Hey folks... Ya know... when I read Anton's coverage... I just wish I was tagging along. He's having a blast.. Film fests are great... there is a vibrant sense that ya never know how a film is going to hit you. But you pony up to the table for each and every serving hoping you're gonna witness bottled magic... Let's see how Anton faired today... also.. take note of the interviews he has lined up... Also... If you have a film at Toronto this year and want to be interviewed about it... Contact Anton at his email address below...
Day Two
Somebody from Toronto, please explain this to me:
WHAT IS UP WITH THE MOOSE?
I mean, seriously- what is up with these hideous monstrosities? When Chicago did its thing with the cows it had a certain kitsch value, but these eyesores… what gives? What moroni thought these were a good idea? And is he buried inside one? It’s pathetic.
End local color segment.
I’ve got three confirmed interviews: Adam Simon, director of American Nightmare; Jonathan Teplitzky, director of Better Than Sex (and maybe Suzie Porter, SW Ep II vet as well); and John Fawcett, director of Ginger Snaps. Not earth-shattering, I know, but the bigger fish are coming. Wong kar-wai doesn’t look like he’ll be able to make it, but you can add Ben Kingsley and Willem Dafoe to my list of quarry, so don’t fret. And send me your questions.
Anton
A la verticale de l’ete (2000, directed by Tran Anh Hung)
The latest film by Tran Anh Hung, who’s best known for the Scent of Green Papaya, A la verticale de l’ete (the title translates roughly as Vertical Rays of the Sun, according to the program book anyway) is a gorgeously shot picture about a family in small-town Vietnam. Alas, it’s not just any family, it’s the Colbys. Verticale is a soap opera at heart- affairs, deathbed confessions, incest, all the familiar Tennessee Williams bits are there, just set in a slightly different climate. The cast is beautiful, and impeccably shot, just like in an American soap. Light plays over their features like teasing fingers, drenching everyone and everything in warm, lush colors.
Frankly it wasn’t my thing. Tran’s films are all quite different (Scent of Green Papaya, Cyclo and this one have basically nothing in common except language and culture) and while I am a huge fan of melodrama, this was a bit much. Fabulous to look at, though.
Best in Show (2000, directed by Christopher Guest)
Mockumentaries. Such a misused, misunderstood genre. And Christopher Guest has been there from the beginning, starring in the seminal This is Spinal Tap (as Nigel ‘It goes to 11’ Tufnel) and directing ‘96’s Waiting for Guffman. His latest, Best in Show, is about the odd cast of characters assembled for the Mayflower, the biggest and most prestigious dog show in North America. It reunites a big chunk of Guffman’s cast- Eugene Levy, Catherine O’Hara, Parker Posey, Fred Willard, and of course Guest himself- while adding in other supremely talented comedians like fellow Tap alumnus Michael McKean, Bob Balaban, Larry Miller, Will Sasso and others. The result is a film that is better as a film than Guffman, and every bit as funny.
I won’t spoil any of the jokes, but trust me- Best in Show is as hysterically funny as you’d expect. But what stood out for me is the way in which Guest has pushed the mockumentary forward here. Best in Show looks like a real documentary, just horribly, goofily exaggerated. It follows the rhythms and language of docs in a way that not even Guffman did, and in a way that adds another layer to the humor. Everybody is given a chance to shine, and they seize it with both hands. This is true ensemble filmmaking- there are no dogfights for on-screen attention, and each part is truly supported by their scene-mates. An absolute joy from beginning to end, especially the now-traditional ‘aftermath’ segments at the end.
I won’t say any more- I’ll be too tempted to make like a water cooler idiot and re-tell one of the bits. As funny as you’d expect. Maybe more so.
Goddess of 1967 (2000, directed by Clara Law)
We all have fetishes, don’t we? C’mon, you can fess up; we’re all friends here. You secretly fondle your Princess Leia figure at night. Or maybe there’s something about the smell of a newly minted DVD… Big or small, we all have specific physical items that get us jazzed. But the bigger the item, and the bigger the buzz, the greater the lengths we are willing to go to get that which we long for.
In Clara Law’s (Floating Life, Temptation of a Monk) newest the obscure object of desire is nothing less than a peach colored 1967 Citroen DS. If you’re not into cars that won’t mean much to you. But quite frankly, I’M not into cars that much and a chance encounter with a ’69 Citroen in Cairo left me weak in the knees. The vehicles… no, the wheeled sculptures are as aesthetically beautiful as automobiles have ever been. They’re not just pretties, though; in their day the Citroen was the best production car on the planet, kicking ass in rally after rally. And this particular Citroen, a ‘goddess’ in collector’s parlance (if you speak French you should get the reference), is the quarry of a certain Japanese gentleman, JM. A seller is found over the internet, in Australia, and he makes arrangements to buy the goddess of his dreams.
But as anyone with a brain knows, you can’t buy a goddess; you must woo them, seduce them, win their trust. And thus JM’s journey begins, in the company of a mysterious Lola-maned bling girl, BG. It takes him across the Outback, and us on a journey through time, as Law brilliantly weaves together the journey, the history of Citroen (in a series of bits Mercedes-Benz or Lexus would do well to notice) and the history of this particular DS, the goddess herself. The goddess’ story, for the most part, is BG’s story, and as more and more pieces fall into place we begin to realize what is at stake, for both BG and JM.
Law’s command of the camera is quite probably unparalleled in cinema today. I don’t say that lightly. Filmmakers like David Lynch and Wong kar-wai might get more attention, but Law’s compositions- and they can’t be called anything else- are joyously beautiful here. The cool emptiness of a Tokyo life measured in chat room messages; the infinite promise of a straight dirt road stretching towards a perfectly blue horizon; every shot, every angle of this film betray a master’s touch. Films like this make you realize how much inflation there’s been since the phrase ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’ was coined. Give me a thousand words in every language known to man and I couldn’t do justice to the ache this film’s beauty put in my chest. A hundred thousand, even.
Goddess of 1967 is not just eye candy, though. Law’s pacing has sometimes been called deliberate, but it is really never anything more than what the story requires. Shot through the gradually mounting tension is humor, and pathos, and yes, a little sex. The relationship between BG and JM unfolds in the same way as the plot, bit by bit, and Law never gives the audience more than it can handle. There’s plenty of time; after all, you are in the hands of a goddess. And while goddesses can be temperamental, and fickle, treat them with respect and love and they will see you through to the end of your journey. That is, after all, what they do.
I say it now: this is the best film of the festival.
Almost Famous (2000, directed by Cameron Crowe)
To write this review, I wanted to set some mood music. I went over to the stereo, unpacked my CDs and flipped through for some ‘70s rock to put on, only to remember I didn’t actually own any. I guess Cameron Crowe (among many others) is right- rock ‘n’roll DID die with the ‘60s.
Almost Famous is the semi-autobiographical tale of William (Patrick Fugit), a young brainiac who takes to rock journalism like a duck to l’orange. He befriends the legendary Lester Bangs (played with his usual brilliance by Philip Seymour Hoffman), and finally gets an assignment from Rolling Stone (at the ripe old age of 15) to interview Black Sabbath. At the show, though, he’s swept up into the maelstrom that is Stillwater, an up and coming cock rock band lead by Russell (Billy Crudup). Russell invites William out to L.A. to follow their tour, and on Rolling Stone’s dime (and over the protests of his mother, played by Frances McDormand, who disapproves of rock and roll on general principle) he heads out on the road with the band. William, though, has an ulterior motive- Penny Lane (Kate Hudson), the leader of the Band Aides (don’t call them groupies) that follow Stillwater, and Russell’s on again, off again lover.
Part of what drives Almost Famous forward is the details. Crowe has lived on both sides of the star fence (like William, he was a teenage rock critic), and he gives his instinctive ear for great dialogue free reign when it comes to the scenes depicting both the famous (Russell, Lester) and the ‘almost famous’ (William, Penny), and the interactions between them. In examining what fame and adulation can do to a person the film in its own way has nearly as much to say as Stardom did, as William gets slowly absorbed into the world of room service and casual sex, the same world that has transformed Russell into a vain, callous charmer. And through this world dances Penny, living for the moment and never seeing the pitfalls ahead.
As usual Crowe gets top-notch performances from his cast. I now see the appeal of Kate Hudson, for one- I’m not going to say she’s a great actress, but on screen she’s got a presence that is, quite simply, lovable. This isn’t her mother’s scatter-brained ditz routine. Penny is a little bit space cadet, but wise beyond her years and armed with a smile that could brighten the dark side of the moon (ahem). Hearts melt in her wake. Mind you, she’s still TOTALLY WRONG FOR MJ, but here she’s sweet and wild and fantastic. To that add in the note-perfect performances of McDormand and Hoffman, Jason Lee’s turn as Stillwater’s overshadowed lead singer, a trio of young lovelies (Fairuza Balk, Anna Paquin and a tiny bit of Bijou Phillips) as other Band-Aides (and yes, William does lose his virginity to at least one of them, for those of you who live vicariously through film). Fugit in the lead is no weak link, either. He is every inch the intelligent, misunderstood young man in love who will one day grow up to be a Hollywood auteur.
Slot this one above Jerry Maguire and just below Say Anything in the Crowe library. (The less said about Singles, the better- sophomore jinx, I suppose.)
Time and Tide (2000, directed by Tsui Hark.)
You know him from his work with John Woo, or maybe Once Upon a Time in China. Goddess help you, maybe you know him from Double Team. However you first came across him, you know that signature frenetic style, that Tsui Hark trademark energy that kicks your ass and makes you smile.
Prepare to have a new bootprint on your butt.
Time and Tide ups the stakes about a million-fold in the HK action sweepstakes. Gun battles taking place while the shooters dangle by bungee cords from the side of a building. The as of right now de rigeur ‘woman returning fire while giving birth’ scene. Guns. Matrix-meets-Fight Club-meets-oh wait, we invented this shit and we’re stealing it back effects. A plot so labrynthine you need a compass, some string and a minotaur’s corpse to find your way through it. More guns. Insane aerial camerawork that makes those cityscape opening shots Hollywood likes look like student films. This film rocks and rocks and rocks and pokes affectionate fun at John Woo and rocks some more. Tsui seemingly invents brand new camera techniques on the fly in Time and Tide, just to add that extra little bit of oomph to a head-spinning gun battle between a dozen people armed with two dozen weapons. Oh man, Time and Tide puts the beats to watered-down Hollywood crap like Art of War and makes it say ‘Daddy, please, may I have some more?’
And Columbia has distribution rights, so maybe one day in Topeka some poor unprepared teenagers will wander in on a sleepy Saturday afternoon… and come out HK action junkies, just like the rest of us. Get out the belt and needles, folks. It’s time for another fix.
