BROKEN MILE - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Canadian Film Fest 2017 -Haunting mise-en-scene

Ugliest apartment in Toronto, maybe in all of Canada.

Broken Mile (2017)
Dir. Justin McConnell
Starring: Francesco Filice, Caleigh Le Grand, Patrick McFadden, Lea Lawrynowicz

Review By Greg Klymkiw

You know, ugly can be good. Toronto, for example, is plenty ugly. In fact, it might be one of the most monstrously, obscenely, hideously repulsive cities in Canada (and this takes some doing - especially since Calgary exists). Happily (for inveterate Toronto-haters like me), it's never looked more grim than it does in Broken Mile, a visually dazzling sophomore dramatic feature by Justin McConnell who directed, wrote, photographed and edited this oddly compulsive urban neo-noir thriller.

Shaun (Francesco Filice) wakes up in a puke-filled bathtub in an ugly apartment and discovers that his girlfriend Sarah (Lee Lawrynowicz) is bereft of life. There's clearly something shady about her stone-cold stiffness and he takes an immediate powder instead of calling the cops. In his mad dash to an awaiting Uber, he bumps into pal Kenny (Patrick McFadden) and hysterically, mysteriously apologizes to him. Shaun heads to an unbelievably ugly apartment complex and visits his ex-girlfriend Amy (Caleigh Le Grand) who, not surprisingly, lives in an ugly suite with grossly-patterned wallpaper and adorned with decidedly unstylish IDomo-like furniture. He enlists her help and the two of them spend a frantic night running from a (now-gun-toting) Kenny through one of Toronto's ugliest neighborhoods.

A showdown is inevitable as the mystery slowly unravels.

Ugliest apartment complex in Toronto, maybe all of Canada.

There is much to admire in McConnell's film. First of all, he's chosen to allow the drama to unveil as one long extended take with no cuts for the entire 82-minute running time. I'm normally not a fan of any trick pony cinematic shenanigans like this, especially when the "trick" is the only thing that makes the work palatable (the most egregious being dullard Christopher Nolan's backwards-play in his intolerable and overrated Memento). When there's good reason for such chicanery, I'm all for it.

Of course Rope, Timecode and Russian Ark are the most famous examples of the extended take approach and it can certainly be a worthy way to tell a story on film. The desperation of both the situation and characters in Broken Mile are ideal stomping grounds for its director's decision and so much of the film is compelling and suspenseful. Early on in the proceedings, there's an especially fine sequence in which McConnell trains his lens upon the main character as he sits in the back of an Uber vehicle whilst the unseen driver jabbers on to him. The sense of naturalism here is dramatically palpable and damn entertaining.

As the film progresses, the trick-pony stuff continues to infuse the work with all manner of delectably tantalizing properties. What's less successful is the narrative itself. We always feel like there's more here than what meets the eye, but as the movie careens forward, there are a few lapses in logic that feel like "flaws", but are in fact elements built into the narrative which most savvy viewers will recognize as being far less than what crosses our ocular gaze. I pretty much pegged exactly who was who, what was what and how/when we were going to get there. That the denouement is not fraught with darker and "bigger" elements which most noir-like pictures have going for them is a bit of a comedown - especially since we can see it coming.

This might be an unfair complaint since so much of the movie succeeds on a kind of neo-realist level. The world the characters inhabit is so dull, ugly and drained of life that it was a treat to see so many grim interior and exterior locales (many of which are so grotesque that this Toronto-hating critic has, over the years, gone out of his way to seek them out to keep things "interesting").

I also love how "uncool" everything in the movie is. The apartments that the characters live in are so gross - especially the aforementioned joint Amy resides in - and the car the "villain" drives is ridiculously uncool - a super-ugly normal minivan far better suited to someone's Dad rather than a young, purportedly hip denizen of downtown Toronto. There is also a scene in one of Toronto's dingiest Vietnamese Pho restaurants. I've been there many times and it warmed the cockles of my heart to see it in a movie. (The characters also walk by one of the strangest greasy spoons in the city, which is just around the corner from the Pho joint, but sadly, there are no scenes there. Probably because it closes at 4PM and doubles as an accountant's office and tailor shop.) Not only are the selection of locations a treat, but the garish natural lighting and first-rate compositions deliver some mighty juicy goods for us to slurp down with relish.

This is one solid picture and I'm certainly looking forward to seeing more from this do-it-all dude.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: ***½ Three-and-a-Half Stars

Broken Mile enjoys its Toronto Premiere at the Canadian Film Fest 2017

BICYCLE THIEVES - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Quintessential Neo-Realism on Criterion

Bicycle Thieves (1948)
Dir. Vittorio De Sica
Scr. De Sica, Suso Cecchi D’Amico, Gerardo Guerrieri, Cesare Zavattini
Starring: Lamberto Maggiorani, Enzo Staiola, Lianella Carell,
Gino Saltamerenda, Vittorio Antonucci, Giulio Chiari

Review By Greg Klymkiw

The sheer weight of a great film's importance can often be incalculable and this is certainly the case with Vittorio De Sica's Bicycle Thieves, a movie that never ceases to render its emotional wallops with the force of a battering ram no matter how many times one sees the picture. It is the quintessential drama about poverty and easily the preeminent work of neorealism from post-war Italian Cinema.

The picture is untouchable.

Like the best neorealism, De Sica uses a cast of real people instead of professional actors (not a single person in the film seems out of place, delivering performances that are nothing less than pitch-perfect) and he shoots the film in locations where the story is actually set; so real and immediate to the period that we can still see the rubble of bombed-out buildings from WWII. There are moments when (and again, no matter how many times one sees it), that it's impossible to feel like you're watching anything other than the real thing, a story with the force of a cinéma vérité documentary; its drama so cleverly, brilliantly constructed that one does not see a single seam, not even a stitch.

First and foremost, De Sica and his clutch of writers trust in the simplicity of great stories. Bicycle Thieves, on its surface can't be more simple.

Antonio (Lamberto Maggiorani), his family living in the dank, paint-peeling impoverishment of a slum walk-up, finally gets a job in the utter destitution plaguing post-war Italy. The job requires him to have a bicycle. His loving wife Maria (Lianella Carell) sells all the sheets from their beds to pay for a pawn ticket to get hubby's bike out of hock. On his first day of work, Antonio's bicycle is stolen.

No bike. No job.

He has a day and a half to find his stolen bike before his next shift. With the help of son Bruno (Enzo Staiola) and best friend Baiocco (Gino Saltamerenda) a long, desperate and frustrating search leads to bupkis. Not even finding the thief (Vittorio Antonucci) yields fruit. Fraught with anguish, Antonio appears to have only one choice, a choice that will lead to salvation or (especially given the relatively recent and proper translation of the film's title from "The" Bicycle Thief to Bicycle "Thieves") even more pain and humiliation.

That's it.

Of course, there's so much more. Great storytellers realize that a clear, simple narrative is what's required to render a film that yields complexities extending well beyond the simplicity of the story itself. It's the springboard by which the film keeps us glued to the screen and then keeps us thinking about what we've seen (and often weeping) long after the word "FIN" hits the final title card.

From the beginning to the devastating end, De Sica places us deep in the heart of a world where the divides between rich and poor are so glaring, one feels just how prescient the film is (in spite of being set in Italy over 50 years ago). The divides we witness are not unlike those facing the world even now.

The film is populated with a multitude of the poor, yet there is one shot after another wherein someone of considerable privilege enters the frame, strutting through without a care in the world; a primly-dressed young fop blowing bubbles in the blazing sun, a vile upper-crust pedophile attempting to lure Bruno with the promise of a bicycle bell, a wealthy family dining in a restaurant with such manners and delicacy that Bruno is almost ashamed to eat his fried mozzarella sandwich with his hands, and most notable are the bureaucratic clerks behind windows to disdainfully serve the great unwashed.

There's even a strange sense that anyone with a job is endowed with a certain degree of entitlement, though wisely, the picture also includes those workers who display a near-resigned (though genuine) commitment to helping those in need. When Maria attempts to hock the family sheets, the pawn clerk argues that her sheets are used, but the look of desperation in Maria's face when she explains that three of the sheets are brand new and Antonio's noble discomfort when he asks for a bit more money are enough to change the clerk's mind and he generously offers extra cash he really shouldn't.

A glimpse into the hock shop's storage room is another exceptional example of De Sica's use of real locations. From Antonio's POV we see a huge wall piled high with bedsheets and, one of the many times during the picture in which we're reduced to tears, is when we (and Antonio) realize that the sheets indeed garnered a fair price as a worker climbs a heaven-touching ladder to deposit them near the top with all the other sheets of "lesser" value.

Another phenomenal use of locations is when Antonio visits a tiny vaudeville-styled theatre in which his friend Baiocco is directing an "unsophisticated" musical number and we're greeted with a faded backdrop on the stage, a handful of gaudily-attired performers, a few rows of decidedly uncomfortable seats and a group of poverty/labour activists (seemingly the real thing) demanding access to the theatre for their meeting. And, of course, the next day, we witness the kindness of Baiocco and his fellow water-truck labourers as they stop work on their paid jobs to help Antonio find the bicycle.

De Sica's overall direction is masterful. There are moments of dread and suspense which are so harrowing that I continue to be on the edge of my seat, each and every time I see the picture. After Antonio gets his bike back, there are a series of shots showing that Antonio's bicycle appears unattended as his attention is drawn to a few other matters. The first time I saw the film, these shots had me squirming. Given that I knew the title of the film and the manner in which the shots are framed, I still remember the dread I felt that the bicycle might be stolen here (it isn't, not yet).

Even more astounding is how I continued to feel queasy upon seeing the film just recently (and in spite of the fact that I've watched the movie once or twice a year over the course of forty years). One scene after another displays moments of situations similar to the aforementioned and my initial feelings from my very first viewing never dissipate. I think I get sick to my stomach even more. It's not unlike seeing superbly constructed set-pieces in a Hitchcock picture. I find myself thinking, "Oh God, no! Please, not that!"

And, you might ask, why is a bicycle so important to Antonio's new job? First and foremost, the job itself offers generous monthly wages (relatively), a monthly family bonus and other assorted benefits. This is because Antonio is working for a film exchange specializing in the shipping and distribution of Hollywood movies and P.R. materials. Antonio is armed with a clutch of posters, a brush, a bucket of glue and a ladder to tool all over a wide city route on his bicycle in order to put the glossy adverts up. It's not just a job, it's a great job.

And I reiterate: No bike. No job.

Though I don't think De Sica is overtly heavy-handed in doing so, it's clear that we're meant to think about the kinds of films being publicized; films representing the American dream factory, far removed from the kind of film De Sica himself has made and most of all, representing the kind of hopes and dreams the post-war poor can't even begin to imagine for themselves. Antonio is putting up a poster featuring the dazzling Rita Hayworth when his bicycle is stolen. Sadly, it's not gorgeous Rita who is literally distracting him, but his job. (Curiously, David O. Selznick even considered an American remake of Bicycle Thieves starring Gary Cooper which, thankfully, never saw the light of day. I'm sure it would have been a great Hollywood picture, but I can't imagine it would have represented the honest emotion De Sica is clearly going for.)

There are two sequences in two different public marketplaces that Antonio and Bruno find themselves in, desperately looking for the stolen bicycle. In the first, Antonio thinks he's found the frame of his bike at one of the stands and demands to see the serial number. The proprietors claim they run an honest business and insist they do not deal in stolen merchandise. We don't believe them for a second, but even though they do deal in stolen goods, De Sica shoots the entire series of shots comprising this that we understand why they would.

The second sequence involves Antonio and Bruno desperately searching the other market as rain pounds down torrentially. If it wasn't for the rain, we might even see tears and in one shot, Bruno's eyes appear moist beyond the mere rain pelting upon them with a gale force.

Herein and throughout, De Sica has us swimming in the turbulent sea of humanity.

And the humanity: Oh! The humanity, Oh! The humanity.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: ***** 5-Stars

The new Criterion Collection release of Bicycle Thieves comes replete with a new digital restoration (4K on the Blu-ray), with uncompressed monaural soundtrack on the Blu-ray; Working with De Sica, a collection of interviews with screenwriter Suso Cecchi d’Amico, actor Enzo Staiola, and film scholar Callisto Cosulich; Life as It Is, a program on the history of Italian neorealism, featuring scholar Mark Shiel; a 2003 documentary from 2003 on screenwriter and longtime Vittorio De Sica collaborator Cesare Zavattini, directed by Carlo Lizzani; an optional English-dubbed soundtrack; and a booklet featuring an essay by critic Godfrey Cheshire and reminiscences by De Sica and his collaborators.

A SPECIAL DAY - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Italian Kitchen-Sink Love Story now on Criterion

A gay dissident. An overworked housewife.
Can happiness, no matter how brief, be far behind?

A Special Day (1977)
Dir. Ettore Scola
Starring: Sophia Loren, Marcello Mastroianni, John Vernon, Françoise Berd

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Writing about A Special Day is a somewhat bittersweet experience for me. Until watching the gorgeously transferred Criterion Collection Blu-Ray, I hadn't laid eyes upon the picture since 1977 when I saw it first-run on a big screen.

I saw it with my late mother. She loved Sophia Loren and was really looking forward to the movie. It didn't disappoint. It became one of her favourite movies. From time to time she'd mention it agreeably, almost wistfully. I offered, on several occasions, to get it on home video for her, but she always declined. She wasn't one to see movies more than once, even if she loved them. (Her exception to this rule was Gone With The Wind.)

For me, I recall enjoying it well enough in 1977, but I was eventually swayed by Pauline Kael's hilarious pan in The New Yorker. She referred to it as "a strenuous exercise in sensitivity" and described director Ettore Scola's style as "genteel shamelessness". In spite of my Kael-influenced position on the picture, I always maintained a positive stance whenever my mother brought it up. I tried not being a pretentious smart-ass with her.

Seeing it again, I marvelled at what an exquisitely crafted love story it really is. Yes, the picture wears its emotions on its sleeve and the political backdrop now seems somewhat obvious in how it front loads the love story which transpires twixt Sophia Loren and Marcello Mastroianni. But, on this viewing, none of these almost-machine-tooled elements mattered to me. I appreciated Scola's genuine artistry and the film's obvious merits as a first-rate weepy.

All through this screening, though, I couldn't help but think about my Mom.

I think this is a valid critical response to the film. Good movies almost always hit one on a personal level and what I admired, beyond reflecting upon my late Mother's love for it, is what a superb star vehicle it was for its leads and how the film must have resonated with audiences all over the world - especially all those Moms who related to the character Loren played so exquisitely.

The kitchen sink, laundry and Hitler
are powerless against two lonely people
finding happiness, no matter how brief.

Sophia is cast against type as Antonietta, a traditional housewife living in poverty with her brutish husband (John Vernon) and slaving over her six kids (of all ages) whilst living a life of drudgery and servitude - cooking and cleaning ad infinitum. Of course, like star vehicles the world over, Sophia's not really cast against type in the sense that she's the most gorgeous drudge in the history of movies - even without makeup. Why should it be any other way? I imagine my own Mother seeing aspects of herself in the film, but being able to do so with Sophia Loren standing up on the silver screen in her stead.

As the title tells us, the film is set during that very special day in 1938 when Adolph Hitler came to Rome in order to celebrate Totalitarian collaboration with Benito Mussolini. Loudspeakers have been set up in every nook and cranny of the city to broadcast the events of the day, even though virtually every home and business has been drained of humanity to fill the streets for Hitler.

Antonietta is home alone. There's plenty of wifely duties for her to perform - Hitler or no Hitler. When her mynah bird escapes its cage and flies across the courtyard, it lands at the window of Gabriele (Marcello Mastroianni). With his help, the bird is rescued. Alas, all this activity has interrupted Gabriele's plans to commit suicide.

I'd assert that this might be the ultimate meet-cute.

In any event, we discover Gabriele is a former household name - a radio commentator who has been fired for his liberal views and who will, no doubt, be carried off by the Black Shirt Police to rot in prison. Antonietta is charmed off her feet by the dapper intellectual. He treats her with respect and encourages her to find time to exercise her mind with reading books. He's also a homosexual. This doesn't phase Antonietta. She's bound and determined to seduce him.

This is a special day in more ways than one. Two sad, lonely people make a connection. Come what may, for several hours they discover some glimmer of happiness in their momentary closeness. Though director Scola has visually etched a borderline neorealist world, he eventually builds to a fifty-hanky tear gusher. There's no mistaking that A Special Day is anything other than what it is; a touching, sentimental, gorgeously-wrought melodrama.

And yeah, I did shed more than a few tears on this go-round. I acknowledge many of them were probably in memory of my late Mom, but I'd be a liar if I didn't admit that the skillful manner in which the film wrenches emotion also worked its magic upon me. It's the same magic that worked on my Mom, sitting in a movie theatre on a Sunday afternoon with her teenage son some thirty eight years ago.

I suspect the picture will move whole new generations of movie lovers, thanks to the painstaking restoration efforts of Criterion. Like any well crafted love story, Scola did indeed create a picture of lasting value.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: **** 4-Stars

A Special Day is available on the Criterion Collection with to-die-for supplements including: a new, restored 4K digital transfer, supervised by director Ettore Scola, with uncompressed monaural soundtrack on the Blu-ray; Human Voice, a 2014 short film starring Sophia Loren and directed by Edoardo Ponti; new interviews with Scola and Loren; two 1977 episodes of The Dick Cavett Show featuring Loren and actor Marcello Mastroianni (a mega-treat); the trailer; a new English subtitle translation; and an essay by critic Deborah Young.

MEKKO - Review By Greg Klymkiw - TIFF 2015 - Urban Rez on the mean streets of Tulsa

Mekko (2015)
Dir. Sterlin Harjo
Starring: Rod Rondeaux, Zahn McClarnon, Wotko Long, Sarah Podemski, Scott Mason

Review By Greg Klymkiw

They're living ghosts on the dirty, mean streets of Tulsa, Oklahoma, looking for a patch of turf to rest their weary bones, quaff cheap booze and await death whilst clinging desperately to life so they can numb the pain.

Far from home, family and dignity, they're Native Americans reduced to poverty at its lowest rung on this makeshift Indian Reservation in the heart of a flat, grey city on the open plains of the dust bowl state. Life is hard, but death without redemption will be harder. One pain will be replaced with yet another, only this time, it will last an eternity if the loose ends aren't tied up.

Not every man will be up to the task, but in the hands of one man, there exists the power of salvation for his community of homeless indigenous people.

For many of us and certainly within the context of both this film and life itself, the blood and violence that eventually explode in answer to a brutal, cowardly assault and murder, will seem like cold, calculating vengeance, but the writer-director Sterlin Harjo knows better. In his third extraordinary feature film, Harjo takes us deep into the life and spirit of one man to expose a truth we must all face and come to know.

His film Mekko bears the name of its protagonist, a quiet lean, gentle giant played by longtime stuntman Rod Rondeaux (a la such immortals as Ben Johnson and Richard Farnsworth); a man who still has enough of a spark left in him to conjure the memories emblazoned upon his soul in childhood by the words of his long-dead grandmother.

In the tradition of Lionel Rogosin's searing docudramas on America's post-war homeless and the early years of South African apartheid in On the Bowery and Come Back, Africa respectively, in addition to the neo-realist visions of Vittorio De Sica (Bicycle Thieves, Shoeshine, Umberto D), Harjo has created a contemporary masterpiece in Mekko, one which indelibly presents a portrait of Native Americans that's as much a harrowing slice-of-life drama as it is a piece rooted in the folklore of our indigenous peoples.

Harjo hangs his raw cinematic engraving upon the simple tale of a man recently released from a 19-year prison stint for murder who winds up homeless on the streets of Tulsa. He reconnects with an old friend from his youth who's also on the streets, is then befriended by a kind-hearted Native American waitress in a local greasy spoon and eventually confronts his nemesis, an odious street goon who keeps his own people hooked on booze and drugs to extort, bully and eke what cash he can out of them.

As in his grandmother's legends, Mekko and his people are always followed by a malevolent witch-spirit who will haunt them to their graves and beyond unless someone bravely takes action to rip the evil heart and soul out of this scourge, this blight upon humanity. It's ultimately all about looking inward to expose one's own demons and eradicate them with extreme prejudice in order to make the world pure again.

Mekko is an extraordinary work, gorgeously crafted, beautifully acted and even utilizing real indigenous street people in the cast. It's sad, shocking, profoundly moving and ultimately uplifting. The journey to elation is, however, fraught with danger and suffering. It's not cheaply and easily earned, but it's a journey you'll never forget, one with the power to fill you with the kind of truth that not only exposes the lives of real people, but the potential to inspire change within yourself.

Yes, this is what they indeed do. Masterpieces, that is.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: ***** 5-Stars

Mekko enjoys its international premiere in the Contemporary World Cinema section of TIFF 2015. For further info, visit the TIFF website HERE.

THE CHILDREN ARE WATCHING US - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Haunting Vittorio De Sica Classic screened on rare 35mm print at TIFF Bell Lightbox Cinematheque series "MORE THAN LIFE ITSELF: REDISCOVERING THE FILMS OF VITTORIO DE SICA", programmed by the inimitable James Quandt (also available on a lovely Criterion Collection DVD).

The Children Are Watching Us - I bambini ci guardano (1942)
dir. Vittorio De Sica
Starring: Emilio Cigoli,
Luciano De Ambrosis, Isa Pola,
Adriano Rimoldi, Giovanna Cigoli

Review By Greg Klymkiw

On a narrative level, the cruelty and selfishness of a young mother is what lies at the heart of Vittorio De Sica's The Children Are Watching Us and as such, seems an especially appropriate element for the rich and consistent mise en scène to present the entire story from the perspective of a 5 year old child. There are many powerful aspects to this classic motion picture, but the fact that director De Sica wisely places his camera eye-level to the child in question is almost gruelling in terms of the pain he wrenches from the story and the emotion he extracts from the audience.

Though the film slightly pre-dates the period of Italian neorealism which began with Luchino Visconti's Ossessione in 1943 and Roberto Rossellini's Rome, Open City in 1946, De Sica is already playing with a stark element of realism in the storytelling. We might crave a happy ending, but it would be false, not unlike so many pictures generated in pre-War and wartime Italy.

The Children Are Watching Us was filmed during wartime in 1942, but its politically and socially restful qualities come from the fact that the bombing and shelling did not shock the country into fear and despair until the fall of that year. In addition to utilizing many real locations in tandem with realistically dressed/designed Cinecittà studio work, De Sica cast his central player, Luciano De Ambrosis as the sensitive child Pricò from a non-traditional background. De Sica used the child's already heightened sadness over his mother's recent death to astounding effect in this tragic tale of maternal betrayal.

The film is neatly and boldly divided into 2 parts quite literally as De Sica provides "Part One" and "Part Two" titles to signal the film's two key movements. In the first part, we learn that Pricò's mother Nina (Isa Pola) is engaged in a love affair. When she leaves her husband Andrea (Emilio Cigoli) and essentially abandons her child for the handsome smarmy lover Roberto (Adriano Rimoldi), both father and son are devastated.

Though the loyal housekeeper Agnese (Giovanna Cigoli) is a bedrock, Andrea feels Pricò might be better off with female relatives, but neither of these arrangements come to happy endings and the child is reunited with his father. After a few days of carnal abandon with Roberto, Nina sheepishly returns after ending the affair. Andrea grudgingly allows her to stay for the sake of son needing a Mother. Though he's curt towards her, Andrea allows his bitterness to subside and decides a family vacation at a seaside resort away from Rome is in order.

The second movement is marked by a gradually touching reconciliation between husband and wife. When Andrea confidently returns to work in Rome, he allows Nina and Pricò to remain for a few days in the idyllic hotel with its lush sun-dappled beaches. The happy Hubby feels like some quality time between Mother and Son will be a positive thing and he also secretly decides he'll replace the old curtains (which Nina always detested) with lush new drapes in their flat's boudoir.

Alas, a male dog will always come sniffing around and a bitch in heat will respond in kind. Roberto shows up at the resort and Pricò is left alone whilst Mom willingly receives her lover's prodigious root.

Hell breaks loose in two ways. One is expected, the other is not. Both are unbearably shattering.

De Sica more than superbly handles the performances and scene blocking with the skill of a fine craftsman, but as an artist, he excels with the kind of visual touches that only a filmmaker infused with celluloid in his DNA can do.

We never forget the title for a moment. Our eyes are ultimately drawn to Pricò in virtually every scene as the actions of the adults allow us to naturally shift our focus to the child's gaze. The child, it seems, is not only watching, but always watching, so much so that when Pricò stops training his gaze upon his mother, lulled into a kind of happy complacency during a magic act in the hotel ballroom, we're initially unaware that his eyes are not where they've been for the whole film. Once we realize this, our hearts do indeed sink, and the narrative does not "disappoint" us in this respect when Pricò's eyes shift back to his mother's activity.

It's a heartbreaker of monumental proportions.

De Sica also never lets us forget the eyes of the child with the intelligently placed camera, always at Pricò's eye level, whether we're with him in a specific shot/scene or not. This allows us to always view the dramatic action as if we are indeed the child and that what we see is both what he sees and how he sees it. Again, we are Pricò, and though it's an intermittently joyous perspective, it is, more often than not, a devastatingly sad point of view.

This mise en scène is never oppressive nor heavy-handed. De Sica's touch is pure gossamer in this respect. However, at one point, De Sica uses Pricò's point of view to deliver one of the most haunting nightmare sequences ever committed to film, brilliantly framed in the reflections of a train's window as it speeds along a pitch-black night. The images here are as utterly devastating to us as they would be to a child like Pricò.

As if that isn't powerful enough, De Sica maintains this position during a scene where Andrea begs and finally begins to order Pricò to reveal the truth about Nina's indiscretions - closeups of eyes at a child's eye-level have never been more emotionally calamitous.

Eventually, when De Sica presents the final moments of Nina begging for forgiveness, the camera's position remains fixed as it always has been, only this time we experience how physically tiny, yet infused with strength this child is.

And in spite of this strength, De Sica forces us to experience the child being swallowed up by a world he knows he must face alone. It's a knockout, just as the picture itself ultimately is. The children are indeed watching us and De Sica has crafted one of the most devastating reminders of that fact, one that none of us should ever forget.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: *****

The Children Are Watching Us plays this summer at the TIFF Bell Lightbox on 35MM. For dates, times and tickets, visit the TIFF website HERE. If you aren't in Toronto for this wonderful experience, the Criterion Collection DVD presents a fine transfer of the film along with two superb added value features, an interview with an Italian critic, but most astoundingly, a great interview with the actor who played Pricò.

Feel free to order the Criterion DVD directly from the following links. You'll be supporting the ongoing maintenance of The Film Corner if you do so.

In Canada, order HERE
in the USA order HERE
and in the UK order HERE

UNDER THE SUN OF ROME - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Editing soars in neorealist film

In Italian neo-realism, beautiful women looking for romance have slim pickings amongst layabout man-boys who never want to grow up.

Gorgeous neorealist film
begs for proper treatment
from either Criterion or
Kino Lorber. Who will step
up to the plate first?

Under the Sun of Rome
Sotto il sole di Roma (1948)
dir. Renato Castellani
Starring: Oscar Blando, Liliana Mancini, Francesco Golisari, Maria Tozzi, Ferrucio Tozzi, Gisella Monaldi, Alberto Sordi

Review By Greg Klymkiw

At one point in Renato Castellani’s strange neorealist comedy-drama Under the Sun of Rome, the layabout teen hero Ciro (Oscar Blando) and his hard-working beat cop Dad (Ferrucio Tozzi) are sleeping not-so-soundly during the day for very different reasons.

Ciro busily toils day and night doing nothing – save for occasional forays into mischief with his equally lazy pals. Pops, on the other hand, is on perpetual night shift – patrolling the dark streets and punching in tediously at the requisite check-in points. Ciro's only genuine risk is getting caught for petty thievery. Pops, however, is at risk every night, keeping the eternal city as safe as possible.

One works, the other doesn’t – but as the sun of Roma beams through the windows of their tiny walk-up – both men on this particular morning, are getting no sleep. Roly-poly Mamma (Maria Tozzi) is multitasking like only a mother can and berating both of them – at the top of her considerable lungs. In a brief moment of respite from her justifiable haranguing (she works harder than the two of them together – multiplied, no doubt, to infinity), bleary Ciro calls out to his equally groggy Dad asking if ALL married women are like his mother.

Dad sighs with resignation and replies, “All.”

Ah, the eternal chasm twixt man and woman.

Luckily, for the not-so-gentle sex, they always have each other.

Under the Sun of Rome unfolds its episodic coming-of-age tale during World War II, but for a good portion of the picture, we’d never know it. Ciro and his buddies busy themselves with the fine rituals of doing nothing. Our hunky hero, adorned in a sporty new pair of white shoes and to-die-for shorts that outline the supple form of his delectable posterior and swarthy gams – Yes, GAMS! They’re that gorgeous – is supposed to be getting a presentable haircut for his new job.

Ciro has other plans. He rounds up his buddies for a day of slacking. Wandering through the crumbling Coliseum they come across Geppe (Francesco Golisari) a lad of the streets who makes his home there. Ciro and Geppe hit it off immediately and the new pal joins the layabouts for a dip in a secluded creek on railway property.

When rail company bulls show up to intimidate trespassers, Ciro loses his new shoes and the money Mamma gave him for a haircut. Nor has he bothered to go to work as promised. Terrified with the severe beating he’ll receive, Ciro does what any young lad would do – he doesn’t go home and instead, spends the night with Geppe in his magical little Coliseum hideaway.

This affords both young dreamboats the opportunity to gaze intently at each other’s fresh, lean man-boy perfection – replete with gentle digital gesticulations. Here Castellani directs veteran cinematographer Domenico (Ossessione) Scala’s camera in loving compositional directions to highlight the bountiful facial and physical attributes of both actors. (Larry Clark – eat your heart out.)

As time moves on, the picture recounts several entertaining incidents in the life of Ciro – stealing shoes from a shopkeeper (the great Alberto Sordi of The White Sheik and I Vitelloni fame), an on-again-off-again relationship with Iris (Liliana Mancini) the proverbial girl-next-door, dabbling in black marketeering once the German army enters Rome, dallying gigolo-like with the BBW-splendour of Tosca (Gisella Monaldi) a married-woman-cum-streetwalker and eventually crime that leads to the expected tragic ending.

Castellani’s storytelling technique and, in fact elements of the story itself, are delicately, delightfully odd.

The first-person narration is truly exceptional. It is both literary AND literal. Often the voiceover will describe a physical action just before or during its execution as well as describing characters whom we see as described during said descriptions. Further to this, we will often hear narration to the effect of “So-and-so said…” and we’ll then hear the character recite the line of dialogue. The basic tenets of Screenwriting 101 suggest you should NEVER do any of the above. This, of course, is why the self-appointed scenarist gurus the world over are so often wrong. If it works, it works and it does so splendidly here.

Some might find fault with Castellani’s perspective on his female characters. It's certainly not as deep and sensitive as it could and should be. Even in I Vitelloni, the pinnacle of all male layabout films, Maestro Fellini is able to render strong female characters without turning them into borderline harridans as Castellani does with Mamma or worse, Iris – a harridan-to-be. (The performances of the actresses are as good as can be expected within the shallow dimensions they’re given to work with.)

Strangely, the female character that seems the most well rounded and lavished with the greatest degree of sensitivity is that of the plump, whorish Tosca. Even Scala’s cinematography of the women is mostly workmanlike, lacking the loving detail and care so copiously drenched upon the young boys. One could argue this is intentional, but to that I say – argue away. Larry Clark rests MY case on this one – boys AND gals need equal cinematographic love. (In fairness though, there is ONE boner-inducing close-up of Liliana Mancini slowly opening the door.)

Blando’s performance as Ciro is infused with a variety of subtle layers. When he is at his most rakishly appealing, Ciro is a character we’re completely rooting for, but often he does and says things so abominable (for example, the way he continually professes love to Iris, kisses her passionately then hurls some invective that clearly hurts her feelings) that we turn on him violently. Ciro is an always fascinating character. His eventual coming-of-age, his redemption if you will, has considerable force. I also applaud Castellani’s brave choice in making such a bold series of moves within a leading character.

What I love most about this picture is the craft employed in the forward thrust of its episodic narrative. The movie never feels like it’s overstaying its welcome at any point and yet, very often, it has a rhythm not unlike that of a lazy day and as such, is easily in the same sphere attained by Fellini in I Vitelloni. In fact, the slicing and dicing of editor Giuliano Betti is not only exceptional, but at times it is utterly breathtaking. Among many spectacular cuts, the one that stays with me is a gorgeous cut to a foot-level shot on the stairs in the walk-up when Ciro and Iris go into the hallway from his flat. Not only is this a cut of exquisite beauty, but also it leads us into a shot that is equally stunning (followed by a camera move that’s richly evocative and romantic).

Many of the cuts are suitably "silent", but only when they need to be. On occasion they knock you completely on your ass and force you to almost re-focus your gaze IN to the action on screen.

I have to sadly admit to having seen only one Castellani picture before (a weird English-dubbed public domain VHS tape of Hell in the City during the mid-80s - issued I think, to capitalize on Chained Heat and other babe-in-prison flicks starring Linda Blair and rented pour moi to satisfy my babe-in-prison fetish. Because of my Castellani-deprived state, I couldn't begin to claim that these cuts are a trademark DIRECTORIAL style of his and assume they were made in collaboration with a brilliant editor. The credited editor is one Giuliano Betti. I have scoured the Internet quite extensively - including Italian sites, and found virtually no information about him. In fact, this appears to be his only editing credit (along with a bunch of assistant directing and continuity credits). Go figure. Whoever was responsible is a genius.

Under the Sun of Rome is a tremendously entertaining picture and even if it occasionally feels like a Diet Chinotto precursor to Federico Fellini’s I Vitelloni, it’s a worthy entry in the Italian neorealist sweepstakes - especially in the oft-tackled men-who-can't-seem-to-grow-up genre.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: **** 4-Stars

Under the Sun of Rome does not appear to be available on DVD other than as a non-subtitled Italian import. This must change. It sounds like a job for either Criterion or Kino Lorber. In the meantime, a gorgeous archival 35mm English-subtitled print pops up at cinematheques that can still screen real movies. TIFF Bell Lightbox in Toronto did, indeed, present this film a few years back. I, for one, would LOVE to own it on Blu=Ray. Criterion? Kino Lorber? Art thou listening?

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UMBERTO D. - Review By Greg Klymkiw - The Criterion Collection Blu-Ray of Vittorio De Sica's heartbreaker is an absolute must-own. KLYMKIW CHRISTMAS GIFT IDEA 2012 #9

A mutt with intelligent eyes.

In this continuing series devoted to reviewing motion pictures ideal for this season of celebration and gift giving, here is KLYMKIW CHRISTMAS GIFT IDEA 2012 #9: The exquisite Criterion Collection Blu-Ray (or, if you must, DVD) of UMBERTO D., Vittorio De Sica's Neo-realist masterpiece about post-war loneliness and loss that faces a grumpy, financially-beleagured old man.

Umberto D. (1952) *****
dir. Vittorio De Sica
Starring: Carlo Battisti, Maria-Pia Casilio, Lina Gennari, Flike

Review By Greg Klymkiw

The old man Umberto (Carlo Battisti) must bid goodbye to the only thing he genuinely loves in the whole wide world, a tiny dog called Flike. He's so poor he must check himself into a hospital to treat a simple case of Tonsillitis. This allows him to get free meals for a few days so he can save enough money to avoid eviction.

Upon returning to his apartment he's well-rested and happily on the verge of clearing his debt to the horrid landlady (Lina Gennari) - one of the most despicable harridans in screen history. To his surprise, the room is not occupied by one of the many couples indulging in sordid extramarital bliss, courtesy of the landlady's entrepreneurial disrespect and abuse of Umberto's indebtedness to her by hiring the old man's bed out for boinking.

Instead, an invasion of busy tradesmen have rendered his usually neat and orderly digs topsy-turvy. In his absence the landlady feared he'd not return from the hospital and went ahead with preparing his room for new tenants.

The worst news of all is that his dog, his only true friend, his beloved Flike, is gone - carelessly let out into the streets by the landlady's friendly, warm-hearted maid (Maria-Pia Castillo) who is distracted by a three-month-old illegitimate child growing in her belly.

Umberto races to the municipal dog pound where he witnesses the stark reality of what happens to stray dogs like his sweet, little Flike. He witnesses the animals in cages, yelping for salvation. He sees the horrifying death chamber for dogs not claimed or whose owners cannot pay the fines to release them. He witnesses the sad faces of the poor, the downtrodden dregs of humanity, who, like Umberto, have been beaten down by poverty. Umberto is flush with rent money to rescue his Flike, if only his dog was there to be rescued. Others are not so lucky. They truly have nothing and can only shrug their shoulders in despair and resignation that without sufficient funds, their pets will not be saved from the deadly gas chamber.

In desperation, Umberto tries to describe Flike to the dog pound's cucumber-cool pencil pushing bureaucrat:

"He's a mutt, with intelligent eyes," Umberto gasps. "White, with brown spots."

It's an apt description - one to be expected from an intelligent man, though a man who's been discarded and forgotten by society. After a lifetime of service, of hard work, Umberto's been relegated to a strife-filled existence, receiving a measly pension that barely covers his rent.

Umberto's sad, desperate face and pleading eyes look for compassion, but most of all, seek the tiny dog he loves. For most, however, this is a cruel world, especially for those who are old and poor.

Post-war Italy during the late 1940s and early 1950s was director Vittorio De Sica's cinematic playing field. This is where he told tales of poverty, focussing upon the disenfranchised of society. The Bicycle Thief (AKA Bicycle Thieves), the immortal tale of a man searching for his only mode of trasnport and livelihood is De Sica's best remembered tale from this period. It's a great picture and so is Umberto D.

So many (mostly young) contemporary viewers (and even reviewers who should know better) have mistakenly attributed the sort of juvenile laziness permeating the mumble-core nonsense of recent times with the period of neorealism and what it represents. When they actually see the real thing, they're shocked, if not downright disappointed that neorealist movies have great, classically structured stories with performances (often by non-professional actors) that blow away many thespians of the pro variety and certainly the majority of losers who mumble their way through American indie pictures lauded by festival directors, pseuds and other supporters of self-indulgence.

Neorealism in Italy defined an entire generation of post-war filmmakers and created a style unique to its time and place and yet, in so doing, created work of lasting value. It also changed movies. Prior to this period, many films were studio bound, but the Italians, forced by budget and circumstance, shot on actual locations - something that did not take long to filter down to Hollywood.

The deeply moving screenplay by Cesare Zavattini would have worked beautifully if it had been made at an earlier juncture on the magnificent studio sets of Cinecitta with professional actors and all the lavish trappings of big budget Italian production from before World War II. Would it have been as good? Probably not. What roots Zavattini's finely wrought narrative and brilliantly etched characters is precisely how De Sica chose to make the film - in pure neorealist tradition. Real locations, real background extras and an utterly astounding performance by Carlo Battisti as the title character.

Battisti was NOT an actor. He was a linguist and university professor. Umberto D. was his first and last film as an actor - something that to this day seems utterly, almost unbelievably insane. He's got a great mug and his delivery (vocal and physical) is naturalistic in ways we expect from our greatest actors. (That said, the best university lecturers are brilliant performers and as such, can often make GREAT actors.)

The locations and background extras are all the real thing. The horrific aforementioned sequence at the dog pound is the real thing - a real pound, real dogs, real dog catchers, a real gas chamber, a real dog executioner, a real hose washing down the floors of butchery and most heartbreakingly, real people looking to claim their real animals.

During the film's opening, there's a stunning sequence where hundreds of old men protest the treatment seniors receive at the hands of an uncaring government. Again, the streets are real, the men are real and so are the police who disperse the crowds.

Then there is the reality of both character and narrative beats. Umberto's repeated attempts to sell his watch for money to pay his landlady are both sad and pathetic. We've seen this before (or even done it ourselves) in life. When Umberto meets a kind, friendly gentleman who could actually be his friend, we cringe when Umberto pulls out his watch and attempts to sell it.

Zavattini structures the film in a classic three-act mode of delivery. The actions driving each act are not mere plot devices, but seek to expose a sense of reality to Umberto's lot in life and in so doing, we're delivered a powerful series of beats that are recognizable to us as the sort of life trajectories that plague so many.

The three main actions of the story are separation, reunification and extrication. Within the context of an old man who essentially decides that suicide is his only way out of a cycle of misery, these actions are utterly devastating.

Love is what can save this man who lives a life without it. Unbeknownst to him, love is staring him in the face, but he sadly doesn't stare back - to see it, to recognize it, to feel it. Umberto is someone who always chose to live his life alone, dedicated to his work, but with dignity.

Alas, the world seems to become even harsher by the film's end and a life lived with grace and purity feels like a luxury.

De Sica takes us on the road of one man's life - a life that could belong to any one of us. Umberto's journey is harrowing, to be sure, but we're all the better for taking it with him.

"Umberto D." is available on the Criterion Collection as both Blu-Ray and DVD. The extra features are bounteous and the transfer is utter perfection. The added attraction is the superb 2001 documentary made for Italian TV entitled "That's Life: Vittorio De Sica".

HEATER - Interview with Writer-Director Terrance Odette By Greg Klymkiw - In this second part of my HEATER coverage, I interview the movie's writer-director. Destined for classic status, Terrance Odette's Neo-Realist portrait of the homeless in Winnipeg is being honoured in the TIFF Bell Lightbox Open Vault Series.

The following interview with Terrance Odette is PART TWO of my coverage on the landmark screening of Terrance Odette's HEATER playing at Toronto's TIFF Bell Lightbox in the important Open Vault series July 16 at 6:30pm. For tickets, visit the TIFF website HERE. PART ONE of my HEATER coverage is a review of the film which you can find HERE

Heater (1999)
dir. Terrance Odette
Starring:
Gary Farmer
Stephen Ouimette
Mauralee Austin
Tina Keeper
Blake Taylor
Joyce Krenz
Sharon Bajer
Martine Friesen
Wayne Niklas
Jan Skene
Jonathan Barrett

****
Interview with
Terrance Odette
By Greg Klymkiw

TWO MOVIE GEEKS
ON SARAH POLLEY, SPIDER-MAN, DON SHEBIB
& HEATER

Terrance Odette: Before we get started, I’ve gotta say one thing to you.

Greg Klymkiw: Yeah?

TO: I fuckin’ loved Take This Waltz.

GK: Isn’t it fucking great?

TO: You know, I read [insert interchangeable name of film “critic” here]’s review of Sarah Polley’s film, which said the movie sucked and I heard from people I talked to in the film industry and stuff and it’s like, “Ah, it’s a bit of a disappointment” and all that negative stuff.

GK: Fucking morons!

TO: I enjoyed it way more than her first feature film, Away From Her.

GK: Yeah, and that picture’s certainly no slouch.

TO: Exactly.

GK: Though Take This Waltz is leaps and bounds ahead, it reminded me of Sarah’s stunning short drama I Shout Love. Even at that stage of her directorial career, the short signalled the birth of a world-class director. I was convinced then as I am now, that she's going to continually knock us on our collective butt-cheeks.

TO: I was so proud of Sarah when she made Away From Her, but Take This Waltz is completely in another dimension – especially considering that the first movie had Alice Munro as a starting point while this one is an original script by Sarah, she’s clearly up there with contemporaries like Andrea Arnold, Kelly Reichardt – the new female Turks of contemporary cinema.

GK: Look, it makes sense to me that Sarah would be considered in that specific pantheon, but I almost feel like she’s jumped well over their heads and moved into a completely different stratosphere. She successfully blends working with so many layers, but when you strip them away, you’re left with a very strong narrative arc that supports all her cool shit, including dollops, or at least nods – albeit skewed – to commercial filmmaking.

TO: I’m looking forward to seeing it again, though I’ll have to wait until I get into Toronto. I didn’t get to see it until its second week which is when it ended in my neck of the woods, but come on! The movie did two weeks in Stony Creek.

GK: Two weeks in Stony Creek for anything that isn’t some pile of shit is astounding.

TO: Oh yeah, good on Mongrel Media for pushing this movie so aggressively.

GK: Yeah, that’s a distribution company with real vision – between Hussain Amarshi and Tom Alexander at the helm, I still hold out some hope for the survival of English-Canadian cinema. “Ephemeral” seems to be a dirty word to those guys which, makes complete sense because they got behind a movie like Sarah’s that is going to have a life well beyond its initial theatrical release. In an ephemeral sense, Take This Waltz might not reach the adulatory heights of Away From Her, but it’s so clear that this is the one that IS going to last.

TO: Sarah pushes the edge and it makes me really happy that I can see a movie I love that also teaches me things about the filmmaking process. It’s so sophisticated, so mature.

GK: Unlike, say, The Amazing Spider-Man which, I recently had the misfortune of seeing – a movie made by this guy, Marc Webb, whose major claim to fame is having directed tons and tons of music videos. The picture has no style, no voice and its very competence gives competence a bad name.

TO: Oh, for sure. I just saw it myself, and boy, did that movie suck.

GK: I think it’s the whole music video thing that drove me craziest – all those stupid montages set to mostly crummy music – Ugh!

TO: That can be a real trap for directors who spend too much time making music videos. Music videos have no content but the song itself – they’re all context. Spike Jonze is one of the few who finds content in the context and is finally, a genuine film artist. Most of those guys work with the best technical people and frankly, they’re good technicians themselves. With The Amazing Spider-Man, Webb clearly lucked out having great actors and technicians, but only a real artist could have worked through script holes designed to drive a Mack Truck through. I mean sure, it’s a superhero movie so there’s already a layer of implausibility, but that idiotic scene where Peter Parker gets bitten in the first place isn’t even plausible within the implausible superhero world.

GK: That’s unbelievably stupid. I almost threw in the towel and walked out during that scene. They make such a big deal about the high levels of security in that place and when it’s convenient for the filmmakers, they just waltz Peter right into that room. And even when he’s buggering around with things in there, are we supposed to buy that this isn’t sending the place into total lockdown?

TO: That’s right. And I really felt bad because I went to see it with my daughter yesterday for her birthday and all the way through it I kept rolling my eyes and when it was over, she was excitedly and expectantly asking me what I thought and I’m like, “I really loved the acting.” She’s seeing it again today with a bunch of friends – more of a social thing.

GK: Yeah, that’s what made Titanic or Sex and the City such hits. They’re not movies, they’re social events.

TO: What I don’t get is why someone didn’t notice at a script stage how interesting the villain was and then do everything in their power to get Peter in his Spidey suit and get down to business instead of all that boring walking around.

GK: Well, you need a director for that - a real director, a real filmmaker. Not some competent, unimaginative hack. Someone needs to be driving the engine right from the start – someone who understands the iconography of Spider-Man. Sam Raimi got it and he’s without a doubt a real filmmaker with a voice and vision. And speaking of vision and voice, you cut your teeth on music videos, but Heater is clearly imbued with the very distinctive touch of a true film artist. What was happening that saved you from continuing to rest on the laurels of a lucrative gig?

TO: I really used the music videos to hone certain levels of craft, but I really wanted to work in a narrative tradition. My wife Alicia [Odette] worked as a street nurse in the 90s for an organization in Toronto called Street Health that served the health care needs and advocated for the homeless or what they called the “under-housed” which could be people living in squalid rooming houses or things like that. She had clients from all walks of homelessness – people living in the woods around the Don Valley, on the streets, in all those rooming houses near the drop-in centre which still operates at Dundas and Sherbourne in downtown Toronto. She was one of four nurses working there at that time and one day she came home and the first thing she said was, “This guy tried to sell me a baseboard heater.” She’d get guys trying to sell her stuff at the centre all the time – like steaks – all kinds of crazy stuff. But this was the craziest. Can you imagine a guy wandering around homeless in Toronto during the winter, clutching a brand new baseboard heater that he couldn’t plug in because he’s living on the streets? This was more than enough to inspire me to start writing a script. This is what got the whole thing rolling.

GK: You based this story on events in Toronto, yet as someone who spent the first 33 years of his life in Winnipeg, your movie felt like it couldn't have been set anywhere other than The 'Peg.

TO: Winnipeg was an amazing location and whatever city the movie was set in, it couldn't just be a backdrop, but needed to be as much a character as those in the movie.

GK: Yeah, that speaks to the movie's universal qualities.

TO: It was always so important to me that I tell a story that could be appreciated in any context.

GK: And, frankly, it's so universal, I'd add anytime.

TO: When it's cold outside, we all need a heater.

GK: Actually, the character Stephen Ouimette plays, the guy with the heater, is a rich and important character, but the movie is really about the character Gary Farmer plays.

TO: That’s because the heater guy had plenty of obstacles to overcome, but I wanted a central character who had the greatest opportunities to grow and change over the course of the film and from the beginning I knew there had to be two men playing off each other and even working as a team – a partnership.

GK: A bit of John Steinbeck in the mix.

TO: Exactly. I used my imagination to create this character and kind of even projected myself through it. I kind of see myself as a bigger person and as I developed the story I was even more convinced he’d be this big lumbering guy. I just thought about what someone like me would do with every bad piece of luck thrown at him.

GK: And then he meets someone worse off than he is.

TO: That’s right. It’s something very, very simple.

GK: And simplicity is what gives you the layers.

TO: Yes, once that simple approach was nailed, I was able to layer-in a character who had an air of inscrutability about him – like he was always thinking his way through stuff or embroiled in deep memories he’d rather forget. In fact, I wrote the script for a white actor and never thought about him in terms of being Native. I imagined the late Maury Chaykin in the role, but he turned it down and when that happened, it dawned on me that Gary Farmer would be great.

GK: And given the neo-realist approach you take from a stylistic standpoint, it’s that very simplicity that really opens up the world to you as a storyteller.

TO: For sure. I was, at the time, heavily inspired by the Abbas Kiarostami trilogy of Where is the Friend’s House, Through the Olive Trees and Life Goes On. His approach is visually more complex than people might give it credit for, but his simple approach was very enlightening for me.

GK: I’ve been listening to the Don Shebib commentary track on the new Blu-ray release of Goin’ Down the Road and it’s a movie I love a great deal. In fact, when I first saw Heater, the first thing that popped into my head was Shebib. Though his movie feels improvised or on the fly, it’s really scripted and he gives considerable credit to screenwriter William Fruet’s writing. Because it was so well written, it allowed for a few moments of sidetracking or taking advantage of certain elements that popped up due to exigencies of production. His crew was lean and mean and his shots were pure documentary style – or, if you will, infused with certain elements of neo-realism.

TO: Yeah, it seems he had the same situation I was in – where knowing what you do have and knowing what you don’t have rules the day. There’s no way you can make silk out of a sow’s ear, so why bother trying? Instead you make a really first-rate sow’s ear. Even Kevin Smith’s Clerks, which is not really a sense of humour I respond to, I was finally able to succumb to - as did so many - because he took what little he had and made it a virtue. It was 16mm, black and white, super-grainy and with that script, it couldn’t help but work. If he’d shot that film in colour, 35mm, with mega-production value, I doubt it would have worked and I especially doubt it would have been a hit. I made so many music videos where I had all the toys – the cranes, the swoops, the dollies, but with Heater, I knew I wasn’t going to have that, so you make the decision going in what your approach is going to be and make the best movie you can within those parameters. You’ve gotta know what’s in your toolkit. That’s what Shebib did and it’s what I had to do.

GK: One of the things your film shares with Shebib's is a great sense of rhythm - that wonderful, musical poetic aspect of cinema. You had the good fortune to be working with one of Canada's best editors, David Wharnsby.

TO: David's a joy to work with.

GK: Any guy who can cut Sarah Polley's Away From Her AND Guy Maddin's Saddest Music in the World is tops in my books. Like all great editors, he's at home with "silent" cuts, but goddamn it, when he makes one of those breathtaking Wharnsby lollapalooza slices, I'm in ecstasy. Heater has a few moments like that where certain cuts are unbelievably dazzling, but never for the sake of just a cool cut - they're always rooted in both the rhythm AND the narrative.

TO: You're right. Given the form of Heater, it was always going to be in the cards to employ certain French New Wave-styled cuts.

GK: Shebib went back during editing and filled in a few bits and pieces at the beginning of the film – most of that stuff where Joey and Pete are on the road. In fact, for much of it, his D.O.P. Richard Leiterman wasn’t even available, so he called up his old buddy from film school to shoot. So there he was – Shebib, his two actors and Carroll “Fucking” Ballard.

TO: That’s amazing. It’s interesting that you do have a lot more freedom when you’re making the best sow’s ear you can. During the shoot, I re-shot 25% of Heater. For example, that scene where Gary drags Stephen across the street – we shot four times over four days until we got it right and like Shebib on Goin Down the Road, we had no permission or permits to even do this. Or sometimes, being in Winnipeg, we’d get hit with a snowstorm and this would happily force us to come up with stuff to exploit it. And Gary threw in the whole harmonica thing, which was so perfect for the film. And that’s Gary playing.

GK: One of many things I love about Heater is the look of it. You’ve got Winnipeg, in the winter for one and then you’ve got all the terrible beauty of the fluorescent interiors. I think it’s great that for your first feature you worked with the D.O.P. Arthur Cooper who is one of the best shooters in the country. His hand-held is amazing, his compositions always exquisite and he’s a true master of light. Where did you first hook up with him?

TO: I was producing a series for Vision TV and Arthur was hired as a camera operator. We hit it off almost immediately and we’d always watch a whole bunch of movies together and really discovered a shared sensibility. It was an extremely close friendship, rooted on my end in a deep respect for his artistry. At one point, I mentioned that I wanted to make a short film and he immediately offered to shoot it. He and I continued this collaboration on my rock videos with me. We worked together almost exclusively and for a very long time. When it came time to do Heater, I gave him the script and we never stopped talking about it. As the movie came closer to reality, we made the decision that our sow’s ear would be shot in 35mm to allow us the flexibility of using available light for night exteriors and anywhere we wanted to capture a natural look, but without the cost and mobility burden of lights and generators. Arthur really shone here. I had a specific look in mind based on what we had available to us and he delivered the goods and then some.

GK: You guys must have developed a keen shorthand.

TO: Oh yeah, I trusted him, he trusted me. You have to remember we were working in a pre-digital age – with film, on film, no video assist and a 48-hour delay in seeing rushes, so it was a classic director-D.O.P. relationship. I put all my faith in him and it always paid off. On Heater we had limited resources and only used what we absolutely needed to get the shots to recreate the terrible beauty of the world these guys live in.

GK: Yeah, that opening is so stunning with Gary sitting there in the welfare office while the bureaucrat putters about and those fluorescent lights casting that horrendous harsh glow over everything.

TO: That’s it. When we needed fluorescent lights, that’s what we went for and Arthur would pop the Kino bulbs in whenever we could.

GK: Gary Farmer is so astounding in that first scene that it’s like we can’t ever take our eyes off him. I can’t imagine Heater looking any differently than it does and I certainly can’t imagine it without Gary.

TO: Yeah, and it’s funny, when I offered it to him, he wasn’t really interested in the script, but wanted to meet me anyway. He was, as it turned out, very interested in the character, so as the script developed, he got happier and happier with it until one day he revealed a tiny smile and just said [TO in a superb Gary Farmer voice], “Yeah, put my name down.” The agreement we made from the start was that I’d never specifically write anything dealing with the character being Aboriginal. I was going to write a guy living on the street. Gary would add any Aboriginal stuff when necessary. If there was stuff I wrote that Gary felt needed some culturally specific elements, he and I would discuss it, but I’d ultimately defer to him on those elements. It’s these additional touches that make it more complex.

GK: What were the differences in acting styles between Gary and Stephen? Gary’s a veteran screen actor and Stephen, though he’s done plenty of film, comes from a classical theatre tradition.

TO: I think Gary Farmer played Gary Farmer and that’s what Gary Farmer does the best. I think Stephen is more of a character actor. At the time of shooting, Gary really understood that acting on film was about the face, about the gesture, about the reactive qualities and not about what you say. And Stephen is such a great actor and brings his own set of tools that occasionally all I needed to do was ask him to bring the levels down and he delivered beautifully. Directing these two different, brilliant men was always challenging and invigorating.

GK: Surely those guys had individual skills they could bring to each other. The chemistry between them is astounding.

TO: That’s probably because I was making my first feature and smart enough to back off and let them be together. They were always having fun with each other. Gary is so hilarious on and off screen with his Buster Keaton-like deadpan and on more than one occasion I saw him amiably pushing Stephen’s buttons. Oh, and if anyone requires an actor to pee – on camera, on command – Farmer’s the man. We did five takes in a row of that peeing scene and Gary, with no complaints, conjured it up every single time. And the other thing is that the three of us just had a wonderful camaraderie. The bit with the hair dryer was one where most films would deal with in post-production, but I explained we didn’t have the money or time to fuss with stuff like that in post and the two of them were, “Yeah, let’s do it!!!” The bottom line is that I was always happy to step back and give them the space to create their friendship.

GK: On Torn Curtain, Hitchcock loathed working with Paul Newman because he’d continually be method acting to distraction. Would you say Ouimette’s a method actor?

TO: Stephen keeps his method to himself. I’m sure it’s there, but he’s really that perfect balance of method actor and that thing Olivier said to Dustin Hoffman on Marathon Man: “Just act!” Not to take anything away from Gary, but he’s a different entity. He brings so much of himself to his roles.

GK: Well hell, that’s a good chunk of film history there, anyway. The other “Gary”, Gary Cooper, was pretty much always Gary Cooper, as was John Wayne. Their “method” was to bring themselves to every role and it’s great acting – pure and simple. When people say they can’t act, or that they’re “just” being themselves, I’m compelled to kill them. My innate humanity and compassion prevents me from doing so.

TO: Well yeah, think about Bogart. He sang very few notes, but the notes he sang are so wonderful, we want to see them again and again. Gary’s the same. He’s a great actor.

GK: Gary has real star quality. Stephen too. I always refer to certain actors as leading men in character roles. Gene Hackman always had that quality.

TO: When Gary and Stephen are together, it’s screen magic. Those two carry the film. When you watch the movie you’re engaged by both of them. I love the scene in the end involving the two of them and the whole business of the smokes. The scene is written in a very specific way, and the two of them go through the actions, but I could never have, in my wildest dreams ever imagined how wonderfully it would be performed. And the very humanity they bring to this scene and, in fact, the whole movie is what towers above what’s on the page.

GK: Don’t be modest. It WAS on the page. That’s what counts. What’s on the page is the springboard to vault everyone into the magic that is movies and the magic of your film.

TO: Well, it’s interesting. I remember meeting someone from Miramax who told me that the scene in the welfare office made her cry and I was like, “I’m not trying to make people cry, I’m just trying to be honest.”

GK: Look, what’s important about the film is that it’s rife with moments of heartbreaking humanity and – Hello! – We’ve got 90 potentially depressing minutes with two homeless guys, but amidst the tears and the bleakness of the landscape, their humanity DOES shine through and I’d also say, the movie has a lot of natural humour that comes from that humanity. It’s like Shebib’s Goin’ Down the Road – like, Hello Again! – You’ve got two loser drifters from the Maritimes looking for a better life in the Big Smoke and ultimately they face rejection, poverty and are driven to committing an act that they’d normally never imagine doing in even their wildest dreams. But goddamn it, Joey and Pete are funny. No matter what depths one drags one's characters down to, humour always plays an important role in beefing up the humanity – on-screen and in life.

TO: Humour, some of it black, was already there, but these two actors were able to breathe such life into their roles that they’re responsible to some extent for adding that layer to the film. I love that moment in the donut shop – you probably know that joint since you’re from Winnipeg – it really is a crack hangout.

GK: I have dined on many a stale donut and rancid coffee in that very establishment.

TO: Yeah, and when Stephen steals the money, it IS funny.

GK: A most tempting action in places like that.

TO: Yeah, it’s finding those little moments that make all the difference. What I learned most from my wife Alicia was that the dignity of every human – as simple and clichéd as that sounds – is inherent in all those people and they shouldn’t have to lose that dignity. I think when a character is allowed to laugh at themselves or their situation it’s all part of allowing them humanity and, in turn, dignity.

GK: I’ve heard tales about Mr. Ouimette’s personal hygiene during the shoot.

TO: I can say he did not take a bath for the entire period of shooting. This, I believe personally disgusted him and I truly believe he wanted to take a bath. Maybe he even did on his days off, but I have no means to prove it.

The following interview with Terrance Odette was PART TWO of my coverage on the landmark screening of Terrance Odette's HEATER playing at Toronto's TIFF Bell Lightbox in the important Open Vault series July 16 at 6:30pm. For tickets, visit the TIFF website HERE. PART ONE of my HEATER coverage is a review of the film which you can find HERE