For Seven Years I Spoke With God. He Told Me To Take Us All To Heaven: Sunshine (2007)

After my wonderful first appearance on the podcast DrivebyNerding I am already planning some possible discussions for my next appearance on the show.  On the previous engagement we discussed movie adaptations of video games and the like, which proved fun and humorous with a general consensus that most of the films were outright awful.  As such I suggested that our next endeavor focus primarily on underrated science fiction films, because I had a few in my mind that I felt would be worth including as well as a justification as to catch up with many that I had desired to see for quite some time, one of which being Danny Boyle's Sunshine, a film I had initially attempted to watch on a Playstation 3 some years ago only to discover that the bluray disc programs had a glitch that caused the pop-up video commentary to run the entire time, therefore placing it on the back burner until I later obtained a regular bluray player, as well as a copy of the film, which I had at the time ordered from Netflix.  Thankfully, I was forced because my then two year younger frame of cinematic reference might have lost sight as to the truly profound things occurring within the context of Boyle's film.  While I will always have a deep admiration and thus favor 28 Days Later... I would not hesitate to suggest that Sunshine currently stands as Boyle's masterpiece.  Between its genre hybridity, its ambient soundtrack and some excellent acting by all involved one could easily describe Sunshine as being an orchestral film perfectly layered with competing sounds and grand ideas while also lending itself to subtle infusions of alienation, desire and isolation, all themes that exists in unique manners within the sci-fi, particularly the space travel, genre.  While I am always jumping to state that Paul Thomas Anderson and Steven Soderbergh are the best directors currently working, I am also aware that many of their works can be a tinge bit alienating to the more traditional filmgoer, where as Boyle manages to make narratively direct films that are nonetheless captivating and to the more seasoned film viewer prove to engage with a cinematic language and vision that is unique, inventive and in possession of a finger on the pulse of the future of film.  I in the process of viewing this film am convinced yet again that Boyle may well be the best director working today.

Sunshine focuses on the crew of the Icarus 2, a spaceship whose orders are to travel to the sun with a bomb that will reignite the cooling sun and subsequently heat up the earth that is beginning to freeze from the lack of heat.  The task has a certain degree of uncertainty attached to it since they are not the first crew to attempt the endeavor and are indeed following in a direct route behind the previous Icarus 1 team who disappeared inexplicably on the way to the sun.  The crew is headed by Captain Kaneda (Hiroyuki Sanada) a stoic and direct Japanese man whose approachability and poise make him an excellent leader.  Under Kaneda include the likes of an entire and diverse crew whether it be Searle (Cliff Curtis) the ship's psychological officer who has a particularly vested preoccupation with staring at the closely impending sun, the brash but well meaning engineer Mace (Chris Evans) or even the somewhat emotive pilot Cassie (Rose Byrne).  The clear odd man in the group is the ships physicist, in charge of operating the bomb Robert Capa (Cillian Murphy).  Together they are undertaking a dangerous task, one that is reaffirmed when they begin receiving contact signals from Icarus 1, which are identified as distress signals, a haunting revelation that is paired by the equally disturbing news that due to a trajectory malfunction the ship is hightailing towards certain destruction.  Kaneda and Capa take it upon themselves to correct the issue only to result in the loss of Kaneda in the process.  This change of direction leads the crew to being in line with the lost Icarus 1 chip, which they quickly mount and discover the crew to be burned alive, an obvious result of their failed equipment in such a close relation to the blistering sun.  At this point all forms of technology falter and other crew members die in the process, a tragic occurrence which doubles as a boon considering that oxygen becomes scarce.  Aiming to complete the mission, a conversation with the ship's artificial intelligence leads Capa to discover that they have an extra person occupying space on the ship, the extremely burnt Pinbacker (Mark Strong) whose psychological state has deteriorated, leading him to believe it is his task to destroy the crew and bring death to the world in the process.  While Pinbacker begins killing the remaining crew, Capa finishes the mission and ultimately escapes, leaving Pinbacker to die and bringing brightness back the the ice crusted Earth, although the survival of Capa is left in question in the films closing scenes.

Danny Boyle, never one to hide his clear influences, made open statements about the influences of Kubrick, Scott and Tarkovsky on this particular film, particularly the manner with which space and its simulacrums serve as a fabrication of the experiential world of Earth that can only fall apart under the foolishness of its own artifice.  Whether it be the space islands of Solaris, the failure of gender roles in Alien, or a complete reconsideration of evolution as occurs in 2001: A Space Odyssey, one realizes that to seek uniformity and normalcy within the expansive, and for sake of argument limitless voids of the stars is assured alienation and destruction.  Danny Boyle, in the cinematic genius that he has proven himself to be, manages to extend this beyond the metaphor of space to the very nature of cinema itself.  It is easy to pick up the rather distinct references to a godlike presence within the film whether it be each characters decidedly elaborate moral compass, or the fact that the space ships all look like large optical lenses but every thing is in the presence of something so much larger that their respective sanities crack in an attempt to comprehend its omnipresent state.  Indeed the bright, searing light of the sun breaching the windows could also be seen as a statement on this element, but it is what Boyle does with the images and subliminal moments that make it something far greater.  Throughout the film, the ambient soundtrack swells and sinks with the action and drama of the narrative, yet one could argue that when music is needed most, it is often paired with silence or jarring musical riffs that crackle against normalcy, as though being tampered with by the very film itself.  Similarly, when the inexplicably living Pinbacker begins to implement his havoc upon the surviving members of Icarus 2, the films images begin to split and mirror themselves, which along with extreme angles and profile closeups manage to completely immerse the viewer, through of all things, making them feel disconnected and alienated by the entire experience.  It is not until Capa comes into contact with something so grand and fantastical that the narrative reclaims its normalcy, perhaps as a result of coming face-to-face with that intangible thing that is greater than the singular human experience.  While I am not prone to call things God, I am sure Boyle is aware of the challenges of contemporary astrophysicists to pinpoint the force that holds the universe together, and it clearly influenced not only his narrative, but the very method with which he made the narrative exist on film.

Key Scene:  Kaneda's death is moving, tragic and highly cinematic.

Bluray...no excuse.

My Head Is Made Of The Same Material As The Sun: Upstream Color (2013)

It seems as though calling a film transcendentalist would be a bit of an oxymoron considering the philosophical movements decided rejection of all things institutional, yet when one considers Shane Carruth's most recent work Upstream Color, one can find few proper terms to describe its unique, cinematic and absolutely mesmerizing quality and considering that it was written, directed, and, more importantly, produced by Carruth therefore allowing to exist about as outside of the institutional elements of filmmaking as possible, much as was the case with this now cult classic sic-fi enigma Primer.  If it were not enough alone that the film were outside of the system, as one would put it, thematically it draws upon a push from the absolute heights of technology and indoctrination back towards something in the natural world, almost bestial and intangible.  Of course, the film also makes heavy use of Henry David Thoreu's Walden which, undoubtedly, helps my case, although it is not in the "on the nose" pretentious manner that seems far more indicative of a terrible mumblecorp than the absolutely realized and visually haunting Upstream Color.  I would comfortably compare this film to the work of Terrence Malick with far less whispering and considerably higher amount of rejection regarding humanity as being inherently good.  One could also easily draw some connections to the work of Brian Eno, wherein he takes the most basic of musical elements and extends them to their grandest and most realized potential, finding the ambient enjoyment in minimalism.  While Upstream Color certainly uses visual elements in varied and intense manners, it still seems to have an ambient element about it, nonetheless, one that moves through itself and beyond itself, occasionally tapping into the most basic of human desires and experiences, only to make grand statements about the universe moments later.  Upstream Color is an early 2013 release and will likely become forgotten by the time awards season rolls around, however, it is such an engaging and challenging cinematic experience that I am convinced that it will do very well come the end of the year when I reflect on my favorite film experiences of the year.

Upstream Color certainly has a narrative, however, much like Primer it is so intertwined, cyclical and non-linear as to make navigating it with any degree of certainty, nearly impossible.  What does exist is a series of characters and ideas which seem to result in some identifiable narrative moments.  The main character of the narrative appears to be Kris (Amy Seimetz) a graphic designer whose run in with a drug dealer known only as The Thief (Thiago Martins) results in her losing all her assets, and her job, when the drug, created by some hybrid of plant, liquid and insect causes her to be hypnotized into following every order of The Thief.  This portion, however, is followed by Kris, now possessing much shorter hair and her attempts to rekindle a relationship with her estranged husband Jeff (Shane Carruth) whose own illicit behavior as an off the books broker for a set of motels leads to a certain degree of paranoia.  These interactions, as well as brief other occurences, are monitored by The Sampler (Andrew Sensenig) who appears to be an experimental musician with an expressed interest in capturing and altering the noises of nature into ambient, polyphonic musicscapes.  However, considering the location of much of The Sampler's work it is also quite possible that he is a pig farmer, who has music as a very secondary hobby.  When the traumas of the past and Jeff's own problematic present state lead to a falling out the couple almost split ways, only to decide to give their relationship one more shot, this time with a greater degree of success, although there arises on issue as to their shared understanding of past events,  particularly Jeff's assurance that what Kris assumes to be her past is indeed his own.  However, their memories seem to collide together in poetic certainty when the two arrive at The Sampler's pig farm and find themselves magnetically drawn to the animals, an act that has a certain degree of connection based on Kris and her previous run-in with The Thief, however, the involvement of other previously unidentified bodies makes the experience both incredibly personal to Kris and seemingly universal to all those involved, including Jeff and The Sampler, and, indirectly, The Thief.

It is the very indistinguishable line between the personal and the universal that seems to draw the narrative ideas of the movie together.  It is no accident that the film borrowed heavily from Thoreau's Walden exists in a similar thematic space, although to be fair that is very much the nature of transcendentalism.  It first involves a person finding themselves in relation to the institutionalized state they live in, then rejecting it and in the process of rediscovery finding a larger meaning.  One of the best moments of this within Walden involves Thoreau innocently looking into a frozen like at the habitat below leading to his own personal identity crisis, followed by a profound reflection on his relationship with a higher entity, in his case God.  Upstream Color is not so much oriented towards the higher deity aspect, although Kris and her vision of a sun-headed man, could certainly glean such a response, instead; it seems concerned with a push towards a healthy non-institutionalized way of living.  In fact, even the very drugs that exist within the narrative are completely detached from an sort of chemical-pharmeaceutical hands.  They appear to come from the earth, eerily manifesting themselves out of nothingness.  Interestingly enough, while Kris is going through the process of rejecting all her "earthly possession" as it were, her diet consists solely of water and ice, a veritable cleansing that goes along with her move towards a transcendent lifestyle.  One could certainly argue that the tension in her relationship with Jeff is a result of his continued attachment to the institutionalized world, even though his existence is entirely detached on paper.  Furthermore, the irony of them moving through hotels is not lost, in so much as not only is it not a home they built on their own, much as Thoreau did, it is further a space that even as it is intended to be a place of safe space and rest is not one of possession.  As such they must return to the dirt of the earth for the answers, and Carruth is clever to make it the most disgusting of places, a pigsty, perhaps suggesting that life is eternally attached to the most grotesque and it is in this realization that others can begin to share in the beauty of the world, at least the closing montages suggest such a possibility.

Key Scene:  The sun-head scene involving Kris and The Thief is cinematic magic.  I am almost scared as to look up how it was done, as it would inevitably spoil some of its awe.

This is a stellar work, it is well worth obtaining on bluray to view once, twice or even three times.  I imagine it even exists as a wonderful sort of backdrop when muted.

I'd Rather Your Tell Me, Simon: Session 9 (2001)

Over the nearly two years that this blog has existed, I have made it clear on at least one or two occasions that my favorite horror film is the 2001 American indie work Session 9, directed by Brad Anderson who is perhaps better known for The Machinist.  My revisiting of this movie last night, not only reaffirmed by love of this unconventional horror film, but allowed me to read it in a far grander way, thanks to considerably more film and critical theory under my belt than the first time around.  It is one of the burgeoning works of digital filmmaking, which to some may mean it is a bit off putting because, tragically, digitial filmmaking has become sort of synonymous with cheap movies.  Yet, in Session 9 the filmmaking only helps to add an aura of disturbing feeling to the film, particularly when the camera appears to simply float around scenes, as though it were entirely its own spectral spirit.  The acting, while a bit wishy-washy overall does lead to a handful of very well-executed performances that add yet another level of paranoia to the films already complex plot.  For a film that requires no CGI, and very minimal special effects, it manages to still gather together a magnificent array of horrors and a the minimal amount of blood and gore to help justify it being considered for the genre, despite its clear attachment to the psychological thriller genre.  I am well aware that Session 9 is by no means for every person, but I can say, after this recent revisiting of the work, that it will definitively reside as my favorite horror film to date, however, I have also not seen a good bit of the horror classics so there is always a possibility of that changing in the future, all be it considerably unlikely.

The narrative of Session 9 centers on Gordon (Peter Mullan) the head man for a asbestos removing company that is trying to land a huge job at the Danvers State Hospital, a mental institution that has been closed since 1985 and has become nothing more than a place for graffiti and vandalism.  After winning the bid for the place by agreeing to do the immense task in a week, Gordon brings along his diverse team of workers which includes his right hand man Phil (David Caruso), Mike (Stephen Gevedon), Gordon's nephew Jeff (Brendan Sexton III) and the rebel of the team, and advisary to Phil, as he lost his former girlfriend to him, Hank (Josh Lucas).  It seems as though the job will go on with little to no confrontation, aside from the usual male pissing contests, until Mike uncovers a set of reel-to-reel audio tapes that recount the experiences of one particularly disturbing patient named Mary Hobbes, who suffered from a severe case of dissociative identity disorder.  As the unveiling of Mary's various personalities occurs, so does the fracturing of the sanity of the group members, as Hank goes missing after wandering about the ward late at night.  Furthermore, it becomes apparent that Gordon is hiding his home life from the crew, most notably Phil, in that he has not been spending the night at home after hitting his wife for accidentally dropping a pot of boiling water on his foot.  As the voice of Simon, Mary's darkest persona is revealed, it becomes evident blatant that things are not alright within Gordon, as the group splits up to find Hank.  Things come to a jarring conclusion as an unseen attacker begins to  prowl the halls of the insane asylum.  I would elaborate a bit more on the plot, as it is quite complex, but it would spoil far too much of the film for me to feel justified.  So much of the enjoyment in this film lies in the dark ambient advancement between the days in the narrative to be ruined for the sake of my blog post.

I mentioned in the opening that the film seems to deal a great deal with notions of masculine competition, as well as levels of deceit.  If there is any critical reading to be done without delving into heavy amounts of psychology, it is within this gender commentary.  Gordon has failed as a paternal figure in the film and is visibly seen confronting these problems, perhaps most intensely in his closing phone call conversation during the film.  However, he is certainly not the only one suffering from a shock to their male power role, Phil is at ends with Hank, not because he particularly detests him as a worker, but, instead, because he directly affected his ability to justify his masculinity through sexual dominance and conquest.  Hank, also suffers from an attachment to wealth and luxury based power, something he clearly associates with being masculine.  Even, Jeff suffers from gendered guilt when he begs repeatedly not to be placed into dark rooms as he suffers from crippling nyctophobia, which has all kinds of Freudian gender implications, whether they be regression to childhood or things related to the womb, regardless he begs each of the members of the party not to make this fact known, completely overlooking that he is indeed making it known to everyone in the process.  In fact, the only character to not be completely preoccupied with his masculine power is Mike, excluding the one scene in which he demonstrates a lobotomy, Mike is sequestered from the group and finds joy, instead, in his discovery of the Mary's sessions.   These varied approaches to masculinity confront one another in the film and at times hide, leading to an incredible climax of testosterone gone wrong that is a cinematic whirlwind.  I am not certain that Anderson intends this reading, but when paired with his other work The Machinist ,it would be hard to ignore.

Key Scene:  A few of Gordon's nightmares are quite surreal and scary.

I cannot express how necessary it is to see this film, even if you find yourself not liking it, its unique offering to horror cannot be overlooked and is certainly worth owning if you are lucky enough to find a copy.

Above All, I Am A Man: The Master (2012)

I am sure at some point on this blog I have confessed my love for Paul Thomas Anderson as a director, citing his work There Will Be Blood, as one of my all time favorite films, number 25 to be exact (As my top 100 stands).  I went into The Master knowing that I would in all likelihood enjoy the film.  I did not expect to be enamored with the film though, I am not entirely ready to place it above There Will Be Blood, but I am quite sure it will be one of my favorite films of this year and perhaps of the decade...it is still too early to tell of course.  The Master, like most of Anderson's work, benefits from being projected over the big screen, considering the inherent cinematic nature of his works.  The Master is by no means his most straightforward film and certainly manages to be non-linear in ways similar to Magnolia.  The acting is, as always on point, with brilliant performances by both Joaquin Phoenix and Phillip Seymour Hoffman, as well as a surprisingly well-executed performance by Amy Adams.  A thematic films of sorts, The Master is inundated with psychoanalysis, theological and existential commentaries that jam together into a film that builds its intensity ever so slowly and gracefully, and while many of the conversations post-film complained about it being to long, I would say that The Master is the perfect length and subsequently is a rare thing in being a perfect film.

The Master, while non-traditional in its narrative leanings, certainly has a main character in Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix) a down and out veteran who drunkenly moves between jobs ranging from a department store photographer to a migrant farmer, always leaving jobs as a result of his alcohol induced spurts of rage or severe issues of miscommunication between himself and whoever he is with at the moment.  It is clear that Freddie desires very specific things, an explanation to why exactly he is on Earth and to get laid, two things that are constantly in battle with one another.  During one particular night of drunken meandering, Freddie finds his way onto a ship only to awake to an inquisitive crew, captained by one Lancaster Dodd (Phillip Seymour Hoffman) a regal man, who is an intellectual well-knwon for his philosophically inclined self-help books.  Taking an unusual liking to Freddie, partially out of curiosity, as well as his skill at making strong libations, Lancaster welcomes Freddie into his life, much to the concern of Lancaster's wife Peggy (Amy Adams) and other members of his extended family.  As Lancaster invests in Freddie it becomes clear that the young veteran's anger is a point of contention, particularly when Freddie attacks people who question Lancaster directly.  Throughout the remainder of the film Freddie and Lancaster are at odds, as Freddie seeks meaning to his life, while Lancaster constantly makes the wide-eyed alcoholic a guinea pig to absurd experiments.  Ultimately, the two severe ties and Freddie heads away to travel about England, eventually meeting a girl at a bar.  The film closes with him engaging in intercourse, before returning to a vision of him laying next to a nude woman made of sand, suggesting the fulfillment of at least one of his desires in life.

While I am not theoretically inclined enough to really dig into the various criticism possible with such a complex film as The Master, I was quite drawn to Freddie as a character with severe maternal issues.  A few passing references are made to Freddie having a problematic family relationship, perhaps one void of a paternal figure and it is further suggested that his mental state is severely affected by this problem.  As such, Freddie displaces his longing by a constant quest to bed women, ranging from a model at a department store to Lancaster's wife, often having disturbing day dream of every woman in a room being nude, regardless of age or attractiveness.  Freddie also seems to have a strong attachment to Lancaster because of his nurturing nature, while it would be appropriate to analyze Lancaster as a father figure his sweet actions towards Freddie suggest otherwise, especially in the two's closing scene involving a singing scene, very reminiscent of a maternal lullaby to a young child, although this one is far more tragic and certainly more dark.  In the end, one could say that Freddie fulfills his maternal quest with his moment of intercourse, which is not accidentally with a larger woman with clearly motherly features.  Yet the film closes with Freddie laying next to an over-sexualized woman, a possible claim that Freddie has not grown in the slightest and may, in fact, have regressed considerably.

Key Scene:  It involves Amy Adams and Phillip Seymour Hoffman in front of a mirror, trust me it is intense.

This is just now making its theatrical run and is certainly to be seen in a big screen setting, but I will warn you, ignore the stupid people and their ungrounded comments about the films complexity.  They are the same idiots who did not like Tree of Life, simply because it did not have a linear narrative.

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.

It’s Hard To Tell If The World We Live In Is Dream Or Reality: 3-Iron (2004)

One of the initial assumptions I had when beginning my film viewing is that the independent film was a venue that existed only with American cinema.  However, this absurd notion was quickly shattered with the discovery of world cinema that also finds an attachment to low budget arthouse filmmaking that is equally concerned with its cinematic substance as it is with its social commentary.  Furthermore, as I delve deeper into the crevices of individual countries cinema I am surprised to find stellar indie films right below the surface, as is certainly the case with Ki-duk Kim’s 3-Iron.  Like so many indie films, the plot borders on impossibility and is exceptionally quirky, yet it what is becoming nearly assumed Korean theme, darkness, violence and revenge all exist in the narrative as well.  3-Iron still seems to have a bit more than it’s competitors and I will use a phrase I have used in the past when describing various indie films on my blog and say that the film has a heartbeat, in that it touches deeply onto something integral to human existence and does so in a matter of 80 some odd minutes.  It is an earnest and rewarding film to those who watch it, and a deeply ponderous film on the nature of human interactions.

The narrative in absurdist fashion follows the life of a young rebellious male who spends his days and nights breaking into and borrowing from houses that are briefly unoccupied by their residents who are away on vacations or business trips.  He discovers his places by cleverly placing food advertisements on the individual house doors, stopping at the places hours later choosing those locations that have yet to remove the advertisement.  While staying in these places he often eats the food available and takes pictures of himself in front of the various photos within the house.  In each house the young man is also careful to wash the clothing for the absent persons and always alters at least one items within the house, whether it be a clock or scale.  He seems set to engage in his behavior for years to come, until he is discovered by a wife who spends her days lackadaisically wandering around her house.  Initially alarmed by the intruder, the wife says nothing and simply observes the man steadily growing fond of his actions and methodologies.  Eventually she becomes enamored with him and engages with him, until her husband returns home enraged.  Realizing the tragedy of her situation, the young man attacks the husband and takes the wife with him to move from house to house.  The husband begins tracking the couple down and eventually finds them after the two call about a dead body discovered in one house.  The young man is jailed and the wife is forced to return to husband who now makes it is goal to be “better” for her, although he clearly has no desire to do so forever.  Meanwhile, the young man practices escaping from the prison and is eventually successful after learning to move and exist as a ghost.  He returns to the couples house and exists in the shadow of the husband, becoming a lover to the wife right under the husbands gaze.  It should also be noted that this film exists with little dialogue between the husband and wife and absolutely no dialogue whatsoever between the young man and the wife, it is truly a feat.

What then can be made of such a sparse, yet critically dense film.  There is certainly the possibility that the entire narrative is related to issues of guilt and the ghosts that exist in such a state of mind.  Perhaps the young man only represents the lingering problems of the past as he passes between each household, in some instances causing a child to act violently towards his mother or in others for an artist to become exceptionally paranoid.  However, this reading is a bit to vague and really not likely.  It is also possible that it is simply intended to display the various states of living within Korea as it struggles through the 21^st century, whether it be those in abject poverty, or those with considerable wealth and privacy.  The film does do this with great efficiency, as it displays a diverse population that is both old and young, however, it is unlikely that it should be read as the sole commentary within the film.  Instead, I would suggest that this film is very much about the crumbling of a marriage between a misogynist and powerful husband and his submissive yet depressed wife.  Her inability to speak is simply a reflection of her lack of power and her husbands irate nature and continual threats are his actions to reassert his masculinity.  It is not until the wife is allowed an opportunity to extract herself from her situation that she seems to become more enlivened, considering that she essentially discovers a new reason to exist.  More interesting, however, is that that wife continues to remain silent in her new endeavors, not because she is unallowed to speak, but because she has found a partnership with a person who is also lacking a voice, but manages to express himself in the world regardless.  The wife is clearly inspired by this and engages in a world where she has a voice and a form of expression, most evident when she rearranges and rethinks a picture of herself that is hanging in one visited apartment.  Not only does she control the expression, she also controls how her body is being used and depicted in a very literal manner.  Finally, she comes to create a bond with another individual so great that it can go unspoken and she returns to her husband empowered and separated from his violent hand.  She has reached a freedom and enlightenment within the film that to some degree reflects her escape from a troubled marriage.  While we are left to ponder the future of those involved, it is clear that the past of problems, are likely to stay far in fading horizon.

3-Iron is an exceptionally good film and well worth watching.  However, owning a copy is only necessary for the diehard Korean cinema fans.

The Hardest Commandment Is To Love Your Enemy: Secret Sunshine (2007)

I understand that claiming something to be the greatest film performance I have ever seen is a heavy statement.  However, at this point in my film viewing life I think I have found such a skillfully acted performance deserved of this claim.  Much to my surprise, this discovery did not come from a Oscar winning performance nor did it come from some brilliant performance from a Classic Hollywood film.  Instead, it came from a Korean film made only five years ago, and one produced independently nonetheless.  Chang-dong Lee's Secret Sunshine contains a performance so ranged and realized that I sincerely found myself thinking I was watching a documentary and not a piece of narrative filmmaking.  Delivered by Do-yeon Jeon, the film is something so unbelievably visceral and honest that the single performance consumes the entire film without thinking twice.  Fortunately for viewers, Lee plays into this consumption and centers his film around Jeon's craft, allowing his other actors to simply exist behind her and only interjecting moments of cinematic provocation as subtle reminders that Jeon's character, despite her magnitude, only reflects a very tiny portion of a larger world.

Secret Sunshine centers on one Shin-ae (Do-yeon Jeon) a thirty something woman who has decided to relocate herself and her son from the bustling city of Seoul, to the small province of Miryang, after the untimely death of her husband.  There she intends to open a piano school, to pursue her dreams of playing piano, which we are led to believe were cut short after the birth of her son.  Shin-ae is clearly at a loss for trying to place herself within this suspicious city and seems to only find assistance from a single auto-repairman named Jong-chan (Song Kang-ho), who clearly has desires to be with Shin-ae.  Although things are by no means perfect within the small town, Shin-ae manages to find comfort for her and her son, despite being proselytized at and condemned for her citified ways.  It is not until her son suddenly goes missing that her world turns upside down, she spirals into a depression, which is only exacerbated by the discovery of his dead body floating in a nearby river.  What makes matters worse is that the killer was the child's own teacher, an unassuming man who Shin-ae had shared drinks with only days before the boy's disappearance.  Shin-ae seems destined to exist in a dark state of anger, until she decides on a whim to enter a church prayer service.  Here she finds a sort of cathartic salvation and turns into a loyal Christian.  The whole time Jong-chan follows Shin-ae with the hopes of winning her over, even playing along with her newly found religious devotion.  Shin-ae quickly climbs the ranks of the church and is seen as one of its brightest members, particularly at the point when she agrees to visit her son's killer and forgive him for his actions.  Upon reaching the prison and meeting with the man, she is bewildered to discover that he too has found the salvation of the lord and has already received his forgiveness.  Enraged and disillusioned Shin-ae separates herself from the church and falls even deeper into depression, eventually attempting suicide.  At this point, the film returns Shin-ae to Miryang after a stint in a psychiatric ward and after a run-in with the killer's daughter, Shin-ae decides to return home and cut her hair.  In a poetically symbolic moment, her hair falls to the ground and lands in a puddle to the side of her chair, the screen fading to black reminding viewers of the temporal and fleeting nature of human existence, no matter how enthralling it may seem.

Do-yeon Jeon's performance in this film is one for the ages.  As an actress, she is asked to move between not only various emotions, but various philosophical states of mind as well.  From a stoic single mom with hard-lined atheist views to a lost motherless child with blind faith, Jeon plays each part seamlessly and with such precision that it is damn near impossible not to become lost in her character alone and overlook the rest of the film entirely.  Despite this, Chang-dong Lee does manage to captivate viewers with the remainder of the narrative as well, always placing other characters directly behind Jeon to allow for their reactions to pass through in a spectral like manner, almost suggesting how those viewing the film should react to each of Jeon's subtle acting shifts.  Furthermore, the director cleverly relies on the diagetic world around him to play up on the reality that is her performance, in days of old (or the trailer for this film) a heavily emotive soundtrack and jump cuts would have been used to express Shin-ae's deteriorating mental state in a melodramatic fashion.  Lee avoids such methods and simply allows the camera to capture Jeon's performance in its slow, yet burning pace.  At times, Lee does nothing more than cut the camera to a scene of the small province or to a shot of clouds floating in the daytime sky as a means of pondering for the viewer, but also as a reminder that like the world, a characters existence within a film is only one aspect of a much larger picture.  As such, Jeon's performance as glorious as it may be fits beautifully into a expertly crafted film and as such allows it to organically grow as one of the best performances I have ever seen, which also happens to exist within an excellent film, something that is usually not the case.

Own Secret Sunshine, Do It!

Now It Is Your Turn To Clean Up After Me: Drive (2011)

With the exception of Tree of Life, Drive was probably the most hyped 2011 film for me.  I heard an onslaught of positive praise for the film claiming it to be completely unlike anything released last year and reminiscent of some brilliant hidden gem of seventies Italian cinema.   I was somewhat worried that it would be a let down no matter how good the film was, because my expectations were so incredibly high.  However, I fell in love with every bit of the film from the ambient soundtrack to the excellent action scenes, not to mention the stellar cast that made a film about arguably normal people seem otherworldly.  I did not go into the film realizing that the director was Nicolas Winding Refn, who this blog recognized for his work Valhalla Rising, after discovering this it helped to explain the intense pacing and intimate attachment to silent characters.  Drive, like Refn's previous work, is poetically violent, often placing acts of aggression in the center of the frame forcing viewers to fully acknowledge the acts without being able to put up a cinematic wall of distance.  Drive, is an incredibly reflective film that demands viewers engage with the work and question the legitimacy of actions, particularly those that cross the borders of morality and legality.  No character in the film is fully justified in their actions, nor is any character in need of full on reprimanding for their actions.  Drive questions life's gray areas and like a good film provides very few answers.

Drive, follows the appropriately named Driver (Ryan Gosling) who as his name suggests works driving cars.  On the acceptable side of the law, he works as a mechanic and stunt driver for movies, while also providing getaway cars for criminals during the evening.  He works from a law of ethics that make him not questions individuals behaviors while he is working, but he makes it very clear that beyond the five minutes that he provides a getaway that he wants nothing to do with the individuals he is helping.  He seems fine working side jobs for his boss Shannon (Bryan Cranston) and his sketch associates Bernie (Albert Brooks) and Nino (Ron Pearlman) until he runs into his neighbor Irene (Carey Mulligan) who despite having a kid and husband in jail becomes an love interest to driver.  After close involvement with her, it is revealed that her husband Standard (Oscar Isaac) will be leaving jail and returning to live with Irene.  Driver's infatuation with Irene causes him to stick around and help the family despite it being very clear that Irene has chosen to stay with Standard.  It is at this point that it becomes clear that Standard has a very shady past and owes large debts to people he encountered while in prison.  Agreeing to help Standard clear his name for the sake of Irene and her son, Driver goes against his strict moral ways and ends up stuck in the middle of a monetary transaction far larger than anything involving Standard or even his boss Shannon.  As a result, he becomes an enemy of Nino whose heartlessness leads him to a rampage of killing, which he uses Bernie to enact.  In a calm rage, Driver proceeds to kill those who interfere with his task, including Nino's henchmen, Nino and by the end of the film Bernie.  Realizing that even after the death of Standard his life with Irene is impossible.  The film closes with Driver alone driving the streets of L.A. lost and in a state of despair.

As I mentioned in the introduction, Drive is a film about moral ambiguity, particularly that of individual desires and their effects on societies functionality.  Driver for a considerable portion of the film is a man who borders the words of criminal and lawful choosing to engage in each action contingent on his own self-advancement.  Despite this lifestyle though, it is clear that Driver is a morally just person, which is evidenced by his relationship with Irene and her son, while it is clear that he possesses strong feeling for her, he also helps in their time of need simply because he understands that it is the right thing.  Even characters like Bernie and Nino have qualities of morally redeeming qualities.  Bernie is clearly an individual who has become so involved with a criminal life that to leave would assure his death.  As such, when he is forced to kill his friend Shannon he does so in a pain free manner, slitting his wrists to assure that he dies quickly and quietly.  While it may seem inhumane, given Bernie's situation it is incredibly cavelier.  Even Nino's actions are justified, he makes note of his disdain for his cousins who dismiss him simply because he is a Jew, often talking down to him, despite Nino being considerably older than anyone else.  Finally, the viewers are supposed to empathize with Standard who clearly became involved in unfortunate crimes, which forever caused him to be a target for mobsters. As such, he, like Bernie, becomes inextricably entrenched within the crime world and his only means of escape is death.  It is a film that focuses on life decisions and their last effects on a person future, implying that in some tragic cases no amount of redemption can assure change.

Drive is a glorious bit of filmmaking.  It was certainly under-appreciated during the awards season and probably under viewed as well.  The bluray is a thing of beauty and without a doubt one of the must own films of 2011.

Experiments In Film: Once It Started It Could Not End Otherwise (2011)

Remember all those fond memories you possess regarding high school, particularly those you can recant based solely on opening your yearbook.  Well, Kelly Sear's recent experimental narrative aims to rethink every word, image and heartfelt sentiment a person attaches to their yearbook.  Her film Once It Started It Could Not End Otherwise, is part found material art and avant-garde ambient filmmaking.  Clearly borrowing from Peter Tcherkassky, Sears's work illuminates a paranoia that even the best crime thrillers fail to maintain.  It posits the very real existence of some dark secret at an unnamed high school without ever providing the viewer with a certainty, making it a textbook horror film in a yearbook setting.  It is so unusual, bizarre and lacking logic that viewers are thrown off by every image, only to be driven further away by each image in negative and the subtle, yet constant movement of the cut out images pasted over still photography.  It is something so absolutely realized that to dismiss it as a hodgepodge of black and white imagery over colored images would be a grave and ignorant mistake.

The film approaches the facade of middle class ideologies in its narrative, suggesting that beneath the veneer of a happy high school setting something dark and disturbing occurred.  This event, while never named, apparently has lasting effects on those involved in its occurence.  Sears clearly intends to evoke conspiracy theory in her work, implying that even the most seemingly secure of settings possess their own dark and inexplicable occurrences.  Through genius editing, a brooding soundtrack and a keen awareness of what viewers understand as disturbing, Sears is able to make a peaceful high school yearbook into a thing of violence and infidelity.  Each blown-up image that Sears depicts is more and more unsettling as we are given tidbits to a vague story that suggest something grotesque.  While it may seem like a drawn out exercise in ambient terror, Sears work clearly asks a question about trouble hiding behind the veneer of normalcy and to what extent we as viewers allow such travesties to occur.  It is something so astute in its darkness that to pass up viewing it would be to play into the precise issues posited within the film.

For more information on Kelly Sears, or to watch Once It Started It Could Not End Otherwise, click on the images below:

Experiments In Film: 14 Video Paintings (1981 and 1984)

For some time I had it set in my mind that nothing profoundly artistic could occur as a result of home video recording.  Simply put, the gritty, blurry and amatuerish quality of such a format was not intended to be used cinematically.  This was the opinion I felt until stumbling upon a set of experimental films created by ambient music pioneer Brian Eno.  His filmic studies titled Thursday Afternoon and Mistaken Memories of Mediaeval Manhattan are perhaps some of the most portrait-like pieces of cinema I have ever seen.  Created by slowing down recordings of his New York skyline and women engaging in everything from smoking to bathing, Eno's work is meant to be enjoyed by multiple senses in an almost unconscious manner.  The film image moves quite slowly and each little details pops and fades as though it were an impressionist painting.   It would be quite fair to call Eno's works ambient, because like his music they are meant to on the atmospheric elements of cinema, as opposed to the narrative or singular aspects of cinema.  It is meant to be something that can be enjoyed slowly and obsessively without distractions, as well as passively in the background of a party or other activities.  In essence, it is purely experiential cinema that is viewable in a variety of manners.

The mastery of Eno's experimental cinema is that it works as a literal piece of art.  Mistaken Memories incorporates notions of landscape painting, while Thursday Afternoon is clearly a rethinking of portraiture.  However, what separates Eno's work from a traditional painting is that it does in fact move, even if the movement is nearly undetectable.  Furthermore, the simple placement of ambient music to his pieces elevates the work to a new level of experimental art in that it is a hybrid of visual and aural experience that simply does not occur enough in the avant-garde community.  Finally, and perhaps most surprising is Eno's use of filters and camera effects in Thursday Afternoon to distort his images.  This technique was so overused with the onset of home video that I had become disdainful of anything involving its use, however, as should be little surprise Eno makes it seem poetic, provocative and fresh.  Simply put, Eno is, as with his music, very aware of each subtle detail in his films that it becomes a thing of both grand beauty and obsessive minutia that is fantastically mesmerizing.  I know that I am gloating on Eno's films to great length, but having already loved his music, 14 Video Paintings only makes me admire the man more and more.

For more information on Brian Eno or to watch an example of his work click either of the film stills below.  A warning that Thursday Afternoon technically contains nudity, although it is more in lines with a nude painting: