flickfile

The dialogue in Another Year is so awkward and intimate it was hardly surprising to learn improvisational techniques were employed in the making of this film (without hindrance to the elegant cinematography). Indeed most of Mike Leigh's work in both film and theatre operates without a fixed script. I am a true advocate of improvised dialogue in film, in particular when utilised to capture utter unhappiness as Another Year so successfully does.  

An exquisite little slice of cinematic erotic fan fiction. 

Lucy is head and shoulders below the supreme standards of Besson's earlier directorial efforts* but interestingly, it also happens to be the third film in recent months in which Scarlett Johansson plays the character of a super-human femme fatale type who grows "too big for her boots" and destroys men.*

An article by Sady Doyle* describes these plot lines as adhering to a particular sentiment: Increasing intelligence equals a scary, emotionless Scarlett Johansson. The more she expands past the parameters of her intended design the more inhumane and dangerous she becomes. Doyle claims that Johansson is "a vehicle" for "nightmare-logic reactions to feminism". 

True or not, it is hard to leave unacknowledged the power in Johansson's technique - one which Doyle calls "stillness and reserve". The audience simply can not read her. It seems to me Johansson may be concurrently playing the role and working against it - allowing for productive and academic readings of otherwise femme-phobic films. With this in mind I can't help but welcome Johansson with open arms as the new scream queen of our era. 

* The Fifth Element, Leon The Professional

*Lucy, Her, Under the Skin

*http://www.salon.com/2014/07/22/from_coquette_to_cold_eyed_killer_how_scarlett_johansson_became_the_face_of_female_horror/

What I like about this documentary is its earnest and open capture of pet cemetery owners and clients, who ordinarily might be a tempting target for ridicule. It is the cameras openness and availability to its subject matter that allows for a kind of storytelling that is in equal parts tragic and comical. It is silly but importantly, always serious. 

I didn't love this film. And it appears I might be alone here, because it's generally praised as being a bit of a minimalist masterpiece. Quintessentially New York hipster as it is, I found that though it looked pretty (America through a car window/ deadpan takes), its douche-bag protagonist and general nonchalant energy irritated me and I struggled to stay engaged. 

There lies a dark intensity and deeply hypnotic banality in the composition of this film. The stationary camera captures the seemingly mundane but highly intricate routine of a middle-aged widow, which unfolds, in long takes, within the frames of rooms. The slow and controlled handling of both camera and action allow for a psychological unravelling to take place so slowly we aren't even sure if it is happening to us the viewer or the protagonist, played by Delphine Seyrig.

I couldn't disagree more with the Keir Choreographic Awards write up by Jill Sykes in the Sydney Morning Herald. She writes of the Melbourne based winner of the inaugural award, Atlanta Eke that Eke's movement, which is "often contained to gestures", make her "wonder about the title of the award... perhaps its title should be something like 'contemporary performance' to avoid misplaced expectations."*

This award has been developed in order to expand the way we think about choreography. And Eke's piece does just that. She appears on stage in a silver space-suit along with two screens and a video camera, which produces a live feed which is in turn remixed live. She is like a creature from another world and yet very much a woman too. The blue bile-thick liquid that drips from her mouth and over her chin and neck in one part of the performance seems to reference those classic pre-CGI horror films, which present an abject fleshyness within the virtual realm. Eke appears live and mediated presenting, as choreography should, the limitations and overflows of the body. This piece is nothing short of a virtual dissection of the corporeal and vice versa. 

*http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/dance/keir-choreographic-award-atlanta-eke-is-not-just-about-the-movements-20140721-zv7n3.html

Vidrar Vel Til Loftárása is a dark and tender narrative of adolescent gender identity. Slow motion close-up visuals turn this music video into a gut-wrenching piece of poetry.

This quintessential New York film tells the familiar tale of a woman who begins a journey of self-discovery after her husband leaves her for a younger woman.

The film is grating at times though it is worth the watch just to see Jill Clayburgh prance about her apartment to the music of Swan Lake, uninhibited, awkward and strong. 

A beautiful and spindly female impersonator performs in a community lodge. This video is fragile and strong in equal parts. The subtle use of slow-motion is exquisite. 

I always cry in natural disaster films. This was no exception. A deep pool of tears built up between my collar bones, greater than the SFX wave that knocked the head off the statue of liberty in the films second half. This emotional outpouring was no small feat on my behalf, considering the characters and plot were thinner than the tissues I used to blow my nose. 

Lars von Trier knocked this one together at the tender age of 24. An exquisite use of light and colour assist in portraying a dreamy vignette about a woman sensitive to light. 

Incredible choreography both by camera and roller-dancing duo High Rollaz. 

So rich in surreal psychosomatics I was almost disappointed when the film set about trying to explain itself.

One of the most iconic music videos of the 80s, this rotoscope gem tickles my sentimental geek nerve. 

Robert Altman's 3 Women, supposedly inspired by Altman's own dreams, is a surreal and psychological journey into the lives of three women living in the California Desert. 

The lead performances by Sissy Spacek and Shelley Duvall are stirring but most significant for me was the quietly strong performance by Janice Rule, described in her own obituary as "at her most convincing playing embittered, neurotic socialites".* 

*Daily Telegraph, London 24 October 2003

Perhaps the strongest addition to the mumblecore subgenre, Happy Christmas is predictably charming and need I say 'quirky'.  Its most tender moments however, reside in the (presumably) ad libbed conversation scenes between the three leading women. And Melanie Lynskey's performance made me swoony. Seriously, what a babe.