Film: 12 Years a Slave

Director: Steve McQueen
Genre: Drama
Source: USA (2013)
Rating: R
Location/Format: Glynn Place Stadium Cinema
Grade: A

There's a moment in 12 Years a Slave that sticks with me as much as any of the scenes of horror and cruelty. Chiwetel Ejiofor, in a moment of repose, surveys his surroundings. And then for what feels like an agonizingly long time (though it could only be a few seconds) he looks directly into the camera. His face seems passive, and yet the intensity in his eyes seems to send a thousand messages: accusations, shame, disbelief, disappointment, betrayal, anger, sadness. It's an incredible moment in part because it breaks the wall of cinema and reminds viewers that this may be a film, but it is also a piece of history, a reminder of the myriad ways man has found to be cruel to one another, to belittle one another, to dehumanize one another. It knocked me back in my seat, one last blow to flatten me emotionally.

Because make no mistake, this is a devastating film, with powerhouse acting from the entire cast, but particularly Ejiofor, Michael Fassbender, and Lupita Nyong'o (who I have never seen before). The film manages somehow to both remain distant from its subjects--observing for the most part, instead of overpowering; letting the horror of what man does to man (and woman) speak for itself--and incredibly intimate and personal. That fine balance is achieved by director Steve McQueen, who seems to specialize in films in watch individuals torture themselves and others. Despite the above mentioned fourth-wall-breaking, McQueen doesn't resort to a lot of flashy techniques. The film is deliberately paced, yet each scene seems to bring with it a new way of debasing Ejiofor and the other enslaved characters, a new way to show the whites justifying their actions. There are few (if any) melodramatic speeches here, but there is an incredible amount of humanity on display: the screams of a mother as her children are taken from her, the exhaustion of other characters with her wailing, the desire for connection, the self-disgust, the coping mechanisms, the petty jealousies, and the demeaning of both enslaved and enslaver. McQueen holds nothing back, and the film doesn't give you pause to look away.

What else is there, the film asks, but to find a way to either kill yourself or keep going? (And either option might be viable and valid). This theme is exemplified in a much-discussed scene in which Ejiofor's Solomon Northup is strung up to hang by an overseer. His toes are in the mud, and for what feels like agonizing hours as the day passes he constantly readjusts himself, trying to stay on his feet long enough to keep his windpipe open, to prevent the noose around his neck from taking the full weight of his body. These tiny steps by his toes are desperate, a constant fight to readjust and save himself. In the background, life goes on for the rest of the plantation. Other slaves come out to work. Children come out to play. The mistress stands on the porch--looking concerned, but not willing to go cut him down. It is dusk before anyone comes to change the scene, and his "savior" is only willing to save him from this one torture, not from anything else. This cruelty, McQueen reminds us, becomes the norm--accepted and justified by the threat of violence and the unending degradation so that even in the face of such barbarity, life just goes on. The scene is not the most terrible in the film, but it is powerful all the same.

In the end 12 Years a Slave works not just due to the directing and the acting, but due to the commitment one senses by all involved not to look away, not to just let life go on, but to remind us that this happened--that in reality we are not very far removed from some of our most barbarous capabilities. The film breaks us down as viewers, and it reminds us that this piece of our past is not only our most terrible, but also our most shameful. It's overwhelming. 

Book: The Cellist of Sarajevo

I learned about The Cellist of Sarajevo this summer during an AP workshop as I was looking to expand my repertoire of authors to use in my World Literature class. Canadian Steven Galloway's novel dealing with the siege of Sarajevo seemed like an interesting candidate, what with its multiple perspectives and fascinating central conceit: a mortar destroys a marketplace, killing twenty-two people. In mourning for them, and because he does not know what else to do, a cellist plays Albinoni's Adagio in G Minor on the bombsite everyday for twenty-two days. Remarkably, this story is based on real Sarajevo Philharmonic cellist Vedran Smailovic, who really did play his cello in the ruins of Sarajevo (though according to Wikipedia, he is not too happy with the book's borrowing of his story, even though the author fictionalized much of it).

He doesn't have too much to worry about, though, as Smailovic is really not the focus of the book. Instead, the book alternates between the stories of three characters: Kenan, a man attempting to get water for his family and an elderly neighbor; Dragan, another man walking through the city in search of bread and food; and Arrow, a sniper attempting first to strike terror into the hearts of the "men in the hills" who are besieging the city, and then to protect the cellist as he increasingly becomes a symbol of hope and resistance. 

This is a great book club book--in fact, I recommended it to my mother for her book club, and I think it would go over quite well. It's sentimental, well-intentioned, and overall uplifting in a "keep-hope-alive-even-when-it's-hopeless" type of way. Unfortunately, it never captured me like I hoped it would, and it's seeming complexity turns out to be a little superficial. The problem, I think, likes in the fact that Kenan and Dragan are virtually identical as characters, and both of them are far less interesting than Arrow. Partly it's because Arrow has something unique to do, while the other two seem to be on basically the exact same quest (just with different goals). I cannot understand why Galloway didn't change one of the two to provide a different perspective on the seige--a child, perhaps, or an older woman. Because the two seemed so similar, I lost track of who was who, which one had which backstory, and where they were in relation to each other. The chronology of the book also seemed a little strange to me, but that might just be because I wasn't paying attention.

That's not to say it's a bad book. At just 235 small and well-spaced pages, the novel is a very quick read, and as I said, it has a hopeful optimism to it that is encouraging. I enjoyed it all right, I just had expected to be more moved, impressed, and taken with it. 

It does make me want to seek out more novels set in the Bosnian conflict or the seige of Sarajevo. It's a chapter of history I know very little about, even though it was happening right while I was in high school. So if nothing else, I appreciate that Galloway's book is keeping such an incredible chapter of history from being forgotten. I guess that's what the cellist was trying to do as well. 

Grade: C

Film: No

Director: Pablo Larrain
Genre: Drama
Source: Chile (2012)
Rating: R
Location/Format: Blu-ray
Grade: B+

Living in the United States all my life--save for a few years in Japan and a semester in London--it's hard to imagine the reality of living life under a dictator. In Pablo Larrain's No, a dictatorship seems, on the surface, to be not so bad. Rene Saavedra, for example (played by the always excellent Gael Garcia Bernal) seems to have a successful career, a pretty stable income, and a fairly middle class existence. That surface appeal in Pinochet's Chile, however, has a rotten core: oppression, disappearances, arrests. Like Saavedra, it may take viewers unfamiliar with the ins and outs of Pinochet's rule a little while to see the iron grip at the heart of the country. But once you do--and in Saavedra's case, once that iron fist starts to make its way into his very home--it's impossible to see everything as quite so innocent and hopeful again.

Which is why Saavedra's ad campaign for the "No" vote is so incredible. Instead of focusing on the terror and pain, the he and his team choose to create an ad campaign (and it is very much grounded in the realm of advertising, as one would a soft drink or a breakfast cereal) based in hope: "Chile, Happiness is Coming!" the ads proclaim, and it's this simple decision to look forward instead of backward that makes the team's message stand out so much. Of course, one can't turn a blind eye to the past, and so numerous conversations center on how much of the horrors of the past to include in the fifteen-minute programming block the campaign is allotted each night on television, and Saavadera always, always, always chooses less in favor of a message of hope and prosperity. When the actual ads begin airing, it's clear how audacious this tactic is. And yet, that belief in the future--and belief that this fraudulent referendum really could make a difference--is infectious once it begins.

I haven't found out whether the "real" ads from the No campaign were used, but it seems like they were. (Of course, it's hard to tell for sure. Larrain films the entire movie on videotape, which is both jarring, to viewers so used to HD, and incredibly effective for making the movie feel like a product of the mid 1980s.) But I wouldn't be surprised if they were. A compelling mix of comedy, optimism, pathos, and joy, each segment we're allowed to see really is hugely effective in spreading excitement--even though we're now 28 past the election they're speaking of. That's powerful messaging.

And that optimism is needed, as Saavedra's life becomes increasingly complicated and increasingly scrutinized due to his work for the campaign. Not all of the conversations about Saavedra's reasoning for working on the campaign worked for me, but by the time he is hearing people skulking about in his house and receiving threatening phone calls, it's easy to see why he remains committed to the cause even at great personal and professional cost.

In the end, the film is a fascinating look into a story I knew nothing about. That it happened to be a really good film just turned out to be a bonus.

Film: Doomsday Book

Director: Pil-Sung Yim & Kim Jee-Woon
Genre: Sci-fi Anthology
Source: South Korea (2012)
Rating: Unrated - PG-13?
Location/Format: Netflix Instant Watch
Grade: C+

An engrossing but ultimately uneven anthology film, Doomsday Book contains three short films that all deal with the end (perhaps?) of humanity. The first and third segments are funny and apocalyptic, as infected zombies riot in segment one and a giant asteroid hurtles towards earth in segment three. Both are a little bit off the wall, a little bit silly, and play with ideas like sin and redemption loosely and somewhat clumsily. They are cute, but not much more.

The second segment, however, takes the ham-handed religious elements of the other two segments and allows them to breathe and expand. As a result, not only does its exploration of faith and existence seem more profound, it also feels more honestly earned. There is no tacky Biblical quote to help us understand the obvious metaphor; instead, we are left with some questions.

The superior segment revolves around a robot repairman who arrives at a Buddhist monastery to discover that the monks' serving robot has apparently achieved enlightenment. As he, the monks, and the corporation that makes the robot contemplate the implications of this development, he also has to rethink what the line is between human inhuman, and between human and divine. (By the way, a deep mistrust of corporations and capitalism seems to be, like faith, a thread running through all three films). Can a machine be enlightened? Does this make it superior to humans? As the line between the human and inhuman becomes increasingly blurred, what does this mean for our own sense of identity and worth? Are we technologically hastening our own extinction? (Think of it as a benevolent first step toward SkyNet). The second segment allows a little bit of ambiguity, and it isn't so focused on just being clever. Rather, it wants to make us think.

It's a fine piece of film. It just doesn't fit as well with what comes before and after it. That tonal incongruity makes this a nice anthology to break up and watch in three distinct segments, but it makes it harder for all three short films to feel of a piece.

Film: Robot & Frank

Director: Jake Schreier
Genre: Comedy
Source: USA (2012)
Rating: PG-13
Location/Format: Netflix Instant Watch
Grade: B+

There's a lot of sweetness to Robot & Frank, and at times I thought it would get a little too sentimental. Instead, thanks to Frank Langella's stand-out performance as the titular Frank, the film finds a sweet spot between bitterness and tenderness. The relationship Frank develops with the robot--voiced in deadpan fashion by Peter Sarsgaard, is both quirky and relatable. Much the same way lonely pet owners ascribe consciousness and personality to their naive animal companions, so too does Frank grow from aloofness to heartfelt friendship for his programmable friend. Add to that the heist plans--and the inherent comedy of seeing a robot in a jacket--and you've got something to sink your teeth into here.

Beyond those crowd pleasing elements, though, Robot & Frank has something meaningful to say about memory and dementia, and to anyone who has lost a relative to battles with Alzheimer's or memory loss, the film has even greater resonance. Does the loss of memory, it asks, invalidate the experience? Or is there still value and meaning in what we have forgotten? The film doesn't claim to have all the answers, but it does provide with some nice fodder.

Not everything works. Frank Langella, Susan Sarandon, and James Marsden all acquit themselves nicely, but Liv Tyler seems to be just playing Liv Tyler, and Jeremy Strong (as obnoxious hipster neighbor Jake) feels too much like a cartoon character to fit in the film's world. 

Still, it's a nice piece of science fiction that seems to favor character development and emotional resonance over whiz-bang technology, and that's a nice thing to see. If this is what the future of robots has in store, I'm all for it. 

Film: The Thieves

Director: Dong-hun Choi
Genre: Action
Source: South Korea (2012)
Rating: R
Location/Format: Netflix Instant Watch
Grade: C+

After the darkness of my last two Korean picks, I opted for something that looked a little lighter and frothier. The Thieves fits the bill there. A kind of Korean Ocean's 11 (though I couldn't comment on the fame on any of the actors myself), The Thieves is a kind of fun heist flick that ramps up the stakes as it develops. That at times it feels hampered by bad script writing and hammy acting might have more to do with the quality of the subtitles than anything else, but it did leave me a little flat in that regard.

Still, with its double-crosses and triple-crosses and increasingly dangerous criminal elements, the film is pretty entertaining. The culminating action sequence (fought in and on the sides of a large apartment complex) is exciting and clever, almost achieving a Jackie Chan meets American action frantic aesthetic. (Yes, I am aware Chan is not Korean. I'm talking about the feel of the stunts as characters run along walls, dive through windows, and make acrobatic leaps through space). It's pretty exhilarating stuff, and if the comedy reached the same levels of fun as the action, this would definitely be kicked up a grade or two for me.

Unfortunately, it's pretty hokey and underdeveloped in terms of character, which is unfortunate. It almost had the makings of a great heist movie. Instead, it's just a pretty good one. I'd recommend it to action fans or people looking to get a taste of Korean cinema, but so far this is the weakest of the films I've watched this month.

Note: A weird Netflix fluke meant that when I tried to watch it streaming through my PS3 I could not get subtitles, so I watched the whole thing on my iPad instead. Would it have done more for me if I'd seen it on a larger screen? I have no way of knowing...

Film: Blow Out

Director: Brian De Palma
Genre: Thriller
Source: USA (1981)
Rating: R
Location/Format: Criterion Blu-ray
Grade: A-

A strong little conspiracy thriller made a little more unique due to a rock solid cast, De Palma's trademark visual flair, and a fascination with the art of filmmaking, Blow Out was another blind Criterion buy (as most of them are for me) that left me pretty satisfied. 

The film opens with a B-movie slasher as a deranged killer walks through a girl's dorm room looking for a victim. It's cheesy, ineffective, and aurally overblown, capped off with the killer pulling open the shower to the weak and comic screen of a truly talentless actress. 

Cut to John Travolta, as Jack Terry, laughing at the mixing board as the director looks on in disgust. "That's a terrible scream," they agree. 

Jack's quest to find more authentic sound effects--wind his director "hasn't heard before"--leads him to a bridge at night--a bridge which becomes the point of impact for a presidential candidate's deadly drive into a lake. Jack witnesses--and records on audio--the entire car accident, but he starts to wonder if he might have heard something more.

Like Hitchcock, De Palma is a filmmaker who seems to lay filmic themes into his movies, and nowhere is that more obvious than here. Jack is in the movie business, and his professional life and personal drama--as the politician's death may be more than meets the eye (or ear)--get more and more mixed up as the film goes on. Yes he may be on to a huge political assassination, but he's also supposed to be finishing this cheap slasher, and the two storylines continue to get intertwined. The movies and real life intersect in unexpected ways, De Palma seems to suggest, and it's when films touch something authentic that they become most powerful. 

Cue the final scenes of Jack's shaken, sweaty face . . . 

John Lithgow, Dennis Franz, and John Travolta all work nicely in their prescribed roles, but I have to admit Nancy Allen took a while to grow on me. Playing an airhead with a breathy ungrounded voice, her Sally never felt quite authentic to me. Maybe that would change on a second viewing, but she seemed to be the weakest piece of the movie this time through.

What does work is De Palma's visual stylings, as split screen and visual overlays connected through sound end up being really effective in showing us the traditional thriller elements in new ways. And yes, that focus on film sound here seems fitting given the way this feels in many ways like the sort of film Hitchcock might have made if he had lived longer. He, too, was obsessed with sound--from the musical dissonance of Rear Window to the totally diegetic sound of The Birds, and so something of Blow Out feels of a piece with Hitch's whole aesthetic.

I look forward to digging into the special features on the Criterion blu-ray soon. I think this is a film I enjoyed one time through but could grow to love with a little more time.