Revived by the Unreal

Just a short note on The Imitation Game since I saw it over a week ago. It was a massive disappointment.

In the movie, Alan Turing and his team are charged with the difficult task of breaking a German code during World War II. Breaking the code means that the British army and its allies can read German messages, thus potentially saving countless lives and supplies. Perhaps they can end the war sooner... thanks to science and logic rather than brute force.

Turing (Benedict Cumberbatch) is a misunderstood genius. He doesn't understand social norms and is always unintentionally insulting people, especially colleagues like Hugh Alexander (Matthew Goode). One colleague who isn't so unruffled is a young protegee of his, Joan Clarke (Keira Knightley in a surprising supporting role).

Since it's a war story, it is somewhat predictable. Despite all the tension and problems the team have, they do break the code in the end and peace reigns! Sort of. Turing is gay and that's not a good thing to be in  1940s and 50s Britain...

Now, on to the problems.

The screenplay was so clunky that it's hard to believe it was on the Hollywood Black List (best unproduced screenplays) a few years ago. The story just doesn't work as a drama, even though the screenwriter clearly took artistic liberties.

Let's look at this quote: "Sometimes it is the people who no one imagines anything of who do the things that no one can imagine." Oh god, this is so cheesy. Every time Turing gets depressed about what a lame human being he is, he gets this quote thrown at him. He even throws out this quote to other people who are sadden by their failures, to prove how he's growing as a person.

Also, there's too many scenes along these lines: two characters have a conflict. They argue. One character (not Turing, never Turing) has a swift change of heart. They suddenly agree with one another, thanks to a deus ex machina like an incredibly persuasive letter that we don't read.

For example: Alan Turing is a dick teammate. He ignores the contributions of his fellow codebreakers and is annoyed that they disagree that he deserves funding for his own special machine. Solution? Turing writes a letter to Churchill, who decides that Turing deserves to be in charge of the whole Hut 8 team. 

The audience doesn't see what Turing wrote. How on earth could an unseen character give such an irritating asswipe the lead role? What did he write? The screenwriter refuses to let us know. Just be assured, Turing is a fucking genius.

Similarly, we are supposed to be convinced that Keira Knightley's character is another unrespected genius, because she's a woman who can solve a puzzle in under six minutes. What's the puzzle? We don't know how complicated the problem is, because we never see what it is. Just be assured, Joan is another genius because Turing is impressed.

Turing has a disastrous job interview with Charles Dance's Sergeant character. Turing basically disses Dance because Turing has no social skills (as stressed through the whole movie). Dance is about to kick the nerdy loser out of the room, when said nerdy loser utters a very convincing word: Enigma. Nerdy loser says he can solve it, with no example of how he might do so. Dance decides that Turing is worth a shot; might as well give him a top secret job because he knows about "Enigma" (not the specifics, not the answers; just the word).

Other unresolved questions that the screenplay ignores: how does Turing's funky machine work? No clue, Turing just screws stuff on, waits for weeks, and after much "thought" (actors looking thoughtful, not explaining anything specific), it freaking works.

Finally, the way the screenplay treats Turing's homosexuality feels anachronistic. The other characters act too modern about it. One police officer describes Turing's toilet escapades as "disgusting," but fiancee Joan is very nonchalant about it. She says she has already guessed that Turing is gay, when Turing uses his sexual orientation as a reason to break off their engagement. A not-so-secret Soviet spy gamely uses Turing's homosexuality as blackmail material. He is indifferent about Turing being gay, but finds it useful to keep him shut about his being a spy (umm, later on they never punish the spy, which is a little weird). Even today, some people feel homosexuality is unnatural, indecent, and a sign of a perverted mind -- people in the 1940s would not have been so nonchalent upon learning that Turing was gay.

I had high expectations because I liked director Morten Tyldum's last movie, Headhunters, which was a hilarious black comedy thriller set in Norway. I like Benedict Cumberbatch, Keira Knightley, and Matthew Goode, but I feel they were underserved by this movie. Matthew Goode, a talented actor, doesn't do much except look like a jealous little git most of the movie. Keira Knightley makes the most of her supporting role, making what could have been a background character a sprightly focus of Turing's emotional life. But Benedict Cumberbatch is good as always, though he looks too much like Benedict Cumberbatch and not Alan Turing.

I'm not so disappointed that we couldn't learn more about Alan Turing's famous theories. I had to study Turing's thoughts on artificial intelligence in college, and I didn't learn anything new here.

Note: I wrote this quickly in an email a while back, but only posting it now that I have the energy to proofread old reviews.

I snuck off work early today to go see Force Majeure since I'm not sure if it's playing over Thanksgiving weekend in my area. It was a disappointing comedy. Surprised to see the old folks in Palo Alto (not my usual hangout) laugh. It was a sloooow two hour miserable family vacation.

However, I'm writing a bit about it since I thought it was befuddling. What is this movie about?

A upper-middle-class Swedish family has a ski vacation in the French Alps. A minor avalanche occurs while the family is eating on a veranda and the father dashes away without picking up his children. The mother is upset that the father doesn't seem to put the children first when faced with a potential life-or-death and keeps bringing up during the trip. (Is this a fundamental difference between mothers and fathers?) They go skiing. They drink. They want to have sex, but can't since the kids are around. In the end, they go home, unrefreshed.

There's something about safety. How much to risk yourself for your family. The only scene that caught me was the bus scene at the end. The mother insists on getting off a bus traveling down a steep mountain road because it's obvious the bus driver is an amateur. They nearly fall off cliffs on several hairy turns. Nearly everyone else agrees to get off too, but as they walk a long journey down the mountain, they start feeling a little silly about giving up their easy ride to the airport. Whoopsies.

The father gets a lot of attack from his wife about how he ran off during the  avalanche. UGH. Not funny.

Not deep either. I don't understand who these people are. What they do. What drives them. (Besides sex, because this is a Swedish movie, wink wink nudge nudge.)

I feel like I'm missing a big piece of the puzzle. Maybe it's not a story about familial loyalty, but about sexual repression or something. That would explain why the mom is a little obsessed with a fellow Swedish tourist's open relationship. Why can't she have that? Or that scene where the father is groping his wife in the bathroom, but breaks off to help his son connect to the WiFi network. That might explain why the theater's tagline for this movie was "Wife or WiFi?"

Super disappointed, since I had high expectations. One of my film buff friends said that this was her favorite film of 2014. Director Ruben Östlund made a smart movie about racism in Sweden a few years ago, Play. A group of black students bully several of their white classmates, but no one  wants to talk about the issue because they might be seen as racist. I thought it was such an intelligent movie about the hypocrisies of being politically correct.

I was debating with myself about whether or not to write about Lilting. I've concluded it's worth remembering -- a story about the difficulties of language and the importance of being heard. It came off as schmaltzy despite the film's valiant endeavors into emotional complexity. But a good film will provoke some reflections about why you compared the film's story with your own life.

Lilting is about two people joined by grief, however reluctantly: Junn (Pei Pei Cheng), a Chinese Cambodian immigrant stuck in a London senior home. Her stagnated life there is unexpectedly interrupted by Richard (Ben Whishaw), a friend of her son Kai's. She dislikes him because he was presumably the roommate who presumably blocked Junn from moving in with her son.

As it turns out, Richard was her son's boyfriend, a fact the son struggled to reveal to her. We learn that Kai has passed away at some indeterminate time in the past. Richard now wants to connect to Junn and find some closure about Kai's death, but they lack a common language.

I have three obvious ways into the story. First of all, my parents are also Chinese immigrants who speak multiple languages (Taishanese, Cantonese, Mandarin, Spanish, English) because they have lived in multiple places where multilingualism is the norm. Like Junn, their English still sucks, perhaps because they haven't used English as frequently as their other languages. Like Kai, I am used to being my parents' link to their new society, as their translator at doctor appointments and customer service line calls. I can completely relate to fearing their reactions after I tell them something very personal -- I'm certain they would be floored if I or my brother ever come out as non-heterosexual. (Actually, I don't even have the word "gay" in my Chinese vocabulary so they might be a very tough conversation.) Richard, like many people, doesn't understand why Junn hasn't assimilated to Britain.

Secondly, my dad passed away over the summer, so I have experienced grief very recently. As I've learned from watching my mom and brother over the last two months, everyone experiences grief differently.

I can't relate to Lilting's version of grieving. Richard and Junn have such idealized memories of Kai, with Kai being a patient listener (who is always lying around on their beds, it seems). For me, I had a very hard time remembering the good times. When my brother asked me to come up with a time when our dad was genuinely happy, I struggled with that task. My dad had been sick for so long, it was hard to imagine him happy. Anyway, he was a very morose guy the whole time I knew him. A long-expected death, as was the case with my dad, is a different beast from that of a sudden hit-and-run like Kai's.

Lastly, I am always fascinated by the concept of translation. My undergraduate thesis was on translation from book to film, Swedish culture to American culture. On a day to day basis, I am curious about how language changes perception. As a shit learner of languages (Taishanese, Cantonese, Mandarin, Spanish, French, Latin, Norwegian, Swedish, and English, of course), I like hearing people struggle to interpret the contradictory clues they have at hand. I'm shit at Mandarin, having studied it for one year with no real interest whatsoever. I can understand bits of Lilting without subtitles.

The translator that Richard hires is pretty amateur. Vann, like all translators, interprets using her own judgement, which leads to funny miscommunications. She assumes a little too much a majority of the time, and she translates quite literally at other times. At one point, I think (the Mandarin has no direct subtitles, so I'm just using my poor grasp of Mandarin) Junn says to Vann that Kai was her son, implying that the two had a bond that doesn't need language. As a mother, she just knows certain things about her son. Vann translates this to Richard as: "Kai told her." Richard is surprised by this response. There are connotations that get lost in Vann's interpretation, an interesting theme in the movie.

In the beginning, it appears that Junn is determined to not rely on language. She flirts with an Englishman who has no clue what she says to him in Chinese; she has no clue what Alan says to her in English and they both seem content with this arrangement. I'm glad Alan turned out not to be Junn's knight in shining armor, haha. He's a little insensitive and says the first thing on his mind. "Wait, don't tell her that!" becomes his catchphrase. There's too much that needs to go unsaid for Junn and Alan's relationship to advance.

All the performances in Lilting are great -- Pei-Pei Cheng, as the grouchy and aloof Junn; Ben Whishaw, playing yet another oversensitive and indecisive character, Richard; Naomi Christie, as the clumsy but well-meaning Vann; and Peter Bowles as a very clumsy and well-meaning Alan. Andrew Leung as Kai, in flashblacks, is also good.

However, I can't completely buy this movie. It's probably intentional since the director, Hong Khaou, indicated a Wong Kar Wai influence, but the movie came off as unnecessarily surreal to me. Time is ambiguous in this world; we aren't sure how many weeks have passed since Kai's death. These characters have little interaction with anything that belongs to the outside world. We have no clue what any of these characters do for a living. Money is currently no concern, even though Junn implies that it used to be. Junn has no family besides Kai -- no one is contacting her about her son's death besides Richard. Richard talks about no family, leading us to conclude he must have wealthy liberal parents who gave him a posh-looking house in London. Vann has all the time in the world to translate for Richard, Junn, and Alan. I don't know what led Alan to start a relationship with a random woman who doesn't speak English.

It's a very stuffy film. One can't argue that its stiltedness is due to Junn's cramped perspective of the world within her senior center, because there are some scenes that focus on Richard and Richard's memories of Kai. It's a film that forces you to deal with the unsaid.

Also, the conflict seemed too light at times. The best storytellers make the smallest situations dramatically more important, as if there were some stake in the viewer's life. I don't feel it with this movie. Junn doesn't want to let anyone into her head, and Richard's background is a mystery to me. What's in it for Vann -- why does she need to be there translating?

Narratively, it feels flat -- there is no relenting drive towards the end. Richard sets an ambitious goal, to connect to his boyfriend's reclusive mother, but he is conflicted about how to do it. He's really the only character with any agency for change and he doesn't possess much of that either. Junn wants to stick with her version of events; Alan and Vann are kind of there, as necessary interlopers between Richard and Junn. But I guess grief has no ending point, no real crests that could have pushed the plot along.

*Discussion about the protagonist's motives, so some spoilers*

I was blown away by Tracks. I can completely see why some people might find this movie boring. It's not plot-driven at all – it is more about a spiritual journey than the physical trip itself. Tracks reminded me of me.

Tracks is an Australian movie about an young Queensland woman who decides – seemingly a little out of the blue – to trek the long deserts of Northern and Central Australia to see the Indian Ocean. A city girl, Robyn (played by the always reliable Mia Wasikowska) spends months learning to guide camels that can carry her supplies and provide non-human company. There are the obvious dangers of traveling through the Australian outback: snakes, rampaging camel bulls, and the  lack of available water through much of the territory. There's one less obvious danger: people.

The reason Robyn (Davidson, who later wrote a book on her experience) walks thousands of miles is to get away from people. Her reasoning is implied in the beginning, but it's slowly revealed through the movie. This is masterful storytelling. It's never predictable – Robyn, unlike Chris from the film adaptation of Into the Wild, isn't exactly seeking adventure. Perhaps she wants to get away from being human.

At the beginning of the movie, friends and acquaintances come to visit. All of them are curious about her dream; many are supportive despite their puzzlement. But Robyn can't stand this contact. When she sits with the group, the camera focuses on everyone else's mouths, jabbering on about some subject Robyn couldn't care less about. The shots shake, dart around the room. Robyn leaves the group, very conspiciously. These scenes highlight Robyn's discomfort with people. She can't fully appreciate their care for her.

At first, it seems like she can't get away from people. They pop up often. The first month of trekking goes by quickly, and there is that annoying National Geographic photographer again, Rick (Adam Driver, the best actor on Girls by a mile). Rick is practically a sitcom character in Robyn's point of view: he appears out of nowhere when he is completely unnecessary, he has a whole arsenal of backpacking supplies (what a catch – a man who has everything, including an inflatable boat when he needs to unexpectedly take photos on a body of water), and he seems to talk non-stop. He's Robyn's most obvious point of contact in the world, someone invested in her work since he has a professional stake in it too, having recommended her for National Geographic sponsorship. Robyn is annoyed by his constant presence, but has to put up with it since she needs – at least financially – to be connected to the outer world.

When she's alone with her dog and her camels, she's happy. There's small things to explore, like a cistern to swim in. The cistern is a miracle in the middle of nowhere. There are challenges she can take full credit for, like protecting her animal her from threatening animals.

As her journey goes on, she realizes human contact doesn't always trample on her own space. She appreciates the kindness and wisdom of an Indigious elder who accompanies her through sacred land, the helpfulness of an elderly couple living in a treacherously dry part of the desert, and the patience of a lone rancher who listens to her complaints after a long stretch of silence.

She never thanks Rick for all his help – which includes chasing away reporters, delivering supplies, being generally thoughtful about her needs, and going above and beyond his professional obligations – but he isn't the sort of person who needs that said aloud. The journey can't be done alone.

In a way, she is motivated by grief. This is a huge spoiler, but I wanted to write about this. Robyn's mother had committed suicide, and when her faithful dog is poisoned, she is reminded of the childhood pet dog who had probably been put down as a result of the mother's suicide and the subsequent breaking up of the family. Robyn has nothing to say through the movie; she only wants to do.

My father passed away this summer. It recently occurred to me that after a year of caring for my dad, I am now finally free to travel. Which was what I was planning to do, had he not been sick. Do I still want to do that?

These last few weeks, I haven't wanted to be with other people. I still don't. I can completely relate to Robyn in this instance. Traveling alone is one of the many ways to grieve.

I thought Tracks would be a conventional movie, but thankfully it was a lot more experimental than I thought. Director John Curran (The Painted Veil) delivers another thoughtfully done story. Robyn's hallucinations, caused by her lack of water and her loneliness, were effectively frightening.

Here's another six-part television show featuring a comedian playing a fictionalized version of himself. Like The Trip, I thought The Modest Adventures of David O'Doherty was strangely touching. But I'm not sure if there's anything profound that I can write. It's so hard writing about comedy. When I read reviews of comedy shows, I frequently think that the reviewer isn't accurately capturing all that is interesting about the show. Writing about something funny is a different beast from seeing the funny thing being said or performed aloud.

Same goes for films too. Most reviewers aren't sharp enough writers to concisely describe the story and why I, as a potential viewer, might think it's interesting. Which might be why this review log is full of spoilers. The things that are worth spoiling – those are the things that are most memorable.

But I digress. Like many comedians, David O'Doherty pretends to be one of us. You know, with ordinary concerns, but won't reveal that he probably has a lot more friends than me or you. We want to imagine that he's a regular guy – slightly cool in some ways, naively uncool in other ways. Overthinks everything, but unlike some neurotic funnypeople, he does it with a nonchalent air. Kind of like he's been smoking pot, but at no point do we see him do drugs. (In his “FAQ for the DOD” song, he proclaims, “I'm going to rock your worlds, in quite a gentle way! Like a delicious cake as opposed to a bag of drugs.”)

The Modest Adventures of David O'Doherty is about an Irish comedian who has modest adventures. He sets goals for himself in each episode, including cycling from Dublin to Galway for a gig, trying to get a hit on the Irish music charts (number 27 specifically), and earning enough money to pay the month's rent. He fails some, and unexpectedly succeeds at others.

Part of the humor of the show comes from confusion about the show's format. With its many jokes, is it a sitcom about a Dubliner who appears to have two sidekicks/friends? One article claims David hated writing and editing the show, which implies it's not a fly on the wall, real-life account of David's modest life.

With its lo-fi atmosphere, directed by Once's John Carney, is it a documentary? I've seen it described as a documentary, on the show's RTÉ website and in interviews. But is it real life? Is David really so dumb that he would write a résumé in size 48 font? Does he really lack the friends who could come to a show at his flat? (It turns out he wanted strangers instead of friends, because strangers are more likely to laugh loudly to new jokes and David needed to record the crowd for his comedy album.)

The humor also comes from something to do with self-awareness. David looks so uncool – he's not tech-savvy. He steals Wifi from his neighbors (uncool), but when he can't, he has to use his own dial-up internet (extremely uncool). He explains the concept of YouTube like a retiree confused with all that the internet has to offer. He seems fond of old-school Paint, and claims Paint as one of his employable skills. But does he know he's uncool? He's self-consciously trying to be sincere.

This show, just like The Trip, is so convincing in making us think that comedians are like their on-screen personas. I would love to think that David O'Doherty is the kind of guy who tries to make money off his nephew by betting on a game of golf, but ends up unexpectedly losing and giving up his much-needed cash to his nephew. What a great uncle/friend he must be in real life!

But really, he must be more wily than the sleepy-sounding man who thinks he could bike 200km in the clothes he wore as a teenage athlete. I was a little disappointed to read in an interview that he and his friend had actually bought the singles necessary to ensure that his song would be a hit single. So the campaign featured in episode two may not have been all that successful, haha. How tricky.

A major part of the show for me was the out-of-touch female narrator. She sounds so distant from the events she describes. When David is singing off-key in his bathroom, recording the vocals for his “hit” song, she states that David is “giving everything” in a very bland, disinterested voice.

The song, “Orange,” and its accompanying video are hilarious and strangely affecting. It's about a perfect set-up – a nerdy guy who goes out with a girl who seems to have similar interests (ie. Garfield). They go on a date, but the guy is put off by the fact that the girl is wearing a lot of fake tan, making her look orange. The girl is put off when the guy asks for bacon snacks and soda water, because it turns out she's a hardcore vegetarian. Isn't that just like real life? Matches made in heaven turn out to be dreadful dates. If something went slightly more right (if the girl didn't wear so much make-up and if the guy just stuck with his original bar request of an orange), then they could've made a good couple. More serendipity, please.

Anyway, I don't think I did an ideal job of translating this show into a critique. If I did a good job, then I will reread this piece with a smile... remember how fantastic I thought the show was the first time I stumbled upon it on YouTube. I wish there was more than one series.

The most interesting aspect about The Trip was that it was about a tense friendship. This doesn't sound very interesting or profound when I write it out – but think about how many multi-faceted modern friendships have been portrayed on screen. I feel like a lot of those relationships can be taken for granted. Friends who would do anything for each other, say anything to each other, and go to the ends of the earth with each other. They're in bromances, action movies, animations, everything genre under the sun. There's actually too many of those.

Most friendships, I will cynically claim, have their bounderies. Most of us know that sometimes we have to tiptoe around certain subjects, are familiar with the feeling of not being on the same page, and are cautious about asking too much of our friends.

In The Trip, Steve and Rob are friends, but not close friends. There's a lot each of them doesn't know about the other. Steve pretends he doesn't like Rob or his annoying tendency to initate any personalities that come to mind. He reluctantly asks Rob – making clear that Rob was the last person in mind – to accompany him on a trip to Cumbria to review high-class restaurants for The Observer. In return, Rob seems to like Steve, but he likes everyone. He could be friends with anybody. Part of the comedy stems from curiousity on the audience's part: Why are these two men friends? Do they consider each other friends?

Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon play fictionalized versions of themselves. As in real life, their characters are comedians, competing comedians. They try to outdo each other with impressive impressions, increasingly surreal jokes, and “real” stories about showbiz. Their contrasting comedic styles work well together – Steve is the level-headed insecure one, Rob is the more outgoing charming one, and they switch roles occasionally. They spent little time actually writing about the food they're eating, and much more of it bickering between themselves about which of them does better impressions of Michael Caine. I suspect that they're not close friends in reality, but have known each other for a long time and thought it was a good idea to fictionalize the public perceptions of their personalities (and maybe become closer friends in the process).

Steve Coogan stole the spotlight in The Trip by spinning the media's impression of him as an out-of-control womanizer, playing a lonely man in a mid-life crisis. His concern about being famous for all the wrong things and not for his exceptional ability to craft performances in arthouse films is hilarious. He wants people to take him seriously after Alan Partridge, and becomes overserious and oversensitive as a result. In the privacy of hotel bathrooms, he tries to perfect his impressions and attempts Rob's impeccible “man in a small box” voice (which he totally fails). He tears up and mouths in a squeaky voice, “Silly voices are stupid.” It's a sad, poignant, touching moment.

Steve and Rob continue with their odd (or normal, I don't know) friendship in The Trip to Italy. Some (American) reviewers have written that Steve and Rob seem more comfortable, more close in the sequal. I think these reviewers are deluded.

In this second installment, Steve and Rob go to Italy to review more high-class restaurants, following in the steps of eighteenth century British poets looking for inspiration. Steve seems to have calmed down after a busy period of starring in a BBC show that got canceled. He even laughs once in a while at Rob's jokes. After being the cheery one in The Trip, this time Rob feels more insecure about his life and tries to trip up Steve (not an intentional pun).

The Trip to Italy should be retitled The Trip 2: Rob Goes Bad. While the first movie focused on Steve Coogan's character, the sequel tilts towards Rob Brydon's point of view.

Rob gets the sadsack midlife crisis role in this movie. He talks to himself in his room, also rehersing voices and monologues to impress people with the next day. He also dreams about murdering Steve in an Italian-language movie (which is funny, but not as funny as Steve's imagined chat with Ben Stiller about his newfound success with auteur film directors). When Steve falls asleep on a boat they've rented, he pretends to some young ingénues that Steve is much older than he looks and he needs the sleep. Rob reveals himself to be not the jolly Welshman we thought he was in The Trip. He seems more like his mean-spirited Would I Lie To You host persona.

I enjoyed The Trip part deux, but like all sequels it does pale in comparion to the original. The dialogue is less spontaneous, and Rob Brydon reveals his character's evil soul. We still don't learn much about “Rob,” not as much as we did “Steve.” We know Rob's marriage is breaking down, but we don't see why.

Some characters from the first series are given screentime, but we don't know much more about them. There's Steve's nice assistant, who comes along for the trip again. Rob confesses to her, instead of to Steve, that he's thinking of leaving his wife. There's also Steve's son, who doesn't do much except be upset with his mother. Also, why is Steve more chill? My friend and I noted that he sleeps a lot in this film. He likes to take naps, and falls asleep easily while reading Casanova.

And another thing: Steve and Rob never really interact much with Italians. They don't have any of the usual tourist mishaps. There's no funny miscommunications. Maybe this is a reference to the British ex-pats and emigrants who always preferred to interact with people like them whilst living in Italy, but it gave the movie an unreal air.

But there's still a lot to enjoy about The Trip to Italy. Besides the scene where Rob nefariously draws a picture of Steve as a sleepy old man to the young women who bring them sailing, there's another memorable moment halfway through the film when Rob and Steve walk on a cobbled hillside street of an Italian village. Steve sticks to the traditional stairs, whereas Rob adventurously tries the slope right next to the narrow stairway. Always afraid of the possibility of Rob making it down the hill faster than he does, Steve tries the slope, muttering about whether or not it might be better.

Calvary was a very different film from what I expected. The trailer set it up as a dark comedy, but I hardly ever laughed and found it depressing. Oh my god, the ending just kills me (no pun intended).

The gist of this Irish movie is that a good Catholic priest, Father James (Brendan Gleeson), hears a death threat in confession. The unknown man claims he'll kill the father next Sunday, in part because he is angry about being sexually abused by a now-dead priest. "I'm going to kill you because you're innocent," the to-be-killer says. It's absurd and random. What a great idea: it could be both comedy and social commentary about the Church! I've heard great reviews. 

James is strangely ambivalent and not especially frightened about this potential murder. This is not because he's the badass cousin of the renegade cop of this director's last movie, The Guard. I'm not sure why he isn't desperately scared about someone making an attempt on his life. Does he see it as yet another challenge God has set up for him in this godforsaken rural village?

James spends the rest of the movie interacting with his fellow townspeople, most of whom seem to have a personal dislike of him. Any one of these men (it's one of those Irish movie towns that only seem to contain men) could have good reason to kill him.

Out of the cast, I thought Dylan Moran was the standout. He plays a wealthy man abandoned by his family, left alone with everything money could buy (and willing to piss on it all, to make a point). He's depressing and vicious, a portrait of gluttony, with a touch of self-conscious irony. Chris O'Dowd plays an outwardly cheery butcher who might be abusing his wife. There's also a cynical atheist doctor (Aiden Gillen) who throws out the most mean insults towards the priest, as well as the lone African immigrant in town, Simon, who is equally hostile towards James. The town barman is also pretty damn mean. Actually, everyone hates James. Even the little kid, who serves as both alter boy and town plein air painter, begrudgingly deals with James' existence.

At first, it's easy to side with James, just because he's played by Brendan Gleeson. I love Brendan Gleeson; he's always sympathetic. But it slowly becomes clear that James is not the most effective priest. He's losing patience with his parishioners, and offers little good advice. "Have you tried professional help?" he asks during one confession, reluctant to deal with another problem. I pitied James and his unnecessarily problematic life. We know that he was an alcoholic and a widower before becoming a priest, in effect running away from his distant daughter (Kelly Reilly). 

James probably believed that by vowing to help other people via the priesthood, he would find meaning and purpose in his life. But nope, it's not that easy in this less-than-charming Sligo village.

It seems James is trying to be a good person, but doesn't have any authority even though everyone (smirkingly) tells him he's a good priest. He's helpless in most cases. I think the barman tells him he's a very judgmental person -- it's so true! I wouldn't want to confess to him either; he's so world-weary and, as he realizes, doesn't really deserve to hold power over these troubled masses. He's a troubled man himself.

The hapless priest who realizes he's only human could be a good start for a comedy. But jeez. There aren't as many sharp lines as there were in The Guard. Everyone talks in a sad monotone. They feel their actions might be pointless. James tries to convince them otherwise, but only half-heartedly.

I was bored through the movie, which was depressing in itself. I had looked forward to this film since The Guard three years ago, also by writer-director John Michael McDonagh. The beginning felt disjointed and rushed, though it started building tension towards the end. Cinematically, it's not very interesting. As a drama, it doesn't have much narrative drive. James is too indifferent to push the drama on his own. And the tone of the movie works against him: Calvary is so defined by the somber expressions of James and his lonely parishioners. Their guilt -- whatever the source -- sinks them down, as well as the whole movie.

However, the end was surprising; I thought it was both depressing and optimistic. Maybe the priest did achieve something in his life, though I'm sure it was a less glorious end than he would have hoped.

TL;DR: Calvary is a depressing non-comedy and I feel depressed now. I'm still waiting for your next film, John Michael McDonagh.

Local Hero is exactly the sort of movie I love -- it's part road trip to the middle of nowhere, it has gorgeous scenery (in this case, the very north of Scotland), and it has surreal happenings. These include the Northern Lights, a rabbit that miraculously survives being hit by a car (only to be eaten in a casserole), and a wealthy man who happens to be very nice (yes, that counts as a Surreal Happening). Also, it has young Peter Capaldi getting angry at having unknowingly eaten his beloved rabbit, wow, but spends most of the movie looking amusingly awkward. What's not to love?

The movie reeks of the '80s. I don't mind the synth-heavy soundtrack, which reminds me of Withnail and I (which incidentally features a similar landscape, Cumbria). But oh my god, the film's depiction of women felt so dated. I felt increasingly uncomfortable because the female characters are basically male fantasies. Thirty years ago -- was that a different world?

Local Hero is a story about men and power. Mac (Dustin Hoffman-lookalike Peter Riegert) is a young, assertive Houston businessman sent by his oil company to acquire a whole Scottish seaside town so they can build a refinery. He is accompanied by a useless employee from the Aberdeen office, Danny (Peter Capaldi). The unlikely pair is carefully watched by a town representative, Gordon (Dylan Moran-lookalike Denis Lawson), who negotiates on behalf of the rest of the town. Gordon insists the two spend as much time getting to know their little bay and the townspeople as they chat business, and of course, they start to let down their guard and enjoy this strange world. Whole packs of villagers follow them, either trying to win their confidence or eavesdropping on their potential plans. The town is pretty much old fishermen and boat restorers, with a few exceptions.

First, there's Stella, innkeeper/accountant/taxi-driver/all-around-townleader Gordon's wife. She has no purpose in the story, but as a point of romantic interest for the main character. The main character, Mac, drunkenly offers his whole life in America for the townleader's life, a complete package with Stella. She never quite flirts with him. But she is a sort of option, as Mac and Danny are reminded every time they hear the creaking above their heads, which they assume is Stella and Gordon making love. What is the point of Stella? She exists to prove that Gordon has Mac's ideal life -- Gordon has the respect of a whole Scottish village, along with hot sex several times a day.

Marina, Danny's love interest, also creeps me out. She's a modern-day mermaid, in this case a marine scientist who regularly dives around the bay and happens to have webbed feet. (The scene Danny discovers this poorly-kept secret is etched on my mind forever.) She does her own thing and comes back once in a while, but she is basically the unattainable girl for hapless Danny. Although one poster hints that she is a major player in the story ("a real life mermaid wants to save it..."), she's really not involved in the town vs. oil company negotiations at all. Marina exists to arouse the interests of Danny and Mac.

Needless to say, neither Marina nor Stella have any emotional progress through the story. They're just kind of there. Mac, Danny, and Mac's boss Felix Happer (an impressive Burt Lancaster) do get to grow as people, as they slowly warm to the charms of rural Scotland and the kindness of the local villagers. Mac realizes the meaning he was lacking in his capitalistic life back in Houston, Danny achieves something (for once) by helping Marina get her research facility, and Happer gains a friend in his lonely life -- a fellow starwatcher, Ben, the local hero of the story.

All and all, I thought it was a funny little movie. If only they could cut out the women, as Withnail and I so wisely did. I can rewatch that movie again and again, but not Local Hero. This movie is illustrative of why cinephiles tend to be men. Cult movies like this are somewhat alienating. I don't want to be dour by claiming this movie is completely charmless, but its attitude towards women is outdated and lame. Also, the humor is a little too Richard Curtis in places -- is that a compliment or an insult?

*Discussion of the ending in great detail, so spoilers*

It's been a week since I saw Ida, and I blame my new job for being an obstacle to writing this post. I've been busy! This film has lingered in my mind, with its misty black-and-white images. The nature is lonely and tainted with the past; the cities are dirty, fighting to be modern with distinctly foreign music. However, I can't wholeheartedly recommend it. It's just not shocking enough!

A young orphan named Anna in 1960s Poland grows up in a convent. On the brink of taking her vows to become a nun, her Mother Superior sends her to visit her last living relative: an outspoken Communist aunt who smokes, drinks, and has one-night stands. Wanda, a worldly and cynical judge, tells Anna matter-of-factly that her birth name was Ida, and that her parents were Jewish and had been killed by the Nazis. They drive back to their ancestral village to verify the aunt's belief, and encounter people who want the truth to remain hidden.

Sounds like another Holocaust drama, right? Unfortunately -- and I say this with a straight face -- Ida is hardly a soap opera. I like soap operas that pretend that they are above its scandalous twists, like Last Tango in Halifax. But I think Ida misses the mark by inching away from dramatic climaxes, with the exception of the aunt's eventual suicide. The aunt walks away from the camera while one of Mozart's concertos plays at a distractingly loud volume. She casually climbs into the open window. The camera doesn't move; there is no reaction. (Holy shit! That was worthy of Haneke, very reminiscent of the final scenes of Amour.)

But I wonder if this movie is asking more from the audience for a reaction. There's not enough to guide the viewer, in a typically cinematic way. We expect the movie to tell us what to feel: using sentimental music to evoke a time or a feeling, using the actors' faces as cues, and directing the camera moving in sync with the emotions. Ida doesn't offer these. Normally, this sort of objective stance is right up my alley, but I'm still pondering why Ida doesn't work for me.

The protagonist works for and against the story. Sheltered Anna is unflappable. She's charmingly naive, intriguing, and pretty, but not in a cliche way (okay, avoiding cliches is a good thing). However, she doesn't work for me as a detective. She is detached and passive, following her brash aunt around the countryside. At the farmhouse where her mother and aunt grew up, she merely walks away, missing whatever juicy nuances the hostile farmer has to give in the aunt's interrogation. For me, what an interesting reaction -- but how frustrating too. She's missing all the action right there!

The young actor who plays Anna, Agnes Trzebuchowska, shows admirable restraint. She looks so sweet and looks so of her time, in a stilted Communist Poland. The people are unhappy and alcoholic, perhaps drained from their memories of the War, but Anna sticks out by seeming content and untroubled.

That's another problem. I'm concerned Anna doesn't understand what the Holocaust is, what being Jewish means, and why her aunt is the way she is. She did grow up in a convent, relatively protected from knowledge of the recent past. After Anna and Wanda discover the bodies of Anna's parents, Anna remarks that they need to get a priest. Wanda corrects her -- they should get a rabbi. I'm not sure if Anna is ever shocked that she, a Catholic, could have Jewish roots. This internal turmoil is hard to show visually, of course. Again, I think the conflict of a very devout Catholic being shaken to her core about being Jewish is left up to the audience to struggle with. The viewer should be more concerned, more involved than Anna appears to be.

Lastly: damn -- the ending! I was so surprised. For much of the movie, Anna has been cautiously flirting (well, that's a stretch -- how about "saying very little but giving suggestive glances") with a hunky jazz musician who hitches a ride with Wanda and Anna. He's nice and talented, but not the sort of romantic hero who saves damsels in distress. Anna comes to her Aunt's funeral, her hair uncovered (!). She sleeps with the musician (!!) and sneaks out to return to the convent, presumably to take her vows (!!!). I didn't understand it!

After some thought, I wondered if Anna had tried being her aunt, on a whim. In her few days alone in the city, Anna tries out her aunt's clothing, make-up, and heels. In the lonely apartment, she becomes her aunt. In sleeping with the musician, Anna mimics the aunt's frequent one night stands. But Anna doesn't want any of this lifestyle. She goes back to what she has always known.

I think this was the bravest part of the film. In going back to the convent, Anna is being a radical. She makes a bold choice to be an individual -- she's not going to be drawn to the big city lights, the sophisticated life of her jazz-listening and brandy-sloshing aunt, or to the traveling musician (what a cute, ordinary guy they chose to be the incarnation of carnal lust, haha). She'll be one of a hundred nuns in a convent in the middle of nowhere, because that might be where her true self lies. Her faith is stronger.

Perhaps more importantly, Anna chooses not to battle the past. The feeling of being wronged destroys other characters in this movie. Anna's aunt, obsessed with her lost relatives, couldn't forgive. Wanda had lost the initial idealism that must have fueled her to become a judge, someone eager to fight for justice in her country even after the War. Unlike her aunt, Anna is not the type of person to seek revenge against the people who broke up her family, and incidentally, forced her to become the person she is today. Because she is perfectly content to be who she is, which is more than we can say for any other character in this film.

*Contains rambling that will be boring for viewers who haven't seen the three films in this trilogy.*

I've been waiting for this movie for two or three years, and ouch, it was disappointing. Let's talk about the more interesting aspects. Chinese Puzzle (French: Casse-tête chinois) is the latest -- or the last? -- in a series of French films about a writer perpetually floating between romantic relationships. In this installment, our protagonist Xavier (finally) grows up and has some self-described complicated relationships with women who are thinly sketched out.

Of course, we already know most of these women, Xavier's former flatmates from their study abroad year in Barcelona, summarized in The Spanish Apartment (L'auberge espagnole, 2002). Wendy (Kelly Reilly) is the formerly uptight English girl who married Xavier. Isabelle is Xavier's best friend, the adventurous lesbian Belgian portrayed by Cécile De France, whom I now think of as the nice hairdresser who saved the little kid from a lifetime of hate in The Kid with a Bike. And Martine (Audrey Tautou) was Xavier's first girlfriend, who grumpily stayed in Paris while Xavier had the time of his life in Spain.

In Chinese Puzzle, Wendy breaks up with Xavier and takes their two kids to New York, where her fiancé lives. Xavier resolves not to be the absent father that his own father was, and abandons his life in Paris to live the life of a hapless immigrant in America. He stays briefly with Isabelle, who is about to give birth to the child he helped father. Martine comes to visit. Immigration comes to visit. Everyone wants to be in New York, basically.

For some reason, we hear little about what everyone has done since the second movie, Russian Dolls (Les poupées russes, 2005), besides have some kids. You might conclude that having offspring has defined the decade between the second and third films.

Wendy's a screenwriter, like she was in the last movie. Isabelle gets a new job on Wall Street, so she's still in finance. Martine's still in the environmental arena, but she's experimenting in capitalism and Mandarin, with hilarious results. And Xavier's still a writer. Like his friends, he's in the same field and works steadily towards the success and literary prestige he's always dreamed of. Although Xavier complains that unlike other people his life doesn't go from point A to point B, I would say he and his girlfriends are still on the same line to point B, considering career trajectories like those.

There's a scene where Xavier is being made fun of by Wendy, Isabelle, and Martine -- they point out that he now has to deal with these three women, two of whom dumped him and two of whom he had impregnated. They're all connected by the fact that they're emotionally close to him. I kind of wish the women got their own lives, lives separate from Xavier.

But like the other two movies, Xavier gets to narrate his own movie and everything seems to be screened through his head. We're obsessed with Xavier's confusing life at forty. He is, like all of us, self-centered. But. BUT. It does feel like a typical French romantic comedy in tone, with its conventional gender politics, despite having such a badass character like Isabelle (who gets some steamy lesbian sex scenes -- it's not hard to argue that they pander to Xavier's dreams).

I really did like Xavier (Romain Duris) in this film. He's always whiny, but charming and is willing to think he makes mistakes. He doubts himself all the time, how real and refreshing that is for a film character. But I wonder when the writer-director decided to drop all the male friends from the Spanish apartment and focus on just the women and how they relate to Xavier. I mean, what happened to the fantastic Italian guy from the first movie?! I love that guy! There was also a boring Dane and an argumentative German. I know it's unrealistic that the same couple of ex-students could still be close friends, but this movie almost feels like a male fantasy as a result.

To conclude how I felt about the characters: Yay, Xavier's found his own voice! But jeez, I don't know what the women are really feeling. But hmmm, I guess we're seeing them through Xavier's eyes. And they're puzzling.

We don't really understand why Wendy leaves Xavier at the beginning of this movie. It's strange to him, and strange to us, considering where they left off at the end of Russian Dolls. Perhaps tellingly, Xavier explains what his best friend Isabelle has been doing the last few years and why she does what she does -- I think they understand each other the best. Martine, on the other hand, is as moody as always. Like Xavier, she's a more grown-up, a somewhat more content sort of person. But she's always been the most puzzling character to me. The sort-of girlfriend who is there in absentia. She doesn't know if she wants to be there or not! I thought she was the most ambivalent out of all the characters, and I'm not sure why she's still close to Xavier besides that she's obviously attracted to him.

Despite all the potential drama, the movie feels flat much of the time. I was waiting for more tension to build up in the divorce between Wendy and Xavier, more strain in the friendship between Isabelle and Xavier as Isabelle has her own child, and more of a spark between Xavier and Martine, who comes to New York clearly intent on spending quality time with Xavier. It seemed like there were too many characters to keep track of, and the director wanted to give each of them some time, but not enough to make me think there was enough meat in each scene. There are some funny moments, but not enough. There are some awkward moments, but not enough. There are some sexy moments, but not enough.

The slow pace reminded me of director Cédric Klapisch's last movie, My Piece of the Pie, which incidentally I saw on an Air France flight. There's no longer the regular breathless pace of the first two movies, except a race-to-the-apartment-because-someone-is-having-sex-there-and-needs-to-be-warned! scene that recalls the one in Barcelona. But it's not as funny, nor as sexy, nor as awkward. It happens, and there's no resulting problem.

(On a slightly more pleasant note, despite the title and the fact the movie is set mostly in New York City Chinatown, this is not an Orientalist film! Thank god! I was really worried there. I worry about such things when I sense Chinese themes. There is the cool but otherwise-not-there Chinese-American wife who marries Xavier so he can get a visa, but she's pretty cool, if not-there.)

I'm not really sure how to concisely word my opinion of Chinese Puzzle besides I have a lot of emotions for it, having known these characters for so long. I'm talking about them as if they were real people, and almost totally ignoring whatever cinematic qualities this movie has. Who cares about style (which matters a lot for Klapisch) when you got story. 

The first movie pushed me to study abroad in college -- gosh, it made "studying" in Europe look so fun. I love the jetsetting, the locales, and the director's obvious love for learning languages. I love how adaptable the characters are, their interesting lifestyles, and their curiosity for new things. I love their perpetual hope for love.

I liked Only Lovers Left Alive more than I expected -- it has more momentum than the other Jim Jarmusch films I've seen. More plot, though it still barely has a plot. It still felt slow, however, as if it was trying to replicate the amount of time the vampire protagonists had. They have unlimited leisure time to think, create art, and alternatively, be deadly bored by everything the world has to offer.

Tilda Swinton and Tom Hiddleston make a surprisingly convincing couple at the center. She remains optimistic about life (generally speaking), eternally young in spirit, and usually clad in white. He is her complete opposite: broody, depressed yet again, outwardly younger than his wife of 250 years, and always dressed in black. The chemistry between Adam and Eve is electric.

Here's the story: Adam lives in a deteriorating Detroit wasteland, a reclusive musician annoyed by the almost inevitable coming of fame. Perhaps he's lived there in the heydays of Detroit, when it was the center of the American car industry and a mecca for aspiring Motown musicians. His wife, Eve, lives across the world in old Tangier, and comes to visit him. They buy blood with their seemingly unlimited fortune, recall the long-dead scientists and artists they've met over the centuries, and drive around the dead city at night. They have all the time in the world, for better or worse.

Eve's sister-of-sorts, Ava (a short appearance by Mia Wasikowska) interrupts their reunion and forces a shake-up in their (generally speaking) lives. Adam and Eve have always enjoyed the best of what humanity had to offer -- poetry, music, literature, other art forms -- and act like surreal humans themselves, with their old English way of speaking. But they still have to deal with some of the pains and consequences of living.

I'm not sure what Only Lovers Left Alive has to say about love. The relationship between Adam and Eve is certainly interesting, and emotionally fulfilling to watch -- imagine a relatively compatible couple who can be together forever, but still have to deal with the ravages of time. They lose friends to death, they regret actions long past, and they have physical needs (ie. dealing with the thirst for blood without wanting any trouble from the humans). But. But.... yeah.

Essentially it is a slow deadpan comedy. Not the sort that makes you laugh aloud, but the broody tone combined with a heady sense of atmosphere makes for good, muttered one-liners. If only I could hear all of them. (I wish the film had subtitles, because the dialogue was difficult to hear at times.)

I’m on a roll picking films lately. I have nothing objective to say about this next film, Chicken with Plums, which I hadn’t expected to like. I have to concede that after an hour, tears started rolling down my face. It hit me so hard, as this is a story about a man determined to die and my dad is dying of lung cancer at the moment. Even though I had seen the trailer and read the synopsis, I still hadn’t realize this story was about death and everything came as a rush to me.

Chicken with Plums (French: Poulet aux prunes) is about an Iranian violinist (changed from a tar player in the original graphic novel) who decides to lay in bed and wait for death to take him, after his detested wife breaks his instrument during an argument. He thinks about the joys and disappointments of his life, imagines discussions with the angel of death and the future of his children, and denies his loved ones any solid closure. What is most haunting about this movie is its lack of closure for this dying man: he relives part of what made his life worth living, but depressingly finds it worthy of being thrown away.

The main character, Nasser Ali, is unlikeable. There’s no way to get around the fact that he is a grumpy, self-possessed, arrogant artist. He doesn’t even like his children too much. The story is a mystery of sorts: how did this man get so bitter?

The answer, of course, is unrequited love. This aspect of the story was a little disappointing to me, since it was rather predictable. Young man falls in love with pretty girl on first sight, but her father rejects the notion of her marrying a penniless musician. The twist to this subplot, however, is that this key to Nasser Ali’s life is revealed in layers. We get glimpses of her in select scenes, but like the supporting characters, we don’t understand her significance. This is a fascinating narrative construct — I’ll compare it to getting to know a person. On the surface, he is a manic has-been, disappointed by his marriage. As we see more of him, we realize his passion is still there, but underutilized. There are fragments outsiders wouldn’t understand, and Iran (the girl who got away) is one of them. Understanding this loss is key to this irritating character.

Luckily for Nasser Ali, he is played by Mathieu Amalric. He was the main reason why I watched this, haha, because I think he’s such a great and subtle actor. His face makes me want to laugh, with those huge dark eyes of his (see screenshot above!). He makes this movie come alive. Even though I found the graphic novel version of his protagonist more sympathetic, I think Mathiew Amalric brought Nasser Ali’s charisma to life.

I read the graphic novel yesterday, and interestingly the movie seems far more complex than the original book, with its simple black-and-white drawings. The movie is incredibly cinematic in comparison, which works since the movie is built on Nasser Ali’s memories -- is flashback tantamount to cinema? The camera is fluid, it moves smoothly through time and space, and the cinematography looks as if it was inspired by vibrant animations. The graphic novel in comparison appears clunky and stilted. Part of it was the translation from French, which tried to explain too many Iranian-specific phrases and terms. Yes, maybe that’s it: it tried to explain too much when just a little is necessary for understanding.

Another thing worth noting is that this is a French-language film set in Iran. It bothers me a little that there’s so many films produced and set in one country pretending to be an another country. Viewers forget that it’s only an adaptation, a version created by outsiders. Most of these films are American or British and set in an European country; we’re so conditioned to think of this as normal, WWII movies with French or German characters speaking English for example. French actors speaking French and pretending to be in Iran was a little surreal. You can tell they’ve adapted the film for Western culture (changing the instrument from a tar to a violin is significant). I wonder what else was changed in the cultural shift.

Interestingly, one of the two directors, Marjane Satrapi, is also the writer/illustrator of the graphic novel. She lives in France, but grew up in Iran. She adapted her uncle’s story to the big screen, and wow, does she have a great visual sense. I hope she continues making movies instead of graphic novels. She’s also the author and director of Persepolis (which I thought was okay, so I didn’t have high hopes about this one).

*Contains interpretations that may be spoilers*

Here's the flipside to the last movie I reviewed, Surviving Desire. While Surviving Desire is about a momentary love affair that fizzles out, Wild Grass (French: Les Herbes folles) is about a love affair that never comes to be. Some of the elements are in place -- a desire for new companionship, a determined man -- but they don't work out. Weirdly enough, this film about unrequited love is notably very upbeat. Wild Grass is the beautiful dream that Surviving Desire obsesses over: imagined love. 

A middle-aged dentist named Marguerite Muir (Sabine Azéma) with frizzy red hair loses her wallet. A somewhat obsessive and unemployed man named Georges Palet (André Dussollier) finds it and begins worrying about how to return it. He schemes about how to make the most of this small opportunity. After turning the wallet in to an odd policeman who acts as a matchmaker (a memorable Mathieu Amalric), Georges wants to know the owner of the wallet better. She doesn't. They have no reason to meet, no reason to love each other, to paraphrase the director.

What happens beyond this is up to interpretation. I personally think the second half of the movie, after Georges is told off by the police, is a fantasy. It's what someone, perhaps Georges, has cooked up as a resolution to this one-sided romantic adventure. He tells Marguerite that it's not fair that he has no closure.

What makes me think a significant part of the movie is a dream? First of all, Georges' direct thoughts are missing in the second half. In the first half, we hear him obsess over his behavior and the things in his surroundings that annoy him. Second, Georges is much more suave and mysterious when the movie is "set" in Marguerite's view. He is no longer babbling all sorts of nonsense. Instead, he is polite, distant, and firm when speaking to Marguerite. This is the man of mystery Georges wants her to see. Third, logic falls out of the sky.

Strange things happen: Marguerite has a bad day at the office, hurting many clients by being too aggressive. Georges kisses Marguerite's work partner and friend for no apparent reason. Georges, Marguerite, and Georges' wife Suzanne fly together on Marguerite's plane. A plane is forced to do tricks it wasn't designed for. A little girl wonders aloud about what being a cat might be like.

Whatever Marguerite is, she's not a fully formed character but more of a fantasy of Georges' (or whoever is doing the fantasizing in this movie). Kind of like (500) Days of Summer. Perhaps she's not even a dentist. Perhaps she didn't even get robbed. I have a feeling we know nothing about Marguerite and someone has constructed all the facts about her. Could it be Georges? Could it be the unnamed male narrator (Édouard Baer)? Could it be the unexplained little girl at the end?

Not to mention having a romantic relationship might be inconvenient. Georges is married to Suzanne (Anne Cosigny, who looks too young for this role), who seems to encourage the two to start an affair. A little odd. As this is a French movie, I doubt people objected to the romantic implications. Who doesn't need a little romanticism in their life? This is essentially a movie about overthinking, not unlike Surviving Desire.

I loved this movie -- it moves like a dream. The cinematography and visual design are gorgeous: all colors of the rainbow and images slightly fuzzy, as if imagination were pretending to be memory. Marguerite is the coolest dentist in cinema.

*Major spoilers for a mostly plotless movie*

I had never heard of Hal Hartley, a leading figure of the independent American film movement of the nineties, until two weeks ago, when I saw a passing comment on the Guardian's website. Somebody quoted a scene from Hartley's second film, Trust (1990), and it turned out this movie starred Martin Donovan, whom I loved in Jane Campion's The Portrait of a Lady (1996). I watched Trust and liked it, so I moved on to Hartley's next movie, also starring Martin Donovan: Surviving Desire, made as a 53-minute public television movie in 1991.

Surviving Desire is about a college professor named Jude (Martin Donovan) who becomes infatuated with an attentive student, Sophie (Mary B. Ward). He's concerned that he's a lousy teacher, stuck -- literally and metaphorically -- on a Dostoyevsky paragraph. She's curious about the possibility of having an affair, but reluctant because others might think she's doing it for the grade. They dance, they swoon, they're high on love -- or so they believe -- until reality and insecurities set in. In summary: it's just like love! Or perhaps more accurately, as indicated by the title, it's about the rise and fall of desire.

What I found most interesting about it was how it seemed to elaborate on an everyday drama: wondering about the possibility of starting a relationship -- with anyone interested -- exploring how it will play out, and imagining how it will fail. It's also notable that the deepest conversations the two main characters have are with their friends, rather than with each other. The thoughts that reveal the most about them are offered to their confidants, not to the person the thoughts are about. My favorite dialogues are the Socratic ones between Jude and his doubtful friend Henry (Matt Malloy). Henry warns: "You'll never survive this." Jude replies, "How do you know? Besides, I don't know if I want to." Another hilarious conversation:

Jude: "Henry?"

Henry: "Yes."

J: "I'm in love."

H: "No. Really?"

J: "Yes, I think so."

H: "How can you tell?"

J: "Lack of concentration, erratic mood swings, obsessive behavior."

H: "It's not like you to go running off after young women."

J: "I'm not running off after anyone -- I'm falling, towards her."

H: "As if you can't help yourself."

J: "Yeah, something like that."

H: "I see. I've read about this type of thing."

J: "And then there's this... (opens book to quote) 'Love in action is a harsh and dreadful thing compared with love in dreams.'"

H: "Is this an active love or a dream?"

J: "It's a dream about to become reality."

H: "Name the proofs of this reality."

J: "A thoughtful gesture, a delicate smile, white slender neck; an earnest, inquisitive and alluring voice. Graceful figure; intelligent, sensuous eyes."

H: "Describe the nature of the dream."

J: "Intimacy."

H: "Name the constituent elements of intimacy."

J: "Kissing, caressing, holding. Slapping, shouting, talking. Waiting, sleeping, crying. Listening, hoping, encouraging. Forgiving, laughing, relenting.

H: "In a word? Verbs."

J: "And therefore, active!"

(they slap each other)

Someone has said that Hartley's characters talk in Shakespearean monologue, which can be really annoying to those who hate film characters who speak in paragraphs and flowery language. I thought it was wonderful to hear people actually expressing themselves articulately, knowing that their audience is willing to respond. Well, as in real life, the other person doesn't really get what they're saying, because communication is hardly a two-way street. Still! At least they tried and I loved the characters' verbally spilling out their insecurities about love. 

Sophie wonders what sort of effect she'll have on Jude, seemingly already planning this to be one night affair. To an increasingly exasperated Jude, she delivers an insightful speech:

"Yes, but you know. Will you be tortured by the memory of having been with me, of having caressed me. Will you wonder if I'm with other men. Will you be jealous, will you become obsessed? Will you carry your disappointment around with you forever. Will you be moody and antisocial. Will you get into fights. Will you expect other women to be somehow more like me. My mouth, my eyes, the way I wear my hair. Will you? Will you be like that, you think? ... It's the nature of things, you know. Regret."