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NYFF '07 Reviews: The First Batch

Written by Kevin Filipski

45th NY Film Festival Reviews Part One

With the New York Film Festival in full swing, columnist Kevin Filipski delivers his first batch of reviews—from Hou Hsiao-Hsien's "The Flight of the Red Balloon" to Gus Van Sant's "Paranoid Park" and the Guillermo del Toro-produced "The Orphanage," and more...

The Flight of the Red Balloon

"The Flight of the Red Balloon"

directed by Hou Hsiao-Hsien
starring Juliette Binoche, Hippolyte Girardot

Hou Hsiao-hsien’s first film in Paris, starring Juliette Binoche, is, for better or worse, a true Hou film. This loose remake of the classic children’s flick, “The Red Balloon,” begins with a young boy being followed by the title balloon–then meanders off into more familiar territory, as Hou’s relentlessly probing camera intently studies the boy’s mom’s difficulties as a single mom (Binoche). Once again, Hou’s visuals are stunning, from the shots of the balloon in flight over a Paris tourists rarely see to the cramped quarters of Binoche’s apartment, where the camera moves around with superb strategy. The movie never strays from its glacial pace, but Binoche is tremendously affecting–bad dye job and all–and Simon Iteanu is equally persuasive as her son.

4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days

directed by Cristian Mungiu
starring Adi Carauleanu, Luminiţa Gheorghiu, Vlad Ivanov, Anamaria Marinca

"4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days"

Romanian filmmaking is enjoying a renaissance: after two mid-90's masterpieces by Lucian Pintilie–“The Oak” and “An Unforgettable Summer”–there’s been nothing until recently, when we’ve had Christi Puiu’s “The Death of Mr. Lazarescu,” Corneliu Porumboiu’s “12:08 East of Bucharest” and now Cristian Mungiu’s “4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days.” Shot by Oleg Mutu–who also photographed Puiu’s intense exploration of the lack of respect for life during the Ceaucescu’s Communist regime–“4 Months” treads much the same stylistic ground, although Mungiu goes even further, playing out the story for minutes at a time with no cutting; shot in ultra-widescreen, “4 Months” attempts to encompass the entirety of the Iron Curtain’s inhumanity through a story about a woman helping a friend get an illegal abortion.The acting is spellbinding: Anamaria Marinca especially forces us to care for this woman, trapped between helping her friend in a time of need and spending time with her boyfriend (her minutely-detailed reactions and expressions during the long meal sequence with his family are worth the price of admission). But Mungiu stacks the deck dramatically to the extent that his ultra-realistic approach approaches parody, since his characters act far too implausibly. Would the man hired to perform the abortion–shown as a professional in every way–not notice when a knife is taken from his case and, later, leave his identity papers at the hotel desk? Would our heroine leave her friend alone during a most critical time to visit her boyfriend on his mother’s birthday, especially when she expressly told him earlier that she was busy and couldn’t come? Such details nag mostly because Mungiu gets so much else in his powerful film right.

A Girl Cut in Two

directed by Claude Chabrol
starring Ludivine Sagnier, Benoît Magimel, François Berléand, Mathilda May

"A Girl Cut in Two"

Claude Chabrol, at age 77, is still going strong: his last film, “Comedy of Power” starring Isabelle Huppert, actually got U.S. distribution and was released on DVD. “A Girl Cut in Two” will surely follow, although it’s one of Chabrol’s weaker efforts: it tells of the romantic travails of a young Lyon weather girl who is having an affair with a much older, famous (and married for 25 years) author, and who is also being wooed by the unhinged–but oh so charming!–scion of a wealthy pharmaceutical family. As always in Chabrol, the events–both mundane and dramatic–are recounted with a stately elegance that threatens to lull the viewer to sleep at times; but since Chabrol is such a master director he keeps one on edge, hoping for the expected twist that will pull these characters out of their predestined paths. When it comes, the “revelation” is so unsurprising that it makes the entire two hours feel like a mere tease. Perhaps Chabrol himself senses this, since he ends the movie with a visual (and pointless) reenactment of its title. Still, you could do worse than a trifle that’s this well-acted (Ludivine Seigner is especially effective as the far from beautiful but still sexy femme fatale) and well-photographed (by Eduardo Serra).

Go Go Tales

directed by Abel Ferrara
starring Willem Dafoe, Bob Hoskins, Matthew Modine, Asia Argento

Willem Dafoe (middle) as Ray Ruby in "Go Go Tales"

Why Abel Ferrara was invited back to the festival with this pointless, meandering look at a strip club and its derivative denizens remains a mystery. “Go Go Tales” wouldn’t pass muster as one of those late-night cable soft-porn flicks: indifferently acted, ludicrously scripted and atrociously directed, the movie doesn’t even have any eroticism–it’s about as unsexy as a movie about cloistered monks. Of course, with a phoning-it-in cast headed by Bob Hoskins, Sylvia Miles, Matthew Modine (who’s never been worse) and Willem Dafoe (who at least tries), how could it be otherwise?

The Man from London

directed by Béla Tarr
starring Miroslav Krobot, Tilda Swinton, Ági Szirtes, János Derzsi

"The Man From London"

Bela Tarr is best-known for his seven-plus-hour opus, “Satantango,” which was screened at the 1994 New York Film Festival. His new film is the kind of picture that would be laughed out of the theatre if it didn’t have the cache of Tarr’s name attached. He began his career with warts-and-all portraits of the Hungarian proletariat, which reached their apogee with “Satantango.” Tarr’s visual sense is borrowed from compatriot Miklos Jancso, although the earlier director used the elaborate choreography of the camera to much better and more dynamic dramatic and psychological effect. Tarr’s last feature, “Werckmeister Harmonies,” was a quite intriguing—if ultimately failed—experiment whose rhythms and structures were based on the musical theories of its title character. However, “The Man from London”—based on a Georges Simenon mystery!—plays like an ersatz Tarr parody: Mihaly Vig’s ominous music repeats itself ad nauseum, the actors flatfootedly spit out the minimal dialogue (including Tilda Swinton, dubbed into Hungarian), and those oh-so-slow camera moves that are simply an exercise in lugubriousness. Even Jancso, the master, has moved on: his recent films are carefree and playful.

Married Life

directed by Ira Sachs
starring Pierce Brosnan, Chris Cooper, Patricia Clarkson, Rachel McAdams

Chris Cooper as Harry Allen in "Married Life"

Ira Sachs’ soap opera about a failing marriage may be set in 1949, but it’s another those films (“Far from Heaven” is the most famous) that lays on the trowel of irony so thickly so even the most lunkheaded in the audience can “get” it. What’s to get? It’s a straightforward story of a man cheating on his wife with a young woman and his attempts to get out of the marriage; the man’s best friend falls for the girl himself and starts wooing her. Sachs, however, feels it’s not enough to just tell an interesting tale and get good actors to play the roles, which he’s done: kudos to Chris Cooper (husband), Patricia Clarkson (wife), Rachel McAdams (girlfriend) and Pierce Brosnan (best friend). Sachs must also overdo everything, from the period detail to the syrupy music to the leaden irony with which almost every scene is painted. Characters talk in italics and react in underlined ways, all so there’s no doubt of missing the point that these people are just like us, no matter what era they live in. Based on a British novel and exported to this country (the program notes say the Pacific Northwest, but there’s never any identification of the location), “Married Life” is perfectly well-made and performed with gusto, but it remains hollow and to its core.

The Orphanage

"The Orphanage"

directed by Juan Antonio Bayona
starring Belén Rueda, Fernando Cayo, Geraldine Chaplin, Montserrat Carulla

This ludicrously contrived thriller from first-time director Juan Antonio Bayona and screenwriter Sergio G. Sánchez is as overstuffed with “cute” children finding another world away from adults as “Pan’s Labyrinth.” That’s no coincidence, since “The Orphanage” was produced by “Pan’s” director, Guillermo del Toro. Although this isn’t as bad as that overrated fable, “The Orphanage” comes close, especially in its many climaxes–actually, anticlimaxes–that leave us feeling nothing for these characters who act as dopily as people always do in crappy horror movies. I feel particularly bad for the actors, especially Belén Rueda as the mother, Laura, whose graceful, sophisticated presence is wasted, and Geraldine Chaplin, who enlivens the proceedings briefly as a medium.

Paranoid Park

directed by Gus Van Sant
starring Gabe Nevins, Daniel Liu, Taylor Momsen, Jake Miller

"Paranoid Park"

For his latest portrait of disaffected youth, Gus Van Sant went to MySpace to find actors: since none of the teens (or adults) he has put onscreen is in the least capable of registering an authentic emotion or believable line reading, perhaps Van Sant should stay away from websites as a way to cast movies. Even at 85 minutes, “Paranoid Park” feels interminable, because nothing we see seems the least bit plausible, compelling or truthful. Ostensibly a story about a kid whose accidental killing of an innocent man late one night haunts him, the movie is really about aimlessness and alienation: that would be fine, if Van Sant weren’t so insistent at pushing his arty fantasies at us, including endless shots of skateboarders doing their thing (partially shot by Christopher Doyle, who also contributes a mercifully short bit of acting as the teen’s uncle) and a unintentionally funny glimpse at the man’s death, when the victim (cut in half at the torso) still crawls and eyes his youthful killer with sad eyes. If “Paranoid Park” was in any way a credible psychological portrait, such deliberate strangeness wouldn’t much matter: but the movie strains credulity to the breaking point.

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