The Lumière Reader

The Lumière Reader » Film http://lumiere.net.nz/reader/ New Zealand's only online journal dedicated to film criticism and review en-us Nucleus CMS v3.2 Weblog http://backend.userland.com/rss http://lumiere.net.nz/reader//nucleus/nucleus2.gif The Lumière Reader » Film http://lumiere.net.nz/reader/ <![CDATA[Forbidden Quest (2006)]]> http://lumiere.net.nz/reader//item/1900 GREGOR CAMERON reports from the Wellington Film Society. This week: Korea, take two.

A DIRTY thought makes the world spin around, but a decent moral sets a stable tone. There’s something very alluring about circling the darker side of human sexuality and Kim Dae-Woo’s film Forbidden Quest gets it just right. He leads us into the seedy world, involves us in the dialogue about the rights and wrongs of it, without ever descending into the deliberately prurient.Set in the Chosun Period of Korean history, it easily evokes the 18th century period through its sets and costumes – paper lanterns and not a Daewoo in sight. However, in common with other films of facsimile history, at times it reminds us that it is speaking to an audience of the 21st century. Most apparent is the inclusion of the concept of ‘message boards’ suggested by the comments left inside the ‘indecent’ books and the ‘moving’ pictures used as a final gag at the end. And here is the crux of why this film was such a great piece of cinema – it was incredibly funny at the same time that it engages with some pretty important social commentary. Clearly it is to be counted within the same set of genre movies as Stage Beauty, Moliere, and most famously Shakespeare in Love. It courts history without ever really pretending to be history

Kim Yoon-Seo (Han Suk-kyu) finds himself both fascinated by the indecent books he writes and in love with a woman he oughtn’t be even thinking about – he follows “orders from there’ (his groin) rather than ‘orders from here’ (his brain). This leads him into a dual battle with the state. Thus with his distribution of these illicit books and his growing obsession over the ‘Queen’, the king’s favourite concubine – Jung-bin (Kim Min-Jung), we travel a perilous road that only seems to lead into darkness. And it does get dark. But Kim Dae-Woo doesn’t ever descend too far and while no-one ends happily ever after there are plenty of indications that a ‘happy’ resolution may be in the future for all the characters, somehow. Kim’s direction of this piece, as a first time director, betrays his experience within the industry as he produces a film that deserves far a wider audience than the Film Society – thank goodness they brought this gem in.

Its running time could feel epic but Kim’s balanced interpretation of his own script means that as an audience we are lead logically down a road that has us laughing, concerned, shocked and entertained in generous measure, but you are carried along in such a way that, in common with the best of epic films, means you hardly feel the time passing and the annoying jiggle of the cell phone in your pocket goes completely ignored. In short the tricks can be ignored because the story carries us so nicely.

The final word can be left to the king, who in one of the most poignant moments says “the ones who love the most, are always the losers.” And sometimes losing is the only way of winning – such is the truth perhaps in the debate about pornography.

Film Societies in twelve centres across the country run an annual programme of weekly/bi-monthly film screenings: everything from Hollywood classics, to director retrospectives, to rare one-off showings, to memorable festival films. Membership entitles the holder free admission to screenings for an entire year. More details, plus links to adjoining film societies, are available at filmsociety.wellington.net.nz.

» Kim Dae-woo | Korea | 2006

]]> Imprints http://lumiere.net.nz/reader/index.php?itemid=1900 Wed, 08 Oct 2008 20:24:00 +1300 <![CDATA[Taika Waititi: The Finest of Homecomings]]> http://lumiere.net.nz/reader//item/1899 Taika Waititi is shooting The Volcano, a full-length redux of Two Cars, One Night, in March. The setting: beautiful Waihau Bay, where Taika grew up and Tama Poata/Barry Barclay’s awesome Ngati was shot. ALEXANDER BISLEY asked Taika five quick questions.

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How do you represent the East Coast?

Te Whanau a Apanui is my Iwi. I think the fact grew up on the Coast means it is always somehow affecting the work I do. It’s the same with the city too. I guess having a city and country upbringing was a real benefit – experiencing the best and worst of both worlds has influenced my artistic and social tastes.

What do you want the audience to take away from your work?

A receipt. Actually because my films will never be huge hits I have to rely on reaching smaller niche audiences. This is fine though, as reaching anyone and changing something about their outlook is great. My films have certain qualities most mainstream audiences aren’t used to and therefore they won’t appeal to everyone. But if I can at least find a small group who get something out of them then I’m happy. I like hearing from people now and then who really identify with the characters or themes in my work. I think success should be measured by how people get the film, not how much money it makes. Film is not a financially secure medium so I’m not really in it for the money.

Your Flight of the Conchords episode on racism was sensational. How do you think race relations are in New Zealand? How are things for Maori?

I think things are getting better for Maori but New Zealand is still a racist environment. The people who get upset by that comment are usually the ones who don’t understand or recognise this racism. And it’s not just against Maori either. There is a lot of reverse racism and follow on prejudice that is projected onto smaller minority groups. It’s easy to believe it isn’t there but it is. Just look at the way the press handles news involving Polynesian and Maori.

What are our key social issues?

Well it’s different for everyone. If you want to talk about Maori social issues then we’d talk about poverty, alcoholism, Treaty issues and the Foreshore debacle. If you want to talk about Pakeha we’d talk about immigrants with cultural identity issues. If you want something that encompasses everyone then I would say environmental issues are key right now.

What are New Zealand strengths over other countries? Why make art here?

A foreigner accurately described New Zealand as “a hive of mediocrity”. I agree with this statement because I believe we celebrate the mundane. Our artists get away with a lot when it comes to non-innovative creativity. I think this is one of the main reasons people leave; there just isn’t the support to nurture the risk-taking needed in art. When people who are responsible for the funding or production of new art fail to push the boundaries or take risks then we have to settle for boring, middle of the road results.

]]> Film Feature http://lumiere.net.nz/reader/index.php?itemid=1899 Mon, 06 Oct 2008 18:10:00 +1300 <![CDATA[Driving With My Wife’s Lover (2006)]]> http://lumiere.net.nz/reader//item/1892 BRANNAVAN GNANALINGAM reports from the Wellington Film Society. This week: Korea, take one.

KOREA has undoubtedly been making some of the great art/cult/commercial cinema of the last decade, assisted no doubt by the rigid quota systems (which unfortunately is being eroded), heavy investment, and a commercially sustainable population. The Film Society has decided to show a mini-collection of Korean films, from recent years, and provides a chance to see some Korean films which haven’t made the Film Festival or much of a dent on the local circuit. Driving With My Wife’s Lover mines similar territories to the great Hong Sang-soo, with a symmetrical(ish) structure, ménage-a-trois/quatre, and a beady depiction of contemporary Korean relationships. While it doesn’t have the resonance or overall sharpness of Hong, the film is a wry, fractured take on masculinity.Tae-han (Kwang-jung Park) suspects that his wife Eun-soo (Kim Sung-mi) is having an affair. He catches a long-distance taxi home with Joon-sik (Jung Bo-suk), a serial philanderer, and the one sleeping with Eun-soo. (It’s interesting the names don’t appear in the film’s credits.) The tension arises from the taxi driver’s naivety to the situation, and Tae-han slightly deranged persona. However, Tae-han finds himself executing revenge in a much more damaging way to Joon-sik.

The film is anchored by the likable performances and characters – unlike many other male angst films, the characters aren’t wholly unlikable. Admittedly, the film plays up Joon-sik’s hypocrisy – he’s more than willing to say there’s no such thing as adultery, only love. However, the performances work to anchor the characters in believable situations. The female characters do suffer in the storylines – the male characters are much better drawn. The film is not particularly successful with its forced quirkiness either. Cascading watermelons, random helicopter flights, or stamps bearing the word “fuck” occasionally jar with the tone, and the humour does occasionally feel a little forced (i.e. unrelated to characterisation or tone). That said, Tai-sik Kim displays a good visual sense and some striking images (such as the car winding up a curvy road at night) resonate. There’s a visual and thematic fascination with u-turns, with returns, with unpredictable directional shifts. The film’s view of Korean relationship highlights a stuttering morality, and a disastrous double-standard in terms of gender – and even if the film doesn’t quite have the emotional power of relationship films at their best, it’s a pleasant watch nonetheless.

]]> Imprints http://lumiere.net.nz/reader/index.php?itemid=1892 Wed, 01 Oct 2008 18:54:00 +1300 <![CDATA[A State of Siege/In Spring One Plants Alone (1978/80)]]> http://lumiere.net.nz/reader//item/1887 BRANNAVAN GNANALINGAM reports from the Wellington Film Society. This week: priming Rain of the Childen.

VINCENT WARD is probably the closest figure to an auteur in New Zealand, which means even his noble failures (such as River Queen) are worthy of consideration. His visual palettes and the understated yet complex moods are brilliantly constructed, and he was able to maintain these tropes even within his mixed American career. Given the release of Rain of the Children, the Film Society in a nice piece of foresight, screened two of Ward’s earlier films – A State of Siege based on a Janet Frame story, and In Spring One Plants Alone, the documentary that forms the basis of Rain of the Children.A State of Siege tells the story of Manfred Signal, a woman who after the death of her mother escapes up north to isolation and peace. A retired art teacher and widow, whose later life had been dominated by caring for her mother, she tries to use the new surroundings to escape the drudgery of her past life. However, the isolation brings up new terrors, a kind of banal horror. She’s a fascinating character – torn beween old lives and new aspirations. Ward films his story with an uncompromising minimalism (which initially takes a while to get used to, and Ward arguably takes a little too long to set up the scene) with dark colours, little dialogue, and long silent moments. The film moves up to a devastating conclusion with the phone conversations.

In Spring One Plants Alone is Ward’s documentary on Puhi and Niki, a mother and son carving out an existence in the isolating beauty of the Uruweras. They’re wonderful and tragic figures – Puhi the elderly, hunchbacked woman (Rain of the Children explores her heartbreaking story) and her schizophrenic son, potter about their daily businesses, heading into town for a haircut or an iceblock. The detached way in which Ward films his characters manages to lend the film an emotional resonance that isn’t mawkish or forced. It’s also compassionate too – little moments of light are thrown into the overwhelming sadness. In Spring One Plants Alone is a classic piece of New Zealand filmmaking, and arguably our greatest documentary.

]]> Imprints http://lumiere.net.nz/reader/index.php?itemid=1887 Sat, 27 Sep 2008 16:17:00 +1200 <![CDATA[Dailies (Film/DVD)—August/Sept 2008]]> http://lumiere.net.nz/reader//item/1886 Underbelly, Donnie Darko: Collector’s Edition, The Chaser’s War on Everything, The War on Democracy, The Investigator, Secret Diary of a Call Girl (DVD); Up the Yangtze, Paris; 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days (Film).

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Underbelly: Uncut (Roadshow, $49.95)
Flashy, trashy drama, heaps of sex and violence, drugs, gang warfare and a cat-and-mouse police story thrown in for good measure. Channel Nine’s now infamous Underbelly series might not be everyone’s cup of espresso, but it ticks more televisual boxes than you can shake a gold medallion at. The loose gangster biography, shot on location in Melbourne’s bars, clubs and cafes, has been subject to a total viewing ban throughout Victoria since its release in February 2008. Its alleged influence on high profile legal cases has attracted widespread media attention, and its viewing figures have been impressive, despite the exclusion of its potentially key audience.

Underbelly darts its way through the lives, lusts and deaths of Melbourne’s finest pin-striped crims from 1995 to 2004. Their warring clans, along with Carl Williams’ somewhat ramshackle outfit, are pursued at every turn by obsessed cop Steve Owen and his pouty sidekick Jacqui James, who also provides a voiceover narrative from a police perspective. The leading characters are gloriously overplayed, hamming up all manner of clichés and stereotypes to Tarantino-style effect, in perfect harmony with the succinct dialogue and slick direction. Particularly compelling are the portrayals of snarly superbitch Roberta Williams and the superb Vince Colosimo as self-titled ‘Black Prince’ Alphonse Gangitano. Comical interludes are provided by the quirky minor cast, mostly in the form of lowly gangster-wannabes and their bumbling misadventures.

For the observant critic there are many aspects of technical imperfection. Much of the action and vocabulary is indulgently generic, the well-used montage scenes becoming increasingly tired and unnecessary, and as with most Aussie drama the acting is inevitably a little ropey at times. However, such trivialities do little to quash the brutal energy and style of Underbelly as an engrossing local drama and visual spectacular. Managing its cast and setting to mesmerising effect, the show projects its appeal to a wide TV audience, and confirms its iconic status in modern Australian pop culture. New to DVD. (13 episodes; 4-disc set; no special features).—Stuart Lynch

Donnie Darko: Collector’s Edition (Roadshow, $29.95)
Donnie Darko is the most romantic film of the year, as it was in 2002. The charming, Virginia-set relationship between the lovely, mysterious Gretchen (Jena Malone) and the similarly appealing Donnie (Jake Gyllenhaal), a Holden Caulfield for late 1980s America. The director’s cut of the cult classic agreeably bulks it up with excellent scenes like Donnie with his Dad, though it’s dubious whether the further explanation of the science-fiction ideas is a plus. Richard Kelly’s intriguing, intricate, enigmatic movie’s scenes like Donnie’s riff on Smurf sexuality; Donnie’s scathing “You’re the fuckin Anti-Christ” attack; and, of course, Gretchen’s exchange with Donnie, “You’re weird”, “I’m sorry”, “That was a compliment" remain brilliant. In their new commentary Kelly and Kevin Smith stress the importance of the music, such as Joy Division’s supremely visceral ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’. Kelly talks notably about “Digging into archetypes... plagiarising my adolesence.” New to DVD. (3-disc set; optional English subtitles; theatrical and director’s cuts; audio commentaries; documentaries; interviews; deleted scenes; trailers; music videos).—Alexander Bisley

The Chaser’s War on Everything (Roadshow, $29.95): “Filth tarted up as satire,” the Senate Estimates Committee proclaims on this quality Aussie DVD’s cover. Most famous for making a mockery of John Howard’s APEC propaganda pageantry, Chaser gets amusingly stuck into the Howard junta. Highlights include romancing Philip Ruddock, superb Where the bloody hell are ya?, Saddam’s trial and the delicious Osama bin Laden Message series. The War on Democracy ($29.95): Not the whole story, but a cogent polemic from John Pilger on American misdeeds in South America. Pilger snares and assembles some astonishing footage, such as Duane Ramsdell “Dewey” Clarridge, whose appalling, beyond-satire behaviour extended far beyond the Contras scandal. The Investigator ($34.95): Six real crime investigations from Bryan Bruce. Who Killed Kayo? is the standout, compellingly investigating Japanese woman Kayo Matsuzawa’s unsolved murder. Secret Diary of a Call Girl ($29.95): Flaccid and boring!. New to DVD.—Alexander Bisley

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Up the Yangtze (Yung Chang, 2007)
“Imagine the Grand Canyon turned into a lake,” intones the director in a voice-over. This is his analogy of what happens to the Yangtze as it is walled up by the building of the Three Gorges Dam, to create the world’s biggest centre for hydro-electricity. Entire cities will be flooded and in all, 4 million people will be forcibly relocated. That’s the population of New Zealand.

This may be economically beneficial for the country but individuals will suffer, or in the words of one dispossessed merchant, there is a call to “sacrifice the little family for the big family.” Not for them the protest songs and the Nimby-ism; the choice is simple – move or drown. You can talk about it as much as you like, but it won’t make any difference.

Director Yung Chang describes his first feature documentary as ‘Love Boat meets Apocalypse Now’ which is a pretty apt description. The environmental impact is enormous, as evinced in the opening shot of a glitzy cruise liner, the Victoria Queen, dwarfed by a yacht. Chang chooses instead to personalise the issue by zooming in on some of the people who have fallen through the cracks, Yu Shui and Chen Bo Yu to be precise.
These two work on the cruise liner which takes wealthy tourists up the Yangtze on an ominously named ‘farewell cruise’. The tourists are mostly here to see an ancient version of China that doesn’t exist anymore. Chang experienced the same thing when he went to look for the mythical China of his grandfather’s legends and found a whole new country was being creating. There are incredible feats of engineering and industry and juxtaposed with lingering shots of peasant fishers in silhouette against glorious sunsets are rampant builders without any discernible health and safety regulations.

The gap between wealth and poverty is extreme. The Victoria Queen passes cities ablaze with neon lights and advertising and shacks sliding into the encroaching waters. Everywhere there are signs of sacrifice and progress, and there are indicators of to what level the flood-waters will rise. When Yu Shui’s family are forced to move to higher ground, they loose the fertile plain in which they grew their crops. Her father explains that, “In the little hut, although it didn’t look good, we didn’t have to pay for vegetables and water.” His struggle up an incline with a wardrobe on his back that threatens to crush him, is symbolic of his efforts to survive.

Chen Bo Yu works as a porter and entertainer (with some excruciating excerpts of cruise karaoke entertainment). He explains that his dream is to make more money and he doesn’t help the old or the young because they don’t tip. When he is told he must leave the company because his arrogance doesn’t suit them, he complacently acknowledges that his family will support him – “It is their responsibility”.

Yu Shui does not have this luxury. She yearns to go to high school but her parents can’t afford to send her, much to their chagrin. Her mother bemoans, “If we had a choice, how could we do this to you?” Instead she is taught how to load dishwashers and welcome clients. Yu Shui is a sulky and sullen teenager but it is hard not to feel for her as her dreams literally disappear down the plughole.

This is supposedly a documentary, but it seems as though certain scenes were acted for the cameras as some raw emotions are exposed. The new recruits are given English names (Cindy and Jerry) and trained to be subservient and to care for others, with military precision. In a vignette which could be hilarious if it weren’t true, they are given a crash course in dealing with foreigners: don’t compare Canada to America; don’t talk about Quebecois independence, Northern Ireland or the monarchy; don’t call people old or fat (in English, say ‘plump’). ‘Jerry’ talks about football to a couple of German lads who shrink away from him, and a particularly patronising American woman congratulates him because he is “not as intrusive as I thought you would be.”

On another occasion, a group of girls sit around discussing Yu Shui, saying she needs to toughen up, work harder and realise that cleaning is her duty. They sound like a bitchy gaggle from America’s Next Top Model as they imply that she has not learned her place, except her prize is not to starve and live in poverty. Chang states that the Chinese believe success is determined by five things: fate, luck, environment, character and education. We wonder how many of these Yu Shui will be granted.

He adds that “As the water rises, my grandfather’s stories disappear”. There are many changes; some might call them progress; others might call them loss. A merchant claims, “Our country is so strong and prosperous now that it can stop the gigantic river.” China is great – it has become a world power – but at what humanitarian cost? To Western eyes, this is the big question, and the sound of the boat’s horn as it looms through the smog indicates that Chang has filmed a mournful elegy.

He prefaces his film with a Confucius proverb: ‘There are three methods of gaining wisdom: reflection which is the noblest; imitation which is the easiest; and experience which is the bitterest.’ The motto of Communism is ‘For the greater good’. To build the necessary stadia for the Beijing Olympics, 1.5 million people have been relocated. Many have moved contentedly, proud to showcase their nation to the world – they’re all one big happy family. While our liberal heartstrings are tugged by the plight of the individual, there is a future and it is relentless, flowing ceaselessly on like a river. In Theatres Now.—Kate Blackhurst

Also for The Lumière Reader: Renee Liang reviews Up the Yangtze; Brannavan Gnanalingam interviews director Yung Chang.

Paris (Cédric Klapisch, 2007)
A sort of cinematic tourist brochure, Cédric Klapisch’s Paris is the film the uneven Paris, je t’aime should have been. The director of The Spanish Apartment crafts a heart-warming exploration of the lives, loves and neighbourhoods of the City of Lights. Or, more appropriately, that romantic Paris of our imagination. Opening with a head-spinning montage of its main players, we meet Romain Duris in the role of a cabaret dancer awaiting heart surgery. Juliette Binoche is his social-worker sister who moves in to care for him. There is the ageing and cynical history professor, played by Fabrice Luchini, who falls in love with a tempestuous student, and an assortment of working-class Parisians falling in and out of amour.

As the film plays out the lives and locales of these people become intertwined, often tenuously, although Klapisch has the good sense not to force the point. And this film is as much about Paris’ neighborhoods as its protagonists: we visit the beautiful Sacré-Coeur, Père Lachaise, the Eiffel Tower and numerous other iconic locations. We also travel to lesser-known districts, including Rungis, a colossal market of fruit crates and meat carcasses. Even these blue-collar suburbs are bathed in a deceptively warm glow by cinematographer Christophe Beaucar.

While the entire cast performs admirably, the film’s standout performance comes from Duris, who gives Paris its emotional heart. He also acts as our tour guide, observing goings-on from the window of his apartment. “I watch other people live. I wonder who they are, where they go? They become heroes in my little stories,” his character comments.

As is the nature of any multi-character cavalcade, the film suffers from a lack of exposition. Characters are introduced and just as quickly dropped. A plot line regarding a Cameroonian’s attempt to illegally make his way to France shows great potential, but is frustratingly underdeveloped. Fortunately, Duris is there as the film’s glue, pulling the picture back together whenever it threatens to fall apart. While it might lack a certain emotional gravitas, Paris is none-the-less a lighthearted and satisfying ode to the City of Love. In Theatres Now.—Caleb Starrenburg [Read More]

4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days (Cristian Mungiu, 2007)
Pregnancy is no joke in Cristian Mungiu’s paralysing, instantly absorbing film, a Cannes winner with a view to a kill. Unlikely to be received in the red states, 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days rarely flinches or skips a beat in mapping its trajectory of two Romanian women – one pregnant, the other an accomplice – in pursuit of an illegal abortion under Ceausescu rule. As the film hits the ground running, it tails Otilia (Anamaria Marinca), in close proximity, as she carries out a series of measures specified by underground abortionist Bebe (Vlad Ivanov), a passive-aggressive asshole who nonetheless understands the severity of the deed. Rendezvousing in a deadpan hotel, Bebe terrorises Otilia’s roommate with the sickly details of extracting a four month old foetus, how to dispose of it, and the ever-present danger of being caught. Propelled through a vacuum of institutional corridors and poorly lit walkways, Mungiu trades in the bellyaching anxiety and momentum of another Romanian triumph, The Death of Mr Lazaresu (also shot by Oleg Mutu), along with routing the Dardenne Brothers’ clenching formalism (namely, their Palm d’Or recipient, The Child). The shots though are held much longer and impose greater tension without the need for more artificial thriller conventions, while the cinemascope frame imprisons and isolates its characters through sterile space. Filmed with austerity and urgency, it’s as riveting as it is necessary; the irony of its final scene does not go unspoken. In Theatres Now.—Tim Wong [Read More]]]> Dailies http://lumiere.net.nz/reader/index.php?itemid=1886 Fri, 26 Sep 2008 16:08:00 +1200 <![CDATA[In Praise of <i>The Wire</i>]]> http://lumiere.net.nz/reader//item/1883 With the long overdue release of Seasons Three and Four to DVD, HBO’s extraordinary The Wire continues on its rightful format. BRANNAVAN GNANALINGAM extols the show’s progress to date. (contains spoilers)

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THE LITERATURE on The Wire has reached such hyperbolic proportions that new viewers may look for ways in which to critique its hype. It’s an intimidating prospect with “greatest ever” a common accompaniment to most critical reports of the show. Commercially ignored, but thankfully carried through to its natural conclusion on HBO, The Wire boasts a legion of fans who approach the show with an almost religious fervour. But to be fair, the show is that good. Reports calling it the greatest TV show of all-time might be pointless in terms of canonical debate, but in my personal opinion only The Simpsons in its hey-day could possibly rival this in terms of American television. In terms of drama, there’s no question – the righteous anger, the glimpses of humour, the sharply drawn characters, and the breathtaking scale of its vision confirm the show’s genius. If Tolstoy grew up as a drug-addled profanity laden alcoholic in the ‘hood, The Wire might have replaced War and Peace. Reading a review of the third and fourth season is probably pointless unless the first two have been watched. The show doesn’t reward casual viewership, or once a week viewing: it was a show made for DVD, preferably to be watched in as few sittings as possible. But all this makes for one of the richest visual experiences you could have.

The third season reverts back to focusing on the Barksdale gang, who had played a secondary role in Season Two. Avon has been released from prison, but Stringer finds his reign at the top has had personal benefits. The civil war between the two becomes almost Shakespearian in its power interplay – Avon unable to give up the original rationale for being in a gang – the power, the adrenaline – and Stringer wanting to escape, go legit. A question that Wire fans will probably ask each other some day is ‘were you an Avon or a Stringer man?’ Other characters gain prominence in the gang war: the new rising ‘star’ Marlo Stanfield who took advantage of Avon’s incarceration and the general confusion caused by Season One’s police investigation to gain a foothold; Omar, the one character who manages to largely avoid the dehumanising effect of institutions (be they gangs, the police, the mayoralty etc.), continues his merry unpredictable jaunt through Baltimore’s streets. The only misstep is Brother Mouzone, a one-note assassin who is probably a bit too self-consciously ‘cool’. Of course, McNulty et al are back again, investigating who they believe to be in charge of the drug trade, but like the futility of the “War on Drugs”, someone else will invaribly come in and fill the void.

But the crime is only part of the story. Season Three expands its vision to include the mayoralty race, where incumbent Royce is facing a challenge from two younger ambitious opponents. The most unlikely candidate is young, “white” Tommy Carcetti, trying to appeal to the city’s large “black” base. Carcetti is a mix of the smarmy and the idealist, his good looks representing a Kennedy (or Obama) type figure, whose drive and determination mask the pessimistic (or inevitable) outcomes that the writers believe result in politics. The three candidates double-cross each other, win alliances with key bureaucratic decisions (Burrell and Rawls, the two highest ranking police officers play prominent roles), make empty promises to the constituency. The same machinations that destroy individual potential in the drug trade, the police and the unions are emphasised in the bureaucracy, politicians and the voting public. However, the show cannot be accused of not offering any solutions. A concurrent storyline surrounds Major Colvin, whose experiment to make even a dent on the drug trade involves the creation of a ‘legalised’ drug-zone (called “Hamsterdam”) where dealers and clientele can buy without fear of police arrest, making the remaining street corners dealer-free. Of course, Colvin doesn’t really tell anyone with a bit of power, and as soon as the media, the bureaucracy and the mayoralty get involved, the hypocritical outrage isn’t unexpected. Colvin’s approach appeared to have some positive results; it was a potential way to deal with the futile war on drugs. The character of Carv also comes into his own as well, demonstrating the type of policing which could have an effect. Cutty, a recently released prisoner is also another character tussling with the old life and the new. But again, the show’s overall arc shows how seemingly rational (if unconventional) approaches struggle to fit within the broader environment.

“...the righteous anger, the glimpses of humour, the sharply drawn characters, and the breathtaking scale of its vision confirm the show’s genius. If Tolstoy grew up as a drug-addled profanity laden alcoholic in the ‘hood, The Wire might have replaced War and Peace.”

The show’s uncompromising and gruelling nature feels so close to realism, that Season Four could almost be accused of dealing in sentimentality. But a more accurate way of describing Season Four is that it’s a kick in the balls. A devastating demolition of education, politics and bureaucracy, the film charts how four young students (loosely intermediate age) get chewed up and spat out of the system. Whereas, the first and third chapter could to an extent be accused of playing on stereotypes of “black” criminality, the overwhelming frustration of the fourth chapter is that class and racial politics have their root in something more institutionally ingrained. Baltimore is a city burning itself up like a cigarette, and “white” and “black” are simply the tobacco.

The fourth shows that the lure of drugs and easy money seems pretty inevitable with an education system that doesn’t seem to really care. Prez, following his ‘misdemeanour’ in the third season, ends up becoming a high school maths teacher, demonstrating (eventually) a bit more aptitude for the career. However he finds the ridiculousness of the system means students just slip through the cracks. (If anyone ever tells you that it’s a good idea to uniformly nationally test young kids and making school funding contingent on this, punch them). Teachers are told by school staff to keep the classroom really hot, so students will be sleepy and won’t cause mischief. Truants are rounded up once a month to make sure the stats don’t look too bad. Curriculum is taught for the sole purpose of passing tests – wider contextual learning (which again, appeared to work) doesn’t really cut it compared to needing to look good on the stats for funding.

Colvin finds himself administering a programme dealing with troubled kids in the school and dealing with patronising academic idealism and misconceptions. The brash and occasionally violent students become test-cases for a programme which seeks to find alternative ways of teaching troubled students (there is an utterly brilliant/brutal scene where the kids go to an upper-class restaurant). Meanwhile the police investigation continues in earnest, although characters like McNulty become less important. The focus has shifted to Marlo, and figuring out how Marlo has been able to maintain power without dropping bodies. When the bodies are eventually found, it’s of no surprise that the initial reaction of the mayoralty and the policemen is to make sure it appears in the previous year’s (hence Royce’s) statistics. The vast array of characters continues to expand, the show expertly bringing more and more into the mix.

It’s remarkable how The Wire manages to maintain its breadth of vision in such a seemingly short space of time. The visuals are understated, the dialogue perfectly composed. The narrative arc requires some patience, however, once the show has you in its grasp, it’s flowing through your veins. Each one hour episode packs so much characterisation and depth, it’s of no surprise that fans of the show find themselves zealously talking about it for hours. The Wire is a truly remarkable achievement, an intensely moving and powerful piece of television, a show that you feel like you live. I cannot recommend it enough.

The Wire, Seasons 1-4 (Warner Bros, $59.95 each) are available on DVD. Season 5 has yet to be broadcast on New Zealand television, or scheduled for an Australasian DVD release.

]]> Film Feature http://lumiere.net.nz/reader/index.php?itemid=1883 Sun, 21 Sep 2008 11:43:00 +1200 <![CDATA[Time Indefinite (1993)]]> http://lumiere.net.nz/reader//item/1877 BRANNAVAN GNANALINGAM reports from the Wellington Film Society. This week: life through a lens.

ROSS MCELWEE’s particular brand of angst reaches its apogee in Time Indefinite. A mix of philosophical ruminations, self-deprecating humour, and personal filmmaking, Ross McElwee’s tragicomic documentary carries on the storylines he set up in his previous work. And while the film does drag at points near the end (you feel like you know him and his family really really well after seeing all these films), this is a poignant and wonderful piece of work.Time Indefinite finds McElwee on the verge of marriage and fatherhood (as unlikely as it might seem), but his life seems to twist and turn from these idyllic beginnings. He’s at a family reunion, where he’s surrounded by a successful extended family, babies, and expectations. As the film progresses and he’s forced to deal with unexpected and moving circumstances. As he is forced to confront death, McElwee’s burns with trying to differentiate between real-life and art. At what point does his film prevent him from experiencing ‘real-life’? When should he turn off the camera? Charleen, the memorable English teacher who’s a recurring character in his films (and has experienced her own Southern Gothic experiences) implores him to turn off the camera. “This is real-life, not art!”

However, McElwee smiles back at Charleen with the film. In a Proustian way, real-life is preserved through art – his films become a container for soluble memory, a way in which his life is lived and made sense of. He lives as he films. This is further evident by McElwee’s use of past films and footage, found clips of parents and stock TV footage. His voiceovers have an ironic voice-of-god effect through which he comments on things just before they’re about to happen. (In effect, something which is ‘present’, is already past). Of course, McElwee masks these with his trademark humour, but the tone shifts are so wonderfully done that his films touch an unscripted raw sense of emotion. McElwee doesn’t seem to know how to end his film (but then you wouldn’t have expected a film about McElwee’s ‘real-life’ to be able to end so easily), and the continual philosophising about death could have been trimmed. But despite this, McElwee’s beautiful film manages to shift something that would be seen as highly personal and confessional into touching on wider fears and concerns.

]]> Imprints http://lumiere.net.nz/reader/index.php?itemid=1877 Wed, 17 Sep 2008 18:35:00 +1200 <![CDATA[Allan Wilson: Evolutionary (DVD)]]> http://lumiere.net.nz/reader//item/1875 George Andrews/NZ/2008; R0
GA Productions, $49.95 | Reviewed by Andy Palmer

AT LAST we, as a nation, are starting to celebrate our intellectuals; those who have left their mark internationally outside of the sporting arena. Allan Wilson: Evolutionary is a documentary about a man who helped develop and strengthen evolutionary theory. Or, as the publicity puts it, a “groundbreaking researcher and a lightning rod for controversy, [who] revolutionized science and galvanized the scientific community”.I would suggest Allan Wilson is far from a household name here, even though his work is most likely being taught at high schools around the country. To say this doco is timely would be an understatement.

Born in Ngaruawahia, he grew up on a farm near Pukekohe, was educated at Kings College, Auckland, and Otago University, before heading to America for post-grad study, a PhD, and employment. After showing early interest in the biological sciences, at the behest of the local vicar’s wife, Wilson was sent to Kings College rather than the local high school. There he was captured by evolution – a subject apparently not on the curricula in late-1940s New Zealand. He majored in both biochemistry (then a relatively new science) and zoology at Otago before being invited to Pullman University in Washington State where he completed his Masters, and stated that he would solve the problem of evolution. Then he was off to do his PhD at Berkeley, where he consequently spent most of his working life.

At the time there were two schools of thought around evolution – the paleontological/physical and the genetic/biochemical. With his background in biochemistry and zoology Wilson was able to bridge the two. His 1967 paper ‘Immunological Time-Scale for Human Evolution’ postulated the idea of the ‘molecular clock’ – a way of dating ancestral divergence from genetic mutations rather than from fossils. He argued that the earliest proto-hominids evolved only five million years ago at a time when most contemporary anthropologists dated it around 25 million years ago. His work was dismissed work as absurd.

In the mid-70s he worked on using mitochondrial DNA in placenta tissue to trace maternal genealogies back to ‘Eve’, once again causing controversy. He said that “the closer you get to the social sciences the harder it is to overthrow earlier thinking.” Never one to shy away from new technologies, he was an early adopter of the polymerase chain reaction – a technique that allowed near infinite reproduction of DNA from small samples. With this he was able to study the DNA of extinct species, and in doing so challenge long held views on species evolution.

In July 1991 (while I was bumbling through my degree in biochemistry), Allan Wilson died of leukaemia, still a controversial figure. One of his colleagues stated that 100 years from now, when people are discussing the major players in shifts of scientific thinking over time, Wilson will be one of the few people pointed to.

Over the course of its 40 minutes, Allan Wilson: Evolutionary paints a good overview of the man, albeit pretty light and rather dry. The science is well explained and, I imagine, the relevance of the results would be fairly understandable to most people. The documentary only really spoke to those who had worked with Wilson over the years. It would have been good to have had more information about the prevailing ideas and the full impact of Wilson’s work, and to have heard from those who disagreed with his views – particularly if they were willing to admit their errors. As with plate tectonics, it is difficult for us to fully grasp the major shift in thinking required to accept these ideas, when only a few decades later the ideas have become the prevailing best theory.

Though lacking in parts, those who nothing about the man and his science will be drawn in and astounded by his achievements. Along with Christine Cole Catley’s fantastic recent biography on cosmologist Beatrice Tinsley, Bright Star, this documentary celebrates a New Zealander we should all be celebrating. After reading Bright Star I wanted to see, or even make, the film. After Allan Wilson: Evolutionary I’ll be looking for the biography. Roll on works about William Pickering, Maurice Wilkins, John Money, and any other Kiwi’s quietly changing the world as we know it.

Allan Wilson: Evolutionary (NZ$49.95, Region 0) is available on DVD from George Andrews Productions or AroVideo Online.

Massey University set up the Allan Wilson Centre for Molecular Ecology and Evolution “comprising world class ecologists, evolutionary biologists and mathematicians who will work together to unlock the secrets of our plants, animals, and microbes.” Their website (awcmee.massey.ac.nz) contains more biographical information about Allan Wilson along with other interesting bits and pieces.

]]> DVD Review http://lumiere.net.nz/reader/index.php?itemid=1875 Tue, 16 Sep 2008 18:28:00 +1200 <![CDATA[Bubble (DVD)]]> http://lumiere.net.nz/reader//item/1871 Steven Soderbergh/USA/2005; R4
Madman, $29.95 | Reviewed by Simon Wood

STEVEN SODERBERGH is the exception that proves auteur theory correct. No matter how diverse his projects in scope, they have to be superlative; the biggest cast, the most relevant political argument, the biggest stars. Now we have Bubble, the indiest film he could have possibly made.Shot with non-actors improvising dialogue from a bare bones plot outline, Bubble tells the story of workers at a West Virginian doll factory. At first the focus is the mundane minutiae of blue collar grind. Co-workers Kyle (Dustin James Ashley) and Martha (Debbie Doebereiner) have a friendly, if awkward, relationship. When their boss hires single mum Rose (Misty Dawn Wilkins), the nature of their relationship changes. As most artificially down home films do, it all ends in a culmination of unfortunate, and slightly artificial, circumstances.

It’s interesting to speculate on Soderbergh’s motivation in making Bubble. He’s an esoteric filmmaker who seems equally comfortable with blockbuster fare (The Oceans’ trilogy), ensemble pieces (Traffic, Out of Sight), and tight, character driven projects (Solaris, The Limey). But Bubble sits comfortably outside anything he has yet done.

And herein lies the problem. Bubble is an experimental film weighed down by its own circumstances. Unlike Lars von Trier, who uses the Dogme tenets to rail against the perceived emptiness of filmmaking, Soderbergh has stripped down the entire project just to see what happens. The non-actors do as well as can be expected in the circumstances, mumbling away searching for the right mood, but the whole experiment feels forced.

It’s not that there isn’t merit in Soderbergh’s approach. Few directors would have the gumption to so radically strip down their production. But, as a tribute to filmmaking, this isn’t quite avant garde enough to nail its target. Bubble is a one-watch film. It hits the right notes in fits and spurts but there’s a constant, nagging, underpinning feeling this is a luxury film.

Low-budget filmmakers employ stripped-down aesthetics, non-actors and on location filming – not to mention a digital format – because it is the only way they can get their films made. If these factors result in a certain charm, it’s almost always tangential to the film’s own merits. In contrast, Soderbergh’s Brechtian exercise wants to be judged almost entirely on its own limitations. Bubble is fan fiction in reverse, a big time director embracing impoverishment for the sake of it.

This is not to say there are not positives in the film. The surreal symbolism of the doll factory teeters perfectly between tragic and ridiculous, and at their most unguarded, there’s a real chemistry between the three leads that manifests itself in a sense of doomed predetermination. Appalachia seems, more or less, like hell.

What Bubble lacks, however, is the verve of David Gordon Green’s rust belt tragedies, or the calculated rhythm of Gus Van Sant’s Elephant. It’s admirable that Soderbergh, appreciates the artistic potential of films made in the verite style, but there are ways to merge this with cinematic flair without resorting to superficial limitations. It’s unfortunate, because his oeuvre betrays an appreciation for filmmaking in all varieties. But his successful films share one common trait that is entirely missing from Bubble: ambition.

THIS Directors Suite release contains plenty of extras. The commentary, by Soderbergh and fellow director Mark Romanek is informative and helps to shed light on some of the film’s stranger moments. Likewise the alternative ending, which removes the plot’s subtlety and changes the whole dynamic of the film.

The most relevant inclusion is the audition interviews with the three leads. It’s striking how close they are to their on-screen characters, and adds gives the viewer a sense of perspective about the whole project.

DVD Info + Special Features
» Region 4 PAL
» 2.35:1 Aspect Ratio (16:9)
» Dolby Digital 3.0
» 73 minutes
» Audio Commentary with Steven Soderbergh and Mark Romanek
» Cast Audio Commentary
» Deleted scenes and alternate ending
» "Bursting the bubble" featurette
» "Higher Definition" episode on Bubble
» Cast Audition Interviews

]]> DVD Review http://lumiere.net.nz/reader/index.php?itemid=1871 Mon, 15 Sep 2008 08:07:00 +1200 <![CDATA[Clowning Around: <i>The Dark Knight</i>]]> http://lumiere.net.nz/reader//item/1872
Reviewed by David Levinson

IN The Dark Knight – Christopher Nolan’s second outing at the helm of the Batman franchise – the caped crusader may sport a fetishist’s dream of high-tech, tailor-made weaponry, but nothing unleashed on Gotham’s crime populace proves more alluring than the film’s grim publicity-hook: Namely, the fact that it marks the final complete performance by once-rising star Heath Ledger, whose career was tragically cut short by a sleeping pill overdose on completion of filming.

As Hollywood lore, Ledger’s death arrives at the perfect nexus between youth, talent, and an acting resumé marked by a handful of strategic, eye-catching performances; consequently, his ascent to legend has become a question of inference – a looming “what if?” that plays neatly into our craving for young lifestyle-victims who burn with unfulfilled talent. What’s more – given its timing – it would be impossible to assert that the tragedy didn’t weigh over The Dark Knight: Reportedly taxed (both physically and psychologically) by his role in the film, it’s as if the actor disappeared down the rabbit-hole of The Joker, leaving us no recourse to the goofy heartthrob of yore. Trying to judge his performance – outside the bullying influence of fanboys and tabloid frenzy – has thus become a difficult task; yet for those (myself included) who felt short-changed, the problem might not lie so much in Ledger, as it does in Nolan’s character design – marking the one weak point in an otherwise immaculately crafted blockbuster.

In contrast to the sleek metropolis he wreaks havoc on, The Joker is an avatar of decay: Eternally hunched over – his make-up a Francis Bacon-like smear, his hair soaked through with grease and dye – he quickly buries any memory of Nicholson’s colourful dandy. Despite his billboard-iconicity, however, Nolan playfully diverts his unveiling, smuggling him into the film as one of a team of thugs who pull off the opening bank robbery; upon fulfilling a task, each goon is disposed of by the next-in-line, forming a bread-crumb-trail of violence that leads directly back to Ledger. On the whole, there’s a sly triumph to his unveiling – an emboldening of his myth, even as he moves from off screen utterance to concrete villain. What’s more, the scene proves to be the inverse of one in which Batman – out to thwart the Scarecrow – alights upon a faction of copycats decked out in home-made Batsuits; as an inauguration of the hero, the moment doubles as a questioning of his relevance, where – lost in a sea of clones – the notion of a caped avenger suddenly feels wilfully out-of-date.

More than token conflict, that anxiety reaches the core of The Dark Knight, as it struggles to split the difference between Harvey Dent’s (Aaron Eckhart) lawful ambition, and the one-man vigilantism endorsed by Batman (Christian Bale). In the hands of a lesser director, emphasis might’ve fallen on Batman’s struggle to maintain his daytime alter-ego (billionaire playboy, Bruce Wayne). Yet here Nolan skips over the day-to-day minutiae of superhero life, coolly flatlining any difficulties via the sheer willpower of Wayne’s trust account; for instance, when Batman needs an alibi – so he can relocate to Hong Kong, without raising suspicion over the simultaneous disappearance of Wayne – he has Wayne appear on his private yacht amidst a gaggle of Russian ballet dancers. By sparing us the surface logistics of Wayne’s dual-identity, Nolan leaves room for bigger questions, casting the hero as another uncertain factor in the equation of Gotham’s livelihood. The result in a superhero film that’s uniquely probing – one willing to move beyond genre limits, in order to question the very worth of heroism in the 21st century.

To that end, Batman is depicted as the reluctant servant of a legible moral code – the main difference between him and Dent being their relative tendency towards collateral damage; thus, deterred by Batman’s rising body-count, Gotham’s natives grow restless, calling for his stepping-down in favour of Dent’s “White Knight”. (That same attitude informs the affections of Rachael Dawes [Maggie Gyllenhaal], who – professing that she can’t be with Wayne until he surrenders his (k)night-job – opts for the safe compromise of Dent). Unfortunately, while the attorney’s brand of squeaky-clean justice proves adept at cleaning up the city’s token lowlifes, it buckles in the face of a more competent psychopath like The Joker. Yet, even as a discernible need arises for Batman, Nolan refrains from blindly revelling in his superiority, instead suggesting that civil security is a two-part process – split indefinitely between the need to appease the public, and the reality of the desperate measures taken to ensure that promise is fulfilled. By setting the film in a realistic metropolis (basically an amalgam of New York and Chicago) Nolan is able to free the franchise from its unerring faith in moral divides, and affect a comment on the murky logistics of contemporary security policy. At the same time though, The Dark Knight fails to digest into simple allegory: Eroded by discourse, its characters occupy a strange halfway-point between comic-book archetype and dramatic figurehead, as they openly hash out the aforementioned moral conflicts. And while, granted, the endless talk veers on the portentous – spelling out the film’s themes with undue clarity – Nolan manages to offset it with such a lush, stately command of environment: Ensconcing his players in steel-and-glass high-rises, the film is marked by a quiet, urbane sense of weariness – the air of clean-cut professionals wrestling with a threat greater than themselves. Consequently, even moments of levity are backlit with quiet foreboding: When Batman sails through a dayglo Hong Kong, for example, it’s at once a spectacle of release, as well as the purveyor of a kind of yawning emptiness.

In the remarkable economy with which it evokes the feeling of a city gradually falling into all-consuming terror, The Dark Knight occasionally resembles David Fincher’s Zodiac. But where as the killer in that film was a gaping nonentity – glimpsed ever-so-fleetlingly, and existing beyond the grasp of linear police investigation –, The Joker is forced to comply with the logic of Nolan’s film, even as he supposedly works to disrupt it. Ultimately, Ledger does all in he can in preventing the psychopath from becoming a staid icon of evil – dressing him in an outfit of well-honed tics (impish lip-licks; menacing vocal-distortions) that prove weird enough to be captivating at first. He also, in one passing instant, manages to come across as genuinely unnerving – when, under the blinding light of an interrogation room, he informs his guard, with sombre dispassion, that people only truly reveal themselves when they’re dying, and that as a result, he knows the man’s friends better than he ever did. Aside from that lonely coup, however, Ledger is unable to anchor the character, as he drifts away in a haze of tired speechifying. You see, more than your garden-variety sadist, The Joker arrives as the vector of a clear social agenda – one he happily trots out to anyone within earshot: Flaunting his nemeses’ reliance on “rules,” he hopes to prove that the line between good and evil is permeable, inspiring an overall weakening in the moral fabric of the city.

Coming from Batman, that kind of frank discourse works because it ensnares the hero in a larger system of checks-and-balances – denying him godly immunity, and holding him publically accountable. But just how The Joker should be read remains unclear: Thwarting the comfort of a backstory, Nolan has his villain spin out two different variations on how he came to receive his trademark facial-scars – each calculated sob-story cancelling the other out. At the same time though, the director is also happy to bluntly invoke the Middle-East, thanks to a scene in which The Joker addresses Dent et al. via a DIY hostage video. Granted, the latter may be an attempt to acknowledge that evil, like heroism, is never a random manifestation; but in the end these sub-Haneke ploys only distract from the punchy, whirling fury promised by The Joker’s role as “an agent of chaos”. The result is a villain who’s a victim of rules himself – a misplayed wild card who proves to be the film’s undoing, only not in the sense you might expect.

» Christopher Nolan | USA | 2008 | 152 min | Featuring: Christian Bale, Heath Ledger, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Gary Oldman, Aaron Eckhart, Morgan Freeman, Michael Caine. In Theatres Now @ flicks.co.nz.

]]> Film Review http://lumiere.net.nz/reader/index.php?itemid=1872 Sat, 13 Sep 2008 08:02:00 +1200