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An appreciative audience enjoyed the lovely end to the Cinema CNC season on Saturday, our screening of The Duchess. Having said this, I must admit to not being quite as prone to wonderment, as some folks are, at the general spectacle of period-pieces; however, this work won me over, primarily for two reasons: the quality of the acting and the complexity of the plot.
Most historical dramas are judged, primarily, on two elements: how they are filmed, and how they look. The cinematography is The Duchess is handled splendidly by Gyula Pados, a Hungarian whiz, whose name sounded familiar... with the help of IMDB, I found credits for the beautifully haunting Fateless, Lajos Koltai's coming-of-age in Buchenwald story, which I saw at the Toronto Film Festival a couple of years ago, and for Kontroll, a delightfully dark account of ticket inspectors on the Budapest subway [and particularly problematic cinematographically, as most of the action takes place under fluorescent lighting in the myriad tunnels and stations of the subway system].
As far as how this film looks, praise must be lavished on costumer Michael O'Connor, set decorator Rebecca Alleway, and art director Karen Wakefield... their attention to detail and enthusiasm expressed in getting all elements as close to correct as possible is testament to their professionalism.
The story in The Duchess is a simple one: a 16 year-old woman is married-off for position and to provide an heir to the Duke of Devonshire, one of the most powerful men in England. She has been naïve, he is a brute. She breaches her contract by not producing a male child, and he takes on a number of lovers, including her best friend who conveniently lives with them. The story becomes complicated because the Duchess, Georgiana, as played by Keira Knightley, has a brain and has opinions and has desires. That she is the great-great[add more greats as necessary] aunt of Diana, Princess of Wales, might have aided in the marketing of this film [the tagline, "there were three people in her marriage" is an anachronistic reference to a comment of Diana's], but one can't help draw some interesting parallels, in-as-much-as one wants to be sympathetic to those considered social betters living their lives as if in a fishbowl.
Georgiana appears to have a keen political sense; the Duke, played by Ralph Fiennes, is the principal benefactor of the Whig party, but he seems as oddly detached from the quotidian aspects of politics as he is from everything else in his life [including his wife and children], except his dogs. She, on the other hand, takes an interest to the point of being a great friend to Charles Fox, a thorn in the side of the monarchy, and lover of Charles Grey, the Earl Grey of tea fame and future Prime Minister [with whom she had a daughter, also making her a direct ancestor of Sarah, Duchess of York... this wasn't played up... I wonder why?].
That the Duke is a cad is a historical truth and a necessary plot device; however, his depiction by Ralph Fiennes is much more complex... Fiennes seems to be having a lot of fun playing this character, even while glowering darkly at the end of the table whose two other occupants are his wife and his in-house lover. Fiennes plays him not for sympathy but for understanding; that this depiction falls short in the attempt is in no way a failure of Fiennes' craft... the life of such a man is just too far off the radar of this middle-class North American [me] for him to be rendered understandable. The power of the performance is in the understatement, in the Duke's seeming lack of understanding of the simplest of human emotions [did he have some form of autism?], and Fiennes carries the movie, when it isn't being carried by Keira Knightley.
The Duchess was noted in her day for her flamboyance and for her style; she was the "It girl" of 18th century London society. Her hair was higher, her hats were bigger, and her dresses were more elaborate than anybody else's. As well, she had an infectiously charming personality, energetically portrayed by the lovely Keira Knightley... to paraphrase one wag in the movie, " the Duke is the only man in England who doesn't love his wife." Knightley probably deserves an Oscar nomination for her work in this film, and not only for risking snapping her lovely slender neck under the weight of the enormous wigs and un-aerodynamic millinery required for the role. She plays Georgiana with charm and intelligence; the Duchess is not just a poor-little-rich-girl, but a fully-formed – and thus effectively stiffled – woman of her epoch.
The plot of The Duchess mixes the personal with the public, the old ideas with the new [of the time] and the dream with the reality, all while giving the audience members credit for being able to come to their own conclusions. This film can be read as a slice-of-life depiction, as a deeply personal story of a difficult marriage, and/or as a deeply charged political statement. Any way you want to look at this film, read it you must... it doesn't do it for you, and this, finally, is the true strength of Saul Dibb's effort.
An appropriate choice for a snowy, windy night, Frozen River played to a smallish – but appreciative – audience on Saturday. This film represents the qualities that American independent productions could, but often don't, offer; so much of US filmmaking is focussed on box-office splash that the simple act of telling a small story well gets lost... not here in Courtney Hunt's debut feature, though. That this film has been nominated for and has won a number of prestigious prizes, including the Grand Jury Prize at Sundance, is probably sufficient recommendation... you could stop reading now and will have received the message I am trying to deliver.
I must confess to really, really liking Melissa Leo, who plays the central figure, Ray Eddy, in this piece. Ever since her turn as Detective Sergeant Kay Howard in Homicide: Life on the Streets, I've wondered why she of the leonine mane of hair and whiskey and cigarettes voice doesn't get more work... Frozen River merely reinforces the strength of this question. That, as of this post, she is in 10 productions either finished or currently in production, means others have asked this question and we will, thankfully, be seeing a lot more of her soon. The other principal in Frozen River, Misty Upham, as Lila Littlejohn [a Robin Hood reference, perhaps?], does not seem to have been noticed in the same light, but she should be... it would be sad if this talented actor is relegated to roles calling for a First-Nations woman, rather than to roles requiring a strong woman... of any race or creed. Why, when no race is indicated, is white the norm? This is most apparent when this notion is breached, as in Sandra Oh's portrayal of Carol French in Wilby Wonderful [a dandy Canadian production], a part that I am sure wasn't specifically written for a Korean woman in Daniel McIvor's script... but I digress [as always]. This being said, Misty Upham's portrayal did bring to mind another, Elaine Miles as Marilyn Whirlwind in Northern Exposure... blending similar enigmatic qualities and inner strength [albeit to less comedic end in the production under discussion].
To the movie... the characters in Frozen River lead, in Thoreau's terms, "lives of quiet desperation", perched as they are on the margins of society. That Ray's biggest dream is to live in a new double-wide mobile home, sounding like some sort of classist punchline, and that her good-for-nothing and gambling addicted husband has fled for parts unknown with the downpayment [unwisely hidden in the glovebox of her car] serves to underline just how close to the wire her life is functioning. She is, seemingly, always a couple of thousand away from a notion of success, and one minor disaster away from despair... this is reinforced by her son's unfortunate use of a blowtorch to thaw a frozen pipe... but I don't want to give anything away. Ray works part-time at the Yankee One Dollar store, and doesn't seem to be getting ahead in any way. She meets Lila, and they form an uneasy detente, smuggling illegal aliens across the nearby US-Canadian border, through the Mohawk reservation.
Both of these women live on the boundaries: Ray has qualities that give her advantages, especially being white, but she lives a hand-to-mouth existence; Lila has connection to community that Ray doesn't have, but she lives in an unserviced travel trailer in the woods. The space they inhabit is characterized by a moral ambiguity which underlines that hard-and-fast ethics are the purview of the comfortable. Even though Lila gives Ray the comfort of saying that the smuggling is legal because it takes place on the reserve, and that the Mohawk don't recognize the border between the nations, both women know that what they are doing is fundamentally wrong, but also oddly necessary. And also very dangerous... the folks they are dealing with are not pleasant, and the manner of the border crossing, on the frozen St. Lawrence River in an ill-equipped car whose main attraction is that it has a remote-release trunk, does not bode well of their long-term survival.
This film maintains the drama without falling for the temptation of cliché; the viewer cares what happens, while being astounded at what happens. There is good acting here, in the principals, and in the secondary characters, particularly Charlie McDermott and James Reilly as Ray's children. Some of the other players are amateurish, but this lends a degree of verisimilitude to the production... and is easily forgiven in the over-all strength of the effort.
A number of reviewers laud Frozen River's style as something missing from the American independent production scene; this is too bad for our neighbours to the South, as, for a Canadian audience, this film seems very familiar. So, if you watch this film and like what you see, check out some Canadian films, which, by virtue of small budgets, tend toward strong characters and plot at the expense of flash. Sometimes this seems small-time, but it is mainly oddly refreshing.
Cinema CNC showed My Brother is an Only Child on Saturday to an appreciative audience... director Daniele Luchetti's work isn't seen too often on this side of the Atlantic, which is too bad... as a matter of fact, there haven't been too many Italian films in general release for the past few years; as North America rediscovers French film and starts to appreciate Spanish productions, Italian film seems to have been overlooked.
Well, let's just say that this film goes a long way both to suggest that film is not currently dead in Italy and to make strong reference to great Italian films of the past. I found myself thinking of Fellini, De Sica, Rossellini, and Pasolini at different moments during the film, not because of lack of engagement, but because of the comfortingly familiar way that Luchetti constructs his movie. My friend David mentioned a French/Spanish connection too; in one scene the entire family walks down the road, bickering, which brought to his mind Luis Buñuel's The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie.
On with the story... two brothers, Accio and Manrico, compete over everything: physical dominance, politics, family affection, women. Accio is at a disadvantage; he is younger and has a somewhat-unpleasant demeanor. Manrico, beside having natural personal charm, is blessed with matinee-idol looks [which will serve Riccardo Scamarcio, the actor portraying him, well]. There is a sister as well, Violetta who is a whiz on the cello, but she doesn't have enough screen time to seem fully realized as a character. This brings me to a small criticism of the film... it drags a bit at times, primarily, I think, because the director tried a little too hard to stay true to the source, a novel [Il Fasciocomunista, by Antonio Pennacchi], and we all know the vagaries of this pursuit as demonstrated so often elsewhere. That being said, that this movie was born of a literary source is generally a strength. The family dynamics can be seen as a microcosm of Italian society in the mid-to-late 60s. The Benassi family is leftist; Manrico is adored by his parents for leading a revolt at the factory where he works. To rebel, Accio studies to be a priest... his lack of success seems to be predicated on the fact that he finds God to be too forgiving, which leads him, seemingly naturally, to his next rebellion: joining the fascist party, under the tutelage of his friend, Mario, a tablecloth salesman who adores Mussolini.
Accio [mis]spends his time looking for a place to fit in, and Manrico always seems to fit in; however, the simplicity of this equation becomes more complicated both literally and figuratively. Viewers' sympathies are toyed with here; we like Manrico, but the film is, ultimately, told from Accio's point-of-view. Figuratively, these young men represent the somewhat-scrambled nature of Italian society in this period, presented both sympathetically and somewhat parodically, as in the revolutionary rendition of Ode to Joy performed during a student occupation in an academy in Rome, with lyrics altered to praise Mao, Lenin, and all things communist.
Accio and Manrico compete for the affections of Francesca [played by Diane Fleri] of the luminous smile. This battle plays out in a non-stereotypic fashion which gives greater interest to the characters involved and leads to disasterous result within the film [I'll say no more, for fear of giving something away].
Another sub-story that would be all-too-familiar to anyone living in Italy in the 60s is that the Benassi family, and everyone else they know, is in a state of suspended social animation, waiting for promised social housing that never seems to be available. Their frustration boils over in a suprising and satisfying manner, bringing the symbolic and the real social situations of Italian life together.
My Brother is an Only Child entertains and enlightens; despite a couple of spots where the story drags a little, we get to see a slice of life worth observing... one of the movie-goers I know quite well said, "they sure did yell a lot, didn't they?" to which I said, "have you been to Italy?" And you have, if you've seen this film.
What more can I say?
Let's hope it really means something.
Good going, America.
Saturday, Cinema CNC showed Before the Rains to an appreciative audience; both the filmmaking and the subject matter is impressive here. Santosh Sivan sets this film in his native Kerala, in south India, highlighting the intense beauty of the landscape in a manner befitting the Merchant Ivory label on this work.
Sivan is an accomplished director, most notably of 1999's The Terrorist, as well as a seasoned cinematographer, with 38 film credits, including Bride and Prejudice and the Mistress of Spices. His camerawork chops are showcased in Before the Rains; this is a beautiful film, with the expected sweeping landscape shots, but Sivan also has a subtle touch: the interior shots are nicely composed and his camera helps tell the story... sometimes a little heavyhandedly, as in a lingering close-up of a gun near the beginning of the film [you just know that someone's going to get it... you are merely waiting to find out who], but usually with subtlety, as in a look through a bloodstained window, as a character recognizes the importance of this stain [after the gun comes back into play... not a spoiler; just a fact].
Thematically, this film packs a punch... we are introduced to Henry [Linus Roache] and Sajani [Nandita Das] at a moment of playful flirtation. It becomes increasingly apparent that they are lovers and that their love is forbidden, both by the cultural and social divide [he's English and an imperialist landowner... she's Indian and his maid] and by the fact that they are both married: he to Laura [Jennifer Ehle], to whom he seems to feel socially inferior; she to Rajat [Lal Paul], who despite being a brute apparently loves her. The man caught up between the two cultures depicted [and quite literally in the middle of the mess created] is T.K. Neelan [Rahul Bose] the one completely sympathetic, but ultimately doomed, character in this drama. Henry is a cad; we start out cheering for him, but his true colours come to the surface soon enough. Sajani is tragically foolish. Laura is too cool as a character and too associated with the benefits of imperialism to elicit much sympathy. T.K. has been to the English school and sees that the way to get ahead is to put his lot in with the overlords; his timing couldn't be worse, considering the emerging nationalist movement in India, and we all know how that works out... don't we? [if not, see Ben Kingsley's depiction in Gandhi].
A central conflict in the movie is the completion of the road which will enable Henry to expand his tea empire into spices; this gives the title to the movie, as it must be finished before the monsoon season, or it will be washed away. The potential folly of this effort mirrors the whole British adventure in India, microcosmically represented in the relationships depicted in Before the Rains. This film transcends the overworked conventions of an anti-colonialism morality tale with a plot twist that shifts the focus to an ethical question that might just serve to destroy everyone involved. I really want to tell you what it is, but etiquette dictates that I exercise reserve.
This film was adapted from an earlier, Israeli effort by Dan Verete, called Asphalt Zahov [Yellow Asphalt]. I am not sure exactly how this transfiguration happened or how it works, but after reading the description for Verete's film, I am quite intrigued. I will try to see it and report back to you. If anybody has seen Asphalt Zahov, leave me a note, please.
A final note to suggest to you that you see Before the Rains; it is worth a look.
