Showing posts with label Ciaran Foy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ciaran Foy. Show all posts

Thursday, 20 October 2016

NETFLIX is POO, SHUDDER is GOLD: Reviews By Greg Klymkiw of ABSENTIA, ANGUISH, ANTICHRIST, BASKIN, CITADEL, EXIT HUMANITY - Now all available on SHUDDER.COM

I tried Netflix for the free one-month service. It took one day to realize I would never pay for it. Shudder launched today (in Canada, the UK and Ireland). It took about one hour to decide it would stay with me forever.




NETFLIX is poo, SHUDDER is gold.




Netflix was stuffed with unimaginatively programmed product: bad television, (mostly) awful mainstream movies, a lame selection of classics, indie and foreign cinema, plus the most cumbersome browsing interface imaginable.

Shudder, on the other hand, is overflowing with a magnificently curated selection of classics, indie, foreign and mainstream cinema, plus a first rate browsing and navigation interface which allows for simple alphabetical listings as well as a handful of very simple curated menus.

Yes, Shudder is all horror, all the time, but a vast majority of the product is first rate and, depending upon your definition of horror, there is plenty to discover here that's just plain great cinema!






This terrific Val Lewtonesque modern horror film disturbs us with what we CAN'T see, and WHEN we see what we're SUPPOSED to see, we become NUMB with pure terror!

Absentia (2011) ***1/2
dir. Mike Flanagan
Starring: Katie Parker, Courtney Bell,
Dave Levine, Morgan Peter Bell

Review By Greg Klymkiw

There are horrors - everyday horrors we all hear about. If we've never experienced them ourselves, all we can do is try to imagine what they must feel like. But that's all we can do. Imagine. When movies delve into the horrors we hear about everyday, the best of those pictures probably come as close as any of us would want to get to experiencing the real thing. Perhaps the one thing that's worse than knowing a loved one has died - especially in a fashion of the most heinous variety - is the horror of a loved one disappearing without a trace. If we discover that the death has come about in a foul, painful, reprehensible and senseless way, it's ultimately knowing the truth that offers the most meagre shred of solace, or at least, acceptance. Not knowing is the real horror. Not knowing is what haunts us forever. Absentia is a micro-budgeted independent horror movie by Mike (Oculus, Ouija: Origin of Evil) Flanagan that plays on these fears. Read the full Film Corner review HERE.

Harrowing portrait of mental illness
against a chilling supernatural backdrop.
Anguish (2015) ***1/2
Dir. Sonny Mallhi
Starring: Ryan Simpkins, Amberley Gridley,
Annika Marks, Karina Logue, Cliff Chamberlain, Ryan O'Nan

Review By Greg Klymkiw

One mother, Sarah (Karina Logue), loses her daughter, Lucy (Amberley Gridley) in a horrific freak car accident. The other mother, Jessica (Annika Marks), feels like she is losing her daughter, Tess (Ryan Simpkins), to the child's lifelong mental illness which appears to be getting worse. Sarah's guilt is rooted in an argument which led to the accident. Jessica, hoping a change of environment might have alleviated the mental illness, now feels like their move to a new home is contributing to her child's increasing withdrawal. Sonny Mallhi's deeply moving feature directorial debut is a sensitive, telling exploration of teen ennui and the powerful bond of mothers and daughters. That the story plays out against the subtle, but clearly apparent backdrops of America's financial crisis, as well as that of so many fathers separated from their families to fight a spurious war against terror, are elements which deepen the experience of seeing the film. Read my full Film Corner review HERE.

FEEL THE PAIN.
FEEL THE PASSION.
FEEL THE HORROR.
Antichrist (2009) Dir. Lars von Trier *****
Starring: Willem Dafoe and Charlotte Gainsbourg

Review By Greg Klymkiw

With Antichrist, Lars von Trier has made a horror film – pure, though not so simple. It's a movie that burns its reflection of pain into your memory like a branding iron – plunging itself through your cranium and searing your brain matter, creating that sickeningly sweet stench that only burning flesh gives off and remaining in your nostrils for (no doubt) a lifetime. The pain and by extension – the Passion – also stays with you. A first viewing renders you drained, immobile, and numb and yet, paradoxically there are feelings of profound excitement – that you have witnessed an expression of emotion in ways that only cinema, of all the art forms, is capable of delivering. You are also breathless, and in spite, or maybe even because of the horror you’ve witnessed, you’re almost giddy with the desire to recall every beat, every image and every soul sickening moment of the experience. It’s a movie that demands to be seen more than once – it is a movie to be cherished, savored and devoured as ravenously and gluttonously as possible. Read my full Film Corner review HERE.

A Turkish Delight. A Wad of Depravity.

Baskin (2016) ****
Dir. Can Evrenol
Scr. Evrenol, Ercin Sadikoglu, Cem Ozuduru, Ogulcan Eren Akay

Starring: Gorkem Kasal, Ergun Kuyucu, Mehmet Cerrahoglu,
Sabahattin Yakut, Mehmet Fatih Dokgoz, Muharrem Bayrak

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Baskin is a dense, scary, hilarious, nastily yummy-slurp world of viscous-dribbling mega-perversion that comes to us courtesy of Turkish director Can Evrenol, who has expanded an earlier short film into a pulse-pounding feature-length horror-fest. Though most of the proceedings (insanely thrown into the pot by no less than four screenwriters) are a dream-like blur that sometimes makes little sense, it seems not to matter too much and is probably part of the grand design.

I think.

It matters not.

The film is a supremely entertaining freak-show extraordinaire from a director with talent, style and filmmaking savvy oozing from every conceivable orifice. Read my full Electric Sheep Magazine review HERE.

CITADEL: The face of fear
Electric Sheep Magazine review

Citadel (2012) *****
Dir. Ciarin Foy

Starring: Aneurin Barnard, James Cosmo, Wunmi Mosaku, Jake Wilson

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Numbing, gnawing and sheer unrelenting fear is the primary element driving this creepy, terrifying dystopian shocker. Ciaran Foy’s Citadel, which without question was one of the best films of 2012, trains its lens upon the fears of the disenfranchised – those eking out their existence amidst poverty, crime and societal indifference in blasted-out housing projects – Citadel plunges us into a reality that is as recognizable as it is fantastical. Indeed, given the constant state of bleakness brought about by financial crises and war, these could well be all our fears.

This is one mighty mo-fo of a scary-ass picture. The mise en scène is dazzling and the tale is rooted in both a humanity and reality that will wallop close to home for many. There’s nary a misstep in any of the performances and as the movie inches, like Col. Walter E. Kurtz’s ‘snail crawling along the edge of a straight razor’, Foy plunges us into an abyss at the top of the stairs. In Apocalypse Now (1979), Kurtz (with Marlon Brando’s expert nasal intonations) summed up the image of the snail on the straight razor thusly: ‘That’s my dream!’

Frankly, Citadel is MY dream of one great horror movie.

Fuck it! It’s no dream. Citadel is a bloody nightmare! Read my full Electric Sheep Magazine review HERE.

Klymkiw interviews Citadel Director Ciarin Foy
at Electric Sheep Magazine

Greg Klymkiw interviews

Citadel director

Ciarin Foy


Klymkiw: I was so lucky to see Citadel on a big screen at the Toronto After Dark Film Festival. For me, it’s definitely a Big Screen experience and even though so many independent genre films get relatively modest big screen exposure at festivals and in limited theatrical runs for an eventually larger life on the small screen via DVD, VOD, etc., I can’t help but assume you crafted the picture with Big Screen at the forefront.

Foy: That’s very true. I think especially so in terms of the soundscape. Sound was an important big screen element when you’re going into a 5.1 sound mix.

Yes, the aural landscape, if you will, is alternately subtle and jarring, but it seems to me that your visual design always felt bigger than life and yet, in so doing, captured life and reality so much more powerfully than many similar genre films.

Yes, we had a fairly extended series of preparatory discussions about the aspect ratio and at first I was thinking in terms of the aesthetic and practical pros and cons between a 2:35 landscape or something closer to 1:85. Trying to capture Tommy’s agoraphobia was a big part of this and my initial feeling was to go wider. At the same time, I really wanted to build in much longer, more extended takes to capture Tommy’s condition. However, working within modest means you begin to realize that cinemascope-styled frames need more lights, more art direction, and that extended shots take longer to plan and shoot, especially with actors getting their marks and so on. We eventually settled on the 16:9 aspect ratio. Read my full Electric Sheep Magazine interview with Ciarin Foy HERE.

There is a light at the end of the CITADEL tunnel,
and it's a drawer-fillingly scary as it is positive.

CITADEL (2012) *****

Dir. Ciarán Foy

A New Appreciation

By Greg Klymkiw


Welcome to this special edition of the Greg Klymkiw Film Corner where I will be presenting an all-new in-depth review and analysis of Ciaran Foy's contemporary masterpiece of horror CITADEL. This article is a preview of a chapter I'm adding to my book about the visual techniques of cinematic storytelling. Entitled "Movies Are Action", my book has been a culmination of over 30 years in the movie business - producing and/or co-writing numerous independent features, seeing and studying over 30,000 motion pictures, covering cinema as a journalist in a wide variety of publications and teaching for 13 years at the Canadian Film Centre (founded by Norman Jewison) wherein I had the honour to serve as the producer-in-residence and senior creative consultant for over 200 screenwriters, directors, producers and editors.

It's become very clear to me that Mr. Foy's astounding first feature film CITADEL is not only one terrific movie that introduces the world of cinema to a genuine original with filmmaking hard-wired into his DNA, but that his film can and should also serve as a template to all young filmmakers on the precipice of diving into the breach. It's lonely out there, kids, and there's nothing better than using such a mature, accomplished and extraordinary work by someone who is, for all intents and purposes, your peer. Here on this site, you'll be reading a reasonably polished first draft of the chapter to appear in my book, but I'm confident you'll find, thanks to Mr. Foy's great film, a few nuggets to take with you onto the battlefield. -- Greg Klymkiw

Read my full in-depth Film Corner analysis of Citadel HERE.

Only Canucks from Collingwood
would think to unleash Civil War Zombies
Exit Humanity (2011) ***
dir. John Geddes

Starring: Mark Gibson, Dee Wallace,
Stephen McHattie, Bill Moseley, narrated by Brian Cox

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Exit Humanity, a zombie western from the visionary psychopaths at Foresight Features in Collingwood, is certainly one of the strangest and more compelling movies I've seen in some time. In fact, while it clearly belongs in the horror genre (there are zombies, after all), the picture feels a lot more like it's rooted in a tradition of magic realism and fairy tale. It doesn't quite gel, but in spite of this, it's a solid feature debut for a director who will have a long, fruitful career ahead of him. His film begins with an all-out, no-holds-barred brutal battle sequence twixt the opposing blue and gray forces of the American civil war. As the carnage heats up, a third fighting element creeps into the madness - zombies. Even though the war soon ends, a dark cloud appears over the land and during the reconstruction period, a plague spreads across the once-divided, but now tenuously-melded nation. The living dead, you see, rise to eat the living. Read my full Film Corner review HERE.

SHUDDER is the all-new streaming service devoted to horror. Available in Canada, UK and USA, SHUDDER is expertly CURATED by programmers who know their shit (and then some), including TIFF's magnificent Midnight Madness king of creepy (and head honcho of Toronto's Royal Cinema, the best goddamn repertory/art cinema in Canada), Colin Geddes. It's fucking cheap and notably, cheaper than that crapola Netflix. Get more info and order it RIGHT FUCKING NOW by clicking HERE!!!

Friday, 21 August 2015

SINISTER 2 - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Real Filmmaker secured to direct sequel to horror hit. The results? A terrific horror thriller that tops its predecessor.


Sinister 2 (2015)
Dir. Ciarán Foy
Scr. Scott Derrickson, C. Robert Cargill
Starring: Shannyn Sossamon, James Ransome, Robert Sloan, Dartanian Sloan,
Tate Ellington, John Beasley, Lea Coco, Nick King, Lucas Jade Zumann,
Jaden Klein, Laila Haley, Caden Marshall Fritz, Olivia Rainey

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Trinity and sprockets are before us.

The whirring and clicking of an old projector accompanies the jerky, garishly-coloured images from an old 8mm home movie. As always with layman-captured images from the past, there's something alternately beautiful and creepy about them. These, however, get mighty creepy, mighty fast. This is no ordinary family highlight reel.

Splayed before us is a skull-shaped crop circle in the middle of an Illinois cornfield. Its centrepiece is a disturbingly aberrant midwestern Golgotha with three people bound to crosses: a contemporary Jesus, Dysmas and Gesmas hung like scarecrows against the black of night, the eerie scene lit by the headlights of a half-ton, the victims' heads hooded and twitching in terror with shrieks, wails, cries and moans, all begging for mercy. The first crucified figure is doused in gasoline and set on fire as he screams, howling in agony as he burns to death.

These visions are thankfully ripped away from our purview as the frail Dylan Collins (Robert Sloan) bolts upright from under his covers. To those who've never seen 2012's Sinister, you've just witnessed a nightmare. To the rest of us, we know immediately that we've been slammed face-first into the horrific netherworld of the demented, serial-killing demon Bughuul (Nick King) and thanks to a drawer-filling shock cut, he even puts in a brief appearance in the lad's bed.

How's about them All Hallows Eve Apples?


Happily, Scott Derrickson (director-writer of Sinister 1) and co-scribe C. Robert Cargill skilfully use this and the next two sequences to set-up our characters and situation so the film efficiently and effectively introduces the Sinister-world, by doing double-duty for both the initiated and uninitiated to dive into the macabre universe of Sinister 2.

A gorgeous cut leads us to a pair of boots as they leave the front passenger door of a truck and firmly rest upon the sidewalk above the curb, the owner's hands meticulously and firmly retying the laces. The composition of the shot is imbued with malevolent qualities and we briefly think this might be a killer preparing to mosey on into a kill.

No such luck on that front, but more creepiness follows as we see that "boot-man" is none other than the unnamed friendly deputy (James Ransome) from Sinister. A regal middle-American church towers behind him. Once inside the Lord's House, he finds himself within a confession booth, facing a Priest (John Beasley) who catches on that the fella isn't Catholic, nor wanting to really make a formal spewing of his sins. The Priest immediately recognizes the man as the Deputy from the "Oswalt case" which, cleverly and simply allows the audiences to get some subtle expositional backstory as well as informing us that the events the Priest refers to are of a sensational nature that must surely have made national headlines.

What the Deputy needs is some manner of assistance in the area of dealing with something both evil and supernatural. "You want me to tell you to use a cross, some Holy Water and say, 'The Power of Christ compels you?' the cynical Priest offers. "Will it work?" asks our Deputy. "No!" affirms the Priest. The acting, timing and humour here make us realize this is no run-of-the-mill horror sequel. Following up seriously the Priest urges the Deputy to give up his pursuits, but he does indeed offer an excellent note:

"You don't stop evil, you can only protect yourself from it."


Another astonishing cut, wherein the sound begins slightly over the shot leading into the next one, features the clicking, squealing sounds of what appears to be the creaky old projector from the beginning, and in fact, it takes a few seconds to realize what we're actually seeing. It is the wheels of a shopping cart in a supermarket being pushed by Courtney Collins (Shannyn Sossamon), a babe-o-licious yummy mommy alternately shopping for groceries and trying to keep her eyes on a mysterious guy who seems to be following both herself and her two rambunctious boys Dylan (the young lad from the opening scene) and older brother Zach (Dartanian Sloan).

Courtney's instincts are right and she manages to get her kids out of harm's way by blasting out of the store, into their car and out of the parking lot, leaving the mysterious follower behind. Courtney has been on the run from her abusive, rich, powerful husband Clint (Lea Coco) who has been sending all the private dicks money can buy to track her down. He might have found the area of Illinois they're in, but luckily, she and the boys are holed up in a property her friend owns that's located deep off an old country road - a creaky ancient farmhouse attached to a long-abandoned chapel. Because Courtney specializes in restoring antiques, the joint is full of furniture she can work on while the kids have the time of their lives.

Unbeknownst to them, the trio is living on the unhallowed ground occupied by the chilling, supernatural Bughuul. His specialty is attacking families through one vulnerable child in the family unit. This is what befell the Oswalt family (headed up in the first film by Ethan Hawke) and it's on the verge of happening here. The Deputy (who is no longer with the cops) is obsessed with using a grid he's put together of where Bughuul will strike next and he shows up on the old homestead to burn it down (as has been his wont in battling the ancient evil). Surprised a family is living there, his plans go awry. Now, he must, as the Priest cautioned "protect" this family "from evil".

This is going to prove a tad challenging since young Dylan has befriended some really creepy kids who keep luring him into the basement to watch 8mm snuff films in which each of the kids are seen to kill everyone in their respective families. The mass murders are carried out with the help of Bughuul. Once the dirty deeds are done and committed to film, he claims the soul of the survivor to become part of his army of procurers. Though he looks horrendous in every respect, the demon scores points for his mega-taste in arcane modes of creating art through which his evil is funnelled - ham radios, 78rpm phonographs and now, 8mm film. (It's like the long-forgotten technologies to create art in olden times is what makes him a kind of Guy Maddin-like surrogate for a demon serial killer. Gotta love that!)

It becomes very clear that Sinister 2 is not only well-written, but seems tailor-made for a director with a number of thematic and storytelling arcs which allow him to use his unique approach to filmmaking to raise a horror franchise sequel well above its normal station.


Keep in mind my penchant for knowing as little about movies before I see them. All I knew going in was that I'd be seeing a sequel to a horror picture I genuinely enjoyed. As the key creative credits were not display until the end, I had no idea who directed the picture. Something seemed familiar, but only at the bitter end of the its unspooling did I slap my forehead and proclaim, "Of course!"

You see, Sinister 2 carefully parcels out the scares and delicious gore within a story which places emphasis upon the tribulations of a single mother, the very real horror of an abusive husband stalking her, the loneliness and fear a young boy is fraught with due to his lifetime of being beaten by a scum bucket Dad, the genuine sibling rivalries which occur normally in life but are exacerbated by demonic forces and last, but not least, the potential for love and healing between both Courtney and The Deputy, and maybe, just maybe, the creation of a loving nuclear family.

This was a film that moved, tantalized and finally, scared the living shit out of me. Upon discovering that it had been directed by the supremely gifted Ciarán Foy, whose first feature Citadel was one of the most exciting debuts I'd seen in years, I was both floored and delighted. Foy has a great eye, sensitivity-galore, an unabashed familiarity of using personal life-experience to bolster fantasy and the kind of showmanship and genre smarts to generate terrific horror pictures. He's going to make some genuine classics and masterpieces. Citadel is pretty much in that territory. Sinister 2 delivers a first-rate sequel to a very decent horror movie, but does so by upping the ante in all respects so that it outdistances its predecessor by leaps and bounds.

He's the real thing, but it's also proof that contemporary Hollywood should seek out genuine filmmakers and artists (as they have here) instead of the usual assortment of hacks they normally dredge-up these days. It's a winner all the way and I can hardly wait to discover Foy's next film.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: **** Four Stars

To read my previous (and extensive) writing on Foy's work, click HERE (in-depth analysis of Citadel, HERE (an in-depth interview) and HERE (original review during its Toronto After Dark Film Festival run).

Sinister 2 is a Focus Features/Gramercy Pictures theatrical release.

Sunday, 3 March 2013

CITADEL - A New In-Depth Review & Analysis written by Greg Klymkiw PLUS - Klymkiw Interviews CITADEL Writer-Director Ciarán Foy in Virginie Selavy's ultra-cool UK Film Mag "Electric Sheep - a deviant view of cinema" (links provided below).

Welcome to this special edition of the Greg Klymkiw Film Corner where I will be presenting an all-new in-depth review and analysis of Ciaran Foy's contemporary masterpiece of horror CITADEL. This article is a preview of a chapter I'm adding to my book about the visual techniques of cinematic storytelling. Entitled "Movies Are Action", my book has been a culmination of over 30 years in the movie business - producing and/or co-writing numerous independent features, seeing and studying over 30,000 motion pictures, covering cinema as a journalist in a wide variety of publications and teaching for 13 years at the Canadian Film Centre (founded by Norman Jewison) wherein I had the honour to serve as the producer-in-residence and senior creative consultant for over 200 screenwriters, directors, producers and editors. It's become very clear to me that Mr. Foy's astounding first feature film CITADEL is not only one terrific movie that introduces the world of cinema to a genuine original with filmmaking hard-wired into his DNA, but that his film can and should also serve as a template to all young filmmakers on the precipice of diving into the breach. It's lonely out there, kids, and there's nothing better than using such a mature, accomplished and extraordinary work by someone who is, for all intents and purposes, your peer. Here on this site, you'll be reading a reasonably polished first draft of the chapter to appear in my book, but I'm confident you'll find, thanks to Mr. Foy's great film, a few nuggets to take with you onto the battlefield. -- Greg Klymkiw

CITADEL (2012) ****
Dir. Ciarán Foy
A New Appreciation
By Greg Klymkiw

Single Dad With Agoraphobia. Crime. Poverty. Infection. CITADEL
Context is Everything: Big Screen Pictures on a Big Screen
I first saw Citadel, Ciarán Foy's contemporary masterpiece of horror, during the 2012 edition of the Toronto After Dark Film Festival (TADFF), one of the most genial celebrations of genre cinema in the world. Blood geysers copiously from the screens at TADFF as both audiences and programmers take deliciously perverse delight in as much carnage wrought by filmmakers as is humanly possible.
But, it's not always about the blood. 
Every year, without fail, I discover one or two gems that scare the faecal matter out of me because they tap into quiet, creepy, subtle and intelligently rendered fears that haunt all of us. And though there will be blood in such pictures, it's meted out sparingly. Like, for example, Citadel. 
TADFF prides itself on presenting genre films designed for BIG-SCREEN THEATRICAL VIEWING, but due to the rather idiotic vagaries of an ever-changing landscape of big-box theatrical exhibition, far too many worthy movies are forced to bypass being exhibited the way movies are ultimately meant to be seen. Citadel , of course, demands a big screen. Thanks to festivals like TADFF, this is - however briefly - possible.

TADFF, like many good festivals, endeavours to present filmmakers in front of each film to introduce it and then to engage in a post-show Q and A. Mr. Foy had been tripping the festival light fantastic for quite some time and when TADFF rolled around, he was in the midst of writing his next feature film. Understandably, but alas, he was not available to attend. 
This was fine by me. I was pretty fucking shagged out from several days in a row of feasting my eyes on all manner of carnage and was in just the perfect mood to sit quietly in the cinema and see what I assumed would be another splatter-fest, but sans the usual raucous, celebratory shenanigans pervading screenings where filmmakers were in attendance. 
I sunk deeply into my front row seat. 
The lights dimmed.

My virginal plunge into Citadel began.

***************

The word "trinity" is derived from the Latin noun "trinitas" which is interpreted by Jesus-Believers as "three are one", though what it means literally is the number "three" (or "triad"). The Greek equivalent also means the number "three", or more literally, a set or grouping of three. In most Christian religions (save for some of the more fruit-cake offshoots - well, in fairness, those that are marginally nuttier than Catholicism), the trinity is recognized as The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit (or my preference as a Ukrainian Eastern Rite Catholic - The Holy Ghost - YEAH!). And yes, indeed, when you see us wing-nutted Catholics (practising or lapsed) crossing ourselves, it is indeed our tribute to God the Father, Christ the Son and the Holy Ghost which is the collective essence of what we're honouring with our pagan ritual.

For me, trinity is a word I'm fond of using to describe elements of storytelling. An example of this comes from the idea that doing things in threes (or higher "odd" numbers) gives your story more bang for the buck. Got a running gag? Great. When a movie presents it twice or four times, it's usually not as effective as when it's rendered three (or five, or seven, or - God forbid - nine) times. Three, however, is a decent enough rule of thumb when crafting a story. A four-act story just doesn't seem to cut it. Tell it in three-acts (properly, mind you), then you're usually on-track.

Of course, trinity can also be played out as a symbolic and/or subtextual storytelling tool. However, it won't work if the storytelling overall is falling flat on its face. Using subtext under such circumstances becomes ham-fisted and pretentious - drawing us completely out of what narrative might remain. This, is never a problem in Citadel. Within both visual and narrative contexts, Foy's extraordinary tale is ultimately rooted deeply in the notion of "trinity", but on a subtextual level it's a visually powerful approach to cinematic storytelling - especially given the harrowing narrative he spins.

Because Foy builds "trinity" into both his narrative and visual design, it provides ample opportunities to tell the story with as many evocative qualities as possible. What separates the men from the boys, the women from the girls, the filmmakers with vision from the filmmakers who are little more than camera jockeys (the latter term applied to by-the-numbers TV drama directors), is the ability to dazzle us visually, but in a manner wherein the imagery doesn't overtake the narrative, but compliments it.

This works two-fold. First of all, it allows (and/or forces) the filmmaker with vision to integrate what I like to refer to (if you will), the visual subtext into the opening of the film - to establish the mise-en-scène, to provide gripping and visually arresting images to draw us into the narrative and to propel us ever-further into the events of the opening - to keep us guessing so we want more story information to answer our questions as to where the story is going and ultimately, to build an opening sequence that is going to knock us on our collective asses. Secondly, the integration of said visual subtext throughout the film shapes and hones the progression of dramatic sequences (and individual scenes) so that we get a series of almost epiphanous dollops of narrative zingers. These work to propel us even further towards the climax of the film and in so doing, provide exponential gains in terms of visceral responses to the narrative. This ultimately provides a climactic sequence that builds on the elements of the opening and delivers something that not only knocks us on our duffs, but slams us repeatedly with the force of a baseball bat every single time we attempt to get up. In Quentin Tarantino's honour, one could demurely refer to this storytelling technique as the "Bear Jew Triple-Ass Turnbuckle Trinity". But, let's not.

From the very beginning of his film, Foy bombards us with sets of three items of note within the images that are used to tell the story. And they are powerful images that build the narrative cinematically to always draw us forward. Given that Citadel is a horror film rooted in the theme of fear, images of trinity are especially salient. Our main character Tommy (Aneurin Barnard) witnesses (not just once, but twice), people he loves being snatched away from him. This set of tragedies manifests itself within Tommy as deep crippling agoraphobia and unless he's able to face his fear (a fear, I'd argue that is a fear of fear itself), he'll suffer a sickening third and maybe deadliest tragedy of all.

One of the first exposures to trinity is the "citadel" itself, a bleakly decrepit housing project with a centre tower as its bulwark and two smaller buildings flanking either side and set further back. Drably coloured grey cement, set against murky blueish-grey skies, it's a formidable and chilling image to dive into at the film's beginning. It stands like some crumbling urban architectural representation of Cavalry during Christ's crucifixion.

Bad Shit goes on in the projects - CITADEL

(Oh, and before you think I'm extolling some foul "God Squad" picture aimed to reel in Christian viewers, you'll see soon enough that Citadel is the complete antithesis to that horrendous genre.)

Now, once inside the Citadel, we're introduced to Apartment 111.

1+1+1=3 Trinity in the projects - CITADEL

Some activity on the other side of the door causes the middle number to become unhinged and flop down. Surely this can't be a good sign.

When Trinity is unhinged, we know shit's gonna happen - CITADEL   

When the door opens, we're introduced to a young couple who are preparing to leave the condemned housing project for a new life. And indeed, Foy reveals a literal new life - a child is clearly growing within the woman's belly. One can see immediately how such opening moments in the hands of a mere camera jockey could be rendered in a dull, by the numbers manner to give establishing information ONLY in a race to get to something suspensefully titillating. Such images would be a by-rote series of pure informational shots. Foy, however, delivers sheer, unadulterated suspense from the very beginning and places us firmly in a world that gets increasingly tossed on its noggin as the film progresses. All is rooted in character, narrative and theme. It also reveals a distinctive voice off the bat.

With his cinematographer Tim Fleming, production designer and art director Tom Sayer and Andy Thomson respectively, Foy serves up a sumptuous (and dramatically apt) look for the film, betraying its low budget nature so that the film's cost is not even a point to consider whilst watching it. This is not to say the "look" is picture-postcard in any way, shape or form. The look is instead one of unremitting bleakness, but it is rendered so expertly and artistically, that shot after shot reminds me of the constant refrain in W.B. Yeats' great poem "Easter, 1916" wherein he refers to the notion that "a terrible beauty is born." And so it is with the masterful look and direction of Citadel.

Too many contemporary films capture bleak imagery with slap-dash sloppiness, but Foy and his team deliver one clearly intentional shot after another that create an indelible and stunningly dichotomous "terrible beauty" that infuses the heart and soul of this film.

Note the lighting, design and composition of this shot as Tommy anxiously tries to get back to his pregnant wife in a grindingly slow elevator. Even though we've been given nothing overt to fear, everything leading up to and including this shot has been slowly keeping us on edge and with the camera rooted claustrophobically close (but not TOO close) and set effectively in what came to be Howard Hawks' almost-trademark eye-level positioning, we're plunged into Tommy's anxiety with the skill one would expect of a master team of filmmakers.

Have I mentioned yet how fucking extraordinary this film is?

Elevators in the projects are slow... and scary - CITADEL

With one salient exception (which, I'll not give away), Foy makes the wise decision to always stay in the sphere of his main character Tommy. Every shot is either WITH Tommy, from his POV or from an angle/perspective he'd be able to have a view of/from. Given that we're dealing with a film about fear and specifically, a horror film where an even bigger challenge than the "monster(s)" is overcoming agoraphobia, this is a perfect approach.

Some might argue it is an OBVIOUS approach as if "obvious" is a dirty word, but for my money it's only a verboten epithet if and when it's the only way to describe that which is mediocre and/or barely (or maddeningly) competent. I'm much happier when a filmmaker "idiot proofs" the work so the audience is not lost for too long without their questions and/or need for information being addressed - either directly, or indirectly with an even more delicious tidbit of information.

In creating a film narrative, the worst thing one can do is force the audience to ask questions which are not answered - especially when those questions are nagging at an audience to the point where they're pulled out of the story and subsequently miss out on even more story beats because the filmmaker was too stupid (and/or pretentious) to pinch a loaf or two that forces their viewers to be ruminating rather than paying attention. Where Foy takes leaps and bounds beyond most young filmmakers (and many old ones who should know better) is how he maintains his proximity to Tommy while also keeping to the subtext of trinity.

For example, once Tommy's elevator reaches the right floor, Foy serves up an incredibly simple, effective and chilling shot from Tommy's POV through the broken elevator doors. There's a creepy inevitability to the contents of the shot, yet you're still jangled into filling your drawers with some manner of unmentionable viscous-like matter.

In the following frame-capture, however, is the subtle use of trinity. On one side of the window is Tommy and on the other is his wife and unborn child. Sorry to sound like an egghead here, but bear with me, as this point has more to do with intelligent, personal filmmaking than anything artsy-fartsy. Masters, like Hitchcock or Spielberg or Friedkin, et al will either be consciously and/or instinctively be choosing to utilize visual motifs that tie into both the narrative and psychology of their films.

Here, the chain of trinity between Father, Mother and Child is broken by an elevator door that's mechanically broken. It's not JUST the sudden terror of Tommy struggling to re-connect this chain and restore balance by rescuing (or at least giving it the old college try), but that what he sees are three hooded figures - another form of trinity in the middleground - that have an upper hand, threatening those he loves (and by extension, himself). Finally, there's the trinity employed within the composition itself - the doors in the foreground, the hooded figures in the middle and Tommy's wife further back.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is what the best filmmakers do.

A door that won't open. Three hooded figures. A Woman alone.  CITADEL

In the next two frame-captures we see Tommy in the bus shelter preparing to enter the bitter, cold, cruel world outside with the traditional manifestation of Trinity - he crosses himself.

In the Name of the Father, the Son and The Holy Ghost.

Great horror films in the western world often knew well enough to employ any number of Judeo-Christian images and rituals in an attempt to ward off evil. With increasing secularity in the world, contemporary horror films oft-abandon religion in both the passive form (as protection) and as purely aggressive weaponry (crosses thrust forward like swords against minions of the Devil or, in fact, the Devil himself). To the latter, none who see it, never, ever forget the image of trapping a vampire in the shadow of a windmill that projects the image of the crucifix upon the ground in Terence Fisher's extraordinary Brides of Dracula. Tommy's use of Old World Christian values here is a perfect element to weave into the narrative.

Lord (as He were) knows, William Friedkin's The Exorcist, the greatest horror film of all time is replete with mega-crucifix action. Not only that, it shares a wonderful thing with Citadel that all great horror films swap saliva over. In The Exorcist, Demon Pazuzu's shenanigans (which included grotesque head-spinning, crucifix-as-dildo-masturbatory-action and green pea vomit expulsion), were preceded by an hour of screen time devoted to the creepy and increasingly painful poking and prodding of the possessed 12-year-old girl by esteemed members of the medical profession. (God Bless the 70s - all the doctors smoke IN the fucking hospital, no less.) As realized by director William Friedkin, the cold and clinical approach to healing by inflicting the extremes of scientific exploration turn out to be equally harrowing as the grotesqueries of the Devil. Foy also plunges us into Tommy's illness with a similar realism. A wise move, indeed.

And with respect to the crucifix in The Exorcist, it's used by priests Max Von Sydow and Jason Miller to wear the Devil's minion down (Max believes, Miller less so). The cross ultimately turns out to be powerless and it's a Christ-like (Christ, the MAN) sacrifice on Jason Miller's part when he demands to be taken by the demon and then commits suicide to destroy the evil. Miller musters his strength of character and humanity to fight the evil.  Tommy's faith in God gets him by (just barely), but when push comes to shove he digs a lot deeper than adherence to New Testament fairy tales to survive.

Though it's partially a matter of interpretation, there are, I think, enough visual signs to suggest that Tommy had most probably eschewed any deep adherence to Christian values long ago, but that his use of them now comes out of a sense of desperation - a kind of unconscious placebo effect or, if you will, a perverse Pavlovian Dog instinct to use the Holy Trinity to temper fear in hopes that it will ward off danger.

Mind and body are finally more powerful allies than faith in the Holy Trinity.

FATHER. SON. HOLY GHOST.  CITADEL
FATHER. SON. HOLY GHOST.  CITADEL

Notice above the sheet of paper affixed to the bus shelter behind Tommy - a tried and true storytelling prop, but one that's often shoehorned in with a bludgeon to get information across or worse, especially in low budget affairs, so poorly designed that instead of assisting the narrative, the audience is taken out of the story. Timing is also important when using such props as a narrative tool.

Turning your attention to the frame-capture below you'll see a punch-in on the same sheet of paper, a notice for a missing child. This shot comes at a perfect point in Tommy's story. His wife has given birth, but remains in a coma and not only is Tommy faced with being a single Dad, his agoraphobia increases a thousand-fold. After all, he has a baby to raise and protect in this dystopian world.

... and children, you see, are going missing in the projects.

Desperate disenfranchised parents are posting such notices where they can. This is not only an effective "milk-carton-like" piece of story information, but note again, the "terrible beauty" of the composition of the shot and how exquisitely designed everything within the frame is - from the Missing Child notice to the smoky, smudged and scratched window of the bus shelter that, through the glass, reveals a somewhat misshapen landscape - bleak and despair ridden.

This is no world for humanity, let alone children.

In the projects, who can afford cartons of milk, anyway? CITADEL

Another superb approach to visual storytelling is on view within the frame-capture below. First of all, there's the big picture as it's one of the very few wide shots in the film to deliver a magnificent snapshot of where Tommy and his baby live. This, very ironically, is where he and his wife were on the verge of moving before the tragic events in the film's opening. The condemned three-tower housing project looming over everything, the row of natty ground floor low-income townhouses and the huge sign in the right foreground that extols the grand design of the local government are not only powerful pieces of story information, but add to the visual design of claustrophobia by creating an environment that feels like it's closing in and practically crushing poor Tommy.

Dwarfed by the oppressive forces of squalor and fear, hunched over (as is his wont) while pushing the baby carriage forward, he passes by an abandoned vehicle. Foy and his team deliver a magnificently composed shot that's both aesthetically pleasing in terms of the "terrible beauty", but also provide a superb sense of spatial geography. (AFTER you see the film on DVD or Blu-Ray, be sure to take a look at the Making-of supplement. This will give you a better idea of how brilliant Foy and his team of collaborators were in their clever design of these and other visual elements in the film.)

The second important element of this shot is to draw your attention to the importance of always knowing in advance what your visual beats are as a director. Knowing what they must be involves delivering prose in the script that paints pictures with words, designing storyboards to ensure that you as a director can piece every needed story-beat together and finally, in so doing, ensure there will be enough footage that will provide an editor with elements needed to breathe life into the film during the post-production process. Throughout the film, Foy and company deliver one maximum impact shot after another, thus allowing editors Tony Kearns and Jake Roberts to weave the magic they do throughout the film - delivering on creepy, elongated suspense that sometimes makes you feel you're being dragged over a bed of hot coals in ultra-slow-motion (yes, for me, this IS a compliment - think Don't Look Now or The Innocents) and when needed (and in blessed moderation) the kind of shock cuts that send you up and out of your seat as if some John Holmes-sized dildo unexpectedly rammed up your asshole (most definitely a compliment - of the highest order).


Hell, go ahead and marry the shot above with the shot below - we go from creepy to mega-creepy. As Tommy moves forward with trepidation, the view of him from within the twisted metal hulk gives a sense of the eyes on him AND MOST IMPORTANTLY HIS BABY!!! As mentioned above, we're always in Tommy's sphere, but often when we're not in his point of view, there's always a profound, creepy sense of eyes upon him - not only when he is alone, but even in seemingly benign moments, the camera oppressively shoves itself towards him and voyeuristically encroaches upon his space - whether it be a specific character's POV or not - all eyes, real and imagined, are on Tommy.

He is, after all, an agoraphobe.

LADIES & GENTS: ALL EYES ON THE AGORAPHOBE, PLEASE!  CITADEL

One of the most lovely touches in the narrative, is the introduction of the character Marie (the stunning and truly great actress Wunmi Mosaku), a kind-hearted nurse who offers support to Tommy in the same hospital his wife vegetates within.

When a genre film can be rooted in reality, it stands a good shot at immortality. When audiences can see aspects of their own lives (a la the aforementioned opening hour of The Exorcist), they respond more strongly to the material. In Citadel, it's the strong elements of humanity that contribute to scaring the fuck out of people.

Marie is an especially crucial character on a number of fronts, but for me, one of the most moving things to come from her is the observation that Tommy needs to express his love for the baby by communicating with it as if the child was, in fact, a person (which, obviously, it is). At the best of times, men often don't have natural communication proclivities when it comes to babies. Speaking for myself, I had to be reminded by virtually everyone I knew that instead of referring to my infant by her name, I kept referring to her as "the child". Ah well, chalk that up to my being infused with barbaric Cossack DNA.

Tommy is not, however, experiencing the best of times. (An understatement if there ever was one.) Marie's careful, gentle observations and prompting are exactly what spins a perfect narrative turn in the story. For the first time, Tommy holds his child and communicates to it with love and humanity, not fear. The frame below captures a sequence that is designed to both move you, but to also add a new layer to Tommy's character that assists him with moving forward - especially since the most horrible events occur soon after.

Let me again stress - Horrible Events.

Plural.

Note to Hollywood and casting agents the world over: The camera loves Wunmi Mosaku (above right) and she is an extraordinary actress. Someone please make this lady from CITADEL a star.

The screen capture below allows for added discussion on the issue of faith in God. Pictured in the foreground is a distressed Tommy. Way in the background are hordes of bloodthirsty feral kids and in the centre is The Good Father (a sterling performance from the great James Cosmo). The Father is the unlikeliest man of the cloth; he'll go through the motions of reading over the graves of those who are being decimated by crime and rampant infection within the projects, he charitably rescues a young orphan from the citadel and he'll wear his clerical collar when it's necessary for those who believe. His belief system, however, has been shattered. He is hell-bent on destroying the evil residing in the projects - even if it means killing them in cold blood. In the scene below, he's agreed to help Tommy out, but warns him that faith in the rubbish that is Christ won't go as far as faith in oneself.

As bloodthirsty feral children begin streaming from the CITADEL, Tommy is cautioned by the Good Father that faith in God is rubbish. He'll need faith in himself to overcome a greater evil than what lurks in the shadows, his fear.
Citadel resembles Val Lewton's approach to fantastical genres that began in the 1940s American studio system. This brand of cinematic horror, exclusive to RKO Studios is inspired by a myriad of artistic influences from fairy tale through to classical literature, with much of it based on European sources and drenched in film-noir-like shadows and darkness. (Lewton believed that what scared people most were the everyday things that caused many people distress and secondly, the DARK.)

The two back-to-back images below represent the opening frame and closing frame of an exquisitely lit and perfectly composed push-in on Tommy's face. It's simple, yet so effective and most of all, enshrouded in the darkness and shadows of the place he fears most. Like the Lewton pictures (a huge influence upon the best of the best, like Friedkin, Scorsese, etc. and the art of cinema itself) this an example of how Citadel takes us from one manner of fear to another. Throughout most of the picture, Tommy deals with his fears by surrounding himself in the light of day and/or the interior light of his home. The film's final third has Tommy plunged almost completely into darkness - the final bastion to conquer both the pervasive and very real object of terror. And given the final frame below, you can bet your entire stake that the very next frame will be the sweetest of sweet spots chosen by the film's editors to jolt you with the reality of what Tommy witnesses. (And a shot that probably demands you wear a pair of Depends when you see the film.)

Any guesses what the next shot will be? CITADEL
We are living in dangerous days. It's no secret that the gap between rich and poor is ever-widening. Our streets are over-burdened with poverty and the denizens of the gap's debilitating, soul-draining effects have become completely disenfranchised from society. The cruelty with which they are despised is overshadowed only by how they are ignored. Their fears are many, but sadly I suspect their greatest fear is to be forgotten.

Citadel is indeed an important film on many artistic levels outlined above (and in other writings by myself and others). However, its primary importance is that within the context of genre (which has the power to reach huge audiences and young ones), the movie seriously (and, all importantly - entertainingly) addresses, head-on, the horror facing many of us.

While many begin their lives in a state of disenfranchisement and seldom escape,  others have never known the meaning of the word until the rug was pulled from under them due to the increase in downsizing, the insidious magnetic pull of consumerism, the equally spurious lustre of debt and last, but not least, the lack of political will that's been mostly bought off by corporate interests that use government as its puppet to increase profits at the expense of everyone but themselves. Even those few politicians who might have genuinely made a difference were assassinated and in this day and age, unless the powers-that-be want to send a statement using public assassination, kill our best and brightest leaders with secret and nefariously-inflicted "infections".

Then, there is the culling.

The richest, most powerful men in the word clearly want to siphon as much wealth and power as they can, but even now, they are engaged in advocating and downright supporting massive forced sterilization (sometimes right up front and others more subtle, like the new x-ray technology at any number of security checkpoints) in addition to outright murder (spurious "wars" against terror, getting government to approve deadly products like aspartame, fluoride and ANYTHING ingested from sources like Monsanto, Dole and other corporate food entities).

Ted Turner (and he's sadly not alone - yes, YOU Bill Gates and all the rest of this foul ilk) has stated (and defended and reiterated) the following sentiment:



"Right now there are just way too many people on the planet. A total world population of 250-300 million people, a 95% decline from present levels would be ideal."


Citadel is set in a dystopian world, but there's little that's futuristic about it. The movie feels like it's set "ten seconds into the future" (to coin a tagline from City of Dark, a Bruno Lazaro Pacheco film I produced). One gets the sense that the housing projects Foy's film is set in are but the tip of the iceberg in the larger world of the film. The streets are deserted - not because it's a low-budget movie and not because the majority of the populace in the film are too scared to be on the streets - but because there is an "infection".

A culling.

"Infections" (Ebola, AIDS, SARS, the list goes on and on) are here and now. They kill people. We can fool ourselves into believing they're "natural", but to cull such wide swaths of humanity is a multi-pronged approach.

The results of the 'infection" in Citadel are devastating. It kills adults and children alike, but the latter are often susceptible to living - in a living hell - blind (except to fear), bloodthirsty, savage and feral. If there's a cure, nobody is chomping at the bit to find it.

Though (as pictured below), trinity, however briefly, seems restored to Tommy, accompanied as he is by the young rescued feral kid and baby. What awaits them is a light at the end of the tunnel, but getting there might well prove deadly. And even if they do reach the light, what will they be facing?

It's a bit like life as it is now, and seemingly forever in this age of suffering and collapse. Agoraphobia is a very real and debilitating sickness, but I can't help think that it works within the film as a larger metaphor to expose the potential of a mass agoraphobic reaction to the beleaguering attacks upon those who are described by George Bailey (James Stewart) in Frank Capra's It's a Wonderful Life as all those in this world "who do most of the working and paying and living and dying" in it.

Yes, Citadel is ultimately a film infused with humanity and it seems appropriate that the movie reminds me of George Bailey's full speech to the corporate pig Mr. Potter (Lionel Barrymore) during a point when Bailey's levels of courage are at their highest and before, like Tommy, when they crash to their lowest point and an angel named Clarence (Henry Travers) shows up, much like the Good Father in Citadel, to infuse him with the power he needs to fight his greatest and most debilitating fears:
Just remember this, Mr. Potter, that this rabble you're talking about... they do most of the working and paying and living and dying in this community. Well, is it too much to have them work and pay and live and die in a couple of decent rooms and a bath? Anyway, my father didn't think so. People were human beings to him. But to you, a warped, frustrated old man, they're cattle. Well in my book, my father died a much richer man than you'll ever be!

Ciaran Foy has made a great film. Those who see Citadel will also be much richer for doing so.


Trinity, now restored. Will it survive the light at the end of the tunnel that is CITADEL

Please read my interview with writer-director Ciaran Foy in Virginie Selavy's ultra-cool UK Film Magazine "Electric Sheep - a deviant view of cinema". And whatever you do, buy this movie, study it and cherish it. You'll be getting a ground-floor glimpse into the work of a director who we'll be hearing from for years to come. In the USA, Citadel is distributed by New Video Group, in Canada by Mongrel Media and in the UK by the Revolver Entertainment Group.

Tuesday, 1 January 2013

THE 10 BEST FILMS of 2012, *PLUS* 11 ADDITIONAL TERRIFIC FILMS of 2012, INDIVIDUAL ACCOLADES of 2012 - ALL SELECTED BY GREG KLYMKIW - ALL THE BEST CINEMA HAD TO OFFER - JUST FOR YOU!

GREG KLYMKIW'S
10 BEST FILMS OF 2012
(in alphabetical order)

BABY BLUES - dir. Katarzyna Roslaniec
Nobody makes movies quite like Katarzyna Roslaniec. In Baby Blues, the spirited Polish director tackles everyday challenges young teenage girls face in the modern world. Her touch is never juvenile, clichéd, didactic, humourless, nor rife with the dour bludgeon of political correctness. Her movies rock! Big time! Baby Blues focuses on Natalia (played brilliantly by Magdalena Berus), a teenager with a baby sired by her unwitting slacker boyfriend. She is bound and determined to keep it, but on her own steam, thank you very much. Roslaniec injects the picture with a verité nuttiness, allowing her to take a whole lot of stylistic chances, yielding one indelible moment after another. One of several sublime sequences is unveiled just after Natalia experiences a harrowing encounter with judgemental health care workers. Roslaniec holds on a shot of the teen, now looking more like a little girl than a burgeoning young woman, huddled on a metro train with her sick baby clutched tightly in her arms. She holds and holds and holds on the shot and when it feels like she’s going to finally cut out, the shot holds even longer. What Roslaniec finally evokes is truthful – infused with life itself. And it is sublime.


BEYOND THE HILLS - dir. Cristian Mungiu
Beyond the Hills is a masterpiece. Cristian Mungiu (director of 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days) has created a film of lasting value. In its own way the film tells an extremely vital tale in a manner that contributes both to cinema as an art and perhaps even more importantly, to humanity. It tells the story of two friends who took separate paths after their release from a Moldavian orphanage and charts their heartbreaking reunion some years later. Voichita joined a nearby monastery to become a nun under the strict patriarchy of an Orthodox priest referred to as "Papa". Alina has been living "alone" in Germany and working as a waitress (or so she claims). Her plan is to extricate Voichita from the monastery so they can rekindle their deep love and friendship together. God, or rather, religious hypocrisy and hysteria has other plans. What follows in this world of backwards, religious patriarchy is as nightmarish an exploitation of women as the forced sex trade - the creepily insidious manner in which women are forced into the sexist, misogynistic and subservient roles that are so prevalent in cultures rooted in the centuries-old Eastern Rite religious traditions. Even more horrendous are the deep-seeded attitudes these cultures have towards orphans (also rooted in sexism and misogyny). For a huge majority of Eastern Rite followers, orphans take on the sins of their mothers and as such, our two central characters were born into a world that believed them to be lesser human beings because of this. Mungiu charts the final weeks of their friendship in homage to Carl Dreyer - most notably in the religious-themed Day of Wrath and Ordet. Visually, Mungiu packs his frames in direct contrast to Dreyer's austerity, but where Mungiu and Dreyer share approaches are found in the tableau-styled takes and, of course, in the stories that are told. Dreyer might be one of the great film artists to have committed himself to the thematic concerns of women amidst religious and/or societal repression and their exploitation within these worlds. Clearly with the horrific tale of abortion, 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days and now Beyond the Hills, Mungiu continues in Dreyer's bold thematic and narrative tradition of telling the stories of women and their suffering in patriarchal worlds.



CITADEL - dir. Ciaran Foy A brilliant dystopian horror film about crashing, numbing, unrelenting fear brought on when the young protagonist watches - not once, but twice - as those he loves are brutalized and/or snatched away from him. His fear intensifies so unremittingly, with such grim realism, that we're placed directly in the eye of the storm that is his constant state of terror. Contributing greatly here is lead actor Aneurin Barnard as the young father, delivering a performance so haunting, it's unlikely audiences will ever shake the full impact of what he achieves. We follow his story solely from his sphere and given that the character is almost always in a state of intense apprehension, the whole affair could have been utterly unbearable. Thankfully, he breathes such humanity into the role that we not only side with him, but I frankly defy anyone to NOT see themselves (or at least aspects of who they are and what they feel) in this character so indelibly wrought. This single father, living alone with his baby in a desolate housing project, must occasionally leave his home and enter a world of emptiness, squalor, violent crime, constantly grey skies and interiors lit under harsh fluorescents. His head is down, his eyes only occasionally looking around for potential danger and/or to literally see where he is walking (or rather, scurrying to). Just as he's constantly in a state of terror - so are we. There is, you see, an infection - a pestilence of the most abominable kind and to avoid it is ultimately futile. The vermin must be met head-on. And it's going to scare the living bejesus out of you.


DJANGO UNCHAINED - dir. Quentin Tarantino
I hated Reservoir Dogs - nasty, overwrought posturing that both bored and sickened me. I enjoyed Pulp Fiction a tiny bit more. Well, to be truthful, I loved the Bruce Willis story, but pretty much everything else bored the crap out of me. And then it happened. I was about to flush this overrated poseur down the toilet until I allowed myself to see Jackie Brown. From there, it was onwards and upwards and while I still (after repeated attempts) hate his first two films, Tarantino's become one of my favourite contemporary directors. Django Unchained follows in the footsteps of his previous work which, frankly, gets better and better. Managing to be both horrific and, I kid you not, fun, Django Unchained is one of the most raw, original and subversive films I've EVER had the pleasure to enjoy. In a nutshell, it's Richard Fleischer's Mandingo with the same manner of pure, joyous, unadulterated vengeance that coursed through the veins of Inglourious Basterds as directed by Sergio Corbucci pumped on crystal meth. Set two years before the American Civil War, Tarantino introduces us to the biggest, baddest 70s-style SuperSpade Blaxploitation Hero in Spaghetti Western duds we're ever likely to see. Jamie Foxx as Django is teamed up with bounty hunter Christoph Waltz to kill nasty-ass racist white folk throughout the deep south and rescue his wife from the clutches of Leonardo DiCaprio, the most insane plantation owner this side of James Mason and Perry King in the aforementioned Mandingo. Guns blaze, blood splashes in our faces and after close to three hours, we leave the cinema with the same buoyancy that infused us after seeing 2011's great Friedkin picture Killer Joe. The film is as all-out exploitative as it's one of the most provocative cinematic condemnations of slavery etched on celluloid. Does Tarantino get to have his cake and eat it too? Damn straight, and so do we.


END OF WATCH - dir. David Ayer
My Dad was a cop for ten years. Most cop pictures left him cold save for their occasional entertainment value, but a handful of pictures stand out as movies he loved on several levels. Richard Fleischer's adaptation of Joseph Wambaugh's The New Centurions was one that Dad always felt came closest to recreating "the life" of cops while William Friedkin's The French Connection captured the dull, dirty, mundane aspects of police work and finally, Don Siegel's Dirty Harry came closest to showing the frustrations inherent in the job and how sometimes, a good cop just had to say, "Fuck the system," and do what needed to be done. I think Dad would have liked End of Watch a lot. Hanging by the slenderest of plot threads, this gorgeously, blisteringly and bravely photographed policier is a mostly episodic nosedive into every harrowing moment street cops encounter and provides us with an always jolting ride through the dangers our boys in blue face everyday. Focusing upon the close friendship of two cops (beautifully played by Jake Gyllenhaal and Michael Peña), we experience their lives on and off the beat and most importantly, the thematic and dramatic importance of family in all its forms - blood, community and crime. The partners go about their day-to-day exploits until they happen upon a group of deadly local dealers who are tied to vicious drug cartels. The two cops begin investigating until they get so close to the source of criminal power that the cartel orders hits on them. It's a testament to writer-director David Ayer that he captures the camaraderie of partners by leaping beyond the by-the-numbers mismatched-partners-who-learn-to-love-and-respect-each-other cliches. From the start, we know the partners in End of Watch are made for each other. If anything, their love deepens and becomes even more demonstrative as the danger and violence in the film intensifies. So many films in recent years (including those Ayer has written and/or directed) have focused up the "dirty" cops. Reversing this trend with End of Watch is not only welcome but necessary to bolster those in the force who genuinely embrace the protection of the citizenry. To be a good cop in a world where crime is escalating and when administrative shackles are getting tighter and where cops are even forced into plying their trade in ways they know are unfair to those they're supposed to protect is as narratively and politically satisfying as it is savvy. End of Watch is the best cop picture in years!


FAT KID RULES THE WORLD - dir. Matthew Lillard
On every level, Lillard's lovely film from the fine screenplay by Michael M.B. Galvin and Peter Speakman, indelibly captures both the bittersweet and dark humour associated with what it's like to be a fat kid. Most importantly, it tells an inspiring and genuinely realistic story of how a fat kid not only gains the acceptance of peers, but to respect the inner qualities beneath the mounds of lard and flesh. That the film also touches upon themes of friendship, loyalty and the importance of family is a mega-bonus. That the film offers punk rock as a creative outlet for the main character to develop a greater sense of self-worth is several extra scoops of hot fudge marshmallow sauce on the cinematic ice cream sundae that is Fat Kid Rules The World.


GOON - dir. Michael Dowse

TIED WITH


KRIVINA - dir. Igor Drljaca

Okay, I'm cheating a bit here. Sue me, motherfucker. This, however, has been a tremendous year for Canadian Cinema and both of these films rock big time. In a sense, I want to pair these works together as they represent what English Canada is best at. There are no two films made in this country that are as different as these two and yet, they share Canada's potential to create cinema that knocks the ball out of the park in ways that truly defines what's so distinctive about our film culture - what makes it worth preserving and fighting for. In the case of Goon, we have it in us to make a commercially minded picture that is also indigenous to the Canadian experience, just as Krivina takes us into that completely other territory of cinema as poetry, but in so doing, just as brilliantly and successfully reflects Canadian Culture. English Canada is NOT the United States, Mr. Harper. We are truly a nation unto itself and it's so important that we never forget that our feature film culture reflects WHO WE ARE as a nation - and Goon and Krivina do this is spades. Not a single shot is fired in Canadian director Igor Drljaca's stunning feature debut Krivina, but the horror of war - its legacy of pain, its futility and its evil hang like a cloud over every frame of this powerful cinematic evocation of memory and loss. The film's hypnotic rhythm plunges us into the inner landscape of lives irrevocably touched by man's inhumanity to man - a diaspora of suffering that shall never escape the fog of war. Krivina is an astounding film - a personal vision that genuinely affects our sense of self to seek out our own worth, our own place in the world. Like Olexander Dovzhenko, Sergei Paradjanov and, to a certain extent, Tarkovsky, Drljaca achieves what I believe to be the fullest extent of what cinema can offer - the ability to touch the souls of its characters and, in so doing, touching the souls of those lucky enough to experience the magic that can only, I think, be fully wrought by the art of the motion picture. Goon, on the other end of the spectrum presents the Great Canadian Hockey Movie to follow in the footsteps of Canuck "Lumber-in-the-Teeth" Classics as Face Off, Paperback Hero and, of course, the most Canadian Movie Never Made By A Canadian, George Roy Hill's classic Slap Shot. Etching the tender tale of the kindly, but brick-shit-house-for-brains bouncer recruited to a cellar-dweller hockey team in Halifax as an enforcer, Dowse captures the sweaty, blood-spurting, bone-crunching and tooth-spitting circus of minor league hockey with utter perfection. The camaraderie, the endless bus trips, the squalid motels, the brain-dead fans, the piss-and-vinegar coaches, the craggy play-by-play sportscasters, the bars reeking of beer and vomit and, of course, Pogo Sticks - it's all here and then some. Goon delivers laughs, fisticuffs, mayhem and yes, even a dash of romance in a tidy package of good, old-fashioned underdog styling. Oh Canada! Art and commerce is what we're all about.


THE MASTER - dir. Paul Thomas Anderson
I can’t ever recall the same electricity in any screening of any movie in the 25-or-so years I’ve been attending the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF). Hundreds of scribes packed the hugest auditorium of TIFF’s Bell Lightbox complex. The pre-screening buzz in the cinema resembled the low, but crazily intense sounds coming from a hive of happily prodigious bees. The lights went down and the house went completely and utterly silent. Then it began. Paul Thomas Anderson’s insanely provocative exploration of post-war America reels you in. You feel a bit like ‘Bruce’ the shark in Spielberg’s Jaws, chomping on a sharp hook that Robert Shaw’s mad-eyed Quint keeps hitting, taunting, tugging, twisting and pulling. You try to escape, you fight madly not to succumb, but succumb you do. Inspired by the crazy founder of Scientology L. Ron Hubbard, Anderson weaves a hypnotic tale of a young veteran and his mentorship under a charismatic cult leader. If you are lucky enough to see the film as it’s meant to be seen in 70mm, you get the added bonus of diving into Anderson’s masterly use of the medium. It is an epic scope, but an intimate epic with Anderson’s eye examining the rich landscapes of the human face. And what faces! Joaquin Phoenix, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Amy Adams and Laura Dern suck you deep into their eyes and, ultimately, their very souls. When I left the cinema, I couldn’t explain to myself what I had just seen and why it so powerfully knocked me on my ass. What I can say is that I can count on one hand the number of films that were not only hypnotic, but in fact, seemed to place me in a literal state of hypnosis. The Master is one of these films. I saw it a second time – riveted, yet wondering if I still loved it. I queried George Toles, my old friend, mentor and screenwriter of Guy Maddin’s masterworks, about his experience, explaining, of course, my recent dilemma. His response was this: ‘The movie neither asks for my love, nor wants my love, but I give it my love anyway.’ A third viewing corroborated this for me.


PARADISE: LOVE - dir. Ulrich Seidl
In a perverse way (and perverse is what the great Austrian filmmaker Seidl is all about), his new film actually makes for an excellent companion piece to Django Unchained. Seidl, the "bad-boy" of Austrian cinema is back with this searingly funny, powerful and harrowing drama against the backdrop of Kenya's sex tourism industry. He deftly plumbs the extremities of human behaviour in order to reveal humanity in all its disparate forms and with the weight and resonance of its tragic beauty. Teresa (Margarethe Tiesel) a blonde blob adorned in a sun hat flip-flops onto the sunny airport tarmac of a Kenyan resort, surrounded by her equally porcine 40-50-something Austrian maidens. Seidl's camera greedily drinks in globs of fleshy pink corpulence jiggling like mounds of jello, streaked with road maps of stretch marks boring through virtual mountain ranges of cellulite and grotesque cauliflower-like skin tags gripping desperately to spongy thighs like bats in a cave. Happily ensconced in the paradise of the resort, our jolly Teresa ogles the rich, lithe, cocoa bodies of her male hosts, salivating with the same delightful desire she might express when gazing upon a platter of rich Viennese pastries, imagining the joy of stuffing them all down her expansive, greedy gullet. Teresa parades along the Kenyan beaches in outfits that accentuate her strudel and schnitzel induced corpulence, her fat face emblazoned with lustful wonder that ultimately betrays her slatternly desires. Surrounded by eager, young and almost criminally gorgeous Kenyan men who vie for her attention in the hope she'll buy a lot more than the trinkets they have on offer. With their smooth gentle voices, glisteningly ripped bodies and irrepressibly insistent promises of the love they will provide, it's not hard to believe that Teresa and her ilk might actually believe it is LOVE they are paying for, not sex. When Seidl's camera focuses upon the beautiful young men, their eyes betray desperation and terror. With Paradise: Love, Seidl unflinchingly charts a woman's descent into satisfying her most basic sexual needs by exploiting those who are so poor they will do whatever they have to do in order to survive.


STORIES WE TELL - dir. Sarah Polley
Nature, nurture and the manner in which their influence upon our lives inspires common threads in the telling of tales that are in turn relayed, processed and synthesized by what we think we see and what we want to see are the ingredients which make up Sarah Polley’s latest work as a director. It is first and foremost a story of family – not just a family, or for that matter any family, but rather a mad, warm, brilliant passionate family who expose their lives in the kind of raw no-guts-no-glory manner that only film can allow. Most importantly, the lives exposed are as individual as they are universal and ultimately it’s a film about all of us. It is a documentary with a compelling narrative arc, yet one that is as mysterious and provocative and profoundly moving, as you’re likely to see. At the heart of the film is a courageous, vibrant woman no longer with us. Polley guides us through this woman’s influence upon all those she touched. Throughout much of the film, one is reminded of Clarence Oddbody’s great line in Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life: “Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?” I try to imagine the lives of everyone Polley introduces us to and how if, like in the Capra film, this vibrant, almost saint-like woman had not been born. Most of those we meet in the film wouldn’t have been born either and the rest would have lived lives with a considerable loss of riches. And I also think deeply on the fact that this woman was born and how we see her effect upon all those whose lives she touched. Then, most importantly, I think about Clarence Oddbody’s line with respect to the child that might not have been born to this glorious woman – a child who might have been aborted. I think about how this child has touched all the lives of those in the documentary. The possibility that this child might have never been born is, within the context of the story relayed, so utterly palpable that I can’t imagine audiences not breaking down and weeping with both sadness and joy. It's a masterpiece.
And now, taking a cue from Mr. Roger Ebert who so simply and easily came up with a way of doing honour to films "that were as good, in one way or another" as those included in his 10 Best List, I'm going to modify my usual list of "runners-up" - a term I hate because it doesn't adequately reflect my feelings.

The 10 Best list selections are, for me (and more often than not), based on aesthetic consideration as well as gut impulse - visceral, personal, emotional responses to the work - often over repeated viewings when possible. (Plus the fact that the world demands 10 and I can only, within that context, only modestly declare a tie or two and only do so when it makes sense as I did above with Goon and Krivina.)

Mr. Ebert notes that the juries at "many film festivals . . . come up with a cockamamie category named the Grand Jury Prizes" which is essentially a way of making appropriate nods in the direction of movies that are equally worthy of accolades. Ebert chose to provide a list of such prizes for his lists this year.

What I've decided to do is include the following category where I'll provide eleven more films in alphabetical order as "11 More Terrific Pictures (2012)" which you're welcome to view as an additional category of just mush up the above list with this one and call it a "Top 21 of 2012". Seems fair. To me. So, without further ado, here they are.
10 More Terrific Pictures From 2012
(in alphabetical order)

AMERICAN MARY - dir. Jen Soska, Sylvia Soska (Soska Twins)
Body modification. Sexually Psychotic Surgeons. Revenge.
Horrifying. Original. And oh, so très, très cool.


BIG BOYS GONE BANANAS - dir. Fredrik Gertten
70s paranoid thriller meets chilling contemporary documentary.
Filmmaker sued by multi-national. It's David meets Goliath.


BULLHEAD - dir. Michael R. Roskam
This unique and harrowing crime melodrama etches a world of double-crosses, filthy brute force and intimidation of the worst kind by transplanting the gangsters of Goodfellas into the roles of two-fisted laconic farmers, veterinarians and feed suppliers - in Belgium, no less.


CAPITAL - dir. Costa Gavras
High Finance. Corporate Chicanery. The Banking Crisis.
Hot clothes. Hot locales. Hot women. Hot cars. Hot.
Director of Z, State of Siege, Missing, The Confession
DO THE MATH!!!


CLOUDBURST - dir. Thom Fitzgerald
Love on the run, k.d. lang, pickup trucks, roadside cafes,
Olympia Dukakis, Brenda Fricker and a Nova Scotia
that's never looked more heart-achingly beautiful.


DAMSELS IN DISTRESS - dir. Whit Stillman
Crazy, funny, literate dialogue. Hot, smart babes. Doofus guys.
Suicide prevention. Donuts. Inventing a new dance craze.
Greta Gerwig. Greta Gerwig. Greta Gerwig.


DRAGAN WENDE WEST BERLIN
dir. Lena Müller, Dragan von Petrovic, Vuk Maksimovic

In the words of Dragan Wende,
brothel doorman, pimp and dealer in the all-new, reunified Berlin:
"I said to the guy:
'Pay 99 euros and fuck all day!'
'If you have no teeth, just lick her pussy.'"


JOHN CARTER - dir. Andrew Stanton
Hunk hero. Major league babe. Great villains.
The SPIRIT of Edgar Rice Burroughs. Eye-popping special effects.
Cool aliens. Cool sets. Cool spaceships.
Monsters. Yes, monsters. Cool monsters, at that.
Slaves-in-an-arena-fighting-aforementioned-monsters.
Rip-snorting battle sequence.
Have I mentioned the babe, yet?


LAWLESS - dir. John Hillcoat
Bootleggers. Ultra-violence. Foulest Villain in Years.
Nick Cave Script. Nick Cave Music. Nick Cave.
Mega-Hunks. Mega-Babes. Mega-Bloodshed.
Cool Costumes. Manly Haircuts. Moonshine.


THE PUNK SYNDROME - dir. Jukka Kärkkäinen, J-P Passi
Pertti Kurikka’s Name Day, one of the greatest punk bands of all time.
A hard-core, kick-ass, take-no-fucking-prisoners mean-machine.
No musical punches pulled. The music slams you in the face.
Until it is pulp. Like coarsely-ground hamburger meat.
They crap on hypocrisy, corruption, mindless bureaucracy.
And pedicures. Yes, pedicures! You see, they are from Finland.


PUSHWAGNER - dir. Even Benestad, August B. Hanssen
Pushwagner rocks! It rocks hard!
Hariton Pushwagner - Artist Extraordinaire. And WHAT an artist!
Norway's ONLY septuagenarian bad boy beat-punk maniac artist.
His art is life. His life is art. All Hail Hariton Pushwagner!
All the fucking time! What an artist! WHAT a movie!


RHINO SEASON - dir. Bahman Ghobadi
A husband. A wife. An evil Totalitarian regime. Poetry leads to prison.
30 years for the man. 10 years for the woman.
Upon her release the wife learns her husband is dead. Life goes on.
20 years later, the husband is released from prison. He is not dead.
He must find her. He must. A love story as old as time itself.
Love is what drives this film and by extension, the human race.
Love must be protected and sanctified at all costs.
When that ceases, so do we.


AND NOW, INDIVIDUAL KLYMKIW ACCOLADES FOR CINEMA IN 2012

BEST ACTION FILM:
LAWLESS - dir. John Hillcoat


BEST COMEDY:
GOON - dir. Michael Dowse


BEST HORROR FILM:
AMERICAN MARY - dir. Jen Soska, Sylvia Soska (Soska Twins)


BEST SCIENCE FICTION FILM:
BEYOND THE BLACK RAINBOW - dir. Panos Cosmatos


BEST DOCUMENTARY:
STORIES WE TELL - dir. Sarah Polley


BEST ENSEMBLE CAST:
THE MASTER


BEST ACTOR:
Aneurin Barnard - CITADEL


BEST ACTRESS:
Magdalena Berus - BABY BLUES


BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR:
Leonardo DiCaprio - DJANGO UNCHAINED


BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS:
Tristan Risk - AMERICAN MARY


BEST DIRECTOR:
Paul Thomas Anderson - THE MASTER


BEST SCREENWRITING:
Quentin Tarantino - DJANGO UNCHAINED


-TIED WITH-

Paul Thomas Anderson - THE MASTER


BEST CINEMATOGRAPHY:
Roman Vasyanov - END OF WATCH


BEST EDITING:
Mike Munn - STORIES WE TELL


-TIED WITH-

Reginald Harkema - GOON


BEST PRODUCTION DESIGN/ART DIRECTION:
Tony Devenyi, Courtney Stockstad - AMERICAN MARY


BEST COSTUME DESIGN:
Jayne Mabbot - AMERICAN MARY


BEST SOUND:
Brad Hillman, Maureen Murphy, Eric J. Paul, Brody Ratsoy,
Stefan Udell - BEYOND THE BLACK RAINBOW




BEST MUSIC:
"Pertti Kurikka's Name Day" "Pertti Kurikan Nimipäivät":
Pertti Kurikka, Kari Aalto, Sami Helle, Toni Välitalo
THE PUNK SYNDROME



BEST VISUAL EFFECTS:
JOHN CARTER


JUST FOR FUN, I 'VE AMALGAMATED THE TOP 10 WITH THE TERRIFIC 10
AND CREATED AN ALPHABETICAL KLYMKIW TOP 20 Films of 2012

BABY BLUES - dir. Katarzyna Roslaniec
BEYOND THE HILLS - dir. Cristian Mungiu
BIG BOYS GONE BANANAS - dir. Fredrik Gertten
CAPITAL - dir. Costa Gavras
CITADEL - dir. Ciaran Foy
CLOUDBURST - dir. Thom Fitzgerald
DAMSELS IN DISTRESS - dir. Whit Stillman
DJANGO UNCHAINED - dir. Quentin Tarantino
DRAGAN WENDE WEST BERLIN - dir. Lena Müller, Dragan von Petrovic, Vuk Maksimovic
END OF WATCH - dir. David Ayer
FAT KID RULES THE WORLD - dir. Matthew Lillard
GOON - dir. Michael Dowse (Tie w/Krivina)
JOHN CARTER - dir. Andrew Stanton
KRIVINA - dir. Igor Drljaca (Tie w/Goon)
LAWLESS - dir. John Hillcoat
THE MASTER - dir. Paul Thomas Anderson
PARADISE: LOVE - dir. Ulrich Seidl
THE PUNK SYNDROME - dir. Jukka Kärkkäinen, J-P Passi
PUSHWAGNER - dir. Even Benestad, August B. Hanssen
RHINO SEASON - dir. Bahman Ghobadi
STORIES WE TELL - dir. Sarah Polley