Here ya go, a report on what films ruled at VENICE and what we need to keep our eyes looking for. Specifically we need to look out for the William Gibson flick...
Can any decent spy miss the oportunity to break the news while they are still red hot, deliberately risking to have them turn to the sludge of common knowledge? The Venice Film Festival ended on the 13th; I can only justify my delay with the fact that upon my return to the mud hut in which I dwell here in the Balkans I was unwittingly plunged into a maelstrom of construction work and redecoration. So now I live in a lofty penthouse apartment. But I still have the Venetian score to settle.
The Festival itself was a rather sorry affair, never knowing whether it should worship its stars, or keep them locked away from fans, or try and create new ones from the European film industry. It failed, sadly; the awarded titles were without exception lame and boring - trust me, you won't miss a thing if you never see 'Cosi ridevano', the Italian dreck that won the Golden Lion - and the best feature of the Festival again was the chance to see some world premieres of cool titles. What little access we the press had to the filmmakers centered mainly around press conferences. Those, apart from being drastically short, were mainly spent in giving autographs to the Italian press. So that Ridley Scott/Ancient Rome bit I reported earlier remained the best scoop of the entire festival; the only other thing that really made me happy was Ed Harris' announcement that he is going to finally shoot his Jackson Pollock biopic early next year.
I should better get to reviewing the movies that did matter - omitting, of course, those that the US public has already seen.
First and foremost, the geek gem: NEW ROSE HOTEL by Abel Ferrara, based upon the short story by William Gibson
This is truly a rarity, one that will unfortuantely remain hidden for some time: the word at the Festival was that Ed Pressman still had not sold any distribution rights for this pic. That may have changed, but the movie that was screened for the press and the public - in competition! - still very much looked like a workprint: some color correction problems aside (the editor swore it was all timed as the makers desired), the film most obviously lacked end titles, while the opening ones were done in German, Japanese and English - prehaps to enhance the global feel of the picture, perhaps to make the film itself more distribution-friendly.
Harry, we all know & hate the outcome of the Johnny Mnemonic adaptation, but this could very well be the vindication of Gibson's work in film. Ferrara has masterfully fleshed out the characters of Fox (Christopher Walken, who in turn gives his performance of the decade, stripped of most of his usual acting shortcuts: I was sorry to see he was not recognized by the Jury), X (Willem Dafoe, who is haunting as the emotional center of the story, but never completely accessible to the viewer) and Sandii (Asia Argento, daughter of slashmeister Dario, showing a lot of skin without blinking and toughly defending her turf against those two acting gods - remember how Chris was Scorsese's first choice to play Christ?) - and has rightfully given the three of them so much space that the whole sci-fi setting had to quite litteraly go. This is, and that will offend/disappoint/turn away most people, NOT a science-fiction story. The only non-familiar (well, not completely familiar) piece of technology we get to see is X's cellphone that allows him to do Internet banking. And I guess people in less backwards parts of the world do have those already. There are absolutely no visual effects, and hardly any exteriors. The narrative of Gibson's story has been fully retained, but is presented in the last half-hour or so of the story. And here is Ferrara's masterstroke: before that, we get to see in vivid detail the operation that is only fully recapitulated at the end, thus presented first in its plot-wise, external aspects, and then in its internal outcome, as it has affected X - who, at the end, has no clear idea of what exactly did happen. Ferrara has rightly pointed out Kurosawa's 'Rashomon' as a key influence here, and it was a chilling coincidence to have the Japanese sensei die just hours before NRH was first shown. The ways of interpreting this dark, sombre, challenging, but ultimately inspiring story are best left to every individual viewer. While most people will not get the visceral kick from it that, say, the project probably had while Kathryn Bigelow was still slated to direct, 'New Rose Hotel' has indeed shaped up into a very uncompromising post-SF work. Yes, this is heavy stuff, but of the kind that draws you in rather than leaving you outside. Masterful, and certainly among Ferrara's best work. And you get to see cameos from John Lurie, Annabella Sciorra, Gretchen Mol (oh joy) and the great Ryuichi Sakamoto. Ferrara was in turn in a great inebriated mood for much of his stay in Venice, and seemed quite unconcerned that the press, usually so frindly towards 'art' movies, basically slashed him to pieces for showing them a truly challenging work.
HURLYBURLY by Anthony Drazan, based upon David Rabe's play
Much in the vein of recent adaptations of modern American theatre writing, this is a film where characters mainly talk, talk, talk: but what they have to say is very often bitterly funny, and so did not lull me to sleep (as most of the program did, considering I slept like only five hours every night). It concerns a group of actors and acting wannabees centered round Eddie (Sean Penn, on his cruising oh-no-I'm-losing-it mode, awarded here for Best Actor) who are definitely on the make, and keep trying to convince themselves that they are indeed going to make it one day. Drazan makes you very aware from the beginning that they are not going anywhere, so there is no real viewing challenge here - you just sit back and watch them do nothing the whole film, apart from being worked up about their idleness in varying degrees. This is how all baby boomers could have ended up - wondering what the fuck has gone wrong with this world that no amount of wit and/or strength can pull you out. Drazan and his cast - Kevin Spacey, Chazz Palminteri, and the uncommonly oversexed graces of Robin Wright-Penn, Meg Ryan and, hey, Anna Paquin - mainly do justice to the characters in this comedy of manners.
Don't miss this when it gets to theaters - Harry, I would just love to read one of your essays on how the theme of this film ties into your personal experiences of being on the fringes of film industry. Although, as Drazan made us know, a similar story could be made with people from many different professions... Which is the main problem I had with it. Maybe it is just my poor old provincial me, but I just couldn't place this film properly.
CELEBRITY by Woody Allen
This is on the other hand very much topical. The review by that Igor guy you just posted lauded Sven Nykvist's gorgeous silver imagery: it really is better than anything Carlo diPalma could concoct for Woody, and gives the movie a glamorous allure, although Woody probably chose BW mainly distance us from the superficial glamor of the subject matter. Written as free-handedly as all his recent films, 'Celebrity' excels in cynical dissecting of its title phenomenon, as based upon Woody's thirty years of observing. It feels rather close to his heart - and to mine, as I obviously liked it better than Igor.
Jumping effortlessly from episode to episode in the lives of Lee (Kenneth Branagh) and Robin (Judy Davis), who divorce at the beginning and then each plunge into the ocean of fashion/film/TV etc. glitterati that washes over New York, the film manages to cover a lot of ground and never feel forced. While their character arcs bring to mind much of Allen's writing, the personalities they encounter are uniquely classic: Supermodel (Charlize Theron, yummier than ever - and the only celebrity I actually MISSED to see at the festival, oh woe) is the perfect embodiment of the meaning of the universe to Lee, with, ehem, one glitch - her entire body is a giant primary erogenous zone; Brandon Darrow (yeah, the Leo) demolishes his hotel room, watches boxing and has group sex with the same ease, all the while discussing his next script; prostitute Nina (Bebe Neuwirth, in a very brave turn) chokes on a peeled banana while demonstrating fellatio; and so on, I'm not in the business of spoiling this entire film here. Woody's satire is sharp as ever, and his relief that he finally put this subject up on screen is quite audible over the end credits, tracked, as always, with some sappy 30's pop tune. I just tend to like the man more and more the hornier he gets. On a more personal note, I have never seen a character in a film so like myself - Lee is a showbiz journalist who wants to be a writer and is constantly mesmerized by the beauty he encounters. A true filmic deja vu for me. Even if he does manage to sleep with the likes of Famke Janssen...
A final note to Igor: Branagh is actually really adept at imitating Woody. I am grateful that we were not treated to another scene like the one in 'Everybody says', with Allen and Julia Roberts. Now that really was too much. The only problem with Branagh's character I had was his belly - he just looks too fat to be able to woo so many gorgeous women. But at least his manic jitters had an acting core. Judy Davis, on the other hand, definitely did overact more than ever.
And to wrap it up...
RONIN - I'm too late to break any news on that, so I'll just say that I liked the grainy, gray, deep-focus photography more than the actual plot, but Frankenheimer's direction made me more involved with the film than I expected. And it was a blast to see some actual car chases and gunfire after all that mediocre arthouse crap. So yes, I liked it.
INTO MY HEART - a New York independent, produced by Jean Doumanian, who also did 'Celebrity': the work of two directors about two friends and their relationship with one girl, it felt uneasily intimate. Although the plot is very simple, there was something about it that really choked me. Sensitivity. Open-endedness. And Claire Forlani, whom I just love. Really...
LOLA RENNT and BIN ICH SCHON? - two German films that saved the face of European filmmaking. Very cool, especially 'Lola', and very well written and shot. I guess the Germans have the most vital film sensibility on the Continent right now. 'Lola' is a story about a girl who has to get 100 000 Deutsch Marks (that is their money, you know) in twenty minutes, so se runs: and if she doesn't quite manage to do it the first time, the good God of film scripting will give her a second chance - and a third... 'Am I Beautiful?' is too complicated to be recounted; suffice to say that it was the best display of episodic structuring at the Festival, uplifting and moving, and it still managed to be viciously detached from any heart on any sleeve.
APT PUPIL - well I agree with Harry, those old men can really be creepy, but I guess that living in a country where everyone has been to war lately - and so many of them did actually murder people and so on - made me a little numb for the subject. Singer remains the one young American director I keep betting on, and he seemed pleased to announce the start of principal photography on 'X-Men' for March or April (there, I buried the scoop).
ELIZABETH - if only everyone could have such a cool take on history. Miles above the costumed crap Hollywood has been feeding us from 'Three Musketeers' to 'Iron Mask', superbly acted and shot. This British film should pull some decent money in the US, and a few Oscar nods. Especially for Cate Blanchett, who is the superior Australian answer to Gwyneth Paltrow.
CONTE D'ATONNE - the best French film of the Festival, and probably the cheapest. You just can't beat an old master like Eric Rohmer. He writes dialog and directs actors like noone else can. The final part of his Four Seasons series - yes, it is arthouse, but is at the same time a tremendous achievement. This or NRH should have won the Golden Lion.
TU RIDI - no point in describing the past achievements of the Taviani Brothers; this was the best Italian film at the Festival, in its turn, and although its take on the short stories of Luigi Pirandello will not please everyone, it was indeed pleasing to see those ballads for the dying brought to the screen with such apparent ease and economy. It is even profound at times.
HASARDS OU COINCIDENCES - by Claude Lelouch, who has a filmography as long as the Tavianis or Rohmer. It glorifies his new wife, Alessandra Martines, but it is only fair: it deals with people falling off boats and drowning, like many other films at the Festival did (and not only 'Private Ryan' or 'Truman'), but it does manage to turn the end result into a sweeping intimate epic, which is quite rare in Europe these days.
A SOLDIER'S DAUGHTER NEVER CRIES - the latest Merchant-Ivory film is smarter than 'Surviving Picasso' or 'Jefferson in Paris' but definitely not the masterpiece like 'The Remains of the Day'. Still, it is refreshing to see Kris Kristofferson play a writer (based on James Jones) who wisely keeps his family together as it survives the Sixties and relocation from Paris to the US: Ivory's take on a classic family melodrama is interesting enough to bear repeated viewings.
OK; I won't write about other titles, because I'm tired enough already and also because they mostly sucked big time. Hope this helps, Harry... (and if I could ask a single favor of you in return, it would be this - do post that evaluation of Episode I info you promised. I just read the end scene yesterday at T'Bone's site and am deeply affected by the fact that now I realize who will be on that funeral pyre. Serves me right for reading spoilers. But do come forward and give the skinny on whether it is true or not. This is almost as frustrating as will living in Europe be come May 21st.)
As YOU said, the Bosnian Witch Doctor
