The Occupy movement has not gone unnoticed. People around the world have sacrificed so much to stand up and protest. Since October, Rich people have moaned, students have been assaulted by police and thousands have gathered in tents in the freezing night air to show their support, wary that their health or life could be in danger, often due to attacks by their so-called 'public servants' for standing up for what is right, when others have become bored of the rage du jour, and have moved onto other frivolous or disturbing subjects.
For such a massive effort co-ordinated by social media, it's remarkable that so little of it has spilled into violence or crime, and it shames those of the August riots who claimed to be working to the same ends.
And shame on those who walked past the scruffy piles of tents and told the inhabitants to 'get a job' or similar. Your passive ignorance of the gravity of the situation, and the symbolism of the protests will help ensure the continuation of the problem for years to come.
Leeds Film Festival 2011: Day 18
The Artist (Fra) (site)
This film will almost certainly not work in the modern cinema. Exactly why was demonstrated today when, halfway through this UK première screening of the first silent film to be made for eighty years or more, some insensitive clod in the audience pulled out the most massive and noisy bag of crisps and started crinkling and crunching. In an era when idiot dropout teens chew gum and chat to their idiot friends sat an aisle across from them whilst in the fricking theatre, and fatty, snacky, noisy treats are for sale and make up a considerable part of the revenue for a cinema, silent films just do not fit.
And that's a damnable shame, because The Artist is getting all sorts of attention at the moment; part of it is the novelty of a major new silent film, but also because it is damn good too. If you didn't recognise John Goodman or a fleeting Malcolm McDowell you could quite easily be fooled into thinking you were watching a digitally restored print of an ancient film. The aspect ratio is the old 4:3 format, the credits appear on static cards and are accompanied at the start by a mono-sounding orchestra, and when characters speak, only choice phrases are turned into the intertitles, the written substitute for dialogue of the era. There are also more subtle methods used to really bring in the spirit of the age, such as soft focus, restricted camera freedom (basic track and pan shots, but mostly a static mount) and old-fashioned fade-outs and ins. For all it's attempt to look basic and 'primitive' - for want of a better word - we get a beautifully-realised facsimile of a golden era where the work that has gone into it gives it beauty.
Even the story evokes a previous age of film. Taking place just as silent films are being replaced by 'talkies', distinguished, suave (and slightly slimy) actor George Valantin - a typical slicked back actor of the age with a bounder's pencil moustache and an eye for the ladies, has a successful silent film career but a less than perfect relationship with his silently seething wife. A chance meeting with Peppy, a beautiful young woman (the mesmerising Bérénice Bejo) at a red carpet reception doesn't help, and her opportunistic kiss on his cheek propels her to the front cover of the days news, and eventual stardom as an accomplished actress. At the same time George's film company ditches the comfortable silent film and starts on the talkies, but George cannot make the leap, and as Peppy's fame skyrockets, George ends up losing it all.
You have a beautiful woman, an older man on the edge of his career (echoing the themes of Limelight), you have romance and scandal, success and failure, comedy and tragedy, a talented canine (the adorable Uggy won the Palm Dog this year) and a cracking dance number worthy of Rogers and Astaire at the end. When the credit's rolled, the film received the loudest and most sustained round of applause I had witnessed at any festival; it felt a little like this film had an indefinable something that eighty years of talkies had somehow lost, and for a single film at least, we had witnessed it's return. I loved it, and provided you can catch it when there isn't an inconsiderate fool with a bag of crisps in there with you at the same time, you will too. A great film to end the festival with. 8.5/10
PS: Even though it's a French film, it's all in English, so don't worry about bringing someone along who turns their nose up at subtitles.
This film will almost certainly not work in the modern cinema. Exactly why was demonstrated today when, halfway through this UK première screening of the first silent film to be made for eighty years or more, some insensitive clod in the audience pulled out the most massive and noisy bag of crisps and started crinkling and crunching. In an era when idiot dropout teens chew gum and chat to their idiot friends sat an aisle across from them whilst in the fricking theatre, and fatty, snacky, noisy treats are for sale and make up a considerable part of the revenue for a cinema, silent films just do not fit.
And that's a damnable shame, because The Artist is getting all sorts of attention at the moment; part of it is the novelty of a major new silent film, but also because it is damn good too. If you didn't recognise John Goodman or a fleeting Malcolm McDowell you could quite easily be fooled into thinking you were watching a digitally restored print of an ancient film. The aspect ratio is the old 4:3 format, the credits appear on static cards and are accompanied at the start by a mono-sounding orchestra, and when characters speak, only choice phrases are turned into the intertitles, the written substitute for dialogue of the era. There are also more subtle methods used to really bring in the spirit of the age, such as soft focus, restricted camera freedom (basic track and pan shots, but mostly a static mount) and old-fashioned fade-outs and ins. For all it's attempt to look basic and 'primitive' - for want of a better word - we get a beautifully-realised facsimile of a golden era where the work that has gone into it gives it beauty.
Even the story evokes a previous age of film. Taking place just as silent films are being replaced by 'talkies', distinguished, suave (and slightly slimy) actor George Valantin - a typical slicked back actor of the age with a bounder's pencil moustache and an eye for the ladies, has a successful silent film career but a less than perfect relationship with his silently seething wife. A chance meeting with Peppy, a beautiful young woman (the mesmerising Bérénice Bejo) at a red carpet reception doesn't help, and her opportunistic kiss on his cheek propels her to the front cover of the days news, and eventual stardom as an accomplished actress. At the same time George's film company ditches the comfortable silent film and starts on the talkies, but George cannot make the leap, and as Peppy's fame skyrockets, George ends up losing it all.
You have a beautiful woman, an older man on the edge of his career (echoing the themes of Limelight), you have romance and scandal, success and failure, comedy and tragedy, a talented canine (the adorable Uggy won the Palm Dog this year) and a cracking dance number worthy of Rogers and Astaire at the end. When the credit's rolled, the film received the loudest and most sustained round of applause I had witnessed at any festival; it felt a little like this film had an indefinable something that eighty years of talkies had somehow lost, and for a single film at least, we had witnessed it's return. I loved it, and provided you can catch it when there isn't an inconsiderate fool with a bag of crisps in there with you at the same time, you will too. A great film to end the festival with. 8.5/10
PS: Even though it's a French film, it's all in English, so don't worry about bringing someone along who turns their nose up at subtitles.
Leeds Film Festival 2011: Day 17
Children Who Chase Lost Voices From Deep Below (Jpn) (site)
Unusually, despite my penchant for big budget, beautiful animé, I had somehow yet to watch any Makoto Shinkai film, so I have been looking forward to this all through the festival.
Asuna is a young girl in a rural Japanese village. Her mother is often away working as a night nurse, leaving her to pick up the slack at home. Her father died some time ago. Her little hidey hole where she goes for a bit of solitude, at the top of a nearby hill overlooks a forest and she spends much of her time there in peace, until a strange, bear-like creature attacks her on the way. She is only saved by a mysterious boy, Shun, who seems to leave shortly afterwards, but not before some shadowy agent types begin to snoop around, following rumours that the beast was guarding an entrance to some underground world.
Children Who Chase Lost voices (he has a habit of giving his films long names) is the latest from an artist who raised some eyebrows with his almost entirely one-man produced Voices From a Distant Star a decade ago, and has since come to be thought of in some circles as the next Miyazaki.
Perhaps this comparison has reached his own ears, because the film is VERY much in the style of several Ghibli films. Shun is a dead ringer from Arren from Tales of Earthsea, and the beautiful underground world inhabited by tall humanoid beasts and strange night spectres raises comparisons with Laputa and Mononoke especially, and Mimi the little cat that befriends Asuna is a dead ringer for Nausicaa's Teto. This would be okay, if a little cheap if it didn't feel like a direct lift of some of the themes, and in a very clinical way. There doesn't feel to be much heart underneath the undeniable beauty of the animation, with it's gorgeous starry skies and sunsets, and the usual pillow shots of incidental wildlife. Only half-way in does it start to feel anything other than melodramatic, and even then I didn't care so much about the characters to really identify with the perceived messages of love and loss.
I did enjoy the film as a whole, and while there is no doubt that Makoto Shinkai is a major talent in the animé field, and he has certainly managed to get the visuals sorted out, he still has a long way to go before the story underneath can hit the sort of levels achieved by his inspiration. 7/10
We Have a Pope (Ita) (wiki)
I had the good fortune to see this, as it had been given a second run due to it's popular reception. Habemus Papam is the exclamation traditionally given when a new pope is elected. As the streets of Rome fall silent and the masses gather to see the black smoke turn white, a decision is being made among the cardinals deep in the recesses of the Vatican on who should have the 'honour' - something that none of them actually want. When a late surge of votes comes in to relative unknown Cardinal Melville, he agrees to changing one silly uniform for another, if only out of shock. As it dawns on him of the weight of the situation, panic ensues, though fortunately out of the public gaze and before he is named.
Bringing in a psychologist (whose hands are tied - he can't ask the pope about anything near the subject of sex!) gets nowhere, so while he is locked in for security's sake, Melville is driven out to the next best psychoanalyst in town - and promptly disappears at the earliest opportunity.
Making a farce out of one of the most important Catholic events certainly takes some guts, and director Nanni Moretti gently but decisively pokes fun of the ridiculous traditions of the church and the repressed lives of those of the cloth, who are often portrayed as helpless babies having their strings pulled by the slimy advisor, Radjski. As well as the satirical humour, this film has some truly surreal moments, not just limited to having a future pope wandering around the streets and chatting with the locals. One particularly glorious scene involves the trapped psychiatrist and a few dozen cardinals, trying to fill time before the pope will 'leave his room' by hosting an international volleyball tournament. It felt like Father Ted all over again.
The film did dip slightly towards the end, but in all it was a funny, gentle dig at the absurdities of the religion rather than the people. 7.5/10
Unusually, despite my penchant for big budget, beautiful animé, I had somehow yet to watch any Makoto Shinkai film, so I have been looking forward to this all through the festival.
Asuna is a young girl in a rural Japanese village. Her mother is often away working as a night nurse, leaving her to pick up the slack at home. Her father died some time ago. Her little hidey hole where she goes for a bit of solitude, at the top of a nearby hill overlooks a forest and she spends much of her time there in peace, until a strange, bear-like creature attacks her on the way. She is only saved by a mysterious boy, Shun, who seems to leave shortly afterwards, but not before some shadowy agent types begin to snoop around, following rumours that the beast was guarding an entrance to some underground world.
Children Who Chase Lost voices (he has a habit of giving his films long names) is the latest from an artist who raised some eyebrows with his almost entirely one-man produced Voices From a Distant Star a decade ago, and has since come to be thought of in some circles as the next Miyazaki.
Perhaps this comparison has reached his own ears, because the film is VERY much in the style of several Ghibli films. Shun is a dead ringer from Arren from Tales of Earthsea, and the beautiful underground world inhabited by tall humanoid beasts and strange night spectres raises comparisons with Laputa and Mononoke especially, and Mimi the little cat that befriends Asuna is a dead ringer for Nausicaa's Teto. This would be okay, if a little cheap if it didn't feel like a direct lift of some of the themes, and in a very clinical way. There doesn't feel to be much heart underneath the undeniable beauty of the animation, with it's gorgeous starry skies and sunsets, and the usual pillow shots of incidental wildlife. Only half-way in does it start to feel anything other than melodramatic, and even then I didn't care so much about the characters to really identify with the perceived messages of love and loss.
I did enjoy the film as a whole, and while there is no doubt that Makoto Shinkai is a major talent in the animé field, and he has certainly managed to get the visuals sorted out, he still has a long way to go before the story underneath can hit the sort of levels achieved by his inspiration. 7/10
We Have a Pope (Ita) (wiki)
I had the good fortune to see this, as it had been given a second run due to it's popular reception. Habemus Papam is the exclamation traditionally given when a new pope is elected. As the streets of Rome fall silent and the masses gather to see the black smoke turn white, a decision is being made among the cardinals deep in the recesses of the Vatican on who should have the 'honour' - something that none of them actually want. When a late surge of votes comes in to relative unknown Cardinal Melville, he agrees to changing one silly uniform for another, if only out of shock. As it dawns on him of the weight of the situation, panic ensues, though fortunately out of the public gaze and before he is named.
Bringing in a psychologist (whose hands are tied - he can't ask the pope about anything near the subject of sex!) gets nowhere, so while he is locked in for security's sake, Melville is driven out to the next best psychoanalyst in town - and promptly disappears at the earliest opportunity.
Making a farce out of one of the most important Catholic events certainly takes some guts, and director Nanni Moretti gently but decisively pokes fun of the ridiculous traditions of the church and the repressed lives of those of the cloth, who are often portrayed as helpless babies having their strings pulled by the slimy advisor, Radjski. As well as the satirical humour, this film has some truly surreal moments, not just limited to having a future pope wandering around the streets and chatting with the locals. One particularly glorious scene involves the trapped psychiatrist and a few dozen cardinals, trying to fill time before the pope will 'leave his room' by hosting an international volleyball tournament. It felt like Father Ted all over again.
The film did dip slightly towards the end, but in all it was a funny, gentle dig at the absurdities of the religion rather than the people. 7.5/10
Leeds Film Festival 2011: Day 16
Into the Forest of Fireflies (Jpn) (site)
I was due to see the Ken Loach TV film Family Life, but a mixture of not being able to get out of work early enough, and a general feeling that I wasn't in the mood for something stodgy in the minutes after getting out of the door made me switch to this last minute addition.
Fireflies is a gentle short film (about 45 minutes) based on a manga about a young girl named Hotaru (firefly) who becomes lost in a large and confusing forest and can't find her way out. She is saved by Gin, a mysterious young man in a keaton mask who guides her out, but cannot be touched. He is one of the many Yokai of the woods, cursed by the forest god and if he is touched by a human, he will disappear.
Returning the next day with a thank-you gift, they begin a friendship that passes through the years. They only meet in summertime as that is when Hotaru is at her nearby grandparents.
The animation quality is that of a lower-budget anime, some choppy framerates create jerky movements and there are a few liberties taken (like Gin's mask so we don't see him speak) to lower the cell count and thus the cost. Most of the film's beauty (and it is a beautiful film) is in the gently swaying piano music, and in the watercolour backgrounds; mostly starry skies and ancient sun-dappled forests. Story-wise, it is light and airy, it's not going to invoke tears of joy or sadness in many people as I suspect the director might be hoping for, but it is a pleasant tale that made the residual thoughts of a working day fall behind. 7/10
Grant Morrison: Talking With Gods (UK) (site)
Grant Morrison is a Scottish writer and one-time band member. His parents were both anti-nuclear activists and they encouraged him to lose himself in comics and graphic novels. His early life was quite solitary and insular, and he found pleasure in creating some comics in his teens, slowly gaining notoriety as an artist well before his years. As he got older and was given bigger projects (including writing works for some of the most iconic characters such as Superman and Batman) he teamed up with more established artists, and became a writer, providing the scripts (and some sketches) that the artist would then flesh out to the finished product.
This documentary, in a rather sequential art sort of way, proceeds through his life with Morrison providing most of the commentary (so much in fact - he just doesn't shut up!) about his works and how they coincided to major events in his life. Darker periods such as with family bereavements or the aftermath of 9/11, would translate into much more moody works, such as The Filth; in happier times where he would go on some more spiritual journeys both inside the mind (thanks to some light drug taking) and out, as he travelled the world and his perceived understanding of the world (not to mention some trippy Jesus hallucinations) changed his worldview, and the fate of the characters in his works, accordingly.
Not being much into comics (not a dislike as such or a conscious decision, I just never got round to it) some of the idol-worship laid upon him by his contemporaries, mixed with the 'deep understanding meditation' visuals (which I couldn't tell whether they were tongue in cheek or not) felt a little pretentious. And his trippy spiritual revelations which he seems to believe are a bit batshit. But I guess it's the mix of these things and the man himself which generates the enormous amount of creative output from the man, and the film did make me interested enough to look into trying a few issues of his work, like maybe The Invisibles six year epic, or the satirical Doom Patrol. 7/10
Shame (UK) (wiki/site)
A second directorial film from Steve McQueen (not him, another one) after Hunger debuted a couple of years back. The title encompasses the feelings that most people would have if they inhabited either of the lives of the two main parts. Brandon, played by a very open-minded Michael Fassbender is a somewhat oversexed man. His laptop is crippled with a thousand viruses from the porn sites he can't keep away from, and he just can't seem to leave the real-life ladies alone either. It's just as well that he has that certain something about him that keeps them heading towards his trousers. But his mysterious, distant attitude isn't just for show; he can't seem to get a connection going with anyone, and it's getting to him.
His detached inability to care extends to his little sister Sissy (Carey Mulligan), who is in need of a place to stay, and when her repeated calls are ignored, she breaks in and invades his life - which for a man with a flatful of booby mags and dirty, dirty hard drives, is going to lead to some uncomfortable confrontations. Sissy is the polar opposite of her brother; a beautiful cabaret singer, but clingy and emotional, constantly looking for love and never quite finding it, and she needs her brother's support as she is at her wits end.
Shame is carried along by an awful lot of nudeyness, and both sexes are well catered for, but I never once felt remotely aroused by what I saw; this is not pleasurable sex being portrayed here. They are the uncomfortable, unfulfilled and ugly acts to satisfy purely the base needs and desires of a broken and confused man. Sex is not the point here, but love and the need to be loved, about the importance of distinguishing from the other. It is an intimate and slow-paced look into Brandon and Sissy's life at a tipping point; the contrasting scenes of throwaway sex and beautiful musical numbers, (Mulligan's rendition of New York, New York is sublime) the orchestral scores and primal grunting makes for intriguing and occasionally compelling viewing, and the second half of the film ramps up both the emotion and the gratuity, working to a conclusion that in hindsight, like Brandon, you could have easily seen coming. It's candid, explicit, often shocking and sometimes beautiful. 7.5/10
I was due to see the Ken Loach TV film Family Life, but a mixture of not being able to get out of work early enough, and a general feeling that I wasn't in the mood for something stodgy in the minutes after getting out of the door made me switch to this last minute addition.
Fireflies is a gentle short film (about 45 minutes) based on a manga about a young girl named Hotaru (firefly) who becomes lost in a large and confusing forest and can't find her way out. She is saved by Gin, a mysterious young man in a keaton mask who guides her out, but cannot be touched. He is one of the many Yokai of the woods, cursed by the forest god and if he is touched by a human, he will disappear.
Returning the next day with a thank-you gift, they begin a friendship that passes through the years. They only meet in summertime as that is when Hotaru is at her nearby grandparents.
The animation quality is that of a lower-budget anime, some choppy framerates create jerky movements and there are a few liberties taken (like Gin's mask so we don't see him speak) to lower the cell count and thus the cost. Most of the film's beauty (and it is a beautiful film) is in the gently swaying piano music, and in the watercolour backgrounds; mostly starry skies and ancient sun-dappled forests. Story-wise, it is light and airy, it's not going to invoke tears of joy or sadness in many people as I suspect the director might be hoping for, but it is a pleasant tale that made the residual thoughts of a working day fall behind. 7/10
Grant Morrison: Talking With Gods (UK) (site)
Grant Morrison is a Scottish writer and one-time band member. His parents were both anti-nuclear activists and they encouraged him to lose himself in comics and graphic novels. His early life was quite solitary and insular, and he found pleasure in creating some comics in his teens, slowly gaining notoriety as an artist well before his years. As he got older and was given bigger projects (including writing works for some of the most iconic characters such as Superman and Batman) he teamed up with more established artists, and became a writer, providing the scripts (and some sketches) that the artist would then flesh out to the finished product.
This documentary, in a rather sequential art sort of way, proceeds through his life with Morrison providing most of the commentary (so much in fact - he just doesn't shut up!) about his works and how they coincided to major events in his life. Darker periods such as with family bereavements or the aftermath of 9/11, would translate into much more moody works, such as The Filth; in happier times where he would go on some more spiritual journeys both inside the mind (thanks to some light drug taking) and out, as he travelled the world and his perceived understanding of the world (not to mention some trippy Jesus hallucinations) changed his worldview, and the fate of the characters in his works, accordingly.
Not being much into comics (not a dislike as such or a conscious decision, I just never got round to it) some of the idol-worship laid upon him by his contemporaries, mixed with the 'deep understanding meditation' visuals (which I couldn't tell whether they were tongue in cheek or not) felt a little pretentious. And his trippy spiritual revelations which he seems to believe are a bit batshit. But I guess it's the mix of these things and the man himself which generates the enormous amount of creative output from the man, and the film did make me interested enough to look into trying a few issues of his work, like maybe The Invisibles six year epic, or the satirical Doom Patrol. 7/10
Shame (UK) (wiki/site)
A second directorial film from Steve McQueen (not him, another one) after Hunger debuted a couple of years back. The title encompasses the feelings that most people would have if they inhabited either of the lives of the two main parts. Brandon, played by a very open-minded Michael Fassbender is a somewhat oversexed man. His laptop is crippled with a thousand viruses from the porn sites he can't keep away from, and he just can't seem to leave the real-life ladies alone either. It's just as well that he has that certain something about him that keeps them heading towards his trousers. But his mysterious, distant attitude isn't just for show; he can't seem to get a connection going with anyone, and it's getting to him.
His detached inability to care extends to his little sister Sissy (Carey Mulligan), who is in need of a place to stay, and when her repeated calls are ignored, she breaks in and invades his life - which for a man with a flatful of booby mags and dirty, dirty hard drives, is going to lead to some uncomfortable confrontations. Sissy is the polar opposite of her brother; a beautiful cabaret singer, but clingy and emotional, constantly looking for love and never quite finding it, and she needs her brother's support as she is at her wits end.
Shame is carried along by an awful lot of nudeyness, and both sexes are well catered for, but I never once felt remotely aroused by what I saw; this is not pleasurable sex being portrayed here. They are the uncomfortable, unfulfilled and ugly acts to satisfy purely the base needs and desires of a broken and confused man. Sex is not the point here, but love and the need to be loved, about the importance of distinguishing from the other. It is an intimate and slow-paced look into Brandon and Sissy's life at a tipping point; the contrasting scenes of throwaway sex and beautiful musical numbers, (Mulligan's rendition of New York, New York is sublime) the orchestral scores and primal grunting makes for intriguing and occasionally compelling viewing, and the second half of the film ramps up both the emotion and the gratuity, working to a conclusion that in hindsight, like Brandon, you could have easily seen coming. It's candid, explicit, often shocking and sometimes beautiful. 7.5/10
Leeds Film Festival 2011: Day 15
Sound of Noise (Swe) (wiki)
Unfortunately due to some less than stellar scheduling, this film moved forward by a quarter hour, and the next one back by just as much in the time between me working out what I was going to watch, and the tickets being issued. I don't get why they stagger the films like this anyway.
Anyway, I won't score it but I will briefly touch on my impressions of the first hour. It looked intriguing, to be blunt. The trailer which ran on the opening day made the film look completely art-house; which was an inaccurate view, and a cohesive (if unusual) narrative was quickly built up. Magnus and Sanna are musicians, frustrated at the cheesy calming musak pumped through speakers everywhere around their city and are fighting back. Magnus has penned his opus, 'Music for one city and six drummers', and they intend to go through with it, conducting a surreal and not remotely legal music event using whatever they find in the city as percussion.
So yes, a musical terrorist movie. It felt subversive, sharp and a bit edgy, and what with the Occupy Wall Street goings on going on it seems to be the movie for the moment (and come to think of it, a theme among the films this year). If possible, I'll catch the rest of it sometime.
Satellite Bolinha (Bra) - A very rough around the edges little film from Brazil before Scrapper came on, highlighting the almost impossible of ordinary people putting together ham radio-style kits with odds and ends that hijack the bandwidth of those satellites orbiting the earth, that the engineers didn't bother to install with any security features, thus creating a sort of global CB radio network. These became known as the 'little ball' satellites, or Bolinhas. Obviously the authorities aren't usually happy, so the next logical step is to get a home-made satellite into space, and a surprising number actually manage it. A scrappy documentary on a potentially fascinating subject. 7/10
Scrapper (USA) (site)
Out in the south Californian scrub land is a range called the 'chocolate mountains', these unfortunate hills and valleys are the targets for the US army and navy who fly over in just about every flying fortress you can think of, and lob bombs onto abandoned tanks and jeeps day and night. This is the lair of the Scrappers, a bunch of scavengers with a death wish.
They fight amongst themselves for territory, they run the risk of bumping into drug pushers who use the range as a drug running route, they happily skip around on old bombs partially hidden by the dirt from the latest barrage, and they risk being in the wrong place at the wrong time if a passing helicopter gunship pilot fancies a bit of target practice.
But the rewards are high. Dud bombs can be dismantled for aluminium, shell casings for brass. In the period the film-maker was privileged enough to spend with some of the (competing) scrappers - the Bush era from about 2002 to 2007 - the price of these metals rocketed as they were made scarcer by their moulding into yet more bombs and shell casings to go to Iraq and Afghanistan. A scrapper on a good day can take home a truckfull of parts, process them back at their homes and take them to the scrap yard who will pay a good price and melt them down, no questions asked. These good ol' American weapons often become parts in Chinese electronics, which in turn are sold back to the west.
It was fascinating to see the more human sides of these people, and go with them foraging and see what risks they take every day - though you were acutely aware that these are the same people who would without thought firebomb and maybe kill any trespasser trying to forage on their patch. Suitably, it featured excerpts from Bush's war-related speeches on the subject now and again in the background, contrasting what he said about freedom and prosperity for all with what was happening on screen. For those who don't speak redneck, thankfully most of it was subtitled (it really all needed to be). It's only real failing was that it felt a little dry and roughly put together (which befitted the theme I suppose) but the conclusion and wrapup of these people and their ongoing lives was tatty and the credits rolled without warning. 7/10
The Substance: Albert Hoffmanns LSD (Swi/Ger) (site)
An analysis of the drug that was found by chance in 1948 while researching the circulation of blood around the body. LSD can come from a number of forms, such as he Mexican magic mushrooms, or an extract of the ergot mould which grows on rye, and being the experimental type, Hoffmann tried it himself. His hellish, nightmare experience with only a diluted dose convinced him the substance was going to be powerful in the psychological field and required further research.
In the fifties, it became a popular experimental tool on human behaviour and research into the brain, but as time passed it was also being noticed by the artists and creative crowds, who saw the mind-expanding nature of the drug as a way of magnifying their consciousness and therefore their abilities. For a while in the sixties casual street use - especially in the suburbs of San Francisco where it was first discovered - was tolerated by the law, but as the conservative groups expressed concern and outrage about it's effects, and the results of the 'bad trip' came to the fore, it was made illegal in the late sixties, retreating back to the exclusive hands of a few privileged research institutes.
The Substance, considering it's subject matter felt a bit starchy, even when we reach the psychedelic, trippy hippy era there feels to be a restraint to it, as though they were cautioned to ensure that the film didn't basically become an advert from the drug. This stopped my enjoyment a little, but it remains an informative, funny and surprising study of the drug and some of the major players involved in it's dissemination to the public sphere. 7/10
Unfortunately due to some less than stellar scheduling, this film moved forward by a quarter hour, and the next one back by just as much in the time between me working out what I was going to watch, and the tickets being issued. I don't get why they stagger the films like this anyway.
Anyway, I won't score it but I will briefly touch on my impressions of the first hour. It looked intriguing, to be blunt. The trailer which ran on the opening day made the film look completely art-house; which was an inaccurate view, and a cohesive (if unusual) narrative was quickly built up. Magnus and Sanna are musicians, frustrated at the cheesy calming musak pumped through speakers everywhere around their city and are fighting back. Magnus has penned his opus, 'Music for one city and six drummers', and they intend to go through with it, conducting a surreal and not remotely legal music event using whatever they find in the city as percussion.
So yes, a musical terrorist movie. It felt subversive, sharp and a bit edgy, and what with the Occupy Wall Street goings on going on it seems to be the movie for the moment (and come to think of it, a theme among the films this year). If possible, I'll catch the rest of it sometime.
Satellite Bolinha (Bra) - A very rough around the edges little film from Brazil before Scrapper came on, highlighting the almost impossible of ordinary people putting together ham radio-style kits with odds and ends that hijack the bandwidth of those satellites orbiting the earth, that the engineers didn't bother to install with any security features, thus creating a sort of global CB radio network. These became known as the 'little ball' satellites, or Bolinhas. Obviously the authorities aren't usually happy, so the next logical step is to get a home-made satellite into space, and a surprising number actually manage it. A scrappy documentary on a potentially fascinating subject. 7/10
Scrapper (USA) (site)
Out in the south Californian scrub land is a range called the 'chocolate mountains', these unfortunate hills and valleys are the targets for the US army and navy who fly over in just about every flying fortress you can think of, and lob bombs onto abandoned tanks and jeeps day and night. This is the lair of the Scrappers, a bunch of scavengers with a death wish.
They fight amongst themselves for territory, they run the risk of bumping into drug pushers who use the range as a drug running route, they happily skip around on old bombs partially hidden by the dirt from the latest barrage, and they risk being in the wrong place at the wrong time if a passing helicopter gunship pilot fancies a bit of target practice.
But the rewards are high. Dud bombs can be dismantled for aluminium, shell casings for brass. In the period the film-maker was privileged enough to spend with some of the (competing) scrappers - the Bush era from about 2002 to 2007 - the price of these metals rocketed as they were made scarcer by their moulding into yet more bombs and shell casings to go to Iraq and Afghanistan. A scrapper on a good day can take home a truckfull of parts, process them back at their homes and take them to the scrap yard who will pay a good price and melt them down, no questions asked. These good ol' American weapons often become parts in Chinese electronics, which in turn are sold back to the west.
It was fascinating to see the more human sides of these people, and go with them foraging and see what risks they take every day - though you were acutely aware that these are the same people who would without thought firebomb and maybe kill any trespasser trying to forage on their patch. Suitably, it featured excerpts from Bush's war-related speeches on the subject now and again in the background, contrasting what he said about freedom and prosperity for all with what was happening on screen. For those who don't speak redneck, thankfully most of it was subtitled (it really all needed to be). It's only real failing was that it felt a little dry and roughly put together (which befitted the theme I suppose) but the conclusion and wrapup of these people and their ongoing lives was tatty and the credits rolled without warning. 7/10
The Substance: Albert Hoffmanns LSD (Swi/Ger) (site)
An analysis of the drug that was found by chance in 1948 while researching the circulation of blood around the body. LSD can come from a number of forms, such as he Mexican magic mushrooms, or an extract of the ergot mould which grows on rye, and being the experimental type, Hoffmann tried it himself. His hellish, nightmare experience with only a diluted dose convinced him the substance was going to be powerful in the psychological field and required further research.
In the fifties, it became a popular experimental tool on human behaviour and research into the brain, but as time passed it was also being noticed by the artists and creative crowds, who saw the mind-expanding nature of the drug as a way of magnifying their consciousness and therefore their abilities. For a while in the sixties casual street use - especially in the suburbs of San Francisco where it was first discovered - was tolerated by the law, but as the conservative groups expressed concern and outrage about it's effects, and the results of the 'bad trip' came to the fore, it was made illegal in the late sixties, retreating back to the exclusive hands of a few privileged research institutes.
The Substance, considering it's subject matter felt a bit starchy, even when we reach the psychedelic, trippy hippy era there feels to be a restraint to it, as though they were cautioned to ensure that the film didn't basically become an advert from the drug. This stopped my enjoyment a little, but it remains an informative, funny and surprising study of the drug and some of the major players involved in it's dissemination to the public sphere. 7/10
Leeds Film Festival 2011: Day 14
Gnarr (Ice) (site)
Do you find politics stuffy and boring? Filled with the dull, grey and corrupt types with a willingness to kowtow for a bit of a backhander? Then you need to watch this joyous film.
Jon Gnarr is a long-standing Icelandic comedian, and when the economic crash of 2008 hit Iceland especially hard, he decided to do something about it. He set up a party to run for the position of Mayor in the capital city, Reykjavik. Not a political party, because this is what he was against most of all, a boring, grey stuffy pile of suits that changed little and just seemed to get older and disappoint. Not unlike politicians and parties the world over. He wanted to destroy the system and so The Best Party was born.
The party began as a joke, an extension of one of his routines, but when he went out with a few of his like-minded (but politically naive) friends and canvassed, the people began to respond. Their initial goals were small: grab a few seats from the Progressive Party, one of the more extreme ends of the political spectrum who pick up fringe votes. But they defied the low expectations of their opponents who only knew how to talk dryly about budgets and sound off a few campaign promises. At each interview, each debate, Gnarr and his party just would not play the game. They gave campaign 'promises' (which they openly admitted they would not honour), like a dinosaur theme park ('with those dinosaurs from Jurassic Park, wherever they are these days..') and an Iceland Disneyland, free to all citizens. They even did a campaign song, to the tune of Tina Turner's Simply the Best:
When cornered into a dull debate, he just confounded opponents by going off on one and talking about Moomins or Penguins, to which they could only respond with bafflement. It was a joy to see. And the people loved it, because they could see what his opponents couldn't; that the joy has been squeezed out of people's lives, and the current crop has little clue of what people want and need. The Best Party rode the wave of the need for change in the 2010 city council elections.
This brilliant fairytale-come-true documentary had me constantly smiling, wishing for Best Parties to spring up all over the world. I wouldn't call myself much of an anarchist, but I think there is some fundamental change needed in politics, for it to regain it's humanity like it has done in Iceland.
I want to go live there now. RIGHT NOW. 8.5/10
Futures Market (Spa) (site)
Compared to Gnarr, Futures Market is a change of pace and of heart. In a similar fashion to yesterdays' Involuntary, the film jumps between a selection of unrelated stories, but whereas the subjects were all scripted tales, Futures Market is very much a reflection of the lives of real people.
There are two areas of contrasting focus, a personal view of life for the less well off, starting with the clearing out of the possessions of someone's house, and following the furniture through the process of being sifted through, stepped on and sold off, and a brief meditation on some of the people it comes into contact with along the way.
To contrast this, we see the derelict land of a hundred ex homes, imminently scheduled for demolition to make way for fancy apartment complexes in some of the world's most desirable locations. The investors come in and are courted by the salesmen. The salesmen gather in small groups and dick-wave to each other about quarterly profits. They pretend to be interested as they listen to each other network for new channels of revenue, and then they go into an inspirational seminar, where they are told how to make money out of the current economic crisis.
Though the lyrical and often beautiful words of a soft-spoken narrator of sorts breaks up the action every now and then with odes to the philosophies and lifestyles of the ancient Greeks, the otherwise non-judgemental footage pretty much says what is on the director's mind, moving between the worlds by clever and often subtle visual connections. It's a little one-sided, portraying the poor as pleasant and happy and the rich as stressed and unlikable, and it is a bit long, weighing in at a shade under 2 hours, but it was an enjoyable and personal comment on how civilisation is losing something of itself as we climb the ladder. 7/10
Symbol (Jpn) (site)
I struggle to accurately describe Symbol, but I'll try. The film is split into two, apparently unrelated stories. A man wakes up in a strange white room. The walls reach up into the sky above, and it seems an infinity of nothingness, except for a small switch-like object on the wall. Pressing it yeilds only the start of this man's nightmare at the hands of some mischievous entity, watching him to see if he can work out what to do.
The other half is set in the real world. Somewhere in Mexico, a man dons his mask and spandex suit and prepares for another round of a WWF-style tag-team fight as Escargot Man. His son and father watch in the audience. These two worlds are about to briefly collide in the most unexpected way possible.
To say any more would be to spoil the surprise hidden within the mysterious, inventive and downright barmy Symbol. Really, I thought Karate-Robo Zaborgar would be the 'out there' film this year by a country mile, but Symbol gives it a damn good run for it's money. It has the same feeling as Big Man Japan from a few years ago (by the same director who is also the star of both, unfortunately I didn't get to see it in the retrospectives section due to other commitments), and it's fair to say that if you enjoyed the frankly ludicrous (but slightly drawn out) slapstick humour there, you'll enjoy this too. I really can't say why I enjoyed it so much, because I frankly don't know, but I did. I'm still smiling now. 7.5/10
Do you find politics stuffy and boring? Filled with the dull, grey and corrupt types with a willingness to kowtow for a bit of a backhander? Then you need to watch this joyous film.
Jon Gnarr is a long-standing Icelandic comedian, and when the economic crash of 2008 hit Iceland especially hard, he decided to do something about it. He set up a party to run for the position of Mayor in the capital city, Reykjavik. Not a political party, because this is what he was against most of all, a boring, grey stuffy pile of suits that changed little and just seemed to get older and disappoint. Not unlike politicians and parties the world over. He wanted to destroy the system and so The Best Party was born.
The party began as a joke, an extension of one of his routines, but when he went out with a few of his like-minded (but politically naive) friends and canvassed, the people began to respond. Their initial goals were small: grab a few seats from the Progressive Party, one of the more extreme ends of the political spectrum who pick up fringe votes. But they defied the low expectations of their opponents who only knew how to talk dryly about budgets and sound off a few campaign promises. At each interview, each debate, Gnarr and his party just would not play the game. They gave campaign 'promises' (which they openly admitted they would not honour), like a dinosaur theme park ('with those dinosaurs from Jurassic Park, wherever they are these days..') and an Iceland Disneyland, free to all citizens. They even did a campaign song, to the tune of Tina Turner's Simply the Best:
When cornered into a dull debate, he just confounded opponents by going off on one and talking about Moomins or Penguins, to which they could only respond with bafflement. It was a joy to see. And the people loved it, because they could see what his opponents couldn't; that the joy has been squeezed out of people's lives, and the current crop has little clue of what people want and need. The Best Party rode the wave of the need for change in the 2010 city council elections.
This brilliant fairytale-come-true documentary had me constantly smiling, wishing for Best Parties to spring up all over the world. I wouldn't call myself much of an anarchist, but I think there is some fundamental change needed in politics, for it to regain it's humanity like it has done in Iceland.
I want to go live there now. RIGHT NOW. 8.5/10
Futures Market (Spa) (site)
Compared to Gnarr, Futures Market is a change of pace and of heart. In a similar fashion to yesterdays' Involuntary, the film jumps between a selection of unrelated stories, but whereas the subjects were all scripted tales, Futures Market is very much a reflection of the lives of real people.
There are two areas of contrasting focus, a personal view of life for the less well off, starting with the clearing out of the possessions of someone's house, and following the furniture through the process of being sifted through, stepped on and sold off, and a brief meditation on some of the people it comes into contact with along the way.
To contrast this, we see the derelict land of a hundred ex homes, imminently scheduled for demolition to make way for fancy apartment complexes in some of the world's most desirable locations. The investors come in and are courted by the salesmen. The salesmen gather in small groups and dick-wave to each other about quarterly profits. They pretend to be interested as they listen to each other network for new channels of revenue, and then they go into an inspirational seminar, where they are told how to make money out of the current economic crisis.
Though the lyrical and often beautiful words of a soft-spoken narrator of sorts breaks up the action every now and then with odes to the philosophies and lifestyles of the ancient Greeks, the otherwise non-judgemental footage pretty much says what is on the director's mind, moving between the worlds by clever and often subtle visual connections. It's a little one-sided, portraying the poor as pleasant and happy and the rich as stressed and unlikable, and it is a bit long, weighing in at a shade under 2 hours, but it was an enjoyable and personal comment on how civilisation is losing something of itself as we climb the ladder. 7/10
Symbol (Jpn) (site)
Dear Japan,
I watched Symbol today. It made me smile. In fact I had a strange and uncontrollable smile on my face the whole journey home through the night. How the film managed this, I have not as yet ascertained as I have no grasp on what it is I have just watched, but seriously I'd like a bit of whatever you guys are on.
Much love, fancyplants.
I struggle to accurately describe Symbol, but I'll try. The film is split into two, apparently unrelated stories. A man wakes up in a strange white room. The walls reach up into the sky above, and it seems an infinity of nothingness, except for a small switch-like object on the wall. Pressing it yeilds only the start of this man's nightmare at the hands of some mischievous entity, watching him to see if he can work out what to do.
The other half is set in the real world. Somewhere in Mexico, a man dons his mask and spandex suit and prepares for another round of a WWF-style tag-team fight as Escargot Man. His son and father watch in the audience. These two worlds are about to briefly collide in the most unexpected way possible.
To say any more would be to spoil the surprise hidden within the mysterious, inventive and downright barmy Symbol. Really, I thought Karate-Robo Zaborgar would be the 'out there' film this year by a country mile, but Symbol gives it a damn good run for it's money. It has the same feeling as Big Man Japan from a few years ago (by the same director who is also the star of both, unfortunately I didn't get to see it in the retrospectives section due to other commitments), and it's fair to say that if you enjoyed the frankly ludicrous (but slightly drawn out) slapstick humour there, you'll enjoy this too. I really can't say why I enjoyed it so much, because I frankly don't know, but I did. I'm still smiling now. 7.5/10
Leeds Film Festival 2011: Day 13
Eco Pirate: The Story of Paul Watson (Can) (facebook)
Rarely has my little festival notes book had so many scribbles in it for one film. Paul Watson was one of the original members of the Greenpeace movement in the 1970's, when a group of similarly-minded anti-nuclear environmental activists decided to broaden their scope to include the mistreatment and slaughter of animals, particularly whales and seals. But whereas the Greenpeace philosophy had its roots in the Quaker movement and the concept of civil, non-violent protest, Paul Watson had more radical ideas. An acrimonious split from the group in 1977, after an operation to hinder the seal clubbers off Newfoundland, saw Paul set up his own group advocating more direct action, and as in the case of the ramming of the Sierra, an illegal whale hunting ship, outright violence to get the intended result.
Since then, Paul and his crew aboard the Sea Shepherd have met with increasing hostility from those he has tried to oppose. Russian, Norwegian and Japanese ships have all been his targets and have responded in kind, and the film contains some pretty scary footage of gunshots and huge ships ramming and scraping into each other. Mixed in with the history and archive footage of the Greenpeace and Sea Shepherd Conservation Society movements (which have not always seen eye to eye) is film from a recent pacific mission of the coast of Australia, where Japanese "Research" vessels were whaling under a thin guise. Unfortunately their ship is too slow, and could be easily outrun, which is where the celebrity fund-raisers come in.
A fascinating and enlightening film (whether you agree with the work or not) that gave a candid view through friends and colleagues past and present, of a flawed but determined man and his life mission to do what was right, regardless of whether it was lawful. 8/10
Involuntary (Swe) (site/wiki)
A collection of stories, sliced up and presented in chunks, all based around the subject of people in involuntary situations as a result of the pressure of others upon them. A fireworks accident at a party leaves a father with an eye injury, but his wife is helpless when it comes to getting him to hospital. A young teacher struggles with the ways of her peers when she sees one slapping an unruly child. Two promiscuous (to say the least) teenage girls find themselves on both the giving and receiving end of some unwanted photo taking. A woman takes a ride on a coach with some unruly teens, and finds herself stranded when the driver refuses to budge until someone owns up to a petty piece of vandalism. Finally, a group of male schoolfriends, now grown up, push things too far with one of their number.
Films of this type can be hit and miss; the broken up nature and the sparse narrative can mean that the viewer is lost in a fug of unrelated stories, trying to pattern match and find links between the scenes that aren't there. Involuntary is one of the better examples of this type of film. For the first ten minutes I groaned inside at the seemingly random scenes playing out (especially as the director steadfastly refused to move or pan the camera), but after they begin to cycle and the story of each progresses, the intention of the film becomes clearer, and thus the enjoyment also. By the end I had lost all my irked feelings and was quite enjoying what I had seen. 7/10
My Magic (Sng) (site)
My Magic brought a smile to my face even before it had started. The print that we were given to watch included the brief presentation reel for 'Action For Earth' - the theme of the Tokyo Film Festival. It felt weird to see it again.
My Magic is a sad but ultimately life-affirming tale of a lonely man. A single parent and a massive drunk. He has a heart of gold somewhere in his huge frame, but his son can't see it as the most he usually sees of his dad is a darkened figure in the night gloom, face down in his own vomit.
But Francis has one talent - he is (or was) a magician, one that specialised in feats of pain - such as sticking needles through body parts, eating glass and swallowing fire. When he learns that young Raju wants to make a better go of his life and study for university, he realises his bar job is not enough, and accepts his manager's offer to use his tricks to entertain a local gang boss. But the boss is a sadistic man, and to get the money he so desperately wants to win back his son's respect, he must take whatever beatings the boss pleases.
Taking a little while to get going, My Magic evolves from quiet and gentle beginnings, through some pretty squeamish bits, into a dramatic and emotional finale, and is not the sort of film you would expect from a place like Singapore. Francis is played by real-life magician Bosco Francis, and the things you see in the film are not special effects. When a needle appears to pass through his arm, it really does. This, coupled with the realistically sweaty and grimy surroundings gave it a feeling of realism absent from many modern films, and set the scene nicely for a powerful ending. 7.5/10
Rarely has my little festival notes book had so many scribbles in it for one film. Paul Watson was one of the original members of the Greenpeace movement in the 1970's, when a group of similarly-minded anti-nuclear environmental activists decided to broaden their scope to include the mistreatment and slaughter of animals, particularly whales and seals. But whereas the Greenpeace philosophy had its roots in the Quaker movement and the concept of civil, non-violent protest, Paul Watson had more radical ideas. An acrimonious split from the group in 1977, after an operation to hinder the seal clubbers off Newfoundland, saw Paul set up his own group advocating more direct action, and as in the case of the ramming of the Sierra, an illegal whale hunting ship, outright violence to get the intended result.
Since then, Paul and his crew aboard the Sea Shepherd have met with increasing hostility from those he has tried to oppose. Russian, Norwegian and Japanese ships have all been his targets and have responded in kind, and the film contains some pretty scary footage of gunshots and huge ships ramming and scraping into each other. Mixed in with the history and archive footage of the Greenpeace and Sea Shepherd Conservation Society movements (which have not always seen eye to eye) is film from a recent pacific mission of the coast of Australia, where Japanese "Research" vessels were whaling under a thin guise. Unfortunately their ship is too slow, and could be easily outrun, which is where the celebrity fund-raisers come in.
A fascinating and enlightening film (whether you agree with the work or not) that gave a candid view through friends and colleagues past and present, of a flawed but determined man and his life mission to do what was right, regardless of whether it was lawful. 8/10
Involuntary (Swe) (site/wiki)
A collection of stories, sliced up and presented in chunks, all based around the subject of people in involuntary situations as a result of the pressure of others upon them. A fireworks accident at a party leaves a father with an eye injury, but his wife is helpless when it comes to getting him to hospital. A young teacher struggles with the ways of her peers when she sees one slapping an unruly child. Two promiscuous (to say the least) teenage girls find themselves on both the giving and receiving end of some unwanted photo taking. A woman takes a ride on a coach with some unruly teens, and finds herself stranded when the driver refuses to budge until someone owns up to a petty piece of vandalism. Finally, a group of male schoolfriends, now grown up, push things too far with one of their number.
Films of this type can be hit and miss; the broken up nature and the sparse narrative can mean that the viewer is lost in a fug of unrelated stories, trying to pattern match and find links between the scenes that aren't there. Involuntary is one of the better examples of this type of film. For the first ten minutes I groaned inside at the seemingly random scenes playing out (especially as the director steadfastly refused to move or pan the camera), but after they begin to cycle and the story of each progresses, the intention of the film becomes clearer, and thus the enjoyment also. By the end I had lost all my irked feelings and was quite enjoying what I had seen. 7/10
My Magic (Sng) (site)
My Magic brought a smile to my face even before it had started. The print that we were given to watch included the brief presentation reel for 'Action For Earth' - the theme of the Tokyo Film Festival. It felt weird to see it again.
My Magic is a sad but ultimately life-affirming tale of a lonely man. A single parent and a massive drunk. He has a heart of gold somewhere in his huge frame, but his son can't see it as the most he usually sees of his dad is a darkened figure in the night gloom, face down in his own vomit.
But Francis has one talent - he is (or was) a magician, one that specialised in feats of pain - such as sticking needles through body parts, eating glass and swallowing fire. When he learns that young Raju wants to make a better go of his life and study for university, he realises his bar job is not enough, and accepts his manager's offer to use his tricks to entertain a local gang boss. But the boss is a sadistic man, and to get the money he so desperately wants to win back his son's respect, he must take whatever beatings the boss pleases.
Taking a little while to get going, My Magic evolves from quiet and gentle beginnings, through some pretty squeamish bits, into a dramatic and emotional finale, and is not the sort of film you would expect from a place like Singapore. Francis is played by real-life magician Bosco Francis, and the things you see in the film are not special effects. When a needle appears to pass through his arm, it really does. This, coupled with the realistically sweaty and grimy surroundings gave it a feeling of realism absent from many modern films, and set the scene nicely for a powerful ending. 7.5/10
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