Only This Much Shadow Left: The Day I Became A Woman (2000)

I am going on the record as saying that were I afforded an unlimited amount of time, brain power and ability to master an understanding of cultural mores and language that I would wholly spill my time into understanding all things related to Iranian cinema.  While it is not my primary focus or even one of my sub-research interests as I become more invested in my academic endeavors I am quite certain in my assertion that it has produced some of the best films in the past two decades, hovering almost entirely around the wonderful offerings of Abbas Kiarostami.  However, he is far from the only director working in the country and others have produced keenly meta-cinematic works that manage to consider the state of identity in Iran both on a literal and metaphorical level, all lending in some degree to the impossible, yet perfect, blending of the realist and allegorical tradition of this countries cinematic output.  I adore these works, A Moment of Innocence and Close-Up being two notable works, however, upon the discovery that there existed a film by an Iranian woman that had achieved equal status demanded its being sought out, or more accurately introduced to me by a professor, and the result was nothing short of an evocation on art and the nature of the self when it is in contrast to competing notions of what one should do in a society whose history is a maddening conflation of contradictions as well as rich and proud history.  The Day I Became a Woman is the poetic and magical work by Marzieh Meshkini and it is nothing short of pure cinematic perfection.  Told in a tripartite narrative, this film manages to cleverly navigate tenuous boundaries of temporal and spatial existence to show that perhaps not everything is as idyllic in a country whose global exoticization, paired with a particularly tense relationship with the "western" world has resulted in a cinematic experience so inherently unique that to place another layer of non-normative identity upon it causes it to take on an ethereal and outright moving quality.  If cinema truly has the ability to move beyond the real into another layer of understanding, The Day I Became a Woman is the backbone to such an aesthetic argument.

Clearly divided between three stories, The Day I Became a Woman begins with the experiences of Haveh (Fatemah Cherag Akhar) a girl on the island of Kish who has just turned nine years old, therefore making her subject to the wearing of traditional chador (Islamic headdress for Iran).  Confused by this demand, enforced by her grandmother and own mother, Haveh simply wants to spend the day playing with her friend Hassan (Hassan Nebah).  While she cannot put off her becoming woman she is able to bargain for an extra hour of play with Hassan that is limited by his having to complete homework, thus resulting in her having only time to share an exchange of a lollipop with Hassan before being placed in the chador and carted off by her mother.  The second story centers on Ahoo (Shabnam Toloui) a young woman who is shown competing in a bicycle race with other woman on the island and while she seems content with simply riding with the pack when a her husband approaches on horseback demanding that she give up racing and return home, the panicked Ahoo continues to ride forward never stopping or appearing to consider giving up.  Indeed, as her husband and other men from her tribe approach demanding that she stop, Ahoo drives forward blowing past all the other women in her race, however, when the tribe gets their leaders involved, including some of Ahoo's brothers, their blocking of the road prevent her from moving forward, becoming a thing in the background of another riders line of sight.  The third portion of the story focuses on Hoora, or Houra (Azizeh Sedighi) an elderly woman landing in Kish in hopes of doing some extensive duty free shopping.  Houra, complete with a series of strings on her fingers to remind her of the items she needs, begins accruing furniture and appliances at an alarming rate, her source of money is confusing to all involved.  Yet when she completes her list, save for one item on her finger which she cannot recollect, she is not quite ready to leave, therefore she sets up her wares on the beach in a sort of house without walls much to the elation of the boys she has hired as help and the confusion of two women who have approached on bicycle, purportedly having just finished the race involving Ahoo.  Regardless, Houra has the boys build her a raft that allows her to float her goods onto a ship in the distance skyline, all the while the newly chador donning Haveh looking on with an enigmatic look that suggests both despondence and curiosity.

Time, space and identity are all clear themes within Meshkini's stunning film.  However, to some degree, these are also central issues in pretty much every film, although uniquely so to Iranian cinema and its bizarre world of hyper-censorship.  I, however, am fascinated with the ways in which Meshkini uses movement to suggest something transitory, if not constantly liminal.  The figures in her film seem to be caught in an impossible space between the world of representation and the reality the viewers are living.  Take for example, the innocent, yet highly sexualized sharing of a lollipop between Haveh and Hassan.  The continuity in this shot is off, but it would appear to be a choice on the part of Meshkini, as the two are now split off from the world, the cutting of the scene never showing the two children (or new adults?) in the same frame, it would break censorship, yet through a stroke of delightful precociousness, the two share in an intimate encounter, overlaid by suckling sounds on the overdub soundtrack that moves between the diagetic and non-diagetic simultaneously.  The two move in impossible ways because to depict them in a normal encounter would be to face off against strict censorship.  Incidentally, even in its cut off manner, censors still suggested that Meshkini remove the scene altogether.  Ahoo's movement is perhaps most evocative, because the constant shots from the forefront of her biking towards the screen invoke the same sense of terror that occurred in Arrival at the Train Station or the Klans ride in Birth of a Nation.  However, what is impending and fear inducing, is instead a shared encounter between Ahoo fleeing an oppressive past and the viewers, assumedly the women encountering the film.  The intercuts of Ahoo's peddling feet and the clomping of horses chasing the rebellious Ahoo suggest a movement both transitionally, but also metaphorically as she becomes animalistic in her flight from illogical oppression, but more importantly, an unseen predator.  Finally, it is worth quickly noting Houra's own movement which is decidedly more aided by the mechanical, whether it be her landing in the space on a plane or the aid of her extended wheelchair/pushcart, Houra represents a figure whose movement is figuratively disembodied and requires the help of others.  Her female identity overlaid by this and a desire to consume all that she never had speaks to immobility of women in the space of cinema and culture in wild and transgressive ways.  Again it is worth noting that the film was made within censorship restrictions, but manages to knowingly contradict them at every opportunity.

Key Scene:  The lollipop scene is seriously one of the most complex of cinematic encounters I have ever witnessed and this is in a film full of visually transgressive commentary.

The DVD transfer is not great, but aside from a Korean region 3 DVD it is the only option and it looks phenomenal regardless.  As such buying a copy is a MUST.

This Isn't Caving, This Is An Ego Trip: The Descent (2005)

I am beginning to commit to enjoying horror films, I am fully aware that it seems contradictory to a cinephile to enjoy horror movies, because by mainstream standards they are regarded as a lesser genre, one that is constantly pumped out and fills the space of movie theaters, in most cases, with garbage.  Furthermore, I have in the past talked about a "horror renaissance," and am certainly not the only person to provide such terminology when discussing the genre and its seeming disappearance over the past few years.  I am fully committed to now recanting that statement and claiming that there have been a solid set of horror offerings over the past decade and some change, we are just foolish as cinephiles to expect them to manifest themselves in a manner similar to that of say the eighties where gore ruled all and over-the-top was a must.  I think it is often a problem of fans of that era to assume that classic horror films of that era were the only thing to appropriate such stylistic choices, when, in fact, most every film from the 80's adheres to a high degree of showiness, even when it is meant to be serious and dramatic, think about Cinema Paradiso and Amadeus as primary examples.  I say all this to bring up The Descent, a relatively overlooked horror film from 2005 that is quite enjoyable and does little to undermine the tradition of the horror genre, in fact, aside from its setting it actually embraces most of the tropes of the horror genre, especially all of the elements that made the 80's one of the high moments for scary movies.  In fact, excluding a few new ways of scaring, I would say that The Descent is a viewer's guide to all the ways to scare in a horror film, which may suggest that it is lesser in its repetition, but its decided post-modern approach to the genre is damn scary in its execution, because while writer and director Neil Marshall certainly uses traditional ways to get you to jump out of your seat he seems to have everything a second or two off kilter making the scares deliver at the most unexpected moments.  The Descent will scare you and just when you think you have been provided the worst moments in the film they manage to extend a bit longer, not to mention, this is one insanely gory movie and man does it embrace that state of mind.

The Descent follows the experiences of a group of thrill seeking women who spend their time exploring the wild outdoors, attempting to navigate new landscapes and untapped territories.  However, during their most recent trip Sarah (Shauna MacDonald) experiences tragedy when during the return home, her husband dies in an intense and traumatic car accident, leading to her being hospitalized.  A year later, Sarah is invited to go caving with her group of friends, as a means to move on and forget about her tragic events of the past.  However, it is clear that even though she is attending the trip her psychological state is far from sane.  Nonetheless, the group undertakes a night of partying and boozing before heading on their trip, to a cave, which the group's optimistic leader Juno (Natalie Mendoza) fails to mention has been unmarked.  The descent, from which the film sort of draws its name, is relatively uneventful at first, aside from the occasional scare of bats or rock slippage.  Yet when it becomes clear that they must enter into the smaller portions of the cave to advance further paranoia begins to rise within the group, particularly Sarah who begins to have panicked visions of her past traumas, as well as visions of things moving throughout the cave.  After an accident immobilizes one of the members, it is revealed that Sarah's visions were far from imagined and that the cave is indeed occupied by humanoid creatures who have a desire to destroy and devour the occupants of their cave.  One by one the creatures pick off the members of the group, until it is only Juno and Sarah left, whose friendship was already at odds when Juno revealed her desire for naming the cave in their honor.  In an act of vengeance, Sarah attacks Juno with a climbing spike, leaving her stuck waiting for an eventual death at the hands of the creatures.  Sarah manages to escape and in a panicked state makes her way the group's car and escapes, however, when she pulls off to the side of the road it is made apparent that this escape was all but real and that her visions of insanity may have been much deeper than initially assumed.

I mentioned that The Descent has a title with a dual meaning.  The obvious one being that it is about a group of women descending a cave, whereas the second refers to one woman and her descent into madness after the crippling sense of loss when her partner dies.  Of course, that is the metaphor that extends throughout the film, because as many know, good horror films exist to exploit the hell out of a metaphor and The Descent does it with unadulterated commitment.  For example, the creatures themselves could represent Sarah's own blind rage, one that is intent on destroying everything in a state of vengeance, misguided and inexplicable it is a sort of feeling of injustice that if not properly attended to could explode into serious issues.  Furthermore, her fractured relationship with Juno is not necessarily reflective of her deception regarding their planned locale, but, instead; a result of her failed help as a friend after her husband's death.  As both Sarah and another friend note, Juno disappeared immediately after the accident as opposed to saying the length of time appropriate to help Sarah through her mental breakdown.  Therefore, her act of revenge against Juno in the closing moments of the film has a possible second layer of "pinning" her down for her own previous indiscretions, allowing her to no longer use mobility to escape, one could argue that by attacking Juno, Sarah has forced her to face her evasiveness.  While the other characters seem secondary in this critique they are certainly not that, in fact, I would argue that they also represent an extension of Sarah's psyche, or better yet problematic ways in which she could have dealt with the tragedy.  For example, one girl is aiming to be a doctor, perhaps a metaphor for the problems of treating Sarah as a fragile being in constant need of care, whereas another addition to the group is a woman who navigates each moment as though it is a singular detached experience, perhaps a failed approach Sarah might have taken after her husbands death.  Regardless of these readings the closing of the film suggests that any and all efforts were in vain, because Sarah succumbs to the darkness of her descent, one of loneliness and inevitable death.

Key Scene:   For as many scary moments in the film, perhaps the most creepy moment comes rather early in the film.  Suffice to say, it involves a window and boy did it stick with me.

This is an excellent film and one of the better horror films of the past decade.  I strongly encourage you to pick up the cheap bluray, it is certainly worth more than its price suggests.

The First Boy That Sees You Will Want To Marry You: Like Water For Chocolate (1992)

As part of a presentation I am working on I am reconsidering a set of Korean films for their commentary on eating disorders as a means to subvert gender norms and body politics within a contemporary discourse and while I know it is unlikely I am planning being asked about other ways in which food plays into a global narrative of gender and body politics, as such I am attempting to tackle a considerable amount of other films from global cinema which do deal heavily with food as a theme.  The first stop, as should be no surprise, is with the mesmerizing, sultry and sensational Mexican masterpiece Like Water For Chocolate, which has become an art house staple and cinematic treasure within the two decades following its initial release.  Mexican film certainly stands on its own two feet when it comes to an identity and culture, yet one would be really blind if they were to deny Like Water For Chocolate as a clear subscriber to two elements of traditional Spanish cinema, first being the heavy centering within the melodramatic tradition, perhaps the most important stylistic choice in Spanish film for the past century, as well as a clear consideration of magical realism which certainly occupies the space of the film, although it is certainly not as overbearing or present as other films from the country and certainly not on the level of some of the works drawing from Marquez or Lorca.  I popped in a considerably older version of the DVD which is not the greatest of quality and clearly one of the lesser transfers of the film, however, it is easy to pick up on the cinematic magic of the film and its exceptional style.  A film heavily influenced by sexuality and burgeoning desire, one quickly become intoxicated with the early twentieth century world actor-turned-director Alfonso Arau offers viewers.  Of course, one would be foolish to simply label Like Water For Chocolate as a pretty looking film with equally pretty people living within its its spaces, because its very direct gender commentaries and considerations of the spheres occupied by those genders is clearly at the forefront of the film.  It is no surprise that this film seems to grow a larger appreciation as years pass, because it is leaps ahead of its contemporary Belle Epoque a film I enjoyed, but am in no way enamored with, something I can certainly say about Like Water For Chocolate.

Like Water For Chocolate focuses primarily on Tita (Lumi Cavazos) a ethereal young woman who has been burdened with the unfortunate task of watching her mother, considering that she is the youngest daughter and tradition requires that she do so.  Yet, as the narrator of the film, one of Tita's sisters granddaughters, explains she was born with such striking features that the first man to lay eyes on her would undoubtedly fall for her, and this proves to be the case when she meets Pedro (Marco Leonardi).  Yet, Tita's mother Elena (Regina Torne) expressly forbids Tita from getting married, reminding Pedro that she is to take care of her until she passes, suggesting that the young man marries her other daughter Rosaura (Yareli Arizmendi) instead, something that Pedro agrees to do, realizing that it will still afford him an opportunity to see the woman he loves and eventually create a life with her.  Of course, as any good narrative proves, even the best laid plans come with obstacles, despite Pedro doing his best to put off intercourse with Rosaura it eventually happens and a child is born as a result, although, poor health on the part of Rosaura leads to Tita becoming the primary caretaker for the young man, much to Pedro's elation.  All the while, Tita comes to the realization that something about the cooking skills she as acquired from her late grandmother allow her to control the physical reactions of the world around her, using them, in fact, to ruin the festivities fo Rosaura and Pedro's wedding, as well as causing Rosaura to  become overweight and unsightly, completely destroying her desirability to her husband, who already has eyes for Tita.  All the while, Elena condemns Tita's every action and even when she dies her spirit returns to curse the young woman, resulting in fires literally occurring every time Tita and Pedro engage in physical intimacy. In the end, the passion of the two lovers proves to intense and Tita sacrifices them both to a fire, in order, to preserve the sanctity of everyone else in her lineage, although her history is clearly passed down through her cookbook, as the films closing moments suggest.

It is the lineage through food that sets the discussion up concerning femininity within the context of Like Water For Chocolate.  A film full of female interactions, it is both progressive and backwards moving in its execution.  Clearly the film embraces the power of matriarchal rule, creating a clear distinction between the power of Elena and pretty much every figure within the film.  Even Tita's sister Gertrudis (Claudette Maille) manages to take control of a small militia and become a rather uncommon female solider.  However, it is not easy to over look the oppressive acts occurring on the part of Gertrudis to her soldiers and much more blatantly in the relationship between Elena and Tita.  In fact, if one were to draw upon a feminist identity within the film it would seemingly be within the hands of Tita who is oppressed for a majority of the narrative and simply desires to engage in and express her own condemned and disapproved form of love, yet her jealousy and divisive engagements with other members of her family, who are invariably of the same sex means that these actions are to be questioned and to a considerable degree exist within the same oppressive realm of her mother.  Furthermore, little mention is given to the identities of the families various servants, including the main maid who is only used as a almost mammy figure after the loss of the families grandmother.  It is interesting that the feminine bonds disappear after the disappearance of the grandmother, because I would certainly argue that she proves to be the most egalitarian and progressive character in the entire film, despite fitting the description, on paper, of a person who would cling to conservative values.  The time period of this film reminds viewers that women's issues were prescient and to engage in conniving acts of back-stabbing is a decidedly internalized version of patriarchal oppression.  I know I ramble and make some rather unusual connections, it is not to undermine the very pro-feminine nature of Like Water For Chocolate, as it does end suggesting that descendants will undertake a new idea of femininity detached from distrust and jealously, yet the narrative is so heavily invested in these elements that it cannot, and clearly should not, be ignored.

Key Scene:  A scene involving quail and rose petal in its drawn out and grander execution is perfected magical realism if I have ever encountered it and boy does it scream cinematic brilliance.

Buy a copy of this film (no bluray as of yet), it is a must own and a definitive film from the Spanish speaking realm of global cinema.

You're Admitting It, Just By Being Silent: Memento Mori (1999)

I was going to dodge doing films within the horror genre for at least a month, however, this Korean film project has meant that I am tied down to watching a particular set of films, not that I mind of course considering it is a main area of research interests, particularly in the ways gender is portrayed within the films.  Yet even when I reflect on Memento Mori while writing this blog I realize that referring to it as a  a horror film is somewhat misleading and were it not for the last fifteen to twenty minutes of the film, it would seem to be the complete antithesis of anything of the genre.  Instead, as others of have argued, Memento Mori is a study of young love, in this case in a lesbian context and manages to stick to its guns about this theme for a good portion of the film.  Of course when I say that this is a horror movie, set in a high school about two young girls discovering their lesbian desires, one could easily read it as being something of an exploitative flick, particularly considering the latent violence and sexuality within so much of New Korean Cinema, yet, in the hands of co-directors Tae-Yong Kim and Kyu-dong Min we are provided with an earnest look into two girls falling head over heals for one another despite the aggressive and physical abuses enacted upon them by their fellow students, as well as the faculty and staff of the high school they attend.  In a tradition somewhat normal in the Korean psychological thriller, the film's narrative is quite non-linear and even appears to contain dueling narratives existing within the same film space.  While this is apparently a loose sequel to an earlier film titled Whispering Corridors, something I am now dying to see, Memento Mori manages to make strides in its commentaries on youthful angst and ill-will, as well as draw serious attention to issues of silencing and bullying the other.  I often find myself engaged in conversations in which much criticism is brought about as to the lack of interesting and appropriate lesbian figures within film, had I known of this film prior I would have leapt at the opportunities to discuss this highly overrated work.  I would boldy suggest that were Memento Mori not suffering from mislabeling as horror, it would be a far more recognized work.

The film, as mentioned, primarily centers on the burgeoning love between two young girls, one the somewhat well-respected, if not despised Min Hyo-sin (Park Ye-jin) and the reserved athlete Yoo Shi-eun (Lee Young-jin) who suffers from some sort of hearing loss that causes her to be the subject of ridicule by classmates and teachers who all seem to suffer from an insane lack of understanding.  While they manage to keep their romantic involvement somewhat of a secret, the discovery of their journal by a fellow student named Soh Min-ah (Kim Min-sun), leading to speculation and a fabrication of their evolving relationship.  This spirals the film into something incredibly non-linear in which viewers may find trouble attaching moments to their proper moment in time, particularly when scenes involve both the lovers, as well as Soh.  It is only when we witness Soh secluded reading the diary that we can assure a present state, but it moves to their moments of intimacy with such instantaneous fervor that it is never certain.  Eventually, it is revealed that despite an initial bond, Shi-eun becomes somewhat distancing towards Hyo-sin who she sees as becoming far too attached to be a healthy relationship, going so far as to sleep with a male teacher as a means of assuring that the two will have a child together.  This drives Hyo-sin over the edge causing her to commit suicide, expecting Shi-eun to follow along as part of a suicide pact made earlier in the film.  Of course, Shi-eun does no such thing and attempts only to exist and distance herself from her past choices.  This leads to Hyo-sin haunting the school for the latter portion of the film, at times possessing Soh since she is key to bringing the entire narrative to light, considering that she possesses the journal.  The film ends rather abruptly as the ghost distances itself from the school and we are again shown a moment of Hyo-sin and Shi-eun engaging in young romantic affairs on the school's roof, as though the events to follow were just a troublesome figment of their young and vibrant imaginations.

This film has received a lot of criticism, and deservedly so, for not sticking to a central cinematic concept, especially the films third act which is exceptionally frantic and damn near impossible to follow.  However, I would contest that the films message requires this sort of ambiguous and non-linear format to drive home issues of oppression and ignorance.  The relationship we are shown is created through not a factual account per se, but a gleaning for emotive notes written in an equally non-traditional diary, one full of pictures, phrases and hidden pockets, but rarely of any flat out writing.  Hyo-sin clearly struggled to explain her feelings for Shi-eun, just as she ponders existence when reading her poem for class.  She cannot properly categorize her feelings for another girl, because the societal constructs not only do not allow her to possess such feelings, but, in fact, completely lack a language to describe such moments.  The narrative reinforces this both by the hateful language spouted by the oppressive forces within the film, as well as by creating a narrative that is not traditional in its construct.  At times Memento Mori reads more like a feminist experimental film or a piece of Third World Cinema, something more inclined to deal with the intersectionalities considered in this work.  Sure this film masks itself in a horror film at its closing moments, I imagine some of that is likely to be a result of nitpicking producers, however, despite its problematic genre location, Memento Mori is very much a film to be grounded and admired within the constantly growing and emerging Gay and Lesbian cinema.

Key Scene:  The moments on the rooftop are sweet and sentimental, something not often shown in Korean cinema.

This is a great film and one worth checking out, unfortunately, it is a bit hard to come by via Netflix, but Amazon has decently priced copies at the moment.

I Wish It Was Already Monday: Treeless Mountain (2008)

I have seen quite a few Korean movies since I decided to make it an area of focus in my Graduate studies, however, Treeless Mountain was one of those films that floated around in my queue, well before I made this transition nearly a year ago, specifically under my Netflix liking of low-budget, cerebral stories of everyday life...or some crazy combination of film tropes and genres that seems absurd, but, nonetheless, appropriately describes my tastes.  When I read the description for the film, the plot which I will expand on shortly, made me assume that the work would be unbearably graphic and intensely uncomfortable.  Yet, this is not from the same set of veins that so many controversial Korean films seem to set their roots within, it is very much an independent film about two young girls coming to grips with growing up entirely too quickly and losing all sense of their innocence in the process.  Of course, this loss is expanded upon in very metaphorical turns, often taking moments of serenity and dabbling with comforts of viewers not in the grotesque, but in the tragically real.  One could easily change the race of these children and the location and draw upon the same themes globally, particularly when set within a metropolitan discourse.  Treeless Mountain has all the heavy handedness of a Truffaut oriented children's film's closing moments, I am thinking particularly of Small Change, but it could work to some degree for a few of his other earlier works.  Not to discredit those marvelous works, but I find the beauty of Treeless Mountain to reside in its taking of a stance as its narrative being rough, tragic and sparse, without giving viewers the comfort of whimsy for the first hour and some odd change of the film.  This film exists as a perfect syncrinization of a pitch perfect story, daring cinematography and perhaps some of the best child acting seen in decades.  Treeless Mountain has introduced me to a new burgeoning segment of Korean cinema that I cannot wait to explore.  While I certainly understand director So Yong Kim's move to making movies in Hollywood, it is a bit of a let down to realize that he will not return to subject matter of the same latent gravitas and subtlety.

Treeless Mountain begins with a cold opening of sorts, we are given the film credits overlapped as a young Korean girl consumes all things education within a classroom, the girl Jin (He-yeon Kim) appears to also enjoy playing Pogs, although this game causes her to be late in picking up her younger sister Bin (Song-hee Kim) an action that leads to her caretaker being incredibly upset.  They wait anxiously for the return of their mother from work, only to witness her react to their excitement in a beleaguered state of indifference.  It is revealed that the neighbor can no longer afford, or perhaps cares to, watch Jin and Bin, forcing the mother to unload them on their aunt, whom they "affectionately" refer to as Big Aunt (Mi-hyang Kim), a cantankerous older woman who constantly dismisses their questions and concerns.  It is eventually revealed that Big Aunt suffers from an incredible troublesome drinking problem and only sees the two children as a deterrent from her boozing.  Realizing that in order to meet up with their mom again the two must fill their piggy bank full of coins as promised, they take up selling grilled grasshoppers, eventually making more than enough to fill the plastic pig.  However, despite their mother's promise the two wait patiently at the bus stop before realizing that she will not return.  Even after making a friend with a local boy who suffers from an apparent mental disorder, the two are not able to escape that they must rely on their Big Aunt whose most recent drunk stupor has lead her to become so frustrated with the girls, that she unloads them onto their grandparents farm.  While their grandfather is incredibly against the idea of them staying, the grandmother takes an instant liking to the two girls and is shown training them in the ways of farming, before the two walk along the country side singing a sweet song, completely forgetting the tragedy of being abandoned by their own mother.

Loss of innocence is certainly the central theme to Treeless Mountain, particularly in that Jin and Bin are forced to come to a realization that parents are not necessarily the pillars of perfectness that youth allows you to assume.  I remember coming to this realization rather lately in my life at say nineteen or so and having considerable trouble consuming the notion, it is even more tragic to realize that this certainly occurs not only within this film, but to many people this age on a daily basis.  Blame can be directed in a variety of places, one could claim the mother at fault for not properly controlling her life and the lives of those she birthed, one could attack the educational and political systems in the film for not taking note of the obvious home troubles.  Hell, an argument could even be made as to why a misplaced valuing of capitalist endeavors are the root of the children's lost innocence, yet, however, one reads it, the fact is that Jin and Bin are made to realize the harshness of existence quite early and quite intensely.  While it may seem like one of the lesser moments in the film, almost a throw away moment, when Jin initially impales a grasshopper with a stick, one can read that as the ultimate moment of lost innocence, particularly because it is such a inherently violent act, even if the justification is creating food for them at some points as well as a means for profits.  In one reading it would be easy to see this scene as Jin and Bin displacing their own violent subjection upon something smaller than themselves, ultimately, as a means of financial gain, certainly something their mother could be considered guilty of doing, even if she had initially good intentions.  In fact, it is not until they find their grandmothers love, and, more importantly, disconnect from capitalist desire that they are able to regain some youthful bliss, which results in them ambitiously providing their piggy bank to their grandmother to buy new shoes.

Key Scene:  There are a few soberingly real moments throughout the film that cause viewers to question how "ignorant" Jin is to the world she engages with, one, in particular, occurs when she is receiving a sticker from the mentally challenged friend they have recently met.

This is a spectacular piece of cinema, easily one of my new favorites from South Korea.  It is a gift to be able to see it on Watch Instantly, although I dream of an imminent  Bluray upgrade.

My Tears Were White, Like Milk: House of Pleasures (2011)

Thanks once again to the guys over at Battleship Pretension for turning me onto a film that I would otherwise completely overlooked from 2011.  In this case, it is the French period piece titled House of Pleasures (Tolerance), which as you may have guessed focuses on life in a brothel, specifically one at the beginning of the 19th century in France.  While it may sound as this is the formula for an incredibly exploitative film, it is all but that and is instead an incredibly focused, cinematic and atmospheric study of a lifestyle and experience that is often relegated to the bizarre and profane in historical narratives.  With moments that are incredibly Kubrickian style, a contemporary soundtrack and a complete refusal to shy away from depicting the more unflattering moments of life in a brothel, House of Pleasures is sincere in what it is trying to depict.  It is important to note that the film was independently produced and eventually picked up by IFC, allowing for it to be unfiltered in its depictions, most importantly in the sexual elements of the narrative.  Bertrand Bonello's film is at times sobering, at others revelatory, but never uninteresting.  Including an excellent set of actresses, of various races and ages, House of Pleasures may well be one of the most politically correct films, about one of the more socially unacceptable topics.  More importantly, House of Pleasures stands out as one of the most beautiful films shot in 2011 and has knocked yet another film off of my previous list of my favorite films of last year, now only losing to Take Shelter and Tree of Life.  It is truly a tragedy that his film did not receive more hype, here is to hoping that at least one more person reads this post and discovers the film.

House of Pleasures focuses on the experiences of a group of women living in a brothel together, as they attempt to gain independence, while also paying off their debts to the madame of the house Marie-France (Noemie Lvovsky) who engages in the business as a means to provide for her two children.  While it is clear that Marie-France is not completely fair in her dealings with the prostitutes, she is considerably maternal to each of the women working there.  The head woman, of sorts, is Madeleine (Alice Barnole), also known as The Jewess, and she becomes the cook and maid to the other women after a tragic act of aggression by a client leaving her with a smile-like scar on her face.  Her dream from the night she was attacked becomes a point of reference throughout the film as the other girls engage in acts with various customers, most notably the woman known as The Doll, who literally acts as though she is a doll for clients and the Algerian who is often chosen by men for her foreign features. The narrative also focuses on the emersion of a new girl named Pauline (Iliana Zabeth) who is fifteen and seeks the brothel as a means to escape a dismal home life.  Covering every element of the brothel life, viewers are shown the general assembly of women as they wait for clients, as well as the more grim act of testing each woman for venereal diseases.  The film crashes climactically into one party scene, in which the women engage in an orgiastic encounter that includes masked lovers, animals and even Madeleine, scar and all.  Ultimately, the film closes with Madeleine recounting her dreams as milky white tears fall from her face.  The scene that follows completely throws the narrative off-kilter, but still manages to capture an inherent beauty in the film beyond explanation.

This narrative, as was the case with 8 Women, focuses on the experiences of a group of women in France that are to some degree voiceless.  However, avoiding the comedic, Bonello's film is sobering in its reality and brutality.  Often depicting multiple scenes at once it reminds viewers about how truly degrading and dark brothel life was in a time where sexuality and femaleness were not a thing of simultaneous power.  EAch woman is objectified within the film, whether it be the literal doll-like behavior of one girl, or the exoticization of women of color within the film, it is clear that they are assumed to be lesser than a male.  We are to assume that these women seek their own individual existence and find this to be the quickest avenue for their desires, however, the reality of the situation is that their desires are, ultimately, made a point of exploitation as they serve men who see them only as objects of  sexual gratification, which they can poor champagne over or sexually oppress as they see fit.  In the most problematic scenario, men can even act out their latent aggression on the women, as is the case with Madeleine's suitor and his knife/phallic attack, which permanently cripples her, in the sense she can no longer work within her normal brothel job.  House of Pleasures, however, never condemns these women for their actions, instead; it offers the argument that they were simply trying to find their own route to freedom in the only method they knew, something that is perfectly and poetically realized in the films closing scene.

Key Scene: The few times that Bonello uses a split screen are quite intense and add to the full element of the film's ambient existence

Netflix managed to pick this up on watch instantly, and as far as I can tell their are no plans to release it on blurry, so it may suit you to see it via Netflix before it falls into obscurity.

I Can't Put Anything Inside Me: 301, 302 (1995)

This film features a suspense laden-melodramatic narrative, an industrial noise-heavy soundtrack, and two women increasingly dealing with dueling paranoias crammed into incredibly tight spaces.  From that description alone one could assume that I was describing a Dario Argento movie and their assumptions would easily be justified.  However, the movie I am describing is actually a Korean movie from right in the middle of their illustrious and still evolving New Wave.  The film 301, 302 is brilliant, experimental and highly-invocative film that is about women's place and identity within Korea as it moves into modernity.  Heavy with a social critique, at no point does 301, 302 overdo its imagery and become on the nose.  A study in the issue of psychologically based eating disorders in their emergence, existence and eventual ending and it also questions the relationship of food and consumption relate to the body image, particularly, when that images is predicated on male dominance and judgement.  The acting within 301, 302 is stunning, the cinematography is intensely realized and the overall grittiness of this film causes viewers to become aghast at what would normally be simple images of food.  Cheol-su-Park's work intends to undermine the comfort in food and eating, as well as causing aversion to the traditional gaze in cinema, all of which he manages to do and still provide a entirely watchable, if not intense movie.

301, 302 begins, in sorts, at the end of the narrative, we are shown 301 (Eun-jin Pang), referred to by her apartment, engaging with a detective who is inquiring about the disappearance of her neighbor 302 (Sin-Hye Hwang).  301 explains that she was a pseudo-friend of 302, in that she, a cook, often attempted to deliver food to the writer who lived a very secluded and reserved life behind her closed apartment door.  The detective assumes that 301 offers little to his investigation and leaves, at this point the narrative unfolds, through what we assume to be flashbacks.  We are shown 301in earlier years, overweight attempting to cook a meal for her husband who is dismissive based on her expanding weight and constantly heckling about liking her food.  Eventually, 301's husband leaves her and she takes up attempting to win 302 over with her cooking.  She is enraged when she discovers that 302, who has a huge aversion to food, is always throwing her food away.  After confronting 302 about her refusal to eat by forcing her to eat the rotten leftovers, 302 confesses to being sexually abused at a young age while working in a her stepdad's butchers shop, ever since she has found herself disgusted by both food and the act of intercourse.  Feeling terrible about her actions, 301 begins to attempt making food for 302 that will be suitable to her diet, focusing on organic ingredients and often vegetarian dishes.  As each persons past opens up it is revealed that they both engaged in some terrible actions, 301 cooking her cheating husband's dog alive and 302 leaving a girl in a freezer to die.  Eventually their pasts become nearly irreconcilable and the two must come to grips with their consumption disorders in a disturbingly poetic finally, one that has to be seen to be believed.

The film can be critiqued from many venues, particularly in regards to feminist theory.  In terms of a revenge narrative, the possibilities are evident, although it does not necessarily reflect this tradition in that it fails to exact bodily revenge as is the case with works like Deathproof or I Spit On Your Grave.  Similarly one could analyze the notion of voice and empowerment within women's movements, it is no surprise that 302 is a writer, as she sees it as a means to deal with her traumatic past and give voice to others who may have experience similar situations, however, this is also not completely plausible as we are led to believe that she never finishes an entire piece, let alone one one that companies agree to publish.  Ultimately, the film is to be read as a commentary on the power of food in female identity.  For 301 her ability to cook and enjoyment in eating are seen as a means of power, although her consumption becomes problematic when it is used as a means to replace her lack of sexual activity, it, nonetheless, suggests the possibilities of food serving as a means of identity.  Similarly, 302's refusal to eat has its own identity attached to it, although again it is unhealthy in its sexual attachments.  However, this unacknowledged hunger strike certainly has political implications that can be drawn from many a moment in history.  The food in this film, however, is to constantly be questioned, even in the closing moments of this dark film, we are not quite sure as to whether the food serves as a thing of disturbing unison or blatant and literal division.

Key Scene: Pretty much any of the cooking scenes are magnificent.

I am enthralled with this movie and am glad to have purchased a copy, however, I am also aware that it may not be for everyone, so I highly suggest renting the film before making a purchasing decision.

There Is No Happy Love: 8 Women (2002)

The tagline for this move was simple: 8 Women, 1 Murder.  I will admit that it is not the greatest of taglines and led me to be a bit dismissive about the French work initially, however, it is seriously a film about the murder of one male and eight women who attempt to come to grips and find the culprit.  With that being said, 8 Women is fantastically quirky and completely beyond anything I could have possibly predicted.  The opening title sequence is rather frilly and almost tacky, perhaps intentional on the part of director Francois Ozon and delivers a commentary of what the film will be, a group of women acting in the most dramatic and frivolous ways possible as they attempt to make somewhat tacky excuses to their various misdeeds.  A combination of slapstick humor, musical numbers and snide humor, 8 Women is a  film that has inevitably redeemed my faith in French comedies.  Somewhere between the hipness of Godard and the whimsy of Almodovar lays 8 Women.  A colorful film, with a mind of its own, provides a complete reimagining of what we, as viewers, have come to recognize as a thriller.  Furthermore, despite the narrative being heavily involved in the notion that women are inherently deceptive, one cannot deny that it should be praised for having a cast that is composed nearly entirely of women, and the one male present only amounts to maybe a minute of screen time.  If for no other reason than because the film is riotously fun, it is a must-watch movie.

8 Women, as the title suggests, follows a group of 8 contentious women who are all recouping with the recent announcement that the familial head, patriarchal figure Marcel (Dominique Lamure), has been the victim of a murder.  This leads the house into unrest, initially with Marcel's discovery by his youngest daughter Catherine (Ludivine Sagnier) who constantly vies for the adoration and acknowledgement of pretty much anyone.  Catherine's sister, and Marcel's other daughter Suzon (Virgine Ledoyen) also become involved with the plot as she has recently returned home from college.  Marcel's wife Gaby (Catherine Deneuve) is also present, although she makes it clear that their relationship was strained.  Marny (Daniell Darrieux) is also in attendance as the mother in law to Marcel, she lives with both Marcel and Gaby in her old age.  Gaby's sister Augustine (Isabelle Huppert) is also a resident of the house because she suffers from a variety of heart issues making living alone inconceivable, add to the mix two maids and Marcel's own sister and paranoid claims arise instantly.  As each accusation flies it becomes clear that deception has existed within Marcel's household far before his recent death, ranging from affairs, to back door card games and a series of problematic business dealings that seem to put the biggest amount of strain on the entire family.  As the plot thickens, or falls apart depending on a persons interpretation, it becomes evident that each woman involved has a considerable secret they are hiding and combined together results in an unfathomable amount of deception, all that is blown away by a new fact about Marcel's death that will even surprise the most versed of film viewers.

It is hard to completely praise the film for its depictions of women in main roles as much of what is shown is egregiously problematic.  First off, the film clearly posits that women are amongst other things hysterical, deceptive, sex-crazed and vampiric in their craze for money.  None of these of course are factual claims about women in general and merely serve as a means of narrative continuation, played up to comedic proportions.  Furthermore, it is an issue that a film depicts women distrusting one another, but that again serves as narrative advancement and simply just needs to be acknowledge.  What the film does right is depict a group of women together, one in which they completely possess the narrative.  It is a woman-centered film, with women in it and only lacks a female director to complete the trifecta.  I would have to revisit the film to see if it passes the Bechdel Test, because considering that Marcel's death does serve as an overarching factor it is possible that it fails the test on the grounds of nobody having a conversation without mentioning a male figure.  Another notable factor of the film is that it approaches issues of gender, class and race simultaneously in a film, something I have only seen done one other time in French film via Black Girl, a film I highly recommend.  I hate to go with the statement that some acknowledgement is better than none, but in the case of such a fun and enjoyable film as 8 Women I cannot recommend it enough and praise it for what it does accomplish critically.

Key Scene: The initial song and dance number is most excellent, probably due to the fact that it is so unexpected.

8 Women is a film well worth renting and viewing, if you are an ardent Francophile then purchasing might be an option as well.