The Congress

Grade: B-

*This review was originally posted at The Film Experience. 

The Congress, Ari Folman’s follow-up to his brilliant debut feature, the animated documentary Waltz with Bashir, starts rather normally. The opening shot is a staggeringly beautiful close-up of a tearful Robin Wright (playing an imaginary version of herself) as her agent Al’s (Harvey Keitel) voiceover informs us that her career is in tatters. Robin has hit the film industry’s glass ceiling age of 45 and with an already troubled reputation as a difficult actress to work with, her options are quickly dwindling. Al is trying to convince her to sell her digital image rights to the Miramount studio headed by Jeff (a remarkably greasy Danny Houston). This would mean that the studio will use her scanned image to create characters in future films in exchange for a fat paycheque and her right to ever act again.

Everything about this opening setup is promising, signifying a film that is aware of the fears and tensions within the entertainment industry. The Congress is ripe with smart ideas and astute observations about the challenges that technology presents to the men and women active in cinema. It also knows the industry’s inherent sexism and the possibilities that the medium present to its practitioners in the modern age. Unfortunately, Folman doesn’t prove as adept at creating fantasies as he was at recreating realities in Waltz with Bashir, leaving with a wild, messy film filled to the brim with missed opportunities.

Digital scanning isn’t the only revolutionary change in acting. Twenty years later, when Robin (or her image) has become the world’s most famous action star, Miramount introduces another futuristic technology: a small liquid that transforms anyone who takes it into anybody they want to be in the form of an animated avatar. The idea is advertised as an equal opportunity revolution, a serum to eliminate egos and give everyone the chance to be a star. The Congress showcases these avatars in a hallucinatory, animated world that Robin describes as “designed by a genius on an acid trip.”

Jealousy

Grade: C

*This review was originally published at Movie Mezzanine.

Philippe Garrel’s Jealousy (La Jalousie) opens with a static medium shot of Clothilde (Rebecca Convenant). The young, blond woman’s lips begin to tremble and tears gradually stream down her face. It’s a stunning composition and one that instantly throws us in the emotional whirlwind she is experiencing. Despite the complete absence of background information about her at this point, there’s an immediacy and punch to the scene that sweeps us up. It’s as powerful an opening as one can expect, upon whose promise the film unfortunately never quite delivers.

Jealousy tells the story of Louis – though the concept of “telling a story” is used very loosely here – a young man who is revealed to be the reason behind Clothilde’s tears, breaking up with her in a conversation we witness through the keyhole from the perspective of their bubbly daughter, Charlotte (Olga Milstein). Louis is played by the director’s son, the eponymous Louis Garrel, in his fifth outing with Garrel Sr. Louis is a struggling actor, a fact that Jealousy emphasizes via many clichéd visual hints: the perfectly imperfect coiffure, the absent gazes, and his general gloomy, confused look. All that and there are still wistful musical cues, too.

The failure of Louis’s marriage is partially due to a passionate affair with another struggling actor, the posh, raspy-voiced Claudia (Anna Mouglalis), whose mere introduction in the film portends another failing relationship. This unfortunate predictability isn’t entirely Claudia’s fault; instead, the film’s heavily New Wave-inspired mood is so familiar that little is left to the imagination. The triangular path of this romantic entanglement is well trodden and outdated, and Garrel adds nothing to the formula that has been in practice since the era of Truffaut’s Jules et Jim. Without that element of friction, a romantic unpredictability, Jealousy waltzes through its compact running time, offering glimpses of men and women whose lives in which we are inexplicably asked to be invested.

Fifi Howls From Happiness

Grade: B+

*This review was originally published at Movie Mezzanine.

The history of 20th-century Iran is brimming with fascinating, complex tales of personal and social travails and triumph. The country went through name changes, revolutions, several dynasties, countless heads of state, and the Islamicization of the government after 2,500 years of monarchic rule. This tumultuous atmosphere and the continual shift in powers that presided over the distribution and exhibition of art had a double-edged effect on Iranian artists: the turbulent environment cultivated intelligent and dissenting voices, and hindered their freedom all the same. Many chose to reform themselves, whereas others were forced into exile. Bahman Mohasses, the subject of Mitra Farahani’s stellar new documentary, Fifi Howls From Happiness, chose something in between.

Born in the north of Iran, Mohasses was a painter, sculptor, and translator whose avant-garde works gained him his “Persian Picasso” moniker. He was an eccentric figure, befriending oppositional artists and the royal family at once. He traveled between Italy and Iran, and felt unsettled at either home. He was a fish out of water, as many of his pieces and the film’s opening allegorically suggest. His work – much of it now destroyed either by the Islamic regime or by him– remained consistently powerful and subversive, and Mohasses was as restless and vibrant as ever even in his final days. Yet he became something of an enigma, living in total anonymity in Rome, even thought to be deceased by some.

Director Mitra Farahani is herself a similarly curious figure in a more modern mold. A successful filmmaker and painter who resides in Paris, she has made films like Just a Woman – winner of the Teddy prize at Berlinale – and Tabous, Zohre and Manouchehr, films that deal with sexuality in ways unfamiliar to Iranian audiences, making the latter something of a cult hit. In that light, this is the perfect marriage between the filmmaker and her subject. Farahani doesn’t explain how she first found Mohasses, shrouding his figure in even cloudier mystery. She is nevertheless granted access to his living space, a small hotel room in Rome, decorated with a variety of his art works. But the small space is no obstacle for the film’s edgy energy. Mohasses notes at one point that “a painting is a confined space, but reflects the infinite with limited tools.” The same can be said of Fifi Howls From Happiness.

The Dog

Grade: C

*This review was originally published at Movie Mezzanine. 

Sidney Lumet’s Oscar-winning film Dog Day Afternoon tells the story of Sonny Wortzik, a man who robs a bank in Manhattan to pay for his lover’s sex reassignment surgery. The film is based on the true story of John Wojtowicz, a soldier-turned-criminal who became a local celebrity with his outrageous character, association with the Gay Liberation movement in its nascent stages, and, most importantly, the events of that fateful day depicted superbly by LumetAl Pacino. In The Dog, the new documentary about Wojtowicz by directors Francois Keraudren and Allison Berg, he is gratuitously granted an opportunity to extend his fifteen minutes of fame for another hour and a half.

Following the clichéd trajectory of most biographical documentaries, The Dog combines archival footage of John’s early life with talking-head interviews with himself and those close to him. There’s an unusually large amount of footage available from his pre-fame life that give a fascinating glimpse into his early years. Wojtowicz is a strange character, with oscillating political views that range from war-mongering to anti-war activity, from pacifism to bank robbery. His most defining characteristic, however, is his sexual appetite. He claims to have no other vices and therefore channels all his energy through sexual expression, which really means he will fuck anything that moves. Wojtowicz married several times but had affairs with countless men and women on the side. His first gay encounter occurred in the military, an experience that only served to broaden his sexual horizons. His affiliation with the gay activists of the New York scene in the early 1970s was mostly a result of his desire to sleep with as many men as possible. The clandestine gatherings were a gateway for him to meet new prospective partners. That, in essence, is where the film’s problematic nature stems from.

There is an unshakable sense that The Dog magnifies the significance of Wojtowicz’s story beyond the boundaries of his reality, and comfortably glosses over certain unpleasant facts. There’s never an indication that this film can transcend its protagonist’s oddball personality to arrive at any meaningful conclusions. The majority of the film gives the impression of a slideshow of colorful antics assembled together to give one last hurrah to an obscure cult superstar who does not deserve this reevaluation. His presence in the most monumental events of his time seems almost accidental, not of any fault of The Dog’s, but of Wojtowicz’s own accord. He doesn’t want anything more from the gay scene than abundant options for sex, but he attaches himself to the liberation movement nonetheless. He doesn’t want his partner, Liz Eden, to have the surgery, but he robs a bank purely out of love for her, a proclamation no one seems to fully believe. He was a loud goofball who happened to be at the right place at the right time, denounced by everyone associated with him – including gay activists and Liz – but himself and his mother.

Screening Log: July

Parviz Parastui in Leili Is With Me

Leili Is With Me (Tabrizi, 1996, A+)
Without a doubt the greatest Iranian comedy of all time. A film of indescribable wit and compassion, and an unrivaled social study of war time Iran, featuring one of the best comic performances ever put to screen by Parviz Parastui. 

Day For Night (Truffaut, 1973, A) (thoughts)
"What the experience adds up to is a film about cinema made with immeasurable love for the medium. Truffaut’s infectious energy pierces through the screen. His penchant for subtle, affecting comedy, so expertly utilized in the Antoine Doinel series, is at its sharpest."

South Park: Bigger, Longer, Uncut (Parker/Stone, 1999, C+)
Each revisit drives the film further and further toward intolerability. Occasionally funny but consistently loud and crass and increasingly soft-edged.

Boyhood (Linklater, 2014, B+)
An incredibly difficult film to write about.

Still Life (Shahid Saless, 1974, A+) (podcast discussion)
A masterpiece of lyrical beauty, indebted to and influenced by the "translucent reality" of Sohrab Sepehri's majestic poetry, and as powerfully effective in its simplicity.

Snowpiercer (Bong, 2014, B-)
An unholy mess of superbly staged action sequences, visionary stylistic flourishes and shallow socio-political insight reduced to hokey metaphors. Snowpiercer is worth watching inasmuch as it is uniquely different from similarly scaled Hollywood genre fare.

22 Jump Street (Lord and Miller, 2014, B)
Consistently hilarious, which is more than can be said about any studio sequel. There is no significant improvement on the original, but Hill and Tatum prove themselves again as genuine stars with great chemistry, while Lord and Miller - following the success of The LEGO Movie - prove themselves as irreverent, fresh voices in Hollywood comedy.

Borgman (van Warmerdam, 2013, B-) (review)
A furiously energetic opening sequence sets the tone for an eerie and hypnotically strange ride. The obviousness of the oft-revisited sociopolitical allegory is grating at times, but the film never loses its sense of mystery.