Cinema Talk

This is the chronological and stylistic midpoint between Le doux amour des hommes and Á Travers la forêt but also the least defiant of the three Civeyrac films mentioned. While it does have some overwhelmingly fantastic moments (as all of Civeyrac’s films do) it does run the risk of being bland from time to time. With every film, it begins to look more and more like he is interested in the paranormal rather than the normal. There is still plenty of “fucked up relationship” stuff here but like his latest film, it also has a few rather laughable moments.

Following her mother’s death, Marianne discovers that her now presumably deceased father had a mistress. She becomes intrigued and goes out to look for the woman, leaving her lover, Etienne, all alone. Marianne discovers that the mistress is Beatrice, a pianist who lives in a secluded beach house. The two start a friendship, reminiscing about the man who made in an impact in both of their lives.

In all honesty, it is becoming semi-irritating having to cope with the inexplicable “ghost” scenes that Civeyrac seems to occasionally toss into all of his films. His characters’ inability to get over the death of loves one is beginning to wear a little thin. Still, I’d be lying if I said these characters weren’t intriguing as all hell. It’s questionable as to whether or not that is even Civeyrac’s intention. He may very well be going for some Alain Robbe-Grillet sort of story. It’s sort of hard to depicter such a thing underneath his unconventional (and fully realized) aesthetic.

Whether or not the above case is true, Jeanne Balibar is still pretty amazing and of course, this is indeed another case of cinematic perfection on Civeyrac’s part. Even if his interest will always lie in more spiritual matters, I can still appreciate his unrivaled ability to capture pure moments of intimacy. The bedroom scene between Marianne and Etienne is the purest example of what I look for in Civeyrac’s films as well as an explanation as to why I continue to watch his films. His interest obviously lies in other areas, but his talent is unavoidable.

Celine Sciamma builds a very promising foundation in this, her debut feature. Really, if there’s anything flawed about the film its that is perhaps fits in far too closely to “my” type of cinema almost to the point of self-parody. In other words, this is pretty much a perfectly executed textbook example of how to deal with alienation, adolescence, and all the other themes that those imply. Emotionally, it feels a bit too one-note, but that’s probably only because the teenage sexual discovery thing has already been done to death.

Marie is a reserved teenager whose only friendship comes from the much louder (and much more obnoxious) Anne, a synchronized swimmer. Marie attends one of Anne’s meets and spots Floriane, the team captain, and seems to fall in love with her. In the mean time, Francois accidentally walks in on a naked Anne, which somehow leads her to thinking they are in a relationship. In truth, Francois is involved with Floriane who can only attend “dates” if Marie accompanies her. Their friendship grows, in spite of the jealous tension and Floriane begins to reveal her secrets.

Even though it does so rather elegantly, this does pretty much follow all the borderline-cliché requirements for a film about growing up and the disenchantment that it brings. Of course, you have a very awkward and shy girl falling for the more popular and outgoing girl but there’s also plenty of party sequences and overwhelmingly awkward scenes of confrontation. Even though this (obviously) lacks the austerity, it does indeed create a sense of ennui and tension that reminds one of Tsai Ming-Liang. In fact, several shots seems to have been directly taken out of The Wayward Cloud, which of course is a plus in my book.

The story isn’t the most original one of all-time, but it does still ring pretty true, though perhaps only in a very one-dimensional sense. Not too long ago, I would have been blown away by this, but that “woe is me” love-story sensibility is a bit too superficial, especially when compared to my usual cinematic experiences. Still, it’s pretty much a perfectly-made film that does show something of a personality. Hopefully, Sciamma’s next narrative source will be a bit more emotionally substantial.

In some ways, this is absolutely one of the most bizarre movies I’ve ever seen. It has a big giant grin of an attitude, a sensibility akin to 1950s suburban America, but underneath it is surely one of the most tragic, heartbreaking stories ever told. This should be expected from Shimizu as he always seemed to produce very “every thing’s fine on the outside, every thing’s not-so-fine on the inside” type of films. But here, it’s taken to a completely different level with upbeat and peppery music providing a background for a completely tragic tale. A poetic would-be romance disguised as depression-era Japan escapism, and overall, one of the finest films ever made.

A friendly bus driver who goes by the nickname of Mr. Thank You transports an odd variety of characters to a train station. Living up to his nickname, Mr. Thank You remains a courteous driver, thanking everyone whom he passes by. He also seems to have many acquaintances, many of whom being young and beautiful woman. Inside the bus is an outgoing, sophisticated young woman who makes many advances to the young and charming bus driver. There’s a stubborn businessman whose mustache becomes the butt of most of the young woman’s jokes. In the back, there is a mother traveling with her passive daughter, who is on her way to being sold into sexual slavery. The bus driver downplays the advances of the more “modern” and extroverted woman and centers his focus on the more reserved girl.

Once again, we have an effort from Shimizu that is not a deep character study. Unlike his peers, he shows a more situation-driven parable but one that features an undeniable heartbreaking charm. Even then, he is very careful with each of his character. The more experienced woman who openly flirts with Mr. Thank You never becomes a femme-fatale or even a villain. It is never quite made clear, but it is very likely that she has gone through a predicament similar to the younger girl that the bus driver takes an interest in.

At first, the seemingly happy tone gets some getting use to. Through the film, there is an overwhelmingly silly score that continues to reinforce the myth that everything really is perfectly fine. There’s even a sequence when the younger girl finally breaks down and tears, but the music continues to play. Normally, I would never condone such a goofy musical choice but Shimizu seems to overuse it to the point of cynicism making the film oddly funny but still terribly sad. In fact, one must appreciate Shimizu’s ability to resist ever using any “sad” music. The fact that anyone can view this as escapism is a testament to how much a director can manipulative a audience. In this case, though, Shimizu is manipulating the audience to feel the exact opposite of what the story intends, which results in something jarring but undeniably idiosyncratic.

In spite of all the hype building this up to be some sort of “thriller” it is actually a wonderfully executed social drama on par with the Dardenee Brothers, Alan Clarke, and hell, maybe a bit of a Gaspar Noe influence thrown in there too. No question, it is a very suspenseful film but not at all in the conventional sense. The Lives of Others this is not. Instead, it is a film that is bleak, awkward, and tension-filled without the influence of any of the textbook conventions that suspense films have always been built around.

Otilia and Gabita are roommates, the later girl is need of an abortion. Otilia, being the more outgoing of the two, does a majority of the work: making a hotel reservation, meeting with the doctor, and taking the initiative to pay for the procedure. In the mean time, she also needs to show up for the birthday of her boyfriend’s mother. Everything ultimately works out but the pressure of such a burden can’t quickly be forgotten.

First of all, I must say that this is visually, one of the more unique films I’ve seen in quite sometime. Even Yumurta‘s visual style had roots in the films of Hiroshi Ishikawa (Tokyo.Sora, Su-ki-da) but Mungiu’s look is probably that of a slightly bleached out film shot by Christopher Doyle. That is to say, this capture the same borderline garish color scheme of a Wong Kar-Wai film but still maintains a very dark look, almost akin to a David Fincher film. I suppose one could read this as insult, but it’s really a compliment as the simultaneously saturated and bleached colors look wonderful when under the control of such accomplished camera work. There’s plenty of long handheld/steadicam shots that aimlessly follow characters, which is fantastic, and to make things better, it’s juxtaposed with (similarly beautiful) static shots. All in all, a fantastic film from a technical point of view.

The narrative is not really the main thrust here, as little “plot development” takes place. Obviously, those who expect some sort of conventional suspense film are bound to be disappointed. There’s really no ever-looming threat or sense of danger, but rather a dreary and accurately fucked-up world with an overwhelming amount of stress. Mungiu clearly intended to establish such a mood, because the film ends without any type of closure that one often finds in suspense films. The quick scare is not going to go away, the bad guys aren’t defeated, everything isn’t going to be fine. It is so often in film, even respectable art films, that so much closure is given that the viewer can only deduce that this is the end. Unless, the protagonist has died, this shouldn’t be felt. Life continues after the screen fades, for us and for Otilia and Gabita.