A Review of Enter the Void (Noe, 2010)

Enter the Void

Directed by Gaspar Noé

Starring: Nathaniel Brown, Paz de la Huerta, Cyril Roy, Olly Alexander

Grade: C+

Eight years ago, divisive filmmaker Gaspar Noé divided critics and audiences worldwide with the extremely violent Irreversible. While the reverse-narrative approach of that film does not return to haunt his new effort, "Enter the Void", the menacing, toxic tone remains present. He again focuses on figures drawn into criminal underworlds, and chronicles how the darker aspects of our personalities can emerge through circumstances that are on the peripherary of our realm of control. Fledgling drug dealer Oscar (Brown) is murdered in a Tokyo hangout, before re-emerging as a ghost to observe the lives of the various people who have shaped his fate.

Noé's film is named after the club in which we see Oscar murdered, but also because he himself is 'entering the void', or at least encouraging us to. People like Oscar die every day without so much as an inch in a newspaper column, because their deaths aren't deemed as damaging enough to society. We're discouraged from understanding them. We can't understand them. "Enter the Void" shows us that every life and death has a meaning for somebody, even if it does flog that meaning far too much.

As with Irreversible, Noé's visual style correlates well with the allure of the various vices in the film, the mystery and danger of being out of control. What's special about Noe's implementation of this is that it's also frightening and intimidating, as if he's beying us to even challenge this mode of generating mood and suspense. It's formidable. "Enter the Void" is a more intrusive, confined entity in the way that its trippy opening credits induce seizure, in the way that he uses point-of-view to place us inside Oscar without us being able to fully realise outsiders' perceptions of him. For stretches of his living moments he's faceless, much like the inevitable way in which his death will be consigned to phatic conversation on the street.

What's incredibly frustrating about the film is that, after the 40 minutes of present-day turmoil, there is a flashback of Oscar and his sister's difficult childhood and subsequent bond. It feels particularly manipulative in terms of constructing a voice for Oscar that wasn't there before, imposing sympathy where we don't need it. Noé does a terrific job in making us interested in this man, making us think for ourselves about his motives and failures, that a ten-minute montage of his life story feels a somewhat crass way of filling in the gaps. Moreover, the subsequent hour of the film is so pedantic in its desire to inform, to thoroughly dissect Oscar with an autopsy that doesn't get performed for real. Gus Van Sant's Elephant had similar problems with dragging out a paltry story, though that didn't make it much past the 80-minute mark. In that regard, "Enter the Void" is done about halfway through, the rest dedicated to re-iterating social observations through flashy, disorientating cinematography, and canny manipulation of colour.

The striking images in "Enter the Void" that act as either transitory or symbolic, are nearly always fiercely provocative, and there is much to be said for immersive visuality in inciting our emotions and intellect, as well as our gaze. But as a tripped-out anti-parable the film is much too unevenly skewed towards disguising the overkill of a narrative that severely loses drive. The relative convention of the film's approach to storytelling in its first act doesn't mesh well enough with the overwhelming sense of abstract that succeeds it. There's much to extract from its deadened sense of humanity, but, unlike its chaotic protagonists, "Enter the Void" feels that bit too eager to settle.

Chris Morris' Four Lions, and Politics in British Cinema

What has been particularly concerning about British cinema of late is its confirmation of (mainly) negative cultural stereotypes. 2008's Eden Lake portrayed youths as troublesome, knife-wielding criminals (allbeit brought up by ignorant, aggressive parents), and 2009's Harry Brown polarised street warfare with international warfare, once again consigning youths to brassy thugs. Living in Britain, it's difficult to seperate reality from what's written in the papers — there's plenty of smoke and mirrors floating around. The blatantly critical connotations that filter through media coverage of this generation of young people are not without reason, but consistent demonisation threatens to alienate groups of people much more than it aids in uniting them. For instance, do you ever see a photo of a "criminal" smiling in a newspaper, unless the article is angled towards portraying them as some kind of unsympathetic sadist?

I don't mean to get on my Cahiers high-horse about this, but there's something very sinister about wanting to draw attention to members of society already addressed and denounced as morally reprehensible, and firmly within the 'public sphere'. Socio-realist pieces that force our gaze upon dynamics and inequities that we aren't familiar with, such as Andrea Arnold's Red Road, and Paul Andrew Williams' London to Brighton, feel less motivated by modern culture and therefore artistically fresher works.

Not necessarily just since the September 11th attacks, but definitely more so, there has been a hostility towards Muslims in modern Western society. To quote but one reasoning I've heard for the Muslim exclusivity in the 'War On Terror': "Not all Muslims are terrorists, but all terrorists are Muslims". Whatever you believe, the increasing scepticism and mistrust of different ethnicities in the UK is very tangible, whether born out of xenophobia, fear, or a mixture of the two. Nationalism in Britain is pertaining to mean 'white'.

Enter Chris Morris, writer of controversial TV show "Brass Eye", which poked fun at people's perceptions of various social issues. His debut feature film, "Four Lions", made a splash at Sundance earlier in the year, and tackles the threat of terrorism in the UK through the plotting of four incompetent would-be suicide bombers living on a London estate.

The Islam religion is not focused upon a great deal, but the motivation of these men (three Asian, one White) certainly conform to those lines of divinity and sacrifice. Thankfully, that's where the conformities of the film end, and there's something wonderfully novel about the way that the characters, even in their murderous aims, emerge as hybrid representations of 'Britishness'. The group act more out of duty to each other, out of duty to a perceived impression of British muslims, than they do from their own instincts and feelings. It may feel like these men are ideologically estranged (if not, why plan to incite conflict?) but Morris offers perceptions of martyrdom and conformity that aren't exclusively "Eastern" or "Western". He eliminates any suggestion of an Us vs. Then mentality by blurring political boundaries.

That's not to say "Four Lions" is perfect, with a bit of a silly, repetitive approach to comedy that wears thin after a while. There are some delicious In the Loop-style quips, which offer snippets of British life ("Let's bomb Boots..." is a particular highlight), but they don't really hit home the frustrations of these four men. "Four Lions" does, however, hit home some of its own frustrations about 21st-century representations of Nationalism, and, for that, must be commended.

The Last Ten Best Picture Winners

There are now only ten winners of the Best Picture Oscar that I haven't seen

(See image below.)

From top left: Wings (1927-28), The Broadway Melody (1928-29), Cavalcade (1933), Hamlet (1948), Gigi (1958), In the Heat of the Night (1967), The Deer Hunter (1978), Gandhi (1982), Out of Africa (1985), Braveheart (1995)

Not many of these instill fervent anticipation, but I'm probably most looking forward to Norman Jewison's "In the Heat of the Night". The final three of those winners look daunting, but particularly Mel Gibson's "Braveheart", which I've seen about ten minutes of and could. not. stand.

If anybody has any suggestions as to which I should leave until last, I'd be happy to hear.

Bo and Bolero: Notional Or Exploitative?

Bolero (1984)

Directed by John Derek

Starring: Bo Derek, George Kennedy, Andrea Occhipinti, Ana Obregón, Olivia d'Abo, Greg Bensen

Grade: D+

One imagines that there are only two reasons that somebody might feel possessed to watch John Derek's 1984 flop "Bolero": For an affirmation of its infamy and critical slaughter, or for an eyeful of Derek's wife Bo in all of her barenaked glory. The former motivation was fresh in my mind when I sat down last night to experience the sexual awakening of Bo's virginal 1920s heiress Ayre, who when graduating from college, embarks on a quest to become de-flowered by an Arab sheik.

Although "Bolero" sounds as absurd as it plays out on screen, this wasn't that much of a low-budget affair, Derek managing to garner $7 million from MGM for the project. As if that wasn't enough, he also managed to convince Charade's George Kennedy to star as Ayre's cheerful butler, and musical legend Elmer Bernstein to conduct music that barely improves upon Arab porn soundtracks. Someone at the organisation, somewhere, must have been questioning the idea of Bo Derek riding naked, bareback atop a horse. The fact that it also markets itself as "An Adventure in Extasy", and eventually celebrates the fact that it's spelling the word 'ecstasy' wrongly, should surely have sounded a few alarm bells.

Part of the problem with assessing "Bolero" is that it's difficult to guage whether it knows how trashy it is. Derek intersperses his enterprise with an amalgam of pretense, representing sex as slapstick as much (if not more) than he does sensual. As Ravel's Bolero booms out of the screen in non-diegetic splendour, Bo Derek's voice comes through, complaining that her lover is sat on her leg. An earlier scene with a Sheik features some of the worst acting I have ever seen by a supporting player (clue: his name is last in the above cast overview), as Bo is lathered in honey and devoured by her hungry suitor. Derek cuts from shots of Bo's sticky midriff to silent movie-style subtitles that are rather comical in their over-elaboration of events, and the tryst soon turns into a complete washout.

It would be as absurd as "Bolero" itself to suggest that it's always unintentionally funny, especially as it becomes somewhat of a paean to women, and their use of sex to obtain what they want from relationships. As much as Bo's body feels an alluring, exploitative tool to draw in the male gaze, the entire film is about regulating masculinity. Ayre meets Angel — a ripped Spaniard Bullfighter with a traditionally-feminine name — and splits up his relationship, leading him to suffer an accident that renders him impotent, before finally taking over his job and all-but-raping him in the film's climax. "Bolero" is mental, but it isn't without a certain focus.

Believe this: 1984's Razzie 'Worst Actress' winner Bo Derek acquits herself well, even if the inflections of her performance can't count for much by themselves. The evident interest from a gender-political standpoint only marginally atones for the film's inept direction, one-note collection of characters, and its lazy approach to characterisation. While Russ Meyer saluted women in control, his pussycats killed. Derek's feline doesn't have the backup to create serious wounds, and, even with erotic overtones, this Bolero just ain't rousing enough.

Bitesize Best Actress Oscar Profiles: Claudette Colbert

Claudette Colbert in "Private Worlds"

Lost the 1935 Best Actress Oscar to Bette Davis in "Dangerous"

Grade: ***

Even if Claudette Colbert couldn't quite emulate Bette Davis, Greer Garson, and Irene Dunne in gaining Default Nominee status in the Thirties and Forties, she managed to win an Oscar before all of them. Just two months prior to the release of Gregory La Cava's "Private Worlds" Colbert was picking up the 1934 Best Actress Oscar for It Happened One Night, and she was clearly in the mind of the Academy when they doubled the number of nominees from three to six in 1935. "Private Worlds" represents a huge departure from Frank Capra's romantic comedy to more ethical, issue-driven dilemna, set in a psychiatric hospital under upheaval from new boss Charles Boyer.

If the "worlds" referenced in the title are a very vague way of suggesting that everybody has skeletons in their closets, the result isn't quite so juicy. La Cava spends the first twenty-five minutes of the film establishing that Colbert's Jane is a paladin of humanist know-how, solving any problems that she encounters and maintaining her composure at the testiest of times. Colbert's grace can often serve her well, and her soft expressions suggest a maternal, knowing affection that always helps to see her inside of the character. It's a weapon that's effective in her final nominated-performance in David O. Selznick's Since You Went Away, where it moulds nicely into the maternal instinct of her wartime housewife. In "Private Worlds", however, Colbert's radiating comfort can tend to align itself with Jane's insipid lack of fault, and it feels as if she's too plainly bringing out the inarguable competencies of the character.

Colbert recognises that Jane's passivity generates as much tension and conflict within the hospital as it does calmness, and there's an aloof charm about her that suggests a 'Private World' underneath that immovable exterior. The film tends to lampoon tidbits of backstory onto Jane, as when Colbert is forced to divulge a story of a former lover killed in the war, and in its constant liberal placement of her in so ethically strong a position. It's somewhat of a stretch for us to really care about failed romances and workplace prejudice. Colbert herself is adept at generating empathy, and she deals with the martinet tendencies of the script supremely, proffering a learned, studious faux-ambivalence to Jane's outlook and how she copes with internal politics and confrontation. Does she secretly court attention? Is the hospital's hierarchy really none of her concern? Colbert implants more greys into our perception of Jane than initially promised, and carries the film through its dourest periods of nonchalance.

A Review of Easy A (Gluck, 2010)

Easy A

Directed by Will Gluck

Starring: Emma Stone, Amanda Bynes, Patricia Clarkson, Stanley Tucci, Thomas Haden Church, Lisa Kudrow, Penn Badgley, Dan Byrd

Grade: C+

Written for InRO:

As the story goes, there’s only one thing worse than being a slut: being a virgin. A ludicrous notion if you value your health, but a no-brainer if your social cred is at stake. Olive Pendergast is hardly a sexy name, but her life is all about sex; the sex that she doesn’t have, and the sex that she pretends to have. And even if Emma Stone’s Olive isn’t so preoccupied with losing her V card, “Easy A” is constantly occupied with demonstrating sexual politics through a high school dynamic and its oft-conservative attitudes toward promiscuity.

Olive herself gets in trouble when she is coaxed by best friend Rhiannon into inventing an imaginary weekend of passion with a non-existent guy. Word gets around that she has done the deed, attracting the attention of red-blooded males and generating uproar among the school’s Christian branch, led by prim Marianne (Bynes). Olive plays up to her newfound status as a siren by dressing provocatively and stitching a scarlet A (for “Adulteress”) into her outfits, a la the shamed heroine in Nathaniel Hawthorne’s controversial novel “The Scarlet Letter”. When gay boy Brandon confides to her that he is being bullied for his sexuality, Olive unwittingly agrees to ease his troubles by pretending that they have slept together, which only exacerbates the impact of her increasingly trampy persona and makes life far from “easy”.

Many teen comedies tend to embellish their own stamp on wise-old fables, and while “Easy A” often feels very fresh in the way that it approaches the issue of promiscuity, it has a distinctly individualist way about it. There isn’t so much of an underlying fear about losing one’s virginity as there is about following a crowd, 21st century social networking and Hollywood big-budget remakes satirised as vapid distractions to be scoffed at. “Easy A” and its heroine are deliciously condescending, which can make for a fun time, but which results in an army of familiarly narrow-minded examples within its host of high-school subcultures. For every savvy assessment of high-school life there’s a bloodthirsty Christian, or a horny teacher around the corner, poised to exercise their fickle tendencies in order to provide Olive with a sliver of a further challenge. For each biting, hilarious quip made by Olive’s parents Rosemary and Dill (a typically fabulous Patricia Clarkson and Stanley Tucci), there’s an indulgent bout of liberal go-getting to follow. It somehow feels as if the film focuses too much on the characters it wants us to like.

Nevertheless, Stone works wonders in collating Olive’s sassy façade with the quirky, confessional twist to her character – a sort of “Olive Explains It All”, with much cooler parents, and a less annoying little brother. She completely takes hold of the film without resorting to hyperactivity to engage, pulling you so firmly within her perspective to the extent where her humility becomes attuned to a view of Olive as an underdog, even though she never really becomes one. Stone is miraculous in dealing with the latter stages of her arc, especially when reacting to a promising suitor handing her a $200 gift card at the end of their date, with the hope that she will sleep with him. She channels popular depictions of the downfall of the good-time girl by launching into a tearful, neurotic breakdown, becoming her creation for a short while, however far-fetched that seemed from the outset.

The niggling doubt about Olive is that Stone plays her with such a knowing sense of superior intellect that you wonder why she cares so much about what her “peers” think, or if she does, then why she gets herself into situations that will inevitably lead to severely damaging her reputation. For the most part, Olive is so aware of how the different personalities around her work; from Marianne’s fickle sense of worth, to Rhiannon’s need for inclusion, to school shrink Mrs. Griffith’s self-concerted attitude towards therapy, that it’s somewhat of a stretch to paint her as someone that can dig themselves into this big of a hole. For all of the apparent intelligence of Lindsay Lohan’s Cady in “Mean Girls”, one can believe her attention-seeking a little more than you can Olive’s, whose cultural idols lean more towards Lillian Gish than Britney Spears.

The film’s gripes about how Facebook etc. are quelling the creativity of the population don’t prevent Olive from using a similar interface to amend the wrongs of her tattered credibility. She presents the scenario of the film through close-up confession, which definitely introduces energy and anticipation, but when this turns out to be part of the resolution to the narrative, it leaves you a little wanting. If Bert V. Royal’s script is a canny instigator of disruption, it can’t quite carry early promise through to a concrete enough final act, tying up every loose end available in all of three sanitised minutes.

At the very least, “Easy A” is one of the more genuine attempts to access the conflicting messages society often projects about when to have sex and how much of it to have, and there are no great political compromises in that regard. What’s unconvincing is the huge gulf in maturity between the two factions of characters, and a lack of middle-ground characters to anchor and richen what the film struggles to say without Miss Stone. It’s difficult to gauge whether the “A” in “Easy A” most constitutes Adult, Adulteress, or plain-old Attainment. One thing that is for sure is that its formidable starlet is the only component of the film that comes close to achieving top marks.

Bitesize Best Actress Oscar Profiles: Goldie Hawn

Goldie Hawn in "Private Benjamin"

Lost the 1980 Best Actress Oscar to Sissy Spacek in "Coal Miner's Daughter"

Grade: *

Despite winning an Oscar for Cactus Flower in 1969, I always think of Goldie Hawn as an Actress that belongs to the Nineties. Perhaps that's just my age speaking, but I'm yet to be truly moved by her before she met Steve Martin in a pair of hot red heels and moved into his house uninvited. Goldie Hawn's primary attribute is her sex appeal, and somehow, against all odds, "Private Benjamin" is a film that all but sucks this from her, especially in its second half. Maybe not that surprising, given that the film is about a middle-class widow getting a wake-up call from enlisting in the army, but certainly not encouraging for this reliably glamourous actress.

One of the more rewarding elements of Hawn's canny comedic ability is in building up a sense of self-protection, largely through her own status as a blonde bombshell. There's an inoffensive, naive hint of arrogance in the way that she struts around, which helps to facilitate the impact of humour in her thin bursts of disapproval at not being taken seriously. Her first scene with the intimidating Cpt. Lewis, in which she wears a black dressing gown to roll call and proceeds to criticise the hygeine of her accomodation, highlights what she can do when given a real comedic platform. And even if this scene is part of the film's early stab at novelty, she does at least give it some much needed vibrancy and encourage us to follow Judy that little bit further.

The scene which marks a shift in the narrative, in which Judy switches from being thoroughly disgusted by her surroundings to defiant of her old life and committed to the army, reads as such an abrupt, misjudged way of dealing with the arc of the character, and Hawn doesn't really give any sense that Judy is fearful of her old life enough to spurn it. She ends up sitting back and allowing the film to chronicle its old-fashioned "journey" of the woman from discontent to fulfillment, without crafting anything for herself within that journey. She feels lost when required to question her boyfriend about his fidelity, clueless as to whether this woman is being driven to become neurotic, and in the end settles to ease the film's finale a little with a pang of resignation. Her version of emotional camouflage?

Hawn feels constricted in the role, mistaking indifference for duality, and she's muted when more hysteria is called for (trust me, I don't say that very often!) If "Private Benjamin" had gone as first indicated and become a permanent battle of oneupmanship between Judy and Lewis, then Hawn would feel much more comfortable in the role. The downtrodden later aspects of Judy don't sit well with her, and I don't think that she ever really makes Judy that worthy of support. A result that's as much about the platitudinous irks that come with the character as it is about Hawn's own failings as an actress, but if this is awards-level acting, colour me unimpressed.

Bitesize Best Actress Oscar Profiles: Jeanne Eagels

Jeanne Eagels in "The Letter" (1929)

Lost the 1928-29 Best Actress Oscar to Mary Pickford in "Coquette"

Grade: ****

Jeanne Eagels made just two talking pictures before her early death from a drugs overdose at the age of thirty-nine. Her most famous quote, "I'm the greatest actress in the world and the greatest failure. And nobody gives a damn." is a bold statement in itself, and though this film is my opening foray into the work of Ms. Eagels, I can certainly subscribe to the "great" if not the "greatest" tag. While William Wyler's remake would market itself with the tagline, "With all my heart, I still love the man I killed!", De Limur's original version of Somerset Maugham's "The Letter" was content to rest on that line, as if the mere confession of its tainted anti-hero Leslie Crosbie is itself enough to underline her treachery and put an end to any pretense.

Eagels' pretense had reached a height upon a courtroom stand, as an examining barrister asks her if she can recall the events of her and boyfriend Geoffrey's final, murderous encounter. Her response, "I'll try..." is trying, but so forlorn, resolute, and demanding of the court's attention without feeling at all threatening, and as she feathers her calculated lies with fragile affectations and insistent glances, she does so with such a mechanical ease that the entire scene is uproariously funny. Eagels makes Leslie impulsive in her answers, as if she's eager to get a rehearsed story across, but isn't cracking under the pressure and, quite to the contrary, appears to be adapting and eventually revelling in the attention she so keenly craves. She finds it difficult to hold back on the romantic dialogue of the story, heightening her well-to-do voice at just the right places so as to seem acceptably prudish but still thoroughly identifiable as a housewife.

While I consider Bette Davis' 1940 reprisal to be probably the most deserving Best Actress nomination of the entire decade, Eagels doesn't have as much of the feigned grace that Davis brought to Leslie. She plays her as more of a bitter, shameless shrew, if anything conjuring up images of Bette's lauded 1934 turn in "Of Human Bondage". In the famous scene in which Leslie retrieves the letter that would incriminate her, from the woman that her victim really loved, Eagels shuts Leslie off from any sort of empathy with the woman. In part, this can be attributed to "The Letter" and its lack of concern for this strand of the story, turning the exchange into a bit of theatre geared by racial oneupmanship. Still, Eagels doesn't capitalise on what should be Leslie's real lesson and shame in the film, a realisation of those haunting final words.

The waspish demeanour of Eagels imprints the film with a veracity that fits acutely into the modest brand of cinema that marks De Limur's film, more reflective of the stage or television in its quickfire, bare-bones approach to issues of the heart. So much could go wrong with playing somebody with little-to-no redeeming features about their personality, who lies through 90% of her film, but Eagels is aware of the pitfalls of being overzealous and romantic with Leslie, who one can imagine being oblivious to passion unless it were thrust in front of her face. We're used to seeing women in films of this era receive comeuppance for their errors, or at least appear to act out of downtrodden, desperate hysteria. After her crime Eagels' Leslie acts assuredly, through contempt for a life she never really had, and if the film doesn't want to punish her for that, I'm certainly not going to complain. There are few opportunities to see someone be this conceited.

Bitesize Best Actress Oscar Profiles: Joan Allen

Joan Allen in "The Contender"

Lost the 2000 Best Actress Oscar to Julia Roberts in "Erin Brockovich"

Grade: ****

As quickly as James Brown can roar, "This is a man's world!", Rod Lurie's The Contender asserts that prospective Democrat Vice President Laine Hanson is going to be up against it. Allen as Hanson is first seen cavorting with her husband -- a prelude of sex before the politics really begins -- and the subsequent interrogation of Hanson's collegial promiscuity suggests that the film is going to have plenty to say about society's expectations of the working woman. So it proves, but rather than affront Laine with a measured air of the formidable, Allen manages to make her really quite warm and open, not traits we often associate with politicians, however great their need to appeal to the collective.

Years later, Tilda Swinton would famously fashion something special in "Michael Clayton", with a corporate scapegoat that many would settle to play as a 101 of frigid career-gals. Allen understands the different facets of Laine's sense of duty; the seminality of appearing strong in the wake of threat, but also the tremulous nature of her approach towards ambition. A scene in which a bravura-filled, Presidential Jeff Bridges entertains the Hansons reveals Allen's knack for bringing humility to her characters. She wants to be a success as more than a politician, and there's such a mark of elated majesty about her demeanour here that recognises that that final feat is upon her.

"The Contender" is so skewed towards celebrating Laine's poker face that if this role were given to a less generous actress one could imagine her becoming too formidable; a stilted, gratuitously-elusive "victim" of circumstance unable to breach the boundaries of the moderate arena. It could be that, in maintaining the fluidity of her character's approach towards the political dynamic surrounding her, Allen becomes the perfect politician herself; self-aware but not permanently assured, coy in the most matter-of-fact sense. As she dashes off well-rehearsed answers to a jaded Gary Oldman it doesn't feel triumphant as much as it does a massive inner-struggle, both to tread a line of uniformity that she isn't comfortable with hugging, and her requirement to address wholly trivial matters.

Politicians have to feel credible but do we really need to know them? It's a startling achievement that Allen is able to sidestep her film's stolid, cutthroat environment, independently crafting a different dimension for her film. While "The Contender" looks to politicise Laine as a woman above all this cocksure banter, she moors her into a blank canvas, undoubtedly superior but always keen to learn. Plenty can take notes here; Allen may not quite have my vote in 2000, but she's a candidate well worth endorsing.

Bitesize Best Actress Oscar Profiles: Bette Midler

Bette Midler in "The Rose"

Lost the 1979 Best Actress Oscar to Sally Field in "Norma Rae"

Grade: *****

I've met so many people that admired Marion Cotillard's dramatic take on Edith Piaf in "La Vie En Rose", but relatively few that liked the film itself. Frantic editing or otherwise, the film and performance feel so knowingly interdependent, that I don't see how one of them can survive without the other. My feelings about "The Rose" and its star Bette Midler are similar; Midler is given so much leway with her character that she basically becomes the film. The things going on around her are relegated to mere distractions, and her performance becomes a showcase for the ages.

Apparently modelled on Janis Joplin, Midler's Mary Rose Foster is a rock star plagued by her dependence on drugs and alcohol. When she meets Houston (dashing co-nominee Frederic Forrest), she appears to have something to live for beyond music and extensive intoxication. The film's strands about Rose's affair with Houston, and her rocky relationship with manager Rudge (Alan Bates), don't really go anywhere, but that doesn't prevent Midler from developing an attachment to these characters, even as she keenly flaunts her own complete estrangement from what or who she is as a person, other than The Rose.

The film romanticises self-destruction in the way that tragic talents are iconised in the media, and Midler is only too happy to play Rose as a bittersweet heroine. She is utterly powerhouse in her stage scenes, affecting in her romantic insecurity, but often frustratingly gung-ho in approaching every element of her life. Midler occasionally blends her goofy persona into Rose's louder moments, for when she meets Houston initially -- and in one particular scene where she berates him for getting them kicked out of a bar -- she feels conscious of herself and too aware of how rash her wild temper is. "The Rose" works well because it portrays Foster as an unsalvagable tearaway, and Midler's energy and magnetism as a presence is essential to the success of this biopic.

But then there are her quieter moments; her feigned ambivalence when a fed-up Rudge puts an end to their time together, a proud glimmer of self-recognition when a drag artist imitates her at a bar, and an incredibly sad late scene in a phone box. By far the most resounding memory of "The Rose", however, lies in Midler's rendition of Joplin's own "Stay With Me". She gives the song such a wrenching emotional force, not even as a love song but as a plea for us, for life, to stay with her and remember her. It's one of those moments in cinema where time just seems to stand still, and it's also the perfect way to end this film.

Bitesize Best Actress Oscar Profiles: Jennifer Jones

Jennifer Jones in "Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing"

Lost the 1955 Best Actress Oscar to Anna Magnani in "The Rose Tattoo"

Grade: **

I'll concede to having more than a smidgeon of sympathy for actresses who suffer from inept direction, and Oscar favourite Jennifer Jones certainly falls into that category in this, the final of her five nominations. "Love is a Many-Splendored Thing" is a lifeless exercise in faux-sentimentality, and yet another Henry King film in which his leading figures become martyrs in the name of love and faith. Those two figures are William Holden as American correspondent Mark, and Jennifer Jones as mixed race Doctor Suyin, and it's an understatement to say that their meeting and subsequent relationship don't exactly set the world alight. Still, I'm sure that it'll be some comfort to fans of Arthur Hiller's Love Story that it wasn't the first film to pack limply-constructed courtship and disingenuous melodrama into 95 minutes.

Suyin is portrayed as a gracious and decent doctor, but more despite of her Eurasian descent than because of it, or because of any of her own will to succeed. Indeed, the attempts to address issues of race encompass flimsy bouts of prejudice within Suyin's professional environment. It ain't much of a shock then, to find that Jones is fundamentally unable to channel her character's position within the medical world, or a great passion for it, recalling some of Rosalind Russell's placid acceptance of duty in Sister Kenny, but otherwise a mannequin upon which the film burdens with angst and frail issues.

A scene in which Jones is required to omit the ecstasy at her husband's devotion to her by proclaiming, "He called me to tell me that he's STOPPED biting his fingernails!", handily summarises the ineffectuality of the moments where she is afforded a real Best Actress close-up. I can't imagine any actress transforming this unthinkably silly line into something meaningful, and to her credit Jones softens the end of it to accomodate a bashful hush. The successes of her performance largely emerge through senseless, child-like affectations, generating some belief that her marriage with Mark may be an appealing escape from Eastern roots. And she seems to be a much better judge of character development than Screenwriter John Patrick, or Director King are at building a story.

A JJ fan I am not, but if we're striving for superlatives, she's probably the best thing about the film (I'm not even going to discuss the title track!) But striving we'd be, and she can neither make me believe that love is splendour, or fashion the film's lamb-dressing into even a semblant of a worthy investment.

The Female of the Species

I find that part of being an Oscar completist is a growing indecision towards which categories and performers to focus on. I made a conscious decision a few months ago to curb viewings of Best Actress nominees, for fear of trawling through it too quickly, and instead focused on the other three acting categories. Having been addicted to Nick Davis' wonderful profiles on his final fifty Best Actress viewings some months back, it made me want to plan out which women to leave until last, and which to get out of the way.

The main priorities:-

1) Leave at least one performance from Actresses with multiple nominations that I have not yet seen all of (i.e. Olivia De Havilland, Marsha Mason, Meryl Streep, Jane Fonda, Liv Ullmann), until the final fifty.

2) Ensure that no given Best Actress year has more than two nominees left to see once the final fifty are revealed.

3) Try and keep the divisive performances to later on in the viewings.

It isn't by chance that I have seen twelve women nominated for that Golden Guy in the past month or so, and that there are eight more coming in the next couple of weeks. With 133 women remaining, I intend to write profiles until there are at least 100 to go.

The first of them lands shortly. Stay tuned!

A Review of Flesh of the Orchid (Chereau, 1975)

Flesh of the Orchid

Directed by Patrice Chereau

Starring: Charlotte Rampling, Bruno Cremer, Simone Signoret, Edwige Feuillère

Grade: C+

Written for Subtitled Online:

The misty opening of Patrice Chereau’s "Flesh of the Orchid" extends to a rather shady first act, in which we meet characters that test the patience as much as they spark curiosity. As a gardener marches up to a formidably stately residence, cutting a wallflower off at its stem, one wonders whether this is a bout of symbolism, and when he proceeds to march up to the bed of a horrified Charlotte Rampling and strip off, the notion gathers a tad more steam. Rampling’s Claire is often referred to as a second coming of the “orchid”, a moniker that isn’t pinpointed until later in the film, but nonetheless bears sexual connotations that never temper with the events that follow.

Emerging from a burning truck a mere fifteen minutes into the film, Claire radiates all of the fortified glory of an untouchable femme fatale. She marches into the car of an onlooking pair of male acquaintances with nary a moment’s consideration, quickly taking a shine to Louis (Cremer), the more masculine of the two. Their subsequent visit to a hotel instigates problems when Louis witnesses his friend murdered by two hired mob members, drawing them both into a desperate chase to evade the chasing silencers.

It takes all of this to first occur before we get a sense of Claire’s former existence, the pouting bursts of disapproval from a fur-clad Madame Bastier-Wagener (Feuillère) calling for her staff to scour the land for her niece, and placing a sizeable reward for her capture. The remaining information is relayed to us throughout the film, a glorified cameo by the Oscar-winning Simone Signoret as a circus Madame revealing the true, fiscally-motivated reasons for Claire’s Aunt wanting her kept behind closed doors.

Her immediate escape from the motor accident’s threat of fatality reads like an endorsement from the big bad world; this woman has survived for reasons beyond her confined, bubble-wrap setting. It’s an observation that’s only reinforced in her following skirmishes with the law, underground cartel, and the wrath of a ruthless Aunt. As Claire is forced to confront a world outside of what she is accustomed to, she does so with an amalgam of bemusement, acceptance, and exhilaration. The reality, of course, is that Charlotte Rampling’s Claire is just looking for affirmation of her own sexuality, control of her life in whatever form. Her relationship with Louis begins with a decidedly unhealthy desperation surrounding it; since Claire is looking to grasp her newfound freedom and use anyone she can to preserve it.

The film, however, swiftly changes course from being a psychosexual examination of a woman whose sexuality has clearly defined her existence as an incarcerated mental patient, to a seedy caper about vengeful gangsters and greedy aristocrats. It’s a bold move, but one that makes "Flesh" disarmingly aloof, to the point where it feels constricted and mechanical about its characters’ actions, leaving us wanting to know more about them, more about Claire’s back-story, and the source of the gangland gripes. There’s a propensity towards demonstrating consequences and generating an element of karma that makes the film much more plot-based than had previously been promised. Chereau ceases to coax us into Claire’s scheme of things once the chase begins, proceeding to rally at her behest in some form of authorial self-righteousness.

 It would be somewhat of a stretch to label Flesh as a revenge movie, but it does convect a vaguely feminist stance on Claire’s plight as a socially-starved wildflower. Every other major character in the film is punished to some degree, either as a result of sketchy morals or a failure to understand female sexuality well enough. Most of this is not achieved through Claire’s own actions, which is why vengeance doesn’t feel like the most defining feature on offer, but there is something sinister about the way that Claire is placed on a pedestal without us really being required to identify with her. Chereau’s focus becomes unclear when his attention is diverted to a bigger, ensemble-style modus operandi, and his cutthroat dramatic devices feel particularly out of place within a wry, inevitable tone.

The maddening distance felt during "Flesh" is at war with an admittedly interesting premise, and it’s true that it sustains a firm level of appeal as a loose cannon of sorts. Yet, one can’t help but feel that the real promise and bite of the film remain rooted in its first few unnerving, aggressive, expository scenes, and that it pertains to display its heroine through iconography rather than addressing her concerns within the narrative. As an orchid Claire escapes the clutches of materialist manipulation, but whether she escapes her director’s prism of objectification is another matter.

"Flesh of the Orchid" is available on DVD from November 1st.

A Review of D'Artagnan's Daughter (Tavernier, 1994)

D'Artagnan's Daughter

Directed by Bertrand Tavernier

Starring: Sophie Marceau, Philippe Noiret, Nils Tavernier, Claude Rich, Sami Frey, Charlotte Kady

Grade: C

Written for Subtitled Online:

Nearly a full decade before Johnny Depp’s Jack Sparrow sailed the seven seas, spurning authority and balking at the prospect of meeting a gruesome end, Philippe Noiret’s D’Artagnan was doing much of the same in rural France. Alexandre Dumas’s original three musketeers became four with the introduction of surly D’Artagnan, and even though this new installment of a much-coveted franchise sees the musketeers weary ageing men eager to recapture former glories, the result is just as farcical and pulsating a swashbuckler as its plucky, rum-fuelled descendant.

Tavernier’s film, however, is less about the musketeers themselves than it is about the titular character Eloïse (Marceau), daughter of the Fourth musketeer, and every bit as keen to aid the French resistance. Her discovery of a curiously-worded note sparks speculation about whether there is a plot against the French monarchy, a conclusion hastened by the increasingly volatile behaviour of the Duke of Crassac, and his merciless muse Elgantine de Rochefort. Eloïse turns to her estranged father for advice on the matter, the result of which is that the musketeers are reunited for one last (?) quest, accompanied by Eloïse herself, and romantic poet Misère, who is courting her affection.

More than any other element of “D’Artagnan’s Daughter”, Philippe Noiret’s turn as D’Artagnan is responsible for setting the comedic tone of the piece, as his interaction with Marceau -- a striking doppelganger of Isabelle Adjani, if more fickle an Actress – provides an interesting aside to the goofing around. Noiret is the core of the ensemble, managing to come across as a different outlet for everybody’s frustrations; an intimidating but effortlessly cool father-in-law, and to his colleagues a helplessly noble sucker for a “cause”.

One of the amiable successes of “D’Artagnan’s Daughter” is its ability to unite a set of characters so loosely bound, with wildly different approaches to adversity, to its common cause of libertarianism. Eloise is carrying out a moral crusade, while her father seems to enter the battle out of duty; Misere is a dreamer who wants to make an impact, while the other musketeers are as resigned to accept the situation as workers asked to cover a shift at short notice. Despite this, there are few moments where you wonder just what this troop of folks are doing together, which is admirable given that the “mission” itself, however uncertain and sporadic, has a distinct air of the novelty about it.

The group impetuously push on with their venture, unsure of who exactly is threatening them and in what capacity, drunk on activism and motivated by a general distaste for the current political situation. As an early scene involving the murder of a Mother Superior is depicted with all of the pulp of a sherry trifle, it becomes clear that this is a project much more devoted to the sillier, camp elements of 17th century France, keen to excise historical hang-ups from the musketeer mantra. As a consequence, “D’Artagnan’s Daughter” feels more token, reliant upon wit and pace, carrying with it all of the irony of watching people fight for fighting’s sake, rattling off quips about each other’s incompetence, putting their own appetite above each other’s safety.

There’s a tiresome, roundabout slog to the film’s constant desire to win over an audience through non-committal bitchiness and predictably-sarcastic pockets of humour. At over two hours it’s little surprise that the film cannot sustain its energy through this technique, dissipating as a frothy comedy and delivering lite on the promise of concrete historical satire. One is reminded, more often than not, of those pesky Pirate films, and their distracting approach to a laboured, idea-shy narrative.

It’s somewhat of a credit, but largely a misguided deferral, to suggest that the most chiefly apt description of “D’Artagnan’s Daughter” is “fun”. As well as it captures the period with marauders in tunics and brazen women in suggestive attire, D’Artagnan is just that bit too stagy and familiar to sidestep the self-consciousness of a script so skewed towards generating laughter from general indifference and incompetence. It draws attention to its own motivations far more than one would like.

As a bit of a maverick venture, “D’Artagnan’s Daughter” fairly obviously coasts on the notable eccentricities of Dumas’s work, and feels exactly that; a well-meaning fixture, rather than a genuine extension of the franchise. It introduces a different angle to a well-known story, but is too content to hide behind flippant remarks, its lack of ambition curbing any legitimate shots at glory. This may be more than mildly entertaining fare, but it isn’t one for all.

Second Hand Unwinds: Oscar Predictions For 2010

Excuse the near three-week absence from posting, but I've just started a new job and am thus busy adjusting to a sensibly alien sleeping pattern. I've decided to plug the gap between reviews (and there will be reviews; of starlets playing up to new surroundings, and conspiracies within the heart of Europe) by venturing back towards the familiar path of Oscar prognostication. It's still all harmless fun at this point, but Awards season is upon us, so this seems like as opportune a moment as any.

Best Picture

"127 Hours"

"Another Year"

"For Colored Girls..."

"Inception"

"The Kids Are All Right

"The King's Speech"

"Made in Dagenham"

"Secretariat"

"The Social Network"

"The Way Back"

Alternates: "The Fighter", "Toy Story 3", "Rabbit Hole"

"Inception" and "Toy Story 3" are popular, and got the fiscal ball rolling in 2010, but they still go against the grain of Oscar's general middle-brow gaze. I think that Nolan's film will probably have enough support to gain entry to the year's "top ten", but I'm not yet convinced that animated features will necessarily broach Best Picture regularly in an extended field. Why not "For Colored Girls..." then? A film about a repressed minority, with an all-star cast, and following on the coattails of last year's "Precious".

Best Director

Danny Boyle, "127 Hours"

David Fincher, "The Social Network"

Tom Hooper, "The King's Speech"

Mike Leigh, "Another Year"

Peter Weir, "The Way Back"

Alternates: Christopher Nolan, "Inception", Lisa Cholodenko, "The Kids Are All Right", The Coen Bros, "True Grit"

It appears foolhardy to forecast another snub for Nolan, but if he can get subbed for Stephen Daldry and Ron Howard in 2008, then it's at all possible he could miss out for just as dense a film this year, when the competition is stiffer.

Best Actress in a Leading Role

Annette Bening, "The Kids Are All Right"

Anne Hathaway, "Love and Other Drugs"

Diane Lane, "Secretariat"

Lesley Manville, "Another Year"

Julianne Moore, "The Kids Are All Right"

Alternates: Natalie Portman, "Black Swan", Hilary Swank, "Conviction", Jennifer Lawrence, "Winter's Bone"

A mixture of the prolific, reputable, burgeoning, and one-time-only nominees that often occurs in this category. Natalie Portman is brilliant in "Black Swan", but it's dark and her character has serious issues with sexuality that are bound to put off certainly the stauncher Academy members. I'd be very sad to see Sally Hawkins ousted from the lineup for another Hathaway/downtrodden rural American double-team, but she's only likely to get in if the film is BIG. Even if Julianne Moore is campaigned as Supporting in Kids, I think a lead nomination is a very legitimate outcome, given that maybe a vote for one automatically pertains to include the other?

Best Actor in a Leading Role

Javier Bardem, "Biutiful"

Colin Firth, "The King's Speech"

James Franco, "127 Hours"

Ryan Gosling, "Blue Valentine"

Mark Wahlberg, "The Fighter"

Alternates: Robert Duvall, "Get Low", Jeff Bridges, "True Grit", Paul Giamatti, "Barney's Version"

I'm betting that at least 40-80% of these have death scenes, which always appears to be a plus in the Best Actor category. Ryan Gosling has the luxury (?) of another December release, while the others all have personal obstacles to overcome. If this is the five, and nobody really trumps the critics, then does Mark Wahlberg have a shot at glory?

Best Actress in a Supporting Role

Helena Bonham Carter, "The King's Speech"

Kimberly Elise, "For Colored Girls..."

Miranda Richardson, "Made in Dagenham"

Saoirse Ronan, "The Way Back"

Jacki Weaver, "Animal Kingdom"

Alternates: Dianne Wiest, "Rabbit Hole", Whoopi Goldberg, "For Colored Girls...", Lesley Manville, "Another Year"

Having just seen Richardson's turn in Daggers, I'm not on board with a nomination. It's showboating of the most flagrant order, which is why Oscar might bite. Ronan already has one nomination and was dangerously poised last year to take over from faltering hopefuls. I'm thinking that "For Colored Girls..." will surely land a Supp Actress nominee, but who?

Best Actor in a Supporting Role

Christian Bale, "The Fighter"

Ed Harris, "The Way Back"

Mark Ruffalo, "The Kids Are All Right"

Geoffrey Rush, "The King's Speech"

John Hawkes, "Winter's Bone"

Alternate: Andrew Garfield, "The Social Network", Sam Rockwell, "Conviction", Colin Farrell, "The Way Back"

Hawkes seems like a long shot, but if we're wading for contenders the likelihood of him landing up on critics lineups etc. is not that slim. Harris and Rush are strong supporting players who AMPAS already likes; Ruffalo stronger if you ask me, but so far shunned.

Best Original Screenplay

"Another Year"

"Inception"

"The Kids Are All Right"

"The King's Speech"

"Made In Dagenham"

Alternate: "The Fighter"

Best Adapted Screenplay

"127 Hours"

"For Colored Girls..."

"The Social Network"

"Thw Way Back"

"Winter's Bone"

Alternate: "Love and Other Drugs"