Somewhere ★★☆☆☆

Dear Sofia,

Let me start by saying how sorry I am for what I’m about to say. I never thought this would happen, but it’s got to a point now where things have gone beyond stale and I think we both know this letter was inevitable. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve tried my best, and I agree that things used to be great - I still remember vividly those pastel summer days, back in suburban America, when we would frolic about listening to Air....

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The Cranes Are Flying ★★★★★

 

There has been a lot of press of late regarding the welfare of Iranian directors, especially Jafar Panahi, who was recently imprisoned for making films deemed to have an intention to incite “crimes against the country’s national security and propaganda against the Islamic Republic.” This is nothing new and whilst outrageous behaviour that in no way can be condoned, there are still many who argue that this kind of government repression has actually resulted in some of the most innovative and daring pieces of films we have ever seen. Take, for example, the most popular Soviet film ever made, Battleship Potemkin, a piece of communist propaganda that, whilst heralded by many as one of the greatest movies of all time, still very much maintains a strong Stalinist message. The Cranes Are Flying was made in the old Soviet Union in 1957 (five years after the death of Joseph Stalin) and still remains very much a film created behind the Iron Curtain. Despite all this, it somehow managed to rise above all the restrictions that state governance placed upon it to win the Palme D’Or at The Cannes Film Festival the following year. 

The film opens with our central characters, Boris and Veronika, two star-crossed lovers enjoying a romantic rendezvous upon a Moscow river embankment. It isn’t long, though, before the two are separated due to the outbreak of the Second World War, a war Boris feels obligated to volunteer for.

Boris is quickly rushed to the front line on the day before Veronika’s birthday, and is unable to give her the farewell he had planned.

As the war unravels, Veronika finds herself drawn into a downward spiral of events which she could never have previously imagined, yet she remains hopeful that one day she will hear from her true love…

Although The Cranes Are Flying was released in the USSR after the relaxation of the ‘cult of personality’ (an ideal that the enhancement and promotion of Stalinist political doctrines should be educated to the masses through visual propaganda and the censorship of Western media), Soviet cinema still remained property of the state, and thus heavily censored. As with modern day Iran, any film deemed politically offensive was either edited down or removed from distribution. Despite this, The Cranes Are Flying still managed to stir strong emotions from the people of the Soviet Republic.

For us, a story about two lovers separated by war is nothing original; however, for the people of the USSR, it was their first chance to grieve for those lost during the largest war of our modern history. Up until The Cranes Are Flying, no-one had dared show a realistic interpretation of the war, instead focusing on the historic victories of Stalin’s army against the evils of the fascist dictatorship of the Nazi Party. Indeed, as previously mentioned, the cult of personality determined that all films produced during this time must celebrate both Lenin and Stalin. Yet, let us not forget that during the Second World War, the Soviet Union lost more than twice the number of any other participating country (admittedly, most of these casualties were the result of unsanitary accommodation, harsh training regimes and a lack of firepower, which resulted in many solders having to wait for their comrade in front to fall before gaining access to a gun).

But enough of the history lesson, how does the film hold up by itself? First thing to mention would be the stellar cinematography. The film’s use of, at the time, groundbreaking hand-held camera work is to this day still a joy to behold. There is one pivotal scene which will stay in the memories of anyone who watches this film. It uses a montage of shots, including a spiral staircase that makes Hitchcock’s famous scene from Vertigo look like child’s play. It certainly wouldn’t be out of place in the most modern and stylish of art house films. Cinematographer Sergei Uruseveky learnt this technique of shooting without using a tripod whilst doing his national service, and obviously combined his knowledge of war with his exceptional eye for a shot and immaculate use of ambient lighting. This combination of bold shots and strong performances, especially from Tatyana Samojlova, help emphasize all the feelings of destruction, separation and hopelessness that we have all come to recognize in our war films.

Director Mikhaol Kalatozov must also be commended, if only for his daring decision to include such topics as war profiteering and draft dodging. Although issues well known to the Soviet people at the time, they had been greatly ignored in the history archives of Russian cinema.

The only criticism to aim at this film, which truly deserves to be heralded as one of the greatest pieces of Soviet Cinema, is the fact that it is still very much a piece of Soviet cinema – there is still a strong underlying current of communist propaganda throughout. The film continues to portray Russia as a great superpower, with no recognition of any of its national problems. Many issues are avoided like the spread of famine throughout the country during, and very much after the war. But could you honestly say that a film like Saving Private Ryan isn’t slightly pro capitalism and pro America?

The Cranes Are Flying is indeed a prime example of how state controlled cinema, through its abundance of government funding, can sometimes result in truly amazing and innovative filmmaking. All this whilst keeping at bay the loss of identity that mass globalization can sometimes bring. Perhaps this is an element of our flourishing relationship with America that we should not ignore.

Little White Lies ★★★★☆

In 2006, Guillaume Canet took the world by storm with his astoundingly successful thriller, Tell No One. This sophomore film by the young director introduced not only himself, but modern French cinema to a much wider audience. As such the film’s popularity (both critically and financially) led many critics to predict a ‘new wave’ of the French nouvelle vague to resurge upon  our shores – which to an extent it did with films such as, Diving Bell & the Butterfly, Mesrine and I’ve Loved You So Long all faring relatively well. Canet’s much anticipated follow up, Little White Lies was the second highest grossing film in France last year (Only just behind Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows). Yet with its tremendously inward looking and nationalistic blend of comedy and drama, will this charming expose of the laboured friendship of eight wealthy friends  resonate with the same widespread success over here or remain one strictly for British Francophiles?

We join these carefree socialites just days before departing on one of their ritual summer vacations. But when a sudden horrific traffic accident lands one of their party in intensive care (Ludo) they find their plans have to be reassessed. As he fights for his life, his friends have a seemingly difficult decision to make. Do they stay and watch over their seriously ill friend, or instead leave him, and go ahead with their original plans anyway? They soon convince themselves that by cutting short their break by a couple of weeks, they’ll be able to get the much needed rest they feel they deserve, whilst being back in time to tend to Ludo once he regains consciousness. It’s a choice that many would frown upon, and as events unfold, it would appear they’d be correct. This decision soon becomes a classic example of ‘an elephant in the room’ as it slowly starts to over-shadow any enjoyment that is to be had, gradually illuminating the Little White Lies that threaten to tear apart the fragile fibres holding the group together.

The holiday is funded by Max (Francois Cluzet), something of an older brother figure to the group, who allows his younger acquaintances to gallivant around his opulent beach house, eat from his bountiful fridge, and take trips into town on his lavish power boat. It all sounds rather generous, until you realise he seizes any opportunity to make this fact abundantly clear to the eternal teenagers he chooses to mingle with. It’s at these strikingly charmless moments that we begin to realise that this high strung restaurant owner is purely obsessed with material wealth, and masks his egotistical desire to be respected with hand-outs and charity.

Also amongst this selection of the crème-de-la-crème of French acting talent we have Marie (played by recent Hollywood leading lady, and Guillaume Canet’s wife, Marion Cotillard), a pot smoking, heavy drinking, self-proclaimed ethnologist, whose penchant to study others is no more than an attempt to prevent studying herself. She’s a perfect example of the emotional damage which can be caused by continually putting off tomorrow.

Next there’s Eric (Gilles Lellouche), a failing actor who softens the crippling effects of his faltering career by pursuing a life of infidelity. Yet, when his girlfriend breaks up with him after her attempts to garnish a little more commitment from him fail, he struggles to truly convey his heartbreak, instead hiding behind the same persona he has created to mask his other numerous shortcomings…

What unravels is a thoughtful, unashamedly sentimental and genuine film about friendships and family ties. This seemingly cluttered cast, at first, look like nothing more than superficial, pretentious clichés of the modern French bourgeoisie society. An example of those who have disregarded their traditional family values in favour of a lifestyle fuelled solely by desires of the flesh and an apparent need to escape the hardships of life through a state of constant inebriation. Yet, somehow, despite the apparent detached moods of each character, director Guillaume Canet manages to shine a light on the inner beauty inside all of them. This is achieved through a subtle use of elegantly framed and perfectly timed close ups, combined with some incredibly evocative and sincere dialogue.

The pivotal and shrewd role of Jean-Louis (the oyster farmer) should also not be forgotten. He is more than just a periphery character, but instead an important voice of reason and statue of moral purity with which to both judge, and then lead the group to redemption. He is our window into this world of opulence, like an ambassador for many of us viewing who fail to feel sorry for these spoilt, immature and quite abhorrently melodramatic characters. It’s partly down to the inclusion of this divisive role that makes Canet sprawling character drama a successful searching piece of film, which, regardless of class or age, takes you on a journey to the extremes of human emotions.

There’s an obvious nod towards films such as The Big Chill, Mes Meilleurs Copains and Un Elephant ca Tromp Enormement, but Canet openly admits these sources of inspiration, and has stated that he was always attempting to make a “friends movie.” His achievement in creating some of the most magnificently realistic looking friendships to ever grace the big screen is worthy of the highest praise. Apparently this feat was produced by insisting that all cast members spend two weeks prior to filming at the cabin the film was to be shot. He wanted them to learn each other’s mannerisms, as well as seemingly minute details, like where the knives and forks were kept. It clearly works, and at no point should you ever feel like you’re watching actors ‘pretending’ to get along. It’s this natural feeling atmosphere which ensures that the emotive traps set throughout the course of the film are truly effective.

With a runtime of 154 minutes, Little White Lies is perhaps guilty of being a little too self-indulgent. Some of the scenes are strung out far too long, giving the impression that the cast were having far too much fun filming to take into consideration the dwindling attention span of the audience. However, a film with such an extensive list of high profile stars was always going to be accused of either being too long, or guilty of under developing characters. The closing third, unfortunately, does suffer mildly because of this, and as tempers begin to flare and lessons start to be learnt, the impact is slightly diluted – Canet’s lofty ambition to tie up the high volume of loose ends results in an ever so slightly clumsy, and toothless final act.

As with his previous directorial work, Canet also still seems determined to show off his expansive record collection, through a heavy-handed use of non-diegetic sound. It’s used in an attempt to help amplify the feeling of certain scenes, and evoke a stronger emotional reaction than perhaps he feels comfortable achieving through simple dialogue and framing alone. It’s a negative viewpoint that’s incredibly subjective. Depending on your musical tastes, it’ll either come across as ingenious or momentarily cringe worthy. Yet a film built on a strong foundation of meticulous character development, viscerally beautiful cinematography and such rich ideas, as are present here, shouldn’t need such un-subtle devices to enhance the mood of key moments.

Like a modern day sitcom, but without the furious pace and mainstream sensibilities, Little White Lies may lack the thrill a minute, breakneck action of Tell No One, but is certainly no worse a film for it. What could have been a cluttered, pompous mess of a drama is instead an accomplished and immersive (if perhaps overly long) subtle blend of genuinely, laugh out loud comedy and effectively moving tragedy. Little White Lies will ultimately leave you feeling emotionally exhausted by the end – regardless of whether you’re an auteur of French cinema or not.

Source Code ★★★★☆

Two years ago Duncan Jones put the artistic blood he was born with to good use when he made his much celebrated, astral adventure Moon, a cerebral, mind bender of a film which harked back to the golden days of Science Fiction. A time when the genre was more than just a vehicle for over-blown special effects, but instead a vast and uncompromising medium in which to portray modern day fears and concerns about the direction society was heading. As with all debut features which receive such high praise what proceeds them is always going to be heavily scrutinised, especially when said follow-up is classifiable under the same genre. 

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Werckmeister Harmonies ★★★★★

Can the medium of film really be defined as art? Or is it in fact nothing more than an amalgamation of different art forms? For Bela Tarr, acclaimed director of Damnation and Satantango and master of the ‘slow cinema’ genre, film is less art but rather a psychological process. No more is this true than in his latest, and rumoured to be final movie, Turin Horse, which apparently came very close to being named Best In Competition at this year’s Berlin Film Festival.

The story takes place in a small, unnamed provincial town in Hungary. A town isolated from the continued advancements of the west which survives purely on the will of its hard working community. We follow Janos Verluska (Lars Rudolph), a philosophical young man who lives and works here throughout the bitterly cold weather whilst still managing to care for his elderly uncle.

On one of these cold days, a circus arrives in the town – a circus unlike any we would be familiar with. Its collection of oddities includes the carcass of a large whale and a mysterious man named ‘The Prince’. They’re all contained in an iron clad trailer that features none of the glam or glitz you’d normally expect to see from a touring show aiming to entertain.

This circus and especially ‘The Prince’ come with a following of disenfranchised foreigners and neighbouring towns’ folk. These elements combined with a coal shortage in the town during an unrelenting frost ignites a fire of disharmony that has been festering beneath the fragile populous, resulting in a rebellion of colossal magnitude…

With Werckmeister Harmonies, Tarr has created his most philosophical film so far. His use of Janos Verluska to narrate and observe the town’s descent into madness helps us to understand how such chaos could come about so quickly. Indeed, the film’s opening scene (in which Janos explains to the local bar’s patrons how the effects of an eclipse reflect our human condition to block out the looming fear of mortality) sums up what we as an audience are in store for. This allegory, beautifully portrayed through the spinning of drunkards, represents the movements of the Earth and the Moon around the Sun, and depicts the way in which the natural world turns to madness when faced with the silence of impenetrable darkness.

If you fail to find the majesty in this opening scene then it would be fair to say that Werckmeister Harmonies isn’t for you. It’s here in these opening ten minutes that we witness a montage of all the style and trademark techniques Bela Tarr has become famous for. Here we see them all working in perfect harmony, whether it be his magnificent ability to hold your attention throughout overtly long tracking shots, his meticulous use of lighting to gently reflect mood, and the subtle presence of non-diegetic sound to emphasise the deep rumbling emotion that should by now be pumping through your veins.

There is also the fascinating use of symbolism which has kept many intellectual art house fans up all night debating with each other on internet message boards. The main topics of debate focus on deciphering the meaning behind both the giant whale carcass and the enigmatic prince. The large dead whale could easily be seen as a representation of God, or more notably Nietzsche’s quote about morality and the disappearance of the moral principals which once guided us through organised religion. “God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him” would certainly seem fitting with this depiction of a community’s rapid decline into chaos. ‘The Prince’ perhaps holds a more obvious connection to the film’s geographical setting, and Tarr’s devotion to depicting his nation’s harrowing journey throughout modern European history. Some see ‘The Prince’ as a representation of Hitler and thus the effects of fascism which tore the country apart. Others see the Slovak speaking prince as a depiction of Stalin and the oppressive communist regime he subjected Hungary to throughout the 1950s. However you look at it, he is certainly an image of sanctimonious hatred whose singular aim is to pollute the populous with an atmosphere of rebellion and chaos.

All this high praise should not mask the fact that, like his previous work, Tarr’s style is certainly not to everybody’s taste. Clocking in at hefty 139 minute runtime and only comprising of thirty-nine extended takes (that’s an average of three-and-a-half minutes per shot, whereas your usual Hollywood block buster clocks in at around 5.4 seconds). The film certainly requires a mix of patience and strong will (as well as an equally strong bladder!).

Fans of silent cinema should find much to rejoice in with Werckmeister Harmonies mainly due to its aesthetic similarities with the genre. Tarr’s use of minimalist dialogue and wide angled shots, often paired with a sustained and soulful close-up of the characters faces, harks back to films such as Metropolis and Sunshine. A perfect example of how a picture is worth a thousand words.

Regardless of your taste or preference in world cinema, or your feelings on the newly revered genre of ‘slow cinema’, Werckmeister Harmonies should be viewed by anyone who claims to be a devotee of art house film. Even if the film’s subtle symbolism escapes you, or it’s lethargic pace frustrates, you should certainly find enough here to convince you of what a truly sumptuous masterpiece of cinematic art this is. Yet like all works of art, it will no doubt confound some whilst dazzling others.