Posts Tagged ‘film’

Film: “Tom at the Farm”

August 24, 2015
tomatthefarm1

Xavier Dolan in “Tom at the Farm”

I find it interesting to compare this film, by 26-year old French-Canadian wunderkind Xavier Dolan, who co-wrote, directed and starred in it, with The Gift, which I reviewed last week. The Gift is a clever connect-the-dots psychological thriller about a revenge scheme for a past crime. The characters react to events in simple, unambiguous terms. They have secrets, but there are no hidden conflicts that slow the action, or that pile murk onto the characters’ motivation. It’s just good shallow melodrama, and satisfying on those terms.

I preface this review with that observation because Tom at the Farm, for all of its skill, nuanced performances and intriguing relationships, fails to satisfy because it lacks clarity and simplicity, or just the things the other film excelled in. But I think Dolan is still an adventurous and original filmmaker, as I noted in my review of Mommy (2/3/2015), which was made the year before this film.

The story concerns Tom (Dolan), a young man from Montreal whose male lover, Guillaume, had died in an accident. He has come to the farm where Guillaume grew up for the funeral. There he meets Guillaume’s mother, Agathe, (Lise Roy) who did not know of her son’s homosexuality, and his older brother, Francis (Pierre-Yves Cardinal). Francis, a hulking and violent man of 30, threatens Tom if he reveals his true relationship with Guillaume. He has lied to his mother about his brother’s sexuality for years, to the point of inventing a girlfriend for him named Sara. In fact, Agathe is furious that Sara did not come for the funeral.

The rest of the film concerns the relationship of these three people. A fourth character (played by Evelyne Brochu), a girl summoned by Tom to pretend to be Sara, also enters the film, but briefly.Twisty and sexually charged, the story maintains interest, but at a sloggy pace, until its melodramatic conclusion. I just never bought into it. Francis is clearly a repressed homosexual, in violent denial. Tom’s own ambivalence –  he is frightened of Francis, but is also powerfully attracted to him – is another dominant theme. But we’re way ahead of Dolan in “catching on” to this, and several “surprise” revelations, late in the story, are just literary touches that lack organic integrity.

As with Mommy, the film reveals Dolan’s fascination with people thrown together into makeshift families. There’s certainly rich dramatic material there. But Tom at the Farm never engages his strengths. Although shorter than Mommy, it plays longer. However, I certainly expect this fascinating young talent to catch fire again.

Film: “Irrational Man”

July 24, 2015
irrationalman1

Emma Stone and Joachim Phoenix in “Irrational Man”

I don’t think this will be the last film 79- year old Woody Allen will make, but if its is, he’s chosen to go out pitiless and ugly, as Robert Bresson did in L’Argent. A grim affair, the only thing I found amusing about it was seeing how many times he placed the actors in scenic Newport locations, even for one or two lines of dialogue, in order to get all of those cost-saving perks from the city.

His script editor – himself – is as strict as ever. Not one screen moment, not a word, extends a scene past its dramatic function. We follow characters whose lives are meant to embody the living concepts in his by-now familiar philosophy, but it still holds us because he casts his actors so perfectly. They can blithely discuss the meaning of the universe while ordering from a restaurant menu, but they are so particularized that we never hear the author’s voice, only their own.

His theme is familiar, but presented starkly, without the comic trappings he’s used before. But his conclusion is the same: the existence of genuine goodness in this world is as mysterious and unexplained as the existence of evil. At any time, choosing one over the other may be no more than a random act. There is an additional warning, however: it is dangerous to hold back from life because you’re waiting for the exact opportunity to discover your true nature, which will guide you for the future. The danger is, of course, that your “true nature” may be something you – and  the rest of the world – will wish had stayed hidden.

But the bigger story, for me, is the astonishing Emma Stone. As a college student infatuated with her philosophy professor, played  by Joachim Phoenix, she makes her character’s agonizing conversion to disillusionment, and eventual horror, the strongest element in the film. She seems to instinctively avoid falseness and vanity in her performance, which is remarkable in someone so young. Allen could not have chosen someone more sympathetic to his vision.

Peter Handke and Wim Wenders at MOMA

March 9, 2015
photo-2

Peter Handke and Wim Wenders

Among the world’s most prominent independent filmmakers, Wim Wenders has finally been honored with a retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art. I attended two of the ten films, both of which were written by Peter Handke. They were present at the screenings, and were interviewed afterwards. The first film, The Goalie’s Anxiety at the Penalty Kick, was an adaptation of Handke’s novel, which gained him an international reputation. Peter Handke was pretty hot in the early 70s. I had read his plays, but the novel made the deepest impression; I read it three times. I saw the film when it opened and remember finding it riveting and disturbing.

The story, in brief outline, tells you nothing of its effect on the viewer. A kind of nihilist fable, it follows Bloch, a professional soccer goalie, in a deadpan chronicle of human passivity: Bloch lets the winning goal score…Bloch checks into a cheap hotel…Bloch has pickup sex with a woman…Bloch reads the soccer scores in the paper…Bloch has sex with another young woman, then murders her…Bloch leaves town and hooks up with a former girlfriend…Bloch plays games with her little girl…Bloch reads about the murder and the soccer scores in the paper…Bloch plays the jukebox…Bloch watches a local game, commenting on the action. THE END.

goalie1

Arthur Brauss is the goalie

The originality is not in the plot – a number of existentialist writers have told similar stories, including Dostoyevsky and Camus –   but none had, I thought, so emphasized the stupefying banality of the situation. I thought so at the time, and its power has not diminished.

Handke seemed to pull back from the abyss, if only slightly, in the next film, The Wrong Move, which Wenders filmed in 1975. Wenders said at the screening that he didn’t change a single line of dialogue from Handke’s script. It’s a modern retelling of Goethe’s “Wilhelm Meister”, a classic bildungsroman. It concerns a young man living with his mother who decides to leave so that he can have the life experience necessary to become a writer. True to its source, it is stiff and meditative, with every character – save a near-mute Nastassja Kinski in her first role – speechifying the most highfalutin drivel to anyone within earshot.

wrongmve1

From left: Hans Christian Blech, Nastassja Kinski, Rudger Vogler (Wilhelm) and Hanna Schygulla

Hardly cinematic, you’d think, but it’s surprisingly entertaining. Handke’s special skill is wryly amusing dialogue in odd juxtapositions. Wilhelm meets people the first time, and they all join him on his journey of self-discovery, as if their role in life was to wait for him to show up. Most improbably, this includes Hanna Schygulla (!), who notices him through a train window and follows him all over Germany, pleading for him to “satisfy her”. And yet, by the end of the journey, Wilhelm’s feeling that he has wasted the entire experience, and made all the “wrong moves”, is also wrong; the film attains a moral perspective by suggesting that the apparently random, passive observation of the real world is necessary for maturity and insight.

Wenders likes to have his actors speak to each other in long, long takes, as in The Wrong Move, when everyone tells of their dreams the night before as they walk along a mountain road. Even in a bad print (belying Wenders’ assurances before the screening), this scene is still spectacular. But Goalie has just been restored, and Robbie Mueller’s cinematography can be seen again in all its glory.

Interestingly, the actor playing the goalie-murderer is more appealing than the aspiring writer, who was rather smug and mopey. But nuanced acting has never been a major concern for Wenders. He casts each film as well as the budget allows, and his instincts are good. The acting in both films was at least OK, but the only actor making a strong impression was Ivan Desny in The Wrong Move, playing an industrialist who gives lodging to the travelers.

There’s a special pleasure in again seeing those films that you admired many years ago, especially when the filmmakers are there to introduce them.

Film: “Queen and Country”

February 22, 2015
queencountry1

Bill Rohan (Callum Turner, seated rt.) watching the coronation of Elizabeth II on TV with family

More than a quarter century has passed since Hope and Glory(1987), John Boorman’s excellent autobiographical film of his childhood in the London blitz. Now we gratefully receive “Queen and Country”, a sequel of seamless tonal consistency. Although smaller in scale and significance than Hope and Glory, it still benefits from Boorman’s vision of the British character as essentially decent, practical and life-affirming.

It is 1952, and Bill Rohan (Callum Turner) is now 18 and must serve 2 years in the Army, like other British boys, and may even be sent to fight in Korea. The 9-year old we remember from the earlier film is now a tall, pleasant-looking youth with a quietly genial manner. Somehow this results in his being made sergeant. But instead of fighting the enemy, he is assigned to teach typing to new recruits with his friend Percy (Caleb Landry Jones), who is as defiantly rambunctious as Bill is passive. Their lives are made miserable by the unit director, Sergeant Bradley (David Thewlis, priceless), who suffered severe psychological damage in the war. Further complicating things is Private Redmond (Pat Shortt), their subordinate, a slacker-artist of the first order. The story follows Bill and Percy’s bumpy relationship – co-conspirators in their disdain for the army, but rivals in love – until Bill’s return to civilian life with his parents, with a hint of the director’s future film career.

Boorman smoothly controls the dual narrative. Bill lets Percy drag him into pursuing two nurses they met at a concert, even though he is blindingly entranced by a mysterious blond beauty (Tamsin Egerton) who, though she refuses to tell him her name, pulls him along tantalizingly. Bill decides to call her Ophelia, which amuses her. She visits Bill when he is staying with his parents and older sister, Dawn (Vanessa Kirby, gloriously lewd), while on leave, but says she can’t stay to watch Elizabeth II’s coronation on TV, dumbfounding the entire group. But her secret life is soon exposed, devastatingly, leaving Bill emotionally crushed until comforted, and ultimately deflowered, by Sophie (Aimee-Ffion Edwards), the very nurse he had ignored earlier, who had become Percy’s girlfriend instead.

The other narrative line follows the prank theft of an antique clock, a holy relic to their unbearably rigid commander. Bill doesn’t participate, but lets Percy and Redmond pull off the job, which they all take delicious enjoyment in. When the scheme is discovered, however, Bill learns about the often painful demands of friendship.

Part of the pleasure in the army hi-jinks story – which I admit is a little too long – is remembering the wonderful British army comedies of the 50s and 60s, like A Coming Out Party. The performances of David Thewlis and Richard E. Grant, as the martinet commander, are funny, yet skillfully shaded. Boorman doesn’t want us to enjoy their eventual humiliation too much; the hurt is made too real for that. Similarly, the lessons from the failed romance, while a film lover’s delight, are not always pain-free. After all, Boorman is remembering his very own pain here, though in a forgivingly dim light.

The performances are fresh and nimble, as they nearly always are in Boorman’s films. Dawn’s earthy but charming sexuality – with hints of taboo lust for her brother – never tips into vulgarity. Bill’s hapless infatuation is wittily shown, with the gorgeous Ophelia bathed in other-worldly colors. While the scene where Bill loses his virginity is gracefully done, it could have used the sly, zesty touch of a Mike Nichols (how I will miss him!) or Almodovar.

Despite its pleasures, this is a slighter film than its epic predecessor. Missing is the sense of an ordeal shared by an entire population, one that changes the very nature of society. The coronation, much less Korea, are not signposts of lasting significance for the British people. What we have, in sum, is a loving scrapbook; buoyant and wise, but stripped of the darker tones of that era. But then it had to end when it did. In only two years, the young Boorman would see his country savagely humiliated in Suez, an event of national redefinition. Yes, better to keep the glow of innocence while you still can.

Film” “Force Majeure”

January 22, 2015

forcemajeure2

A prosperous Swedish family – husband, wife, young daughter and son – are on a 5-day vacation at a French ski resort. They are having lunch at an outdoor cafe when they hear a rumbling, and see a wall of snow slowly descending the mountain. It is awesome, and the husband, Tomas (Johannes Kuhnke), films it with his smartphone. But it grows larger, and is soon a roaring wave that threatens to drown them all. Tomas quickly grabs the phone and runs, leaving wife and children behind him. Fortunately, there was no avalanche – it died at a safe distance – but the husband’s cowardly act cracks a fault line in the marriage, and is the basis of this slyly comic, but unsettling film, the fourth feature by Swedish director Ruben Ostlund.

forcemajeure3

l to r: Kristofer Hivju (Mats), Johannes Kuhnke (Tomas), Fanni Metelius (Fanni), Lisa Loven Kongsli (Ebba)

Ebba, the wife (Lisa Loven Kongsli), hides her resentment at first, but soon advances it, relentlessly. She uses it to humiliate him with another couple, and then does it again at dinner with his friend Mats, who is divorced and vacationing with Fanni, a girl half his age. At first Tomas denies it, saying Ebba “misperceived” what happened. Mats, uncomfortably, tries to defend him. Then, in an excruciating scene, Ebba slam-dunks it by playing the video that Tomas shot on his phone. The image of both couples peering down into a tiny screen is one of the funniest in the film.

Ebba’s victory proves hollow, however. Tomas sinks rapidly into self-pitying, and the children are terrified that the family will break up. Without recourse, Ebba resolves to save the marriage. Finally, on the last day’s ski run, the crisis is resolved in a harrowing scene.

This is the first of Ostlund’s films that I’ve seen. While the story does grip, the characters are off-putting, to say the least. The contest of wills is played out icily, without passion. There is no violence or screaming; sobbing only prevails. The spectacular winter scenery seems to trivialize the discomforts of these pathetic humans, as I think was Ostlund’s intent. He’s been likened to some of the masters – Bunuel and Michael Haneke in particular – and this is not invalid. But Bunuel, even when skewering the upper classes in late works like The Discreet Charm of the bourgeoisie, kept it comically surreal, making the movie more fun, if less disturbing. Haneke is closer, but Ostlund can’t begin to match the brilliance of his dialogue or skill with actors.

But his skill in undeniable. What appears to be a flying saucer hovering over the night snowscape is revealed as a children’s toy. Also memorable is the tableau of the children and Ebba, in despair, covering a weeping and prostrate Tomas with their own bodies. And yet, you are always reminded that the characters may only be demonstrating emotions to each other, without true feeling, much as the actors who are playing them.

I admit that I was absorbed, but also confused by the film. Does Ostlund’s contempt for his characters extend to us, the viewers? Does he delight in manipulating us, but have no moral center? If true, and he’s just a smug bully, he’s not doing it for our lunch money. He just wants to tease, point and laugh. But he gets a pass – this once – because he is clever and original. Just be wary.

Film: “The Babadook”

January 14, 2015
babadook3

Essie Davis and Noah Wiseman

Two Spoilers: 1. The cute little dog gets killed.    2. First one cockroach, then……UGH!!

Having gotten those out of the way, let me say that they are the only times I felt this invigorating film threw in the overused clichés of this genre. Australian Writer-director Jennifer Kent has a sure sense of pacing and camera movement, and has gotten terrific performances from Essie Davis and Noah Wiseman, as a widow and her six-year old son living a domestic nightmare.

Amelia is a widow whose husband was killed in a crash when driving her to the hospital to give birth to their son. The boy, Samuel, is highly intelligent, but suffers horrible nightmares. He become obsessed with defending himself and his mother against monsters invading the home. Amelia is constantly called to his school because he frightens the other children. But the situation becomes even more critical when she reads him a children’s story about Mr Babadook, a top-hatted ghoul who promises to kill whoever reads about him. The book itself seems to be haunted, and miraculously reappears even after she burns it.

I don’t have to tell you that Mr. Babadook will appear as a genuine presence of horror film proportions, and that a goodly number of shrieks will escape you before the battle between good and evil is over. But who actually wins that battle? I found the ending fully satisfying, but I can see why some may be disappointed. I think, after seeing this film and the underrated Triangle, that Australian and British horror tend to favor demons that are of psychological, as opposed to purely supernatural, origin, which may explain why those films end ambiguously. But whether the scare givers are Aliens (Dark Skies) or ghosts (Mama), American taste runs more to simpler explanations, resulting in evil that is comfortably external. Which is why, of course, we know that when they are dead, they will never, but NEVER, come back (wait for laughter).

I just want to mention that Essie Davis – because she is so good in this – runs the risk of becoming a horror queen, which may limit her career choices. I wish her many good roles, but richer ones too.

Film: “Nightcrawler”

December 5, 2014

 

nightcrawler1

Jake Gyllenhaal

The star of the film is Jake Gyllenhaal. But we don’t get our familiar image of him. Tense, lean, with enormous eyes, it is unsettling to see him here. He plays Lou Bloom, a man of about thirty who has been driven – by what? – to achieve success at any cost. And he has no idea how. Then, after he sees a man with a TV camera at a grisly traffic accident, a man who actually sells the pictures by phone while he’s walking back to his car, Lou decides this work is for him.

We learn that Lou has gifts that give him an advantage: he is a psychopath and a narcissist, not held back by human empathy. He will exploit the public’s appetite for the lurid, the shocking, the most violent images that capture the highest ratings on TV news. He will team with – and manipulate – two people to get to his goal: Nina, a station manager played by Rene Russo, who uses Jake’s increasingly violent photos to advance her career, and Rick, a homeless Hispanic street kid played by Riz Ahmed, who sees Lou as his only chance to escape the gutter.

As written and directed by Dan Gilroy, this is a well-made, suspenseful film with a gripping climax. I would have to recommend it just for the quality of the acting and its absorbing story. But it leaves a sour taste. Bloom is one of the most repulsive lead characters I’ve ever seen. He is brilliant and relentless, and seems to have pre-thought the slam-shut response to any objection to his behavior. Gyllenhaal is demonically good, and the extent of Bloom’s success as a purveyor of human suffering is disturbing, yet believable.

But, in a very real sense, it is also offensive. Unlike Network, which portrayed an audience driven by real anger at its powerlessness, the TV audience here is just a bunch of sadists. Their appetite is for the most bloody, lurid and horrible images of pain and death, with or without context. While Bloom and Nina both exploit the public’s appetite, they seem totally disconnected from it. Theirs is a behaviorist skill, like the training of white mice. Gilroy implicitly condemns the TV news audience for feasting on the gore, but he shows their exploiters as bemused puppet-masters, coldly distanced from the rest of us.

In the first place, I don’t buy it. Success and power for its own sake doesn’t explain Bloom’s exceptional, intuitive skill at marketing this particular product. It requires a lifelong erotic fascination with it, something the filmmakers do not dare to show. David Cronenberg’s films, most notably Crash, leave no doubt about his relation to his subject. The music, photography, and especially his actors’ rapturous enjoyment of pain, whether of others or themselves, sends home the message that the director partakes of those same passions himself, if not to that degree.

Nightcrawler cops out on this point. As creepy as Bloom is, his lust for success is oddly asexual. In fact, when he tries to maneuver Nina into becoming his mistress, the scene, well-written until that point, stops the movie cold.

The public’s taste for the depraved is an appalling mystery, but is embedded deep in human experience. Gilroy shows it to us, often entertainingly, but backs away from analysis or insight. In doing this, he seems to share Bloom’s own perspective. From his superior position, he knows how to exploit the audience for this film, who will pay for a ticket to see it.

Film: “Neighbors”

June 10, 2014

STORY: A thirtyish couple with their first baby like sex and weed and, of course, baby. They don’t think much about money, the future or any of those boring “grownup” things. Just sex, weed and baby. But one day, a fraternity buys the house next to theirs and starts having loud, crazy sex, booze and weed parties every night, which makes baby scream and drives Mommy and Daddy batshit. The Prez and VP of the frat have a mission to create wild party history, and will not “keep it down”. After warily trying to be nice, the couple declare war on the frats, intending to drive them out. Will they succeed?

GOOD STUFF:  There are some laughs here. Director Nicholas Stoller knows something about comic pacing, and the good gags sort of sneak up on you. The best involves stolen car air bags, but even the gross toilet humor can be sharp and, for want of a better word, pungent. For genuine wit, however, the closest it gets is the homo-erotic subtext between the frat Prez and his VP, played by Zac Efron and Dave Franco, respectively. They have four choice face-offs that hilariously show the extent of male self-delusion about their own sexuality.

NOT SO GOOD:  Even cartoon characters need clear motivation or else the comedy suffers. This is not a problem with the frat kids and their babes. They reminded me of the vampires in “True Blood”; totally controlled by animal appetites. But the starring roles are the parents, and they were neither likable nor believable. As played by Seth Rogen and Rose Byrne, both skilled actors, they didn’t seem like adults at all, just overaged children who find themselves playing grownups as a goof. They seemed less human than the party vampires. By coincidence, “Ruby Sparks” was on cable that night. It’s no classic, but watch any five minutes of that film and you’ll find a quality totally missing from “Neighbors”: charm. I don’t think Stoller and company think that’s important, especially when you compare the grosses of the two films. But the laughs, even big ones, can feel empty without it.

Review: “Locke”

May 31, 2014
LOCKE-master675-1

Tom Hardy in “Locke”

 

This film has been getting a lot of attention as a daring, innovative experiment, but it’s really just a variation on a genre that goes back decades. I call it “techno-stunt” because it tells a story involving many people by having the camera stay on a single character for almost the entire running time.  Here director-writer Steven Knight (writer, “Eastern Promises”) makes clever use of modern technology to get us involved in the lives of a number of characters who are heard, but never seen. The only character we do see, Locke, played by Tom Hardy in a virtuoso performance, is only shown behind the wheel of his car as he talks via speaker phone to the other characters.

This makes it a kind of radio play. Its film precursors include a Barbara Stanwyck vehicle, “Sorry, Wrong Number”, which intersperses her telephone monologue with flashbacks.  Jean Cocteau’s “The Human Voice”, both as play and film, is a monologue of a woman talking on the phone to her lover, who is leaving her to marry a younger woman.  Another telephone monologue  is a TV film, “Eddie”, for which Mickey Rooney won an Emmy for playing a playing a gambler desperately making calls to raise money before thugs come to collect a gambling debt.

Knight modernizes the format by having his hero talk on speaker phone while driving his car, which allows us to hear the person on the other end. The story is perfectly suited to this treatment. The film starts with Locke, a building contractor in Birmingham, England, driving home to his family. He is nervous because he is expecting a delivery of concrete that is crucial to his building’s completion. But he gets an unexpected call that turns his life around. Locke finds himself confronted with a moral challenge that threatens to destroy his marriage and career. The film shows how he meets that challenge.

Essentially, this is a soap opera, but very well done. What places it at a somewhat higher level is that the real conflict is within Locke himself.  He thinks of himself as a man of integrity, and the fact that his single “lapse” could ruin his life is especially painful. I’m sure that some men watching the film would think Locke is foolish to do what he does, and that his “sacrifice” is really just a guilt trip triggered by an exaggerated sense of self-importance. They would have a point. Does he really need to protect the woman giving birth to his child, or is he simply too vain to admit that things may work out anyway? Is it worth the break-up of his marriage, or the separation from his two young sons? And, with regard to the business deal, is it worth the risk of destroying the most important project of his career?

Knight is able to hold us in a tight grip until his satisfying conclusion, but he can’t hide the contrivances of the story. While Locke is convincingly driven by the need to live responsibly – which is explained by his own father’s abandoning him as a child – the other characters, who, after all, are only disembodied voices, seem to be figures in a morality play, not real people. This reduces the film’s impact considerably. Locke is presented as such a controlling person, one who is used to getting his own way, that all obstacles, whether his wife’s rage over his adultery, or locating employees who are not too drunk to follow his instructions, are overcome too easily. The film’s final image, and sound, is craftily calculated to choke us up (it does), but it really hasn’t been earned.

Having said that, I must note the exception, the one genuinely touching moment in the film. It occurs near the end, when Locke is approaching his destination and stops answering his  calls. He hears a voice mail left by his younger son, who describes in detail the winning goal in the football championship that Locke had promised to watch with his sons. It is a long, excited description, and you can sense the boy’s disappointment over his father’s absence. With only the look in his eyes as he hears this, Hardy is able to fully convey the depth of his pain.

 

Review: “The Strange Little Cat”

March 29, 2014

This is the only film I caught at this year’s New Directors?New Films series.

Before the film started, the director, a slight, appealing young German named Ramon Zurcher, thanked us for coming and wished us “good projection”. Unfortunately, I found nothing as charming or as amusing as that in the film. Set entirely in a bright but small Berlin apartment, it chronicled a family gathering that included the mother and father, their children and a grandmother, who was visiting along with several other family members of unspecified consanguinity. There is also the titled cat, which is orange, and a black dog that has at least equal screen time. At any rate, I counted more woofs than meows.

The_Strange_Little_Cat_Das_merkwrdige_Ktzchen

Deliberate tedium seemed to be the goal. N-O-T-H-I-N-G  H-A-P-P-E-N-S. The precocious little girl irritates mommy, who gives her a couple of perfunctory slaps. Grandma is sleeping. Mommy is frowning. The dog woofs. The cat crawls over sleeping grandma. Relatives come and everybody kisses. Oh. It’s over.

The notes said Bela Tarr was an influence. If I read that first, I might have skipped it. But it reminded me more of a Donald Barthelme literary parody I read which consisted entirely of the trite prose connectives that link the parts of a story, but with no story around them. It read something like this: “Stung by his remark, Martha moved away from the window.” or “Paul folded the message into his pocket, lit his pipe and left the room.” For seven pages, this is clever and amusing. Style over meaning. For the film, though, the lack of meaning was its meaning, as if style was something to avoid.

Was anything good? The film was short (75 minutes). It was well projected. The actors were not unpleasant to look at, even though the non-humans, including a moth and a pigeon, stole their scenes with ease. I also liked that a rat that the girl said she saw, and was waiting to see again, never shows up. But the story doesn’t either.

 

 

 


%d bloggers like this: