JACOB POWELL reflects on Day One of the Auckland International Film Festival.

DAY ONE of TNZIFF 2007 saw me chew through four titles. Actually, the first film, Death at a Funeral, played the gala opening the Thursday night before official “day one”. Downstairs from the Civic Theatre in the pleasant surrounds Wintergarden festival lounge we were treated to some fine Triplebank wine and sponsor cocktails and a very reasonable opening speech delivered by Helen Clark – a step up from Judith Tizard’s appearance last year. The Prime Minister managed to be succinct (a definite bonus) while also displaying a very real interest in film. You got the feeling that she would be making her way to at least a few movies this festival.

The festival organisers made a wiser choice this year for the gala opening film than in previous years. Not that I prefer Frank Oz to Ken Loach and the like, but as the majority of attendees are besuited sponsors and partners (rather than filmheads), the lighter-hearted film prevented another mass exodus as seen in 2006 twenty minutes into The Wind that Shakes the Barley.


I was in two minds walking into Death at a Funeral. On the one hand it includes a pretty decent cast of (mainly British) comic actors. On the other hand I couldn’t stop thinking of the awfulness that was Bowfinger. And what about The Muppets? How were they fitting into this festival? But my fears were soothed; director Frank Oz serves up a clever little situation comedy choc full of laugh-out-loud humour – even if it regularly crosses the border into Stilleresque puerility.

Matthew MacFadyen sheds his In My Father’s Den gravitas to play the slightly whiney, taken advantage of son, Daniel, who is organising the funeral for his beloved father. Rupert Graves puts in a likeable turn as successful and mildly lecherous brother Robert, in whose shadow Daniel lives. Supporting cast includes such recognisable talent as: Ewen Bremner (Trainspotting, Match Point), Keeley Hawes (Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story), Alan Tudyk (Firefly/Serenity) Kris Marshall (Love Actually), and Peter Dinklage (The Station Agent).

All the action takes place in their family home (or on the way to it) and the majority of the humour derives from the morass of family relationships which would resonate, to some degree, with most viewers. There are plenty of Something About Mary-style moments for those who swing that way, though the British cast and setting somehow make these far more palatable and charming than they might otherwise be. I suspect that many of the older members of the audience wouldn’t have found much of the physical humour so enjoyable if it had actually been performed by Ben Stiller and bunch of other American accented over-actors. In the final analysis this terribly obvious comedy actually works for what it is – an easy, enjoyable laugh. I would happily slot Death at a Funeral in between a run of darker films in my schedule.


My first film of official day one was also my favourite. Welcome to Glasgow, a city with Orwellian “Big Brother” eyes, in a story where the stalked becomes the stalker. You can feel the Von Trier association in Andrea Arnold’s debut feature and she manages to construct a film which is beautifully realised. Foregoing a score she lets the urban soundscape of Glaswegian housing estates soundtrack Red Road, adding noticeably to film’s heightened mood. In repetitious shots of life observed via security cameras, Arnold and cinematographer Robbie Ryan find tension in the monotonous rhythm of the everyday and this becomes instantly palpable onscreen. Protagonist, Jackie, appears to invert her unexplained relationship with ex-con Clyde and we spend the majority of the screen time exploring her response to a situation we are not acquainted with. Red Road is put together well enough for this to work – past hurts are not obvious and details are supplied only as the plot scenario allows. But the real value is the way in which Jackie’s emotional trauma ultimately plays out as much in calculated revenge as in instinct. The ending seems a little to nice and tied up for such a piece but certainly isn’t trite and doesn’t ruin the film. This is a well deserved Cannes award winner and I am looking forward to the rest of the trilogy.


Kicking off to the unmistakeable tones of Jan Hammer (who scored the Don Johnson Miami Vice TV series from the 80s) Cocaine Cowboys bucks and jerks like the brash beast it is. Though the documentary flows in very measured movements, the constituent pieces within these movements are erratic, with sudden MTV-like cutting between current and archival footage. I would not be surprised if the claim that this was edited on speed is more truth than rumour. Anchored primarily by interviews with two major players in the 70s/80s Miami coke scene (who subsequently did prison time and have now been released) Billy Corben attempts a broad sketch of Miami’s transformation as a city. Starting out a sleepy seaside locale for retirees, the quickly burgeoning drug trade – first marijuana, then cocaine – turned Miami into the fast-money capital of America. As the drug trade became more entrenched, competition inevitably sprang up. Unfortunately these competitors were armed to the teeth with automatic weapons and shotguns, not necessarily accompanied with good sense. Thus began the drugs wars spawning the titular “Cocaine Cowboys”.

Mixed in with the enthusiastic recollections are more sober commentaries from the members of the legal community and local government, the doctors who had to deal with the burgeoning death tolls, and a journalist who laments the human cost of what currently trendy, party-town Miami is built upon.

The attitude of the various drug runners, dealers, cartel enforcers and the like is both amusing and downright scary. Corben certainly plays the film in the vein of a Miami Vice episode (keeping it cool and unconnected in its reality) but with a decent coating of irony coming through in the whole experience. Certainly an interesting and entertaining watch, Cocaine Cowboys disturbs that it entertains so easily. The other problem, from a viewing perspective, is one of obesity, the film could have benefited from losing about 30mins of runtime.


Well I dare say that I shouldn’t be surprised to find that a Michael Winterbottom film satisfies even if it does have a strong ‘Brangelina’ connection. Jolie (mostly) manages an admirable level of restraint as the beset wife of kidnapped journalist Daniel Pearl. She even produces a hybrid French accent to put Brad to shame (see his shocker Austrian attempt in Seven Years in Tibet!). A Mighty Heart does a good job of portraying events and feelings from Mariane Pearl’s point of view and this is the lens through which Winterbottom informs our picture of Daniel Pearl. Seen mostly through her flashbacks they do not attempt to speculate on the unknown details of his last days but remain focused on the confusion and chaos surrounding it. I particularly enjoyed the use of crowded twisting cityscape to mirror these feelings. Every street leads to another almost, but not quite, the same. Every building could be one you already been through. The regularity of an early morning call to prayer juxtaposed with the mad rush of daily life lends weight to the frustrated futility of their task. A Might Heart is not Michael Winterbottom’s crowning glory (though it may be Angleina Jolie’s), but neither is it the embarrassing piece he will be trying to forget that I thought it might be.