framing device

One of the interesting things about TIFF is that I often have strong ideas of what to expect for each film. Not only do I spend a lot of time before the festival perusing different reviews, but almost every conversation here revolves around what people have seen. And that’s good. I’ve already changed my schedule a couple times because I heard good buzz from friends or while waiting with folk in line. But it does create an odd dynamic when I sit down for a film, as I have to try to eliminate my expectations and any preconceived notions I have.

I mention that because The Banishment had consistently poor reviews leading up to the festival. Though it won the best acting prize at Cannes, most critics were lukewarm at best. So though I liked the director’s debut, The Return, a great deal, I wasn’t exactly jumping with anticipation and had even considered dropping it from my schedule except that I was scheduled to review it. And then a funny thing happened. A few friends I respect saw it early in the festival and loved it. Which side would I find myself on?

The answer is on the loved it side, and I’m a bit baffled at all the negative reviews the movie’s received. Yes, it’s slow, and yes it features a fair amount of Christian symbolism (starting with the title), but anyone who saw The Return had to expect both of those things. Of course, for me those aspects are part of why I like the movie, but even viewers turned off by them have to admit the movie is undeniably beautiful; director Andrei Zvyagintsev and cinematographer Mikhail Krichman create painterly compositions of exquisite elegance and use natural light in spectacular ways. I’ve seen a lot of beautiful movies at the festival so far but none that has so consistently knocked me out. And like his admitted influence Tarkovsky, Zvyagintsev focuses on elemental visual motifs, which reinforce his spiritual themes.

Konstantin Lavronenko fully deserves his Cannes award, giving a brooding performance as a man wrestling with his marriage. But Maria Bonnevie as the wife is equally good. One brief moment as she wakes up, instinctively smiles at her husband, and then remembers what transpired the night before will stick with me for a long time. I also appreciated how the couple’s two children fit thematically with the plot and yet have their own rich stories. I’ll agree with some critics that the ending is awkward in places, but the movie (which is about waiting) has a strong sense of pace, as we wait for various plot threads to unfold.

While The Banishment is Zvyagintsev’s second film, Beyond the Years is Im Kwon-taek’s hundredth (or thereabouts). Still, just comparing the two movies I would’ve reversed the figures. Not that Years is terrible, it’s just inconsistent. It revolves around the same themes he developed in Chunhyang and Chihwaseon (the only Im films I’ve seen): the use of pansori music (a type of Korean opera) and the role of the artist. But in this film, the artist is not a figure to admire. Instead, he’s a singer who drags his two children all over creation and tries to train them to be famous musicians. That’s only a secondary part of the movie, though. The primary storyline is the brother as an adult recounting his attempts to reconnect with his sister.

Im still has great eye for compositions, so there are pleasures to spare. And the pansori music, taken from famous Korean operas and running throughout the film like a Hollywood musical, is gorgeous. But the acting is surprisingly weak, with Oh Jung-hae as the brother seeming more like a heartthrob soap opera star than a tortured soul looking for his sister. I’m also not a big fan of movies that stretch over several decades. The narrative always feels like you’re jumping around instead of digging deep into the heart of the story. Years also has strange moments of silly comedy thrown in, along with obvious saps to the audience. In one bizarre scene, an outhouse functions as a source of amusement. It’s not that I’m averse to toilet humor, but not in an otherwise serious drama. Though I suspect Im is following the advice of one of his characters: “Don’t worry about rules. If the people like it, it becomes a new path.” Uh, not always.

Useless, from director Jia Zhang-ke, was one of my most anticipated films of the fest, given his triumph last year with Still Life and Dong. And there are flashes of brilliance in his latest documentary. It focuses on the clothing industry in China and, in particular, on one fashion designer/clothing store operator, Ma Ke, and her new brand, which means Useless. The film starts, though, by looking at various workers in factories making clothes, as we see how manufacturing has been updated and yet still remains people (mostly women) behind a sewing machine. We see their rundown cafeteria along with visits to the company doctor. Those expecting to see sweatshop conditions will be surprised, as workers seem relatively happy, though who knows how representative this factory is and how the presence of a camera changes things?

The middle segment with Ma Ke is fascinating, in that she could be a fashion designer anywhere in the world as she talks about realizing her vision and testing her limits. Her ready-to-wear clothing is expectedly stylish, but it’s her Paris show that really stands out. Both bizarre and strangely beautiful, it features enormous coats and dresses that have been buried in dirt, assembled, then placed on bored-looking models standing on light boxes. We also hear her speak about the difference between mass production and handmade objects, arguing the latter have a powerful emotional content because of their history.

Jia explores whether that’s really true, though, in the last sequence, as he visits a coal mining town and a few local tailors. He interviews one tailor who’s left his job to become a coal miner, and the rapid transformation of China’s economy is encapsulated in one man. How Jia feels about all this is never clear. Does he admire the artistic fashion designer in the same way he admires the painter in Dong? Or does he share my contempt for a fashion industry that justifies its behavior–how it treats its workers and preys on the anxieties of female shoppers–by cloaking its work in the language of high art?

What’s on screen is fantastic. Scenes of the town and its coal mine are especially striking. One sequence involves miners cleaning up after work (reminiscnt of another documentary about China’s factories, West of the Tracks), and Jia rhymes them with the clothes that have been buried and then resurrected. His way of cutting between shots and ideas is as strong as ever. Still, I was frustrated by the film’s short length. At only 70 minutes, it feels like it’s barely begun to explore the issue. Another six months of filming and hour of film could’ve created another masterpiece.

My fourth film (out of five) is the Thai film Ploy. Basically a study of a marriage with a third wheel thrown in for drama, it’s a fairly typical Asian arthouse drama. The scenes of the bickering husband and wife ring true, but other scenes, especially how the husband invites a teen girl into his hotel room, aren’t as believable. Maybe that’s the point, though, as one theme of the film is the thin line between reality and dream/fantasy. Viewers who groove on trying to figure out what’s real and what’s not may enjoy this more than I did.

It’s not that I dislike it, as director Pen-ek Ratanaruang has a nice eye for creating sterile spaces. And the acting by the three leads is strong, and their interactions are compelling. But there some awkward moments as well, with point-of-view shots that don’t quite match up, and the narrative sometimes bogs down in fantasy sequences that go on way too long, especially an attempted rape and pursuit. Not bad but not very good either.

And just as I’m getting tired and wondering whether I have the stamina for my tenth movie in two days, I get to see the lovely Korean film Happiness. It’s about a man (named Young-su) in his thirties who’s lived such a fast life that he already has cirrhosis. So he checks himself into an alternative clinic for people with life-threatening diseases, where he meets the exquisite, younger Eun-hee, who suffers from a lung disease and doesn’t have long to live. Fifteen minutes into the movie, you know that these two are going to fall in love and that the love story will eventually become a weepie. But Hur Jin-ho (who made a previous TIFF favorite April Snow) directs his predictable story with all the qualities of a classic Hollywood film, using his scenes to develop both characters and plot.

The couple’s first meeting is delightful, as the raffish Young-su teases the shy Eun-hee while also revealing his own vulnerability. And the love story only gets better from there, as Hur uses appealing secondary characters and the beautiful rural landscape as background. The movie isn’t quite as good when the melodrama rears its head, but the story hits its marks, and even a bit of narrative vindictiveness feels like it could’ve come out of the ‘50s. And when the two lead actors are as good and as appealing as these, you can’t help but fall in love with them. There might not be a better feeling at the movies.

The Banishment: four stars, out of five
Beyond the Years: two 1/2 stars
Useless: three 1/2 stars (but close to four)
Ploy: three stars
Happiness: four stars