First-time director Martín Shanly crafts moments of genuine emotion in Juana a los 12 POINTS: 8 “I was interested in a fair portrayal, I didn’t want to be enraged with the place and I didn’t want the film to advocate for anything at all, I just wanted to show a space that exists,” said Argentine filmmaker Martín Shanly about his notable debut film Juana a los 12 (Juana at 12) in an interview with film critic Ezequiel Boetti in Página 12 daily. “Perhaps it’s true that the educational system tries to label the kids into being this or that and if later on they don’t meet a series of requirements, they become a problem to be solved. But I don’t think my film probes too deep into that. Instead, it’s the story of a girl dealing with adults.” Shanly couldn’t be more right. Basically, that’s what Juana a los 12 is all about: a girl aged 12 at odds in a world of adults. More specifically, Juana attends a private and traditional English school in a well-off neighbourhood of Buenos Aires. She seems uninterested in both her classes and her leisure activities, as though she were somewhat withdrawn, an island onto herself. Her grades are low and keep getting lower. She said she’d like to be in a school play, yet she hasn’t learned her lines. So it’s no surprise that her teachers are worried about her and so they tell her mom that maybe the girl is having some kind of problem, be it psychological or emotional. They say that maybe she should have a medical check-up. Something must be wrong. To which her mom doesn’t know what to say; in fact, she seems pretty absentminded as well. Like her daughter, she too sometimes comes across as aloof and disconnected. Juana a los 12 is an acute, sensitive portrayal of all of Juana’s everyday activities, including of course the relationship with her friends, to whom she sometimes is an outsider whereas other times she seems welcomed. The fact is that Juana can be communicative enough when she wants to: for instance, when she wants to get invited to a party a schoolmate is organizing. The filmmaker also smartly addresses Juana’s relationship with her teachers, who can sometimes be mean and rude, but not necessarily out of anger. Perhaps it’s frustration that they feel and even adults often don’t know what to do with frustration. It’s equally true that other teachers are quite friendly and nurture her as best as possible. And then there’s Juana’s home life, without a father and with a somewhat unaffectionate mother. One striking characteristic about Shanly’s debut feature is how realistic it feels, how natural all performances, bonds and ties, and the drama itself come across. This sort of realism devoid of clichés and commonplace is very hard to achieve, but the filmmaker makes it look like child’s play. Another remarkable facet has to with the fact that you never get to really know what goes on inside Juana’s head — let alone get a medical diagnosis. Because the viewers are, first and foremost, nearby observers. However, at the same time, you get an inkling about her feelings, moods and thoughts. It so happens that when the camera gets closer to Juana, when some silences come to the foreground, when some occasional conversations do strike a particular chord, then this is when you stop being an observer and become someone sharing time with and around Juana. This feeling of immediacy is startling, almost uncanny, as if the acting had disappeared. And that’s not necessarily because Juana is played by Rosario Shanly, the filmmaker’s sister and a non-professional actress, or because Juana’s mother, María Passo, is in fact played by the filmmaker’s mother. A less talented director would have made a total mess of it all. Shanly, instead, is accomplished enough to craft moments of genuine emotional resonance such as the ones found in the works of John Cassavetes. Moreover, there’s an inventive dream sequence that introduces a different aesthetic into the film and shows how resourceful and daring a novel director can be when dealing with material he feels so comfortable and assured with. Production notes: Juana a los 12 (Argentina, Austria, 2014). Written and directed by Martín Shanly. With Rosario Shanly, María Passo, Maria Inés Sancerni, Camila Bontá, Javier Burin Heras. Cinematography: Roman Kasseroller. Editing: Ana Godoy, Javier Favot. Running time: 75 minutes. @pablsuarez
Terminal disease melodrama gives way to battle for equality POINTS: 5 Freeheld stars Julianne Moore, Ellen Page, Michael Shannon, and Steve Carell in a story based on true events: the lead character is diagnosed with a terminal disease and embarks on a legal battle in order to have justice prevail. It’s directed by Peter Sollet, a largely unknown director with only two previous films, Raising Victor Vargas (2002) being the only one worth mentioning. And it’s scripted by Ron Nyswaner, mostly a television screenwriter with just a few films under his belt, Philadelphia (1993) being the main achievement. As for Freeheld, let’s say it’s nothing much to write home about. It concerns New Jersey police lieutenant Laurel Hester (Julianne Moore), who’s dying from terminal lung cancer and so wants to make sure that her pension benefits are granted to her same-sex partner, Stacie Andree (Ellen Page), who’s almost 30 years younger and works as a car mechanic. However, under New Jersey’s Domestic Partnership Law, this request cannot be granted to state employees, so Laurel’s appeal is set aside by the decision of five state freeholders. In the meantime, she gets sicker and sicker while Stacie does her best to manage her harsh treatments. Amid so much despair, they are aided by Laurel’s longtime detective partner Dane Wells (Michael Shannon), who tries to help advance the case by appearing at every single town hall meeting with the freeholders. In addition, there’s Steven Goldstein (Steve Carell), a colourful, Jewish gay rights activist and the chairman for Garden State Equality. As it’s easy to see, it’s not the raw material that’s devoid of interest or singularity — on the contrary. But as is always the case, what matters is how this material is shaped into a film, and in turn how such a film is narrated. And this is where Freeheld fails by many accounts. All the scenes set at the town hall are pretty awful. Too often, the tone switches from fine drama to facile melodrama while ideas are spelled out to viewers as though they were dimwits. No subtext is to be found anywhere, characters come across as either victims or victimizers, and a sentimental edge makes it all the more unrealistic. You have your usual scenes where central characters stand up and address both their contenders and viewers with agitated speeches in favour of their cause. Which are justified and right by all means, ideologically speaking. But Nyswaner turns these scenes into soap opera stuff. Then, there’s the predictably annoying yet effective gay activist played all over the top by Carell. In fact, in terms of acting, he seems to belong to another movie — if there’s one thing to commend Freeheld for, it’s the performances of Moore (impeccable), Page (very convincing) and Shannon (pretty decent). When these three actors interact in some of the less spectacular scenes, the film acquires a ring of authenticity. I guess one can also be thankful for the omission of many scenes related to Laurel’s decline and suffering. So don’t expect anything in the vein of, say, Gus Van Sant’s Milk. It’s true that Freeholder could’ve been worse — for instance, one redeeming quality is the straightforward way in which Laurel and Stacie domestic relationship is portrayed — but still, it looks and sound as your average (and often below average) cable movie of the week where the terminally-ill fight for their rights against all odds. This material certainly deserved a better treatment. If it weren’t because of the actors, Freeheld would be of very little significance. production notes Freeheld (US, 2015) Director: Peter Sollet. Screenwriter: Ron Nyswaner, based on the documentary short by Cynthia Wade. With Julianne Moore, Ellen Page, Michael Shannon, Steve Carell. Director of photography: Maryse Alberti. Editor: Andrew Mondshein. Running time: 103 min.
Master filmmaker Jia Zhang-ke pits humanity against capitalism in ambitious drama POINTS: 8 Winner of the Audience Award at San Sebastián and of the ICS Cannes Award for Best Actress for Tao Zhao, Mountains May Depart, the new film by Chinese master Jia Zhang-ke (Platform, Still Life, The World, A Touch of Sin) is another small gem to be treasured for long after you’ve left the theatre. The diverse and often negative effects of China’s hastened economic growth and social development are once again at the core of a story set in three different times and on two continents. First set in Fenyang, a northern coal mining city and the director’s hometown, Mountains May Depart begins in 1999 in the eve of the new millennium as a group of people dancing happily to the Pet Shop Boys’s unmistakable Go West. It’s time for 18-year-old Tao (played by the director’s wife and muse Tao Zhao) to choose between two gentleman callers: honest but ordinary coal miner Liangzi and well-off and flashy Zhang. She knows Zhang is not that great a person, but nonetheless she falls for the promise of a better life. When Liangzi learns of Tao’s decision to stick with Zhang, he feels humiliated and leaves town. Thus begins the film’s first part. Then, 15 years later, Tao is even richer, but divorced and discontent. Her ex-husband won custody of their seven-year-old son, who lives a comfortable life with him in Shanghai. At the same time, Liangzi is very sick and returns to Fenyang to get some money for medical treatments. It’s now time for Tao to face the man she didn’t choose once and who now needs her help. Needless to say, emotional connections will be hard to forge. Fast-forward another 10 years, and now Tao’s son is living with his father in Australia. They had to leave China because Zhang was accused of corruption. Tao’s son, aptly named Dollar, is clueless as to what he wants to do in life, refuses to speak Chinese to his father, but eventually finds some emotional solace with his Chinese teacher, a much older woman who’s also lonely and in need of affection. That’s all you need to know about Mountains May Depart. It may be even more than necessary. But as is the case with Jia Zhang-ke’s sometimes marvellous, other times just remarkable movies, what happens is not so important as how the director immerses viewers into the plot and, even more importantly, into the minds, souls and hearts of his characters. Identity, tradition and the need for human beings to connect are also at the core of a film permeated by melancholy and a sense of lost love and loss at large. There’s also room for regret, even when regret can’t accomplish a single thing. A story that began with a romantic triangle back in 1999 is then transformed into a story where a side of any geometric figure is always missing. It would seem that what these characters lost, whether because they had it or because they thought they would have it, has marked them for life. And it would seem that life repeats itself in cycles, and yet what’s lost is lost for good. Arguably Jia Zhang-ke’s most linear and accessible film so far, Mountains May Depart sometimes leads you to believe there might be a way to erase past wrongs, and yet more often than not such a way turns out to be illusory. With a great use of ellipsis — for what the filmmaker opts not to show is equally important as what he shows — a beautiful cinematography that creates atmospheres which fully convey what the spoken word could only merely reference, a stunning performance of exceptional refinement by Tao Zhao, a superb musical score that sets mood as well and includes Go West at a very ending in a moment that redefines its use in the beginning, Mountains May Depart may not be a perfect film (the last third feels a bit awkward) but it sure is one of the most satisfying features released so far this year. production notes Mountains May Depart (2015). Written and directed by Jia Zhang-ke. With Tao Zhao, Zhang Yi, Liang Jin Dong, Dong Zijian, Sylvia Chang, Han Sanming. Cinematography: Yu Lik Wai. Editing: Matthieu Laclau. Running time: 126 minutes. @pablsuarez
Brotherhood shines in Georgian antiwar film By Pablo Suarez Oscar-nominated Tangerines is a mix of stunning visuals and political correctness POINTS: 7 It’s 1992 and the former Soviet Republic of Georgia is warring with Abkhazia. The conflict has forced almost all Estonians to return to their homeland, but a few still remain despite the dire circumstances. Among them, there’s Ivo (Lembit Ulfsak), an introverted grandfather who makes wooden crates in his workshop just outside his humble abode in a quiet village in a mountain valley. He needs to make enough crates to contain the season’s crop of tangerines of his neighbour Margus (Elmo Nuganen), who has to collect as much money as possible in order to go back to Estonia. Both Ivo’s and Margus’ families returned to their homeland when the war began. One day, they get caught in a confrontation between Georgian soldiers and Chechen mercenaries who fight for Abkhazian separatists backed by Russia. Only two men survive (one from each side) though they are seriously wounded. So Ivo allows them to stay in his home until they get better. Ahmed (Giorgi Nakhashidze) is a Chechen mercenary whereas Niko (Mikheil Meskhi) is Georgian. Ahmed swears he will kill Niko in no time, but Ivo makes him promise that he won’t do it under his roof. Ahmed is a man of his word, so he will keep his promise. During the period of convalescence that ensues, Niko and Ahmed maintain a tense relationship with some violent outbursts. But Ivo is the man who calls the shots and so he orders them to calm down. Unexpectedly (or not), this truce eventually gives way to a more peaceful coexistence. At the same time, Margus is worried that the soldiers who told him they’d buy his tangerines may not show up at all. So the crop will be wasted, and clearly it’s the symbolical aspect what matters the most. First and foremost, Tangerines, written and directed by Zaza Urushadze and Oscar nominated for Best Foreign Language Film in 2013, is extremely well-shot. Cinematography is startlingly unobtrusive in interiors and subtly expressive in exteriors. So realistic environments are thus rendered with alluring transparency. Its mise-en-scene is theatrical, but in a good way — as opposite of being staged for the camera. Much of the film transpires inside Ivo’s house and the narrative is very effective in exposing its major and minor subjects via a carefully constructed script that neatly ties all its notions together — perhaps a bit too neatly and not leaving room for ambiguity or contradictions, which are often the film’s drawbacks. Second, the ensemble acting is to be praised from beginning to end. Since Ivo is arguably the richest character who articulates the entire drama, his performance is the one with most nuances, more substance, eloquent restraint, and a sense of mystery as regards his most profound feelings. Nonetheless, the three other actors sink their teeth in their characters as well and so stereotypes are eschewed. An air of familiarity and brotherhood flows among the four men and their conversations, for the most part, ring true. Third, and this is when things start getting muddy, the film’s ideological angle — which is precisely what makes Tangerines what it is — is often too politically correct, rather naïve and occasionally unnecessarily sentimental. Ahmed’s and Niko’s transition from enemies to the human beings beneath the soldiers is hard to buy. For a film that aspires to be realistic, Tangerines is too romantic, and not for its own good. Of course, it’s a fable, perhaps even a morality tale, but then again it didn’t necessarily have to be contrived. The very ending itself that celebrates brotherhood among men (and not war and death) is both implausible and didactic. For the matter, the entire film is didactic as it strives hard to convey a life lesson. That said, if taken strictly in cinematic terms and leaving aside its political correctness, Tangerines is more than worth seeing for what it gets right. Production notes Mandariinid (Tangerines, Georgia/Estonia, 2013). Written and directed by Zaza Urushadze. With Lembit Ulfsak, Mikheil Meskhi, Giorgi Nakhashidze, Elmo Nuganen, Raivo Trass. Cinematography: Rein Kotov. Editing: Alexander Kuranov. Running time: 86 minutes. @pablsuarez
POINTS: 6 Spanish production Los exiliados románticos (The Romantic Exiles) is the new film by Jonás Trueba, the son of Oscar winner Fernando Trueba, and his follow-up to Los ilusos (The Wishful Thinkers), and both have so far received a good deal of praise from critics at large and viewers in the art-house circuit. This time, Trueba focuses once again on the existential dilemmas of a small group of friends reaching their thirties. Vito (Vito Sanz), Luis (Luis E. Parés), and Francesco (Francesco Carril) are three friends who decide to take a trip by van to Paris without having a clear purpose. Actually, they hope to meet the three girls they once had brief, yet intense, love affairs with not that long ago. Call it a journey into the ever surprising realm of feelings and new experiences in matters of the heart and you’d be right. Trueba himself said that he wanted to make a lightweight piece where the characters and their conversations about love, friendship, the end of youth and life in general would take centre stage. They would be the film itself. That has been achieved. In a naturalistic manner, with a script developed while shooting, these six characters engage into casual verbal exchanges and loosely meditate upon their queries — never in a solemn manner, which is quite welcome. However, and this may be a personal matter (or not), I was seldom moved or involved into their joys and tribulations. Perhaps my larger appreciation of the work of Richard Linklater and Eric Rohmer isn’t of much help either. But it feels Trueba’s feature is pretty derivative of the imprint found in the films of these two accomplished filmmakers (Rohmer in the first place), but without their often insightful subtext and dramatic richness, and with an off-putting dose of self-indulgence. On the plus side, the comedic edge of Los exiliados románticos is to be celebrated. Problems arise when for the most part what’s said, and even how it’s said, does not ring as authentic as it’s meant to. These characters are not really having trivial and lightweight conversations, but pretending they are doing so. The same goes for the straight-forward mise-en-scene: it looks as it’s been staged to be merely casual looking. But performances often do make a difference for the better and so half a dozen scenes, or more precisely some tiny moments in those scenes, are effective enough to keep the story moving forward. As for the other half, they are plainly dull and uninteresting. Los exiliados románticos has plenty of literary references, chiefly to the essay The Little Virtues, by Italian writer Natalia Ginzburg, and oddly enough they don’t sound forced or pretentious. That’s surely because what Ginzburg says in her essay may be said in a plain manner, and nonetheless be filled with substance. Too bad Trueba’s new opus fails to be nearly as substantial or questioning. Production notes Los exiliados románticos (Spain, 2015). Written and directed by Jonás Trueba. With Vito Sanz, Francesco Carril, Luis E. Pares, Renata Antonante, Isabelle Stoffel, Miren Iza. Cinematography: Santiago Racaj. Editing: Marta Velasco. Running time: 70 minutes. @pablsuarez
Christopher Plummer plays dementia-addled man who mounts implausible revenge journey POINTS 4 It’s been such a long time since Atom Egoyan made a remarkable film that I can hardly remember what they used to be like. I guess Felicia’s Journey was one of the last remarkable ones — and that was back in 1999. So it’s not really a surprise that his new outing Remember, starring Christopher Plummer and Martin Landau, is at best another failed work with lofty ambitions and not much of a brain. It’s the type of film that gets all the more unbelievable as it unfolds and the very ending comes to prove it can always get worse. This time, Egoyan addresses the Holocaust in such a pedestrian way that you often wonder if he — or first-time screenwriter August Benjamin — actually care for the subject, its complexity and its many implications. Maybe they do, but voluntarily or not, they simplify it, trivialize it, and disrespect it. For starters, the absurd plot is eloquent enough. Zev Guttman (Christopher Plummer) is a recently widowed 90-year-old Auschwitz survivor who’s started to suffer from dementia and so lives in an expensive nursing home near New York. He’s friends with scholar Max Rosenbaum (Martin Landau), another Auschwitz survivor, now wheel-chair bound, who has worked for the Simon Wiesenthal Centre and has tracked down four Nazis living in North America. Max gives Zev an envelope full of cash and a long letter with instructions for a meticulous plan Zev had promised to carry out following his wife’s death. It so happens that Max is certain that one of the four suspects is the Auschwitz Blockführer (the prison block commander) who had slain his own family as well as Max’s some 70 years ago. Since the Nazi criminal has evaded justice, it’s now Zev’s duty to avenge their families and make the man, who goes by the fake name of Rudy Kurlander, pay for his crimes. That is to say, to kill him. Let’s now start with the far-fetched plot. First, two very old men, one of them with growing dementia and the other stuck in a wheelchair and hooked up to an oxygen supply, have the acumen and resources to design and execute an elaborate plan to kill a Nazi criminal who not even the Justice Department has been able to find. Second, Zev flees the nursing home easily and has no trouble at all travelling on his own, despite his dementia drawbacks. Third, thanks to his charm and naivety, he manages to buy a gun without raising suspicions and without having his criminal and mental health background checked by the sales man. Fourth, he also manages to cross the Canadian border with an expired passport thanks to a kind officer who turns a blind eye and asks for his driver’s licence instead. Fifth, he has easy and swift access to where the two first Kurlander suspects live, only to realize they were the wrong men — one of them was actually another Auschwitz survivor, which allows for a cheesy moment of sentimentalism punctuated by purposefully heartbreaking music. Now what’s really insulting to viewers’ intelligence is what happens when Zev gets to the home of the third suspect, where he meets not the man — who passed away three months before — but his son, an anti-Semite state trooper who proudly shows him his dad’s collection of swastikas, an SS uniform, a copy of Mein Kampf, and some other such stuff. The thing is, the state trooper doesn’t know who Zev is — he hasn’t even asked him why he came to see his father. By the time he asks him, he’s already shown him the Nazi memorabilia, so you can rightly guess he’s not happy to see a Jew in his house. Spoiler: Zev isn’t happy to see the memorabilia either, so he shoots the state trooper and his fierce German shepherd with the skill of an accomplished shooter. And to think he had never fired a gun before in his life. That’s what you’d call beginner’s luck. Then, finally, there’s the big twist at the end. And what a ludicrous, moronic and offensive twist it is. As to avoid another spoiler, suffice it to say that a certain someone was not really who you thought. In fact, he was not really who he thought he was himself. Because in the end you just have to remember, whether you like it or not, as the movie’s title tells you to do. Not only that, but in retrospect, the whole plot turns even more unbelievable and lurid. So cheap melodrama, obvious allegories, and lousy screenwriting take centre stage big time. By the way, the performance by Christopher Plummer is the one and only asset of Remember. Even with this poor material, this veteran actor knows how to convey profound feelings, human fragility and existential turmoil that almost always ring true. Other than, forget Remember. production notes Remember (Canada, 2015). Directed by Atom Egoyan. Written by Benjamin August. With Christopher Plummer, Martin Landau, Bruno Ganz, Jurgen Prochnow, Heinz Lieven, Dean Norris, Henry Czerny. Cinematography: Paul Sarossy. Editing: Christopher Donaldson. Running time: 95 minutes. @pablsuarez
PONTS: 7 La niña de tacones amarillos, the debut film of Argentine filmmaker Luján Loioco, is a true surprise among so many local films that lack an imprint of their own. Not that its plot is astonishing (it’s not) but rather because it’s down-to-earth and yet the delicacy and insight in how it is narrated make a substantial difference. With no stridence and no obvious observations, Loioco builds up a character study that has many layers which contrast with its deceptively simple façade. The story takes place today in a very small town in the northeast of the country, where a big, classy hotel is being built in what constitutes a first for the locals. Isabel (Mercedes Burgos) is a teenage girl with a special allure. She doesn’t have the sort of striking beauty that most men fall for, but instead she’s seductive because her beauty is both natural and intriguing. Along with her somewhat bossy, yet very loving mother, she works on the hotel’s premises doing small jobs. It doesn’t take long for her to realize she’s the object of desire of many workers, particularly Miguel (Manuel Vignau), who certainly knows a trick or two to gain the girl’s attention. It also helps that Isabel wants to have new experiences that can bring some excitement into her otherwise dull daily life. Smart and resourceful, she will get some of the things she wants thanks to her sex appeal, but unfortunately some other things she’s curious about will prove dangerous and, eventually, harmful. Loioco discreetly observes how Lucía transforms from a girl into a woman via new sexual experiences that may first feel awkward, but then give way to unknown pleasures. With no judgmental gaze whatsoever, the filmmaker first addresses the surface of things only to further focus on the deeper feelings. To Lucía, sex is a means to enter a different world where she can stop being the young teenager always under her mom’s eye. La niña de tacones amarillos is mainly a film about defining your identity as a more mature person. It’s about changes and movement, which it’s not to say that these transformations only bring satisfaction since the pains of growing up are also bound to surface at any time. A very unobtrusive camera, a languid and meditative atmosphere, and convincingly natural performances with Mercedes Burgos heading the list, are some of the most remarkable traits of an apparently small story that opts to use dialogue to convey what’s strictly necessary and then leaves unsaid that which matters the most. After all, most significant changes take place inside the heart and the soul so often the spoken word is not the best tool to account for them. Fleeting glances, gestures, silences and small talk are more likely to do the trick. And so do behaviour, actions and reactions. La niña de tacones amarillos is a perfect case in point. Production notes La niña de tacones amarillos (Argentina, 2015). Written and directed by Luján Loioco. With Mercedes Burgos, Manuel Vignau, María Fernanda Domínguez, Emiliana Di Pasquo. Cinematography: Martín Frías. Editing: Anita Remon. Running time: 74 minutes. @pablsuarez
Winner of the Best Actress Award at Cannes and nominated for 6 César Awards, including Best Film, Best Director, Best Actress and Best Actor, Mon roi, the new film by French actress-turned-filmmaker Maiwenn, focuses on the story of Tony (Emanuelle Bercot), a divorced woman in her forties who’s recently suffered a skiing accident and is now at a rehabilitation centre recovering from a severe leg trauma. Perhaps for the first time in her life, Tony has to depend on doctors and painkillers while enduring painful rehabilitation exercises. The recovery process is long, so now she has plenty of time to reflect on her relationship with her handsome ex husband Giorgio (Vincent Cassel). Tempestuous and highly emotional, their affair brought about much bliss as well as a good deal of suffering to both. Giorgio could very well be charming and sexy, and yet also inconsiderate and selfish, let alone immature. Tony became sort of infatuated with him from the moment they met, and as she got to know him she thought she’d found the right man to share her life with. And though they enjoyed endless happy days together, it wasn’t long before she started to realize they were not actually made for each other. Sooner rather than later, she got pregnant and the prospect of a baby proved rewarding, but it also eroded their relationship some more. From then on, their marriage started going downhill. There's nothing extraordinary about Mon roi’s storyline. There are no unexpected twists and turns in the narrative. There are no transcendental meanings or revelatory insights. Not even the way the story is narrated is original, as sequences of Tony's treatment at the rehab centre are intercut with recollections of her marriage, back and forth, until the very ending in which she’s nearly fully recovered. Nonetheless, Mon roi is extremely engaging, very believable and notably vital. Narrated from Tony's point of view, much of the film’s appeal is due to the characters’ nuances and contradictions, which render them likable and unlikable human beings. Maiwenn works with archetypes and she does so cleverly: she doesn’t strictly follow blueprints, but instead recreates her characters’ essence with different traits as to make them singular. In turn, these characters are effortlessly brought to life by an ensemble of confident actors — they deliver gripping performances that never feel rehearsed. Even in the most typical situations, the performances in Mon roi look and sound alive and natural. Much truth is also to be found in the dynamics of this couple with a love and hate relationship. Neither of them is ever demonized or sanctified, as they try to do their best even when their best is obviously not enough. Which shouldn’t come as a surprise for anyone involved in a sentimental relationship. Individually, Tony and Giorgio are surely capable of having functional relationships, but together they clash too often for their love to last. Sometimes lovers break up not because they don’t love each other, but because they just cannot be together in spite of their love. A simple truth such as this is perfectly represented in this French couple’s love story, and it’s done in a down-to-earth, easy to recognize manner. Very entertaining and alluring, Mon roi is a mature and understanding chronicle of a love affair that features remarkable scenes with a steady feeling of authenticity and true sentiment. @PablSuarez
Visually-arresting take on life and death in northern Brazil Dandara de Morais and Geova Manoel dos Santos in a scene from Gabriel Mascaro’s Emigrante. POINTS: 7 Ventos de agosto (August Winds) is the pro-mising fiction film debut of Brazilian visual artist and documentary filmmaker Gabriel Mascaro, a contemplative meditation on nature, existence, daylight and twilight on northeastern Brazil. It’s a laconic, leisurely-paced yet somehow intense take on the shades that make up everyday existence in an isolated environment. Often visually arresting, poetic and atmospheric, Ventos de agosto does sometimes fail to pay off in narrative terms as style takes over substance and you could say nothing much happens — but nonetheless it always remains a sensorial pleasure. Shirley (Dandara de Morais) is a good-looking young woman from the big city who has arrived to town to care for her aging grandmother. Shirley’s mother has sent her there for this very purpose, so you can imagine the girl is less than thrilled to be so far away, keeping busy with a rather unexciting task. But she’s managed to find a job at a coconut plantation, where she meets Jeison (Geova Manoel dos Santos), a muscular young worker who dives for seafood in his spare time. Jeison lives with his father (Antonio Jose dos Santos), a strict man who won’t let him out of his sight at almost any time. However, Jeison and Shirley manage to find a place of their own to engage in hot sex: Shirley’s coconut-filled trailer. The two lovers exude life in its entire splendour, which contrasts with the overwhelming presence of abandonment and death surrounding them. Their young, firm bodies are a living testimony of the exuberance of youth, even when there’s a pervading ambiance of melancholy all around them. With strikingly alluring photography — yet don’t imagine cheesy postcard images at all — that conveys many layers of both beauty and darkness, Mascaro allows the film to breathe freely at all times, as the sound of omnipresent strong winds emphasizes the arid wilderness of the land. Some 40 minutes into the film, Mascaro shows up to play a meteorologist who comes for some measurements and recordings. De Morais is the only professional actress, and yet you wouldn’t be able to tell that all the other characters are played by locals, considering how convincing they all look and sound. Due to its visual design and ambiance, Ventos de agosto demands to be watched at a movie theatre and not at home on a smaller screen. And while every now and then you may feel that description takes over narration — and so you are being fed more of the same — bear in mind it certainly won’t prevent you from the pleasure of this textured, moody and languid feature. Production notes Ventos de agosto (Brazil, 2014). Directed by Gabriel Mascaro. Written by Gabriel Mascaro, Rachel Ellis. With Dandara de Morais, Geova Manoel dos Santos, Maria Salvino dos Santos, Antonio Jose dos Santos, Gabriel Mascaro. Cinematography: Gabriel Mascaro. Editing: Ricardo Pretti, Eduardo Serrano. Running time: 75 minutes. @pablsuarez
First and foremost, Cédric Jimenez’s La French (The Connection) is not a remake of William Friedkin’s famous The French Connection (1971) or Philippe Lefebvre’s Le juge (1984) but a different movie on the same theme: the Marseilles-based drug-trafficking mafia which in the 1960s and 1970s exported heroin from Turkey to the US with France as a point of connection. More precisely, La French tells the story of a French police magistrate who devotes years of his life to take down one of France’s most powerful drug lords. Pierre Michel (Jean Dujardin) is a keen father and husband who often goes out of his way to do the best for his next of kin, and yet his job takes up so much of his time and focus that he’s become a practically-absent family man. On top of that, his wife rightfully points out that his life is always at risk considering he’s pursuing dangerous and untouchable kingpin Tany Zampa (Gilles Lelouche). On the other hand, while it’s true that Zampa’s heroin is killing records numbers of people left and right, he’s also a caring family man who won’t allow that anything bad to happen to his loved ones. La French is an effective, well-timed action crime drama that often feels like a throwback to classic French film noir, but it also bears traits of crime movies by Scorsese, Mann, De Palma, Melville, and Sautet. So as the genre calls for, expect showdowns, shootouts, car chases aplenty and drug-smuggling operations aplenty — all of them convincing and well-executed. Police corruption, an ambience of despair, cynicism and suffering victims complete a scenario that’s surely not a pretty sight. Only Michel truly makes up for so much darkness and yet only for so long. The performances are correct and in sync, hardly over the top or one dimensional. Yet it’s only fair to point out that Gilles Lelouche’s work is bound to be more memorable, most likely because his character is just more interesting. As for the other formal aspects — cinematography, editing, musical score, camerawork — there’s nothing to complain about. It’s all been done by the book without a single misstep. However, don’t expect any sort of innovations or, let’s say, traces of a personal style for there are none. In short, La French is the type of entertaining feature with some nice twists and high points here and there that you’ve seen quite a few times before. Nonetheless, it does the trick. Production notes La French / The Connection (France, 2014) Directed by Cedric Jimenez. Written by Cedric Jimenez, Audrey Diwan. With Jean Dujardin, Gilles Lellouche, Celine Sallette, Benoit Magimel. Cinematography: Laurent Tangy. Editing: Sophie Reine. Running time: 135 minutes. @pablsuarez