framing device

As I mentioned before, today had the potential to be a special day, and the first movie lived up to all expectations. Those who’ve seen Songs from the Second Floor and didn’t like it (horrors!) can skip to the next blurb, because You, the Living is mining the same territory. But Roy Andersson isn’t just repeating himself. Instead, he’s building on his tone of cynical humanism, pointing out our many flaws and then challenging us to rise above them or at least praying that God will forgive us regardless.

The film’s first 15-20 minutes are hilarious. I’m so happy there were subtitles, as the crowd’s laughter drowned out almost all the dialogue. One shot of an old man “walking” his dog is set up so beautifully that the laughter cascaded over the theater; it’s as if Tati had grown a mean streak. Andersson’s visual style is more austere this time around, with faded and even washed-out colors, but his mise en scene is even richer, if that’s possible. Numerous throw-away jokes or moments happen in the background (it’s amazing how Andersson uses extras for comic effect), and the slow pace of editing allows the scenes to build in power. As the movie continues through its 95 minutes, the humor is mixed with mournful protest. But there’s also an abiding sense of hope, with a beautiful song (hymn?) repeated at various points.

I wish I had time to point out everything great about You, the Living. I’d mention an incredible dream sequence of a perfect marriage that’s both satirical and lovely. I’d discuss how the theme of war and specifically bombers runs throughout the film, deepening as it goes. I’d mention a caustic psychiatrist who breaks down the fourth wall and tells us what people are really like. And the final scene echoes the amazing final sequence of Songs in ways that had my friends and I blabbing all through lunch. I know that part of my love of Andersson is that his worldview matches my own, but how can you not like a movie as carefully and beautifully constructed as this one?

The Mourning Forest was another much anticipated film. While it’s not a masterpiece like the morning’s movie, it’s a strong work from Japanese director Naomi Kawase. More like her earlier Cannes-winning film Suzaku than Shara, most of the film takes place in a forest as a young woman who works at a senior citizen’s home follows a senile old man. Kawase has a beautiful way with landscape, both in long shots where characters are framed by the trees (it reminded me a bit of Ozu) and inside the forest as our protagonists hike and stumble followed by Kawase’s shaky hand-held camera (think the Dardennes with a lot more color).

As the title indicates, it’s a film about grieving, with both the man and woman having lost family members. And the quiet sound design–full of people murmuring, leaves blowing, and simple silence–adds immensely. The emotions aren’t quite as powerful as Shara, which also deals with losing a family member, but the film’s visual themes are rich and the concluding section is powerful.

The hits just keep on coming with Hou Hsaio-hsien’s latest. I realized walking out of the theater that I haven’t truly loved a Hou film since 1998’s Flowers of Shanghai. That doesn’t change with Flight of the Red Balloon, but it’s a worthy effort. Much more about light and characters than story or plot, the film focuses on a theater director who specializes in puppets (a wildly and wonderfully vibrant performance from Juliette Binoche), her cute-as-a-button son, and his new nanny, a young woman from China who’s studying film in Paris. No, I’m sure that’s not supposed to be a stand-in for the director. Nor is the reference to a movie being abstract and reminiscent of childhood supposed to be a reference to Hou’s own film. No, that would be too obvious.

As I said, there’s not much story, more a series of events: the nanny taking the boy to the park and then to play pinball, workers carrying a piano up a flight of stairs, a boy having his piano lesson while a tenant cleans up her living room. And of course, there’s the running motif of a red balloon following the boy around Paris, a homage to Albert Larorisse’s 1956 short film. Few directors can match Hou’s use of soft light, and he finds incredible beauty both outdoors and indoors. I particularly enjoyed how he uses changes in depth of field to play with both focus and light. And while little of note happens and there’s absolutely no character development whatsoever, I’ll never complain about watching Juliette Binoche strut her stuff on screen. Still, I have to agree with critics who complain that the movie is slight and sometimes aimless. Furthermore, the character of the nanny is so thinly drawn she feels like a cipher, as if Hou couldn’t take the effort to give her a backstory. But Hou’s many fans (I know that Girish and Darren were ecstatic after the screening) will be pleased, and some may even be overwhelmed. I was merely happy to bathe in his images.

You can bathe in images of a different sort in Bela Tarr’s The Man from London. No one, and I repeat ‘no one,’ uses black and white cinematography to stronger effect. An opening scene in his latest film is simply a slow pan up the front of a boat, with one side lit up and the other in shadows. Periodically, a shaft of shadow crosses diagonally across the screen. It’s an astounding image that becomes even richer as the camera tracks across a guard tower and back. And these kinds of images occur throughout the entire film. Incredibly intricate tracking shots around buildings and between people leave you awe-struck at Tarr’s formal control. And his high-contrast lighting melds perfectly with both his close-ups (often on faces) and deep-focus cityscape shots. There’s one literally breathtaking image of a guard tower lit up in front of a city at night.

So, why is The Man from London my disappointment of the day? Because images and slow pacing are all Tarr has this time around. Darren mentioned at a later screening that he liked Tarr doing a genre picture–the story is a simple film noir about a man finding stolen money and then having to watch his back–but I’ll have to wait to read Darren’s review to see what he meant. For me, the story is beside the point, as Tarr is clearly not interested in building tension, character, or dialogue. Now long-time readers will now I often enjoy movies that are bereft of story, but they have to have something else. Tarr’s earlier masterpiece Werckmeister Harmonies doesn’t have much of a plot, but its surreal images point to themes of cosmology and theology, politics, and human nature. The Man from London doesn’t seem to be about anything, and after a while even the gorgeous cinematography and another haunting score by Mihaly Vig grow tedious.

I got lucky in the morning and picked up a ticket to Control, another black-and-white film but this one with a most traditional story. Even if you don’t know who Joy Division or Ian Curtis were (a seminal post-punk band of the late ‘70s and its lead singer), you’ve seen the story of a tortured artist battling his personal demons many times before. Fortunately, the story may be familiar, but director Anton Corbijn has a flair for music. His music video roots are on full display, and the best parts of the movie are where actor Sam Riley and his fellow castmates perform (lip-synch) to classic Joy Division numbers. The acting performances are strong across the board, with Riley, Samantha Morton, and Tony Kebbel as the band’s manager being the particular standouts. And Corbijn uses simple widescreen compositions in elegant ways. Nonetheless, I found myself getting bored in the last 45 minutes as Curtis’ condition slips inevitably. It’s just a story I’ve seen too many times before, and this one doesn’t have any larger context to provide a balance.

Tomorrow, day 3, is a decent day, with two strong films and three average ones.

You, the Living: four 1/2 stars, out of five
The Mourning Forest: four stars
Flight of the Red Balloon: three 1/2 stars
The Man from London: two 1/2 stars
Control: three stars