Richie Mehta’s debut feature film follows the life of Amal (Rupinder Nagra), a young auto-rickshaw driver with a unique outlook on life. Set in contemporary India, Amal offers a visual delight through glimpses into the chaotic and colourful city life of New Delhi.
The film’s tagline, “Sometimes the poorest of men are the richest,” is examined through the chance encounter of Amal and G.K. Jayaram (Naseeruddin Shah), an eccentric billionaire so touched by Amal’s kindness that he designates him as the sole beneficiary of his estate. Jayaram’s son Vivek (Vik Sahay) and an assistant, Suresh (Roshan Seth), attempt to prevent Amal from receiving his newfound fortune.
Adapted from a short story-turned-short film, Amal has difficulty holding ground as both a feature length film and a character study, due to a shaky plotline and an absence of character development. Characters are flat and one-dimensional, especially Vivek, as a downright evil guy who offers little explanation for his erratic (and at times implausible) behaviour. The frequent use of clichéd plot devices undercuts the intended naturalism and originality of the film, suggesting that Mehta was daring enough to set a Canadian film in India, but not quite so daring as to forego Hollywood B-movie conventions.
The premise of the film is a good one – will the impoverished Amal get the fortune that is (rightly?) his – but the story offers little insight into Amal and Jayaram’s motivations, obscuring what could have been an intriguing exploration of the duality between rich and poor. In the absence of motivation and context, we’re left to wonder what billionaire Jayaram is searching for as he roams the streets of New Delhi disguised as a beggar. Does he really rediscover humanity through his brief encounter with Amal, or is he just a crazy, embittered old man?
Amal does seem distinct from other New Delhi-ites in his compassion, selflessness and all-around good nature, and audiences will appreciate heartwarming moments that touch upon aspects of true empathy – similar to Audrey Tautou’s good deeds in Amélie. However, while Amélie seems to develop throughout her film, Amal doesn’t appear to have learned anything. He’s heroic because of his exceptional good nature, but his heroism is undermined by the film’s melodramatic conclusion, obliterating the central theme of the true meaning of wealth.
I was super psyched to see the new feature-length documentary from VICE, which highlights the struggle of Acrassicauda, four young Iraqis who aspire to succeed as the world’s first Iraqi Heavy Metal band.
Adapted from a six-part video-TV series on VBS.tv (VICE’s recently launched online broadcast network – check it out; the music channel is like a dance party in your living room!), Heavy Metal in Baghdad details the unsettling situation in Post-Saddam U.S.-occupied Iraq, and the will of these darn metal-heads to survive amongst a backdrop of bombs, curfews, music bans, and other limited liberties.
The much-anticipated performance scenes are definitely the highlight of the film, packed with so much rage and intensity that you crave more from the rest of the picture.
Especially because, while Moretti and Alvi attempt to develop an intimate portrait of life in war-torn Iraq, the film ends up playing more like the TV news. Muted tones, poignant dialogue and disturbing images help establish the serious feel of a shocking and revealing piece, but the execution lacks subtlety, allowing little room for thoughtful contemplation.
Instead, the drummer explains to us, “If I don’t play drums, I would kill someone…Each one of us would become a killing machine.” Though the speech is jarring, we’re not really surprised.
It’s clear that Alvi is a newcomer to video journalism, and the film – perhaps quite engaging as a six-part mini-series – lags as a feature. Dramatic moments are over-emphasized, scenes are too lengthy, what seems like the theme is overstated and the ending will piss you off.
The film’s message rings true and the intention may be for it to resonate with you, or perhaps even move you to action. Unfortunately, the band members are as unaffected by the violence surrounding them as audiences will be from the “shocking”, would-be revelations.
The truth is, we get it. We don’t need any convincing.
Just Buried, Chaz Thorne’s feature debut, is described as “a ruthlessly twisted dark comedy about ambition, greed, sex and death.” Despite the fact that a few people get bumped off, ruthless, twisted and dark are not words I would use to describe this film. Just Buried is in fact a rather sunny, cheerful film that happens to involve a few murders and a lot of beautiful Nova Scotia scenery.
Big-city brothers Oliver (Jay Baruchel) and Jackie Whynacht (Sergio Di Zio) roll into town for their estranged father Rollie’s funeral. They’ve barely entered the township when they draw the ire of the local police chief Knickle (Nigel Bennett). Oliver discovers that he has inherited sole control of the family business: a funeral home in a town where death doesn’t seem to occur all that often. This, of course, will change. Oliver isn’t exactly thrilled by the prospect of running a failing funeral home. He’s not particularly comfortable around either the living or the dead – he has nervous disorder that gives him nosebleeds whenever he’s under any kind of stress. However, after meeting the dark and very sexy undertaker Roberta (Rose Byrne), Oliver decides that maybe sticking around isn’t so bad after all – and if you have to bump off a few townsfolk in order drum up some business, well why not?
There’s a haphazard, slapdash feel to this film, not unlike reading the first draft of a story. The tone is constantly shifting between picaresque episodes of Oliver (as a Jerry Lewis-type hero) attempting navigate his way through dealings with the eccentric townsfolk – not to mention covering up a few murders – and just plain absurdity. The deaths, for example, have a sort of novelty quality to them, with each successive murder being more and more bizarre than the last. As well, a number of characters, particularly Oliver’s brother Jackie (who may or may not be a real priest) and Rollie’s vampy widow Luanne (Reagan Pasternak) aren’t given a lot to do. Two very fine actors, Graham Greene (as the groundskeeper Henry) and the aforementioned Nigel Bennett, are largely wasted in under-written roles.
Despite its flaws, Just Buried manages to be a pretty entertaining film. There are two tremendously good performances from leads Baruchel and Byrne, not to mention Di Zio, who is funny enough to make you wish he had a larger role in the film. Writer/director Thorne never lets the film take itself too seriously and does a nice job of steering clear of a number of cliché possibilities. If you survived the ’90s British invasion of eccentric small town comedies, and you’re going into Just Buried figuring you’ve seen it all before, but you may be surprised.
It’s too bad that the distribution system here in Canada, which seems to copy the American system (a system designed to release movies that can’t be made for less than $100 million), will probably never be able to find a niche for Just Buried. It isn’t an event film and certainly isn’t a particularly “important” film, but it’s an entertaining and interesting film that deserves a chance to be seen.
It was just over a year ago that for many critics, Ryan Gosling officially arrived. The Canadian actor, whose star had been on the rise for sometime, was universally hailed for his role as a drug-addicted schoolteacher in the downer drama Half Nelson. There’s no doubt that Half Nelson was Gosling’s film and his first chance to really sink his teeth into a challenging role. However, I struggled to find much to like about it aside from Gosling’s performance.
Lars and the Real Girl once again finds the actor tasked with carrying a film. This time, however, he doesn’t have to do it all by himself. Director Craig Gillespie gives Gosling a fantastically juicy role in the character of Lars, a lonely man in his late twenties, who lives a simple, quiet existence in a small town. At first, Lars appears to be a just an ordinary, awkward guy who likes to keep to himself, but when a giant box arrives at his home containing a life-sized female companion in the form of a doll, everything changes.
While reading the premise of Lars and the Real Girl, I could understand how someone might dismiss the film as absurd – but through smart writing and excellent direction, Gillespie keeps the film’s integrity intact and its heart in just the right place. Gosling, meanwhile, submerses himself in the role of Lars, giving a convincing and thoughtful performance, even stronger than his turn in Half Nelson. The supporting cast, including Emily Mortimer, Paul Schneider and rising star Max McCabe-Lokos (formerly of Toronto rockers The Deadly Snakes), also deliver memorable performances as their characters come to grips with Lars’ delusion and his devotion to his not-quite-living sweetheart Bianca.
I can’t emphasize enough how much of a heart this film has, from it’s handling of mental illness to its portrait of small town life and a community that truly cares about one another. Lars and the Real Girl is unquestionably a feel good film that endears more and more with each passing minute and is pretty well guaranteed to boost Gosling’s profile into the stratosphere.
There was a time when films about boxing, and specifically the physical and mental strain that boxers endure, were so prevalent that they were almost a genre unto themselves. They were different from other sports movies – this wasn’t baseball or horseracing. It wasn’t even auto racing. Boxing was down and dirty, cynical and tragic. Winning always came with a price; even if you won, you lost. It was, as the title to Clement Virgo’s new film suggests, not a game for the idle class.
During the 1930s and ’40s, Hollywood B-movie studios turned out boxing films by the yard. The main character’s name changed from picture to picture, but that was about it. The prize was always the same: freedom – from grueling labour, abject poverty, crime, corruption, you name it.
Boxing movies are now, like westerns, virtually extinct, save for the Rocky franchise and a few recent films about female boxers (notably Girlfight and Million Dollar Baby). What’s interesting about those two movies is that they show how you can change the characters’ gender but you can’t mess with the formula. The same formulaic traditions, or limitations (depending on how you look at it), are what ultimately hinder Poor Boy’s Game, a film that tries to spice up the mix by adding some gay love and racial tension, but is at heart still an old-fashioned boxing movie.
Donnie Rose (Rossif Sutherland) is about to be released from prison after serving a stretch for beating a black kid named Charlie so badly that it left the kid with permanent brain damage. A lot changes for Donnie in prison. He and his black cellmate have become lovers. He also feels an incredible amount of guilt over what he did to Charlie. Donnie returns to his poor Halifax neighborhood and the results are somewhat predictable. Donnie has a racist, homophobic brother named Keith (Greg Bryk). (The relationship between the brothers is surely a reference to Elia Kazan’s On the Waterfront.) One element that isn’t predictable is that Donnie’s potential killer, George (Danny Glover) – Charlie’s father –ends up becoming his closest ally and trainer.
It all boils down to a big fight between the white Donnie and the local black champ Ossie Paris (Flex Alexander). Do I have to mention that the odds heavily favor Ossie? There’s a $20,000 prize on the line, obligatory training montages and passionate arguments. Virgo tries his best to liven up the proceedings with lots of fancy photography, which is well-done but out of place.
There’s nothing wrong with the execution of Poor Boy’s Game, but we’ve seen it all before.
Lieutenant-General Romeo Dallaire is a man haunted by the memories of the 1994 Rwandan Genocide. He returned from his UN peacekeeping mission having been directly responsible for saving thousands of lives, and failing to be able to save almost a million more. The feature film Shake Hands with the Devil is based on Dallaire’s award-winning book of the same name. It stars Roy Dupuis (The Rocket) as Dallaire. Dupuis looks amazingly like the real general, and his acting in this film deserves award recognition.
To say that Shake Hands With The Devil makes an impact is an understatement. Although a dramatization, the Canadian production was filmed in Rwanda in the very streets and locations that saw the worst of the massacre. All the actors involved, from Dupuis to the locally found extras, blend seamlessly into their surroundings until it’s almost impossible to detect that they are only re-creating the nightmare. Rwanda is a surprisingly lush and beautiful land with a vibrant population, which makes the shock of the bloody violence to come all the more horrific. Deaths are filmed with careful discretion, but the results of the murders – thousands of decaying and dismembered bodies – fill the corners of the screen as the violence escalates in the film’s last two thirds.
The failure of the UN and the rest of the world to stop the
genocide even when peace was possible remains at the heart
of the film. Dallaire is shown repeatedly trying to deal with
the aftermath of the genocide in present day therapy sessions.
He was an incredible
General and a man of great strength, but even his resolve shattered
as the world refused to acknowledge the truth about Rwanda
and provide effective intervention. The re-creation of Dallaire’s
personal struggles in relationship to the broader context of
the
genocide gives the film even greater impact. Shake Hands
with the Devil is a very well acted, scripted and directed
film with creative editing and sound design. Its subject matter
is devastating but critical to recognition and understanding.
For these reasons I
There’s always been a rebellious quality to Bruce McDonald’s films. From his early works (Roadkill, Highway 61) straight through to his most recent features (Claire’s Hat, The Love Crimes of Gillian Guess), McDonald has never tread the same path twice and never shied away from taking risks and laying it on the line for the sake of a film. His new film The Tracey Fragments cements that point, as it’s perhaps the most dazzling and ambitious film of his career.
The Tracey Fragments is about a young girl named Tracey Berkowitz (Ellen Page) who runs away from her broken home in search of her missing brother Sonny (Zie Souwand), whom she inadvertently hypnotized to act like a dog. Tracey is smart for a young girl, and she uses her wits and fearlessness to navigate through a dark and disturbing world full of bullies, junkies and roughnecks.
While the beleaguered search for her brother propels the story, the film is much more about getting inside Tracey’s head and dissecting her battered psyche. To do this, McDonald and a team of post-production wizards essentially created a window directly into her mind, with a collage of audio and frame-over-frame video. It’s the kind of thing you really need to see to believe and the kind of editing experiment that could have ended up a disaster. The result, however, is stunning.
While the heavy editing and striking post-work might be the first thing you notice about The Tracey Fragments, beneath it all is a rich story, told with McDonald’s trademark rock n’ roll sensibility. Ellen Paige totally shows up to play the challenging role of Tracey, who has to shift between conversations with the camera, other characters and herself. McDonald needed her to be the anchor of the film and she answered the call. Max McCabe-Lokos also turns in a rock star-calibre performance as the edgy junkie Lance, while McDonald vet Julian Richings stuns as a gender-bending shrink, proving that creative casting can go a long way.
It’s that willingness to take risks and fearless approach that characterizes and distinguishes McDonald as a filmmaker. With The Tracey Fragments, he’s created a completely unique work that will definitely be remembered as his boldest and certainly among his best.
Set in Toronto’s lower west end, Ed Gass-Donnelly’s This Beautiful City weaves together events in the lives of two couples – Harry and Carol (Noam Jenkins and Caroline Cave), an upper middle class husband and wife; and Pretty and Johnny (Kristin Booth and Aaron Poole), a pair of money-hustling coke addicts – as well as that of Peter, a troubled police officer played by Stuart Hughes. The film’s press kit says that “beautiful things can happen when you hit rock bottom.” I enjoyed the movie, although I didn’t quite see the beauty I’d been led to expect.
As writer-director-producer-editor, Gass-Donnelly has put together a bold and impressive first feature. He gets raw and emotional material from his actors, photographed in gritty 16mm by cinematographer Micha Dachan. (I watched a digital intermediate of the film; 35mm prints will probably add to the grainy richness of the images.) Pretty and Johnny are the film’s strongest characters, written, directed, and performed with loads of authenticity and humanity; playing them, Booth and Poole never fall into the traps of intellectualization or condescension. Harry also makes a strong emotional impression, both alone and in his disintegrating relationship with Carol. If anyone gets short-shrifted in Donnelly’s lean 85-minute edit (he appears to have been ruthless in cutting his own footage), it’s police officer Peter, whose mysterious affair with Carol may have lost a few key beats to the editing process – there are at least two significant events in this sub-narrative that feel abrupt and unintentionally sudden.
Given the film’s title, I would have welcomed a broader visual approach to Toronto itself, as Gass-Donnelly’s wide time-lapse cityscapes are often confined to odd locales, such as the donut shop at Queen and Dufferin streets. However, the director does a great job of drawing us into these particular characters’ lives – so I was ultimately a bit frustrated to see the film gather its various threads and then pose the dreaded question, “Now what are the worst things, however improbable, that can possibly happen to each of these people?” Certain factions of the arthouse set will no doubt love the ensuing sharp plot turns, but for me they felt somewhat forced and unrealistically bleak. This Beautiful City’s darkness is most compelling around the film’s halfway mark – Gass-Donnelly takes us there organically and unexpectedly. As he pressed further, I couldn’t help but wish he’d gone for something more restrained and sublime.
I would like to go on record, however, as being someone who chuckled appreciatively at the Star Wars shout out in the film’s final act. Amidst the picture’s bleakest moments, when I was unfortunately most conscious of the filmmaker’s presence, it was somehow reassuring – for this sympathetic viewer, at any rate – to see the multi-tasking auteur briefly step back and claim his geek cred.
It’s tough when a film gets off on a wonky foot, but when it steps smack into silly, overdone, stupid goons-and-a-bag of money territory, you know its not going to end well. Walk All Over Me opens with Alberta (Leelee Sobieski), a pretty young girl from a small town, who’s suddenly forced to hit the road when a money exchange with some thugs goes south. Hoping to start over again, she drops in on an old friend in Vancouver, who makes her living as a dominatrix. Thinking she can make a quick buck, Alberta turns to impersonating her friend and soon becomes embroiled in yet another mess of bad guys and missing cash.
I’d be able to accept Walk All Over Me as a simple suspense-comedy, but the characters are just so dull. I mean, it’s not uncommon for films in this genre to serve up one-dimensional characters, but Walk All Over Me takes it a bit far. As the intellectually challenged Alberta, Sobieski seems confused throughout the entire film. We easily get that her character isn’t supposed to be bright, but Sobieski is just too uneven and often too obvious with her stunned expressions. Meanwhile, the trio of goons who she tries to outwit doesn’t offer much more – the characters are as basic as villains get. Again, I get that they’re supposed to be stupid and the comedy farcical, but there’s just nothing fresh.
While it’s easy to fault the actors for giving stock performances, the blame should probably be laid upon the film’s writers, Jason Long and (director) Robert Cuffley. The film has a slick look and is well shot and cut, but in the end, that’s not enough to save it from a tired story packed with worn-out characters.
Martin Gero’s new sex comedy Young People Fucking serves up just what its title promises – young people fucking, and a good dose of it. Over the course of an evening, five couples of varying personality and situation move through the steps of sexual engagement, from foreplay to afterglow. There’s the couple, the roommates, the friends, the first date and of course, the exes. Hopping from bedroom to bedroom, Gero touches on pretty well all of the clichés you’d immediately expect from a sex comedy, making even the most innocent loner at the back of the audience feel as though they can relate. But what makes Young People Fucking different from the teen sex comedies du jour is that this film seems like it’s meant for adults.
At times, the film really shows its potential to be a thinking person’s sex comedy; the tension between the exes is honest and believable, with great performances, as is the story of the best friends flirting with a night of NSA sex. We’ve all had that best friend we’ve wanted to hook up with or the ex who we’re not sure we’re over, and Gero exploits these relatable situations well, with sharp writing and smart jokes. But at other times, Young People Fucking teeters on the edge of the absurd, with cheap laughs, ridiculous twists and forced performances. Sound familiar? They’re the tried and tested marks of the bad teen sex comedy, with typically poor execution.
Had Gero taken the high road and left the slapstick out, the film could have potentially earned the rare distinction of being a smart sex comedy, one that would play well both to adults and young people looking for a bit more substance. Ultimately though, its unevenness becomes the film’s downfall. C’est dommage.
Martin Gero’s new sex comedy Young People Fucking serves up just what its title promises – young people fucking, and a good dose of it. Over the course of an evening, five couples of varying personality and situation move through the steps of sexual engagement, from foreplay to afterglow. There’s the couple, the roommates, the friends, the first date and of course, the exes. Hopping from bedroom to bedroom, Gero touches on pretty well all of the clichés you’d immediately expect from a sex comedy, making even the most innocent loner at the back of the audience feel as though they can relate. But what makes Young People Fucking different from the teen sex comedies du jour is that this film seems like it’s meant for adults.
At times, the film really shows its potential to be a thinking person’s sex comedy; the tension between the exes is honest and believable, with great performances, as is the story of the best friends flirting with a night of NSA sex. We’ve all had that best friend we’ve wanted to hook up with or the ex who we’re not sure we’re over, and Gero exploits these relatable situations well, with sharp writing and smart jokes. But at other times, Young People Fucking teeters on the edge of the absurd, with cheap laughs, ridiculous twists and forced performances. Sound familiar? They’re the tried and tested marks of the bad teen sex comedy, with typically poor execution.
Had Gero taken the high road and left the slapstick out, the film could have potentially earned the rare distinction of being a smart sex comedy, one that would play well both to adults and young people looking for a bit more substance. Ultimately though, its unevenness becomes the film’s downfall. C’est dommage.
Toronto based alt. comics Adam and Dave have been honing their stellar brand of offbeat and oft-farcical comedy for years and have recently become stalwarts of the festival scene with a consistent string of strong and funny shorts (see Art in FilmCAN podcast 1). Their latest work, Knights of Atomikaron, finds the duo in a mockumentary world of Dungeons and Dragons-obsessed cyber-dorks, who gather in a local gymnasium (so long as it isn’t being used for volleyball) to live out their geeky fantasies. Granted, the D&D sort are an easy target, but Adam and Dave keep the comedy fresh and the jokes rolling, thanks in part to a hilarious supporting cast. In an age where short mock-docs and spoof films are so commonly tossed around on YouTube, its good to see festivals rewarding gems like this and giving them a greater platform. I can’t wait for these guys to make a feature.
The NFB’s latest animated masterwork, Madame Tutli-Putli is much like a slice of fancy cake. Dressed to the nines with decorated trimmings and baked exquisitely, there’s no doubt it’s delicious, but at times it sends the mind stirring, trying to figure out exactly what you’re savoring. The character at the centre of the tale is Madame Tutli-Putli, a fragile and mysterious woman who boards a night train and soon descends into a dark world where what’s real and imagined begin to blur. There’s no question, the film looks absolutely spectacular, shot in mind-blowing stop motion animation you simply can’t take your eyes off it. Each movement and detail seem so carefully and beautifully constructed, you don’t want to miss a frame. Filmmakers Chris Lavis and Maciek Szczerbowski spent over a year using revolutionary techniques to craft the cast of puppets and the dazzling sets. That they chose to create such a dark and twisted world should also be commended. The only shortcoming I found in the film lay in its warped narrative; as Tutli-Putli’s realities become increasingly distorted, the film grows a tad confusing. Regardless, Madame Tutli-Putli is truly entrancing, and not just a visual treat, but a suspenseful meal well worth savoring.