The Mesrine films by Jean-François Richet

"L'instinct de mort" ("The Death Instinct" and "L'ennemi public no.1" ("Public Ennemy Number 1")

Guillame Depardieu died in the year he was nominated for the César for best actor (see above for review of "Versailles"). However, despite the tragic real-life drama, Depardieu could not win the César over Vincent Cassel’s performance as Jacques Mesrine in the most popular French films of 2008, "L’instinct de mort" ("Death instinct") and "L’ennemi public no.1" ("Public Enemy Number 1"). The two films together form a bio-pic of France’s most famous criminal, a bank robber at his peak in the 70s, who increased his fame by escaping twice from prison and interviewing with top-selling magazines such as “Paris Match.” The films are based on Mesrine’s autobiography but heavily adapted by screenwriter Abdel Raouf Dafri who also directed a violent ghetto (banlieue) tv series “La commune.” The film follows a gangster formula, complete with car chases, gunfights, and suitcases of cash, but also takes on the prison-escape genre.
Although both films primarily glorify Mesrine, there are also frequent allusions to the Algerian War that seek our attention. L’instinct de mort begins where Mesrine learns to kill, Algerian War. Mesrine as a soldier, follows orders to torture and kill supposed FLN members in a prison, but shows his gallant side when he kills a male Algerian instead of a female. When he returns from war, Mesrine is bored by his employment possibilities and enticed by the money and women of the gangster lifestyle. He begins killing for mob boss Guido (Gérard Depardieu), who incidently is part of the OAS (Organization of the Secret Army) and they shoot Arabs together while jeering racist insults. Near the end of the second film, "L’ennemi public no.1", Mesrine decides to kill a right-wing journalist who has contradicted him. With another prison escapee who is also a left-wing activist, Mesrine meets the journalist at a cave entrance, and then baits the journalist inside, by offering an interview. After verbally assaulting him, Mesrine straggles the journalist with a scarf saying, “You want to know what I learned in the Algerian War, I’ll teach you.”
The symbolism of the sequence is overt; the French killed many Algerians who were hiding in caves with bombs, and strangulation was a common torture technique. Thus the murder of the journalist completely subverts the racism against Arabs demonstrated in the first film, and ensures the audience’s forgiveness. If Mesrine kills Arabs by order or for money in part I, before the end of his life he does penance by torturing and assassinating a xenophobic nationalist mouthpiece. Mesrine does not suffer for the crimes he committed during the Algerian War, but takes vengeance on their interpretation in the years following Algeria’s liberation. The likes of this journalist and his politics, which recall the National Front, could easily be found in contemporary French media. This makes the brutal murder more engaging for the 2008 public, and doubles their respect for the hero.
Cassel executes Mesrine’s bow legged swagger and fast-paced Parisian slang with the bravado indicative of his character’s criminal career. Cassel was so dedicated to the role that he gained a true pot belly, which is exposed in several pretzel love scenes, for authenticity. This achievement garnered Cassel the César for best actor, and Jean-François Richet, the director in charge of the impersonation and all the action editing, a César for best director. However, though the Mesrine features were the most successful films at the French box office in 2008, they did not win the board’s selection for best picture. It was Mesrine’s alter-ego Séraphine (Yolande Moreau), an early 20th century maid come primitive artist, who walked the stage for best actress, and her film ("Séraphine") which stole the best film trophy from the bank robber. In this instance the César committee did yield to the Hollywood pressure of the action film, but transgressed the box office to award a lesser-known biographical film on a lesser-known artist.

"Gomorra": The world is the Camorras

“Gomorra” opens with a surprise mafia shoot-down, at of all places, a tanning salon. Stocky men in panties lather themselves with oil, unsuspicious of the cancerous blue light, or the mafia brother behind them with a gun in his trunks. This opening sequence rolls before credits or even an establishing shot, and represents the film’s revisionist turn in cinema. For the gangster tan, like the gangster film, is a false image that has become a commodity. But just as the tans are revealed as artificial, the next two hours of “Gomorrah” prove Hollywood’s stylish rendition of mafia violence an utter lie with dire consequences. Now, at long last, Hollywood’s gangster film has a contender, for the distant Italian reality of mafia devastation in Naples has shown cinema its face. With no apologies, kindness, or glamour, “Gomorra” exposes how the omnipotent Camorra gang controls Naples and all of its layers, (tunnels, highways, and quarries) with five interrelated narratives of corruption.

Though the tanning salon does not appear again, it remains an important symbol; for the film significantly treats body-conscious teens that are lured into the gang-life by its superficial trappings, (clothing, motorbikes, and cars). One is reminded of Truffaut’s “400 Coups” when Toto (who appears to be thirteen or fourteen) stares in the mirror during several long-takes, however this time the conclusion is less open, and more disturbing (eventually Toto decides the Camorra gang is a more important family than his own). If “Scarface,” the 1932 Hawks’ version or the De Palma production of 1983, fetishized the gangster life by violently destroying the American moral code, “Gomorra” now annihilates this perversion. Two teen boys who quote “Scarface” while playing guns, and believe that “the world is yours” sign might as well be placed on their block in Naples, die a gruesome death for their innocent belief in the Hollywood gangster and the guns and coke that added authentencity to their Tony Montana impersonations. (Evidently, De Palma gave permission for this use of “Scarface,” but I cannot find his reaction to “Gomorra.”)

The film is not only about teens; a large portion of the film, and a still larger portion of the book on which “Gomorra” is based, explain how haute couture is essentially a mob enterprise, and how the dumping of toxic waste is not regulated by the government but orchestrated underground by the Mafioso. The violence in “Gomorrah” is primarily aural, this is not to say that the images of death and gunfire do not equal that of any mob flick staple, but that the sound design is the most emphatic and terrifying to date. By the end of the film, the frequent gunfire and bloody web of narratives have frazzled and affronted the spectator. This makes the didactic series of statistics a welcome solidifying summary of what you have learned; the numbers are clear, the mob is bad and controls everything in Italy. But despite the fast heartbeat and loose editing, one is the wiser for viewing “Gormorra.” Matteo Garrone’s film translation of Robert Saviano’s book, is an overdue response to Hollywood’s vision of the Italian gangster, and an important film puzzle piece to the truth of global corruption, its sides snugly touching “Syriana” and “City of God.”

Vintage Eastwood in “The Gran Torino”

Vintage Eastwood in “The Gran Torino”

“The Gran Torino” refers to a vintage ’72 car protected by a feeble garage and the gun power of its owner, Korean War vet Walt Kolwalkski, (Clint Eastwood.) Everyone longs for a chance to drive the mint condition Gran Torino, including Walt’s materialistic son and suburban nightmare family, his painfully shy teenage neighbor, and the violent gang of Hmong gangsters, who like Walt, tote guns. Just as everyone in the film yearns to cruise the prized vintage Ford, “Gran Torrino”’s target audience craves vintage Eastwood. Strumming memories of Dirty Harry, Eastwood as Walt delivers countless versions of “Make my day” (now the word “goon” is added) and squints with every bit of the same severity.

Although the dialogue in Nick Schenk’s first screenplay’s frequently proves amateur, the plot itself offers a modern if simplistic view of American society in 2008: Sr. citizen Walt, who embodies the racism of his generation, has outlived his wife and is the only white man left in his deteriorating, now Chinese, neighborhood. At long last Walt confronts his prejudice when he accidentally becomes friends with the Chinese family next door while protecting (by chance) their awkward teenage son (Thao played by Bee Vang) from Hmong gangsters. The choice of the Hmongs as the community in anguish reveals a Hollywood orientalism (the Hmong culture makes for an exotic contrast to Walt’s, and the audience’s, middle-American values.) However, the Hmong decision was primarily practical; the “n” word is still unacceptable, and even at 78, Eastwood can tower over the diminutive Hmongs.

In “Gran Torino” the elderly but fit Eastwood recaptures the allure of his past roles. Though Eastwood was 37 years younger when he developed the iconographic Harry Callahan under Don Siegal, and younger still when he built his tough cowboy appeal (“Rawhide”, “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly,”) in “Gran Torino” the cold call to justice is rejuvenated as a crotchety old man. If Eastwood’s lines and performance are predictable, they are doubly comic, for each time nostalgia is retrieved an element of spoof results. (In fact, today the Union Square audience roared at each of Walt’s threats and bigoted insults.)

David Schwartz in his interview complimented Eastwood by saying “Gran Torino” resembled classic Hollywood. Yes, there are many long shots of the neighborhood, the story holds a moral, and the characters (other than Walt) are flat types. However, the film is primarily a vehicle for Eastwood (and his public) to relive his acting-glory days. Eastwood has perfected the delivery and timing of the quiet, vengeful rebel and is further aided by a script tailor-made for him (according to Eastwood, screen-writer Schenk hunted down his agent.) “Gran Torino” does not rival any of Eastwood’s recent directorial gems, (“Million Dollar Baby,” “Mystic River,” “Flags of our Fathers”) but it does make an interesting bookend for Eastwood's silent and angry persona.

"The Wrestler": Believe the Hype

“The Wrestler”: Believe the Hype

The hype surrounding “The Wrestler” was enough to kill any film; “Mickey is back!” “The best-actor Oscar!” Yet in all honesty, without the hype I would not have paid the admission to watch men in tights and wigs smash each other to a pulp. In fact as a bourgeois ABD yogini female the WWF is something I have carefully avoided my entire life. But on that note, the film is an insightful commentary on the male population who seek such entertainment, on class and education boundaries that promote it, and on the effects such “sports” have on their labor. One should be forewarned, according to the film’s gripping realism, professional wrestlers do not fake all of the blood and back breaking, (or rather some of the faking is actually done with razors.)

For this reason the film is ingenious and difficult to watch. In the film’s first half, the audience intimately witnesses the wreckage done to “Randy the Ram” (Mickey Rourke.) His tightly framed face screams agony and repression louder than the referee’s megaphone. Close-ups of his limbs twisting and then pounding down (the sound design is grueling) left me squirming with sympathy in my seat. To this extent Aronofsky has surpassed and banalized violence in cinema; for rather than presenting us with the realism of violence in war, "The Wrestler" presents us with the realism of violence in performance— within a performance.

The casting of Mickey Rourke as Randy makes the paradigm complete. Rourke like Randy enjoyed considerable success in the 80s as a bad boy. In addition, though Rourke never wrestled, he enjoyed another concussion inducing sport, boxing, and did brutal damage to his brain and face. Although the basic storyline is often trite, (an overacted angry daughter (Evan Rachel Wood) emerges almost as an afterthought,) Rourke is so compelling in this role that the camera and the audience can scarcely focus on secondary matters. Therefore, there is barely enough space to contemplate another age-limited industry, stripping, though Pam (Marisa Tomei) skillfully demonstrates the other sex’s more typical compromise. If you are one for 80s nostalgia, you will enjoy all the hair-metal hits that might have been played at wrestling events, as well as the superb score co-written by Slash. The film closes with an almost too appropriate Bruce Springsteen song “One-trick pony” providing the perfect finale to a picture about an underclass of the entertainment industry. To this extent "The Wrestler" can be compared not only to "Rocky", and "Raging Bull" but to "Boogie Nights."

"Doubt" now an Oscar nominated play...

"Doubt" now an Oscar nominated play...

We are a media obsessed nation that has created a media obsessed world. No matter how many Tonies a play wins, it will gross only a fraction of an Oscar-winning film. Therefore, the marketing trick for John Patrick Shanley was to make “Doubt” his Tony award winning play, into a Hollywood vehicle that would ensure Oscars, thus $$$. To guarantee this success Oscar favorites Meryl Streep and Phillip Seymour Hoffman were cast as clergy and Howard Shore composed an appropriate if typical score. The plot follows a battle for power that ignites when a catholic school’s principle, Sister Beauvier (Streep) accuses the priest, Father Brendan Flynt (Hoffman), of molesting the school’s only black student. Though the story is simple and timely, it takes place in the pre-sex scandal days of 1964, which makes the reproach and the surrounding secrecy all the more compelling.

Sarcasm aside, no two screen actors could proffer as much anticipation of genius acting as the Streep/Hoffman duo. Both deliver their usual great performances, though Streep’s characterization as a militant nun is especially convincing. Each of her gestures depicts the restraint of her service, and the emotions dwelling beneath. Gendered behaviors are perhaps exaggerated for symbolism, and just as Sister Beauvier keeps a tense face and controlled attitude, Hoffman as Father Flynt, appears relaxed and jolly (that is before the insinuations begin.)

Though the script is as open and ambiguous as the title suggests, the audience cannot help but search desperately for Father Flynt’s truth, (debates between audience members will ensue as the credits roll.) Cameras offer tight cantered close-ups of the expert actors that reveal mystery and depths of emotion. Even so, "Doubt" seems to favor a theatrical setting, the mysterious dialogue cannot be improved with camera angles and the symbolism is at moments too overt for cinematic realism.

The Class, What Takes Place Between Parisian Classroom Walls

Although the English title of Laurent Cantet’s seventh film The Class explicates the film’s subject, a 9th grade school class, it lacks the greater symbolism of the original title Entre les Murs (literally “between the walls” in English.) This spatial reference, lost in translation, indicates the importance of the actual classroom that houses all the frustration and wonder of the fourteen year-olds who study French with Mr. Bégaudeau. (In fact, only three scenes of the film take place outside the classroom and they are still within the confines of the high school.) In this way the film maintains its focus on the school environment and how the structure affects the teens and their teachers, and only rarely alludes to what might occur outside of school walls.
If you did not know, you would probably believe that The Class was a documentary. The students are expertly photographed, usually with a hand-held camera. But unlike Rachel’s Getting Married which desperately attempted realism with a whip-cam and shaky shooting, the camera floats and effortlessly focuses on acne-faced, braces-wearing, rebellious teens who appear so typically proud and confused, that the line between fiction and documentary disappears. Though neo-realist films have often cast non-professional actors, an entire cast of fourteen year-old non-professionals playing themselves in high school, trumps any realism an older person off the street might offer. In addition, the principal teacher is played by the film’s screenwriter, a real teacher who taught in Paris and penned a best selling novel about the experience before making it into a script. So François Bégaudeau, like most of his students, shares his name with his character, and performs with all the honesty this suggests.
It is astonishing that one feature film about a high school class in Paris can address so many of France’s contemporary problems in less than two hours; the French identity struggles to be defined by kids whose relationship to France is complicated by immigration, community, and a non-ethnic authority figure. Although Mr. Bégaudeau’s class is relaxed, violence ensues when one student refuses to use the polite address of “vous” with his teacher, demonstrating the importance of language in maintaining order. Of course language is central in a French class – Mr. Bégaudeau’s challenge is to make proper French relevant to kids who do not hear French spoken “correctly” outside of the classroom.
Never fear that The Class is reminiscent of Hollywood white teacher in a rough neighborhood films Dangerous Minds and Freedom Writers. There is no happy ending where the children realize their worth and set goals, and there is no sad ending where the students despair in self-destructive activities. The film simply presents a year of high school existence and allows the audience to analyze this chapter’s greater significance. The last shot of the film leaves the audience with a chill, the classroom where the children and teacher have exchanged knowledge and emotions is for the first time in the film empty; the space swells and reverberates with the transient meaning of all that has taken place between the walls.

Synecdoche, New York: Kaufman left to his own devices
Anyone who saw the preview for Synecdoche, New York anxiously awaited what promised to be the king of Kaufman films. The trailer guaranteed all the confusion of time and space that has become Kaufman’s signature with a bewilderment bonus in the credits, this time Kaufman would direct! In the past screenwriter Charlie Kaufman enhanced the surreality of his scripts with the creativity of music-video directors Spike Jonze (Being John Malkovich,) and Michel Gondry (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and Human Nature.) However, in Synecdoche, New York Kaufman is left to his own devices to either soar in amnesia or drown in self-pity. He decidedly does both.
Synecdoche, NY is the most ambitious of Kaufman’s work, perhaps because it is the most self-referential. Therefore one imagines that Kaufman carefully considered our nation’s finest actors before choosing Phillip Seymour Hoffman (who won an Oscar for Capote) to play the agonizing hypochondriac. Although Hoffman’s ability and range cannot be denied, his talents seem lost in the circular world of Kaufman. Where Truman Capote went from a witty and gay best-selling author to a morbidly intoxicated loner, Caton of Synecdoche, NY changes more through age-altering make-up than through character development. We know that Caton is a talented artist because he wins a prestigious grant to write and direct a play, yet no statements or actions worthy of such awards are apparent. Moreover, one assumes that despite his gut and negativity, Caton attracts beautiful women (Michelle Williams, Samantha Morton, Hope Davis) because of his artistic genius; on closer examination the women’s enchantment with Caton appears only as the icing of a generally dystopic, but fully hetero, male fantasy.

In short, this is a study of one (white male) artist’s consciousness, of his internal fears, failures and desires-- a fact which could improve or ruin the film for you depending on how much you identify with Caton. Obviously Kaufman identifies with the director of his creation, and in fact the director/character relationship is not dissimilar to that of Fellini and his alter ego Guido in 8 1/2. In both films macro- and microcosms blur while exploring the interior world of a creative mastermind, (a man whose imagination is really none other than that of the film’s director.) And although casting the overweight Hoffman as oneself is much more self-deprecating than casting pretty boy Mastroianni, it is fully appropriate in a pessimistic film with a depressive perspective.
Yet where Guido’s failure ultimately becomes a triumph in 8 1/2, Synecdoche, NY ends as a post 9/11 failure. The world Caton attempts to recreate in a warehouse swings out of proportion until Caton is left wandering through the remnants of a war-ravaged industrial city. The last 30 minutes, which drag steadily closer to Caton’s demise, simulate his fatigue and despair leaving the audience equally exhausted. This oversight in editing overshadows Kaufman’s circular mirroring twists which kept the script alive in the film’s first half; eventually what was as grotesque and haunting as a Francis Bacon self portrait, becomes tired, dull, and repetitive. Yet this might be precisely the view of life Kaufman wanted to suggest.