heart, thinking she has not succeeded when indeed she has. Like so much first love, neither can explain the attraction and yet it seems natural. In one scene, actors Abbie Cornish and Ben Whishaw perfectly capture the moment of love’s first expression: the inability to look into each other’s eyes when confession affection. Later comes the brief touch of fingers upon wrists, the utter pain of loss of communication and the immediate disappearance of such pain on the arrival of a letter. While these are not untypical experiences of first love, director and actors have us believe they are, or at least believe even the most seemingly maudlin of lines.

This is a film about the struggle of the starving artist, in a world (very similar to today) that tends not to appreciate true artistry until the creator is dead. Keats loves Brawne, but does not wish to marry her for fear of making her a widow, or of not providing a proper income. His friend Brown, also a poet, fears Brawne will drain Keats of his creative drive, when he is really jealous of both Keats and Brawne. Brawne would take the risk where Keats knows he cannot; he is aware of his impending death, and, like his poetry, knows it is best to enjoy the beauty of the moment.

Campion is not afraid to let the camera linger on her actors’ faces, catching every glimpse, gesture and flash of emotion. In a world where only Hollywood cinematic romance is acceptable, it is a risk that pays off. I don’t think it would be a spoiler to say that Wishaw recites a poem of Keats over the closing credits. During the screening I attended, you could have, at this point, heard a pin drop.