BLIND SPOT - Review By Greg Klymkiw - TIFF 2018 - Real Time Devastation from Norway

A parent's worst nightmare comes to life in real time.

Blind Spot (2018)
Dir. Tuva Novotny
Starring: Pia Tjelta, Anders Baasmo Christiansen, Nora Mathea Øien

Review By Greg Klymkiw
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One trick pony movies, those pictures built upon a "gimmick" of execution (Christopher "One Idea" Nolan's 2000 neo-noir Memento, with its lugubrious, humourless "let's tell the story backwards" approach being the most egregious example for me) are seldom works that can live beyond their silly little stunts. Alexander Sokurov's impressive one-take 2002 feature Russian Ark, however, lives well beyond its clever conceit and yields considerable richness on repeated viewings (unlike the aforementioned Memento which gets more infuriating with subsequent helpings).

Actress Tuva Novotny's debut feature Blind Spot is certainly a dazzling feat of technical wizardry, but its emotional core is so solid that the real time with which the story unfolds never feels like a masturbatory imposture, but a valid dramatic approach to a narrative that is, to use a perfectly apt cliché, every parent's worst nightmare. The film wends its way through events in the life of a Norwegian family in a 102-minute running time that takes us, second by second on a journey that is always harrowing.

The story begins with a fixed camera upon a high school gym class and we watch as a group of young women go through their rigorous activities. Soon enough we settle on Tea (Nora Mathea Øien) as she and a friend make their way into the change room, go about the business of towelling-off, showering, changing etc. and eventually walk out together into the hallways of the school. The friends walk home, casually and naturally talking about the day's events, homework and focusing primarily on an upcoming mathematics assignment. They eventually part and it's here where I realized that there has yet to be a single cut.

The long take continues. We follow Tea as she walks up several flights of stairs to her family's flat. Once inside, we observe her mother Maria (Pia Tjelta in an intense, bravura performance) rushing about with Tea's little brother. The teenager leaves a friendly voicemail for her father Anders (Anders Baasmo Christiansen), jots an entry in her journal and eventually, leaves the frame.

And then, off-camera, IT happens.

Novotny's mise-en-scene creates a sense of portent throughout. We know something is going to happen and we sense it's not going to be good. Yet, when it does happen, we are as much in the dark as Maria until she discovers the unthinkable. From this point we experience the mother's desperation, the long wait for an ambulance, the trip to a nearby hospital (though it never feels "nearby" enough). The long take never lets up, but it is to the film's credit that we're ultimately more focused on the drama rather than the conceit.

Once in the hospital we follow the events as they would naturally unfold, the POV focusing on characters such as a compassionate nurse, the emergency room team leader and the family. Novotny's deft screenplay parcels out information which naturally provides context for the tragic events, but most astoundingly, creates a realistic dramatic arc for the 102 minutes that doesn't in any way, shape or form give us false closure nor, like life, does it provide any easy, pat answers.

Life is drama and Blind Spot brilliantly proves this.

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

Blind Spot has its International Premiere in the Discovery Series at TIFF 2018.

WHAT WILL PEOPLE SAY - Review By Greg Klymkiw - TIFF 2017: Shame Yields Kidnapping

A father and daughter on the precipice.

What Will People Say (2017)
Dir. Iram Haq
Starring: Maria Mozhdah, Adil Hussain, Rohit Saraf, Ekavali Khanna

Review By Greg Klymkiw

The number of times I heard my parents utter the words: "What will people say?" is incalculable. I can't remember a time in my life when it wasn't on their lips and it was usually in reference to some real or perceived offence I committed quite naturally by my very existence and who I naturally was/am as a human being. From early childhood on, I was the living, breathing, walking, talking fuel for this question. It's even a question I heard uttered within the context of pretty much anything that occurred within their sphere of existence in which "what people would say" loomed large.

As a child and adult, it was not only a hurtful question, but even, I daresay, a stupid question. My earliest memories of not giving a shit about what people would say about anything I did or said are as acute now as they were then. I really didn't and don't give a shit what people would/will say. Not so with my parents or frankly anyone who believed that the status quo meant anything at all.

I was not, nor will I ever be a sheep led to slaughter. As such, what people will say is just so much nonsense.

I suspect it's a generational thing, but no matter how many times I heard the question, usually the result of something "shameful" I did or said, I would never have imagined being kidnapped and forced to submit to indoctrination into old world values.

This is precisely what happens to Nisha (Maria Mozhdah), the teenage daughter of hard-working immigrant Pakistanis living in Oslo, Norway. Like any modern kid in the modern world, she goes to school, hangs with friends and hits the nightclubs. Alas, the "normal" life in the western world is completely at odds with her fundamentalist family and when she innocently finds herself in a position where she egregiously flouts their values, she is kidnapped and shipped to Pakistan with an aunt and uncle charged with training her in the ways of being a dutiful daughter (and eventual wife in an arranged marriage).

At first Nisha's life in the "old world" is fraught with subjugation and drudgery, but she slowly begins to connect with her heritage. Sadly, she finds herself in a horrific situation that is not in any way, shape or form her fault, but again she finds herself in a position where she brings "shame" to her family.

And in some cultures, it is perfectly acceptable to kill a child that brings you shame.

What Will People Say proves to be an extremely promising debut feature for Oslo-born actress/art director Iram Haq. Replete with glorious cultural details and stirring family drama, Haq layers her film with a myriad of complexities beneath a solidly simple coat hanger. It is a movie as filled with joy, love and sheer humanity as it is with chilling, suspenseful tension.

At several points, the anxiety displayed is so taut that her direction is worthy of Hitchcock himself. I found myself on the edge of my seat, almost begging and pleading with the character of Nisha to open her eyes to everything that I could see happening, but of course, a great director knows that there's nothing more thrilling than when a central character knows nothing and goes with a flow that we the audience recognize as the wrong direction to take.

There are set pieces which are masterfully directed: scenes and images and the feelings they engendered, that are with me still - mysterious night rides, shocking moments of abandonment, thrilling attempts at escape, a darkness-enshrouded encounter with sexually predatory cops and in one lollapalooza of a father-daughter confrontation, a walk into the wilderness that leads to the edge of a cliff that plummets into the maw of a deadly chasm.

Yes, the Master of Suspense would approve. So do I.

And yes, we must all acknowledge that an "old world" will persist in our lives. What's so sophisticated and mature about Haq's exploration of this is that she provides a balance to the venerable qualities of tradition so that the ebbs and flows, the peaks and valleys of the dramatic action are compulsively driven by that which is clearly both right and wrong about one's heritage.

What people will say ultimately means very little compared to how one conducts oneself based upon values that are discovered and learned by always keeping one's eyes wide open, but where tradition rules the roost, sometimes we all need to prop up our eyelids with toothpicks.

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

What Will People Say screens at TIFF 2017

DISAPPEARANCE - Review By Greg Klymkiw - TIFF 2017: Sex, Death & Ice-Fishing in Norway

Disappearing in Norway.

Disappearance (2017)
Dir. Boudewijn Koole
Scr. Jolein Laarman
Starring: Rifka Lodeizen, Elsie de Brauw, Marcus Hanssen, Jakob Oftebro

Review By Greg Klymkiw

I do so enjoy entering a frigid cinematic icebox to revel in the spectacle of a parent and adult child acrimoniously slashing away at each other.

Boudewijn Koole's extraordinary film Disappearance is a magnificent new entry into this time-honoured/tested/proven tradition exemplified most notably by the chilly heartbreak of Ingmar Bergman's masterpiece of mother-daughter sniping, Autumn Sonata. Though Koole's film eschews the glorious histrionics of so many films in this genre - think Piper Laurie chastising Sissy Spacek for revealing her "dirty pillows" in Brian DePalma's Carrie or the horrid Gladys Cooper browbeating Bette Davis into a nervous breakdown in Irving Rapper's Now Voyager - Koole and screenwriter Jolein Laarman serve up plenty of roiling bitterness.

We enter the world of this film via the blazing austerity of a cool white light upon a young woman, a child it seems, as she places her diminutive, but nimble fingers upon the ivory keys of a grand piano. She launches into a soulful virtuoso performance upon the massive stage of a concert hall. Soon after, we move from the proscenium vista to the external panoramic landscape of the snow-covered plains, lakes and hills of Norway. Roos (Rifka Lodeizen) is coming home after a year of traversing the globe as a photojournalist to visit her Mother Louise (Elsie de Brauw) and younger half-brother Bengt (Marcus Hanssen).

This is a family of artists. Roos has the "eye", her middle-aged Mom (the pianist we were first introduced to in the film's opening minutes) clearly has an "ear" (though now she channels her art into teaching music) and young Bengt might have the grandest vision of this trio - he utilizes the natural sounds of water, ice, nature, heartbeats and breath to create electronic musical compositions that soar with soulful invention.

Sister and Brother have a special bond, but Mother and Daughter's relationship is stretched far too tautly - at any moment, we sense that the rubber band that is their familial conjunction will snap upon their respective grips, effecting a pain that smarts, but lasts well beyond the initial paroxysm it causes. That's probably because aching convulsions twixt Mother and Daughter have seemingly existed from that point when Roos first agitated about in the natal gelatin of Louise's womb.

At one point, Roos charges that Mom never sang lullabies to her. Louise pooh-poohs this assertion, but when her now-adult child asks her to sing for her, middle-aged Momma can't think of a single tune. During this wrenching moment, a smile crept upon my face imagining Louise launching into a rendering of one of Gustav Mahler's Kindertotenlieder. I was not afforded the literal rendering of this perverse fantasia dancing across my cerebellum, but the notion that she might have belted out one of those rousing "Songs on the Death of Children" seems (seemed) perfectly appropriate.

In so many, many ways, Koole and Laarman's astonishing film might well be a cinematic equivalent to Mahler's immortal song cycle. Death looms large in this Norwegian winter wonderland. When a stag connects with a moving vehicle and staggers off into the woods, we follow a group of locals (including a keen, rifle-toting Louise) as they hunt down the mighty beast to put it out of its misery. Later on, in post-coital bliss (in the back of a van parked against a snowy vista on a frozen lake in which they've been ice fishing - what Canadian doesn't know this activity/setting all too well?), Roos admits to her old friend and lover Johnny (Jakob Oftebro) that she is dying. Nothing beats a good round of sexual gymnastics than an après orgasm cigarette and an admission of critical illness. (Jesus, I love European cinema!)

Healing and redemption are round the corner, but they prove to be fleeting. The film makes us (and its characters) work for it. Nothing in life comes easy. So too should it be in cinema. This is a film that teases and tortures the raw nerve endings of the human condition and it constantly finds ways to take our collective breath away when we least expect it. The final third of the film had me shuddering, long, long after its final end title credit. It's with me still and makes me thankful for the life I have had and the loves I have experienced (and continue to be touched by).

Though Disappearance draws considerable parallels to Ingmar Bergman's Autumn Sontata, I cannot help but think of the words spoken by dying Agnes in the Swedish Master's Cries and Whispers:

"Come what may, this is happiness. I cannot wish for anything better. Now, for a few minutes, I can experience perfection and I feel profoundly grateful to my life, which gives me so much."

No arguments from this fella'.

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

Disappearance is screening at TIFF 2017

THREADS, CHARLES - Reviews By Greg Klymkiw - NFB at TIFF 2017 soars with joy and sadness

Life leads us from the frogs.

Charles (2017)
Dir. Dominic Etienne Simard

Review By Greg Klymkiw

In a mostly monochrome world, doughy lad Charles tends to his gargantuan lolly-gagging mother in a squalid flat. There are simple joys, of course, his beloved frogs, school and dips in the nearby lake. Dollops of colour, albeit pale and/or muted keep threatening to bring joy and solace, but they are fleeting.

Colour eventually explodes in the form of rising blue waters threatening to drown him. Will he be rescued? And whom or what will rescue him? Will it indeed be life itself? And oh, when it rains, what will rain down? Frogs? Kitty cats? Doggies? Big pudgy baby bears?

And will he find happiness?

Or is it, ultimately, imagination that will provide the ultimate freedom?

In Dominic Etienne Simard's Charles (a National Film Board of Canada co-production with France), it is the waters of time and the long, slow march to adulthood and freedom that await. The journey will, like so much of our lives, prove to be bittersweet. The film's gorgeous expressive visuals fill in all the blanks and finally, we're left with a work that soars with a great, though sometimes terrible beauty.

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

Charles plays at TIFF 2017.

The ties that bind hang by a thread.

Threads (2017)
Dir. Torill Kove

Review By Greg Klymkiw

To hang by a thread usually suggests imminent danger, something unstable and/or doomed to failure. In Oscar-Winner Torill Kove's lovely and simple animated short (a National Film Board of Canada co-production with Norway), it's the ties that bind which hang by a thread; a slender thread indeed.

This delicate and moving work details the life of a young woman who grabs a thread dangling from the heavens and allows it to hoist her upwards on a journey we come to recognize as life.

When she finds another thread, it's attached to an infant. She and the little girl are inseparable. Though the child grows incrementally into adulthood, they're bound together by that mysterious thread. Even when the thread leads the child to peers on a playground and, for a time, completely out of the mother's purview, the thread remains.

But the day comes, one we all dread I think, when when her daughter must sever the tie that binds to jump up to the heavens, to clutch her own thread.

As a single Dad to a teenage daughter the film inspired so many personal memories of past and present. It provided both solace and melancholy as I, like the mother in the film, face the imminent severing of my own thread to my own child. Yes, we dread the severance, but we also accept it. Life must go on and for those we love the dearest, our children, it must move forward.

There might not be anything new revealed in the sentiments and story revealed in the film, but its visual metaphor is one I welcomed, understood and responded to on a deep emotional level.

I suspect I'll not be alone in this.

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

Threads plays at TIFF 2017.

THE PUNK SYNDROME - Review By Greg Klymkiw - SEE IT OR DIE, YOU MOTHER FUCKERS!

In anticipation of the upcoming 2015 Toronto Hot Docs International Festival of Documentary Cinema, The Film Corner continues its thrill-packed countdown to said event with a review of The Punk Syndrom.

Since its debut at Hot Docs 2012, a hoped-for Blu-Ray or even DVD release of The Punk Syndrome did not come to pass. The picture is currently available for rent or download at iTunes via Kinosmith which is better than not seeing it at all, but this is a movie that DEMANDS either theatrical screenings and/or home viewing via the highest resolution possible (which, ultimately, is Blu-Ray).

Given that the film's subjects, "Pertti Kurikka’s Name Day" (PKN) have been selected to represent Finland in this year's Eurovision Song Contest, I'm hoping for an enterprising home video release at some point which not only features the best picture and sound, but a whole whack of extras. All the oddsmakers are putting their weight behind these guys as they've made history with having the first punk song ever invited into this prestigious competition.

The film itself is not only superbly crafted, but PKN are hardcore punks who embrace the anger-charged musical form to create the most phenomenal insight into what it means to be mentally disabled and forced to live in a world of fluorescent lighting, rigid control, shitty food and seemingly random rules as prescribed within the cold, institutional world of their homes for life.

The Punk Syndrome (2012)
dir. Jukka Kärkkäinen & J-P Passi
Starring: Pertti Kurikka, Kari Aalto, Sami Helle, Toni Välitalo
("Pertti Kurikka’s Name Day" AKA "PKN")

Review By Greg Klymkiw

"Pertti Kurikka’s Name Day" is, without question, one of the greatest punk bands of all time. They are the unforgettable subjects of The Punk Syndrome, a breathtaking feature documentary that declares: "I demand your immediate attention or you die, motherfucker!" I'm somewhat ashamed to admit I had never heard of the band before. Now, I'll never forget them! Neither will you. This quartet of hard-core, kick-ass, take-no-fucking-prisoners sons of bitches pull no musical punches. They slam you in the face with repeated roundhouses - turning your flesh into pulpy, coarsely-ground hamburger meat. In true punk spirit, they crap on hypocrisy, celebrate a shackle-free life and dare your pulse not to pound with maniacal abandon.

The band is, of course, from Finland. This is the great land of the brown bear, the Capercaillie grouse and the nearly-extinct, but damned-if-they'll-go-down-without-a-fight Saimaa Ringed Seal - a country with one of the largest land masses and smallest populations in Europe that spawned the great glam group Hanoi Rocks, the brilliant hockey player Veli-Pekka Ketola and one of the world's greatest filmmakers, Aki Kaurismäki.

And now, Finland can boast of generating one the world's great punk bands, "Pertti Kurikka’s Name Day". With Pertti Kurikka's grinding lead guitar, Kari Aalto's powerhouse vocals, Sami Helle's muscular bass and Toni Välitalo on drums (a veritable punk rock Gene Krupa), this tight unit commands audiences with a power that borders on mesmerism.

Their songs - many of them ripped straight from Kurikka's diaries - take aim at government corruption, mindless bureaucracy and pedicures. Yes, pedicures!

Early in the film, Pertti Kurikka explains:

Writing a diary is important to me. I can release my anger. It is especially helpful to have a bad day. I’ll write in my diary that Pertti is a shithead, that Pertti is an asshole and that Pertti is a faggot and a shit-goddamn-asshole. Pertti will be stabbed. Pertti will be punched in the face. Pertti will be strangled to death.

Not every song the band sings spews venom, though. Giving a concert in a public square, the jaws of old ladies hit the ground, while young party animals hoist their fists in the air as the band extols the considerable virtues of mundane, but pleasant activities with the following lyrics:

It was a Sunday
I went to church
I had coffee
I took a dump

Three kick-ass chords and four glorious lines and we're hooked.

The movie follows the band from practising to recording, from jamming to performing, relationships with family, friends, fans and women. There are the usual creative differences between the band - some serious, and others, a bit more tongue in cheek. At one point, Kari complains to Kurikka, "When you write riffs for songs, don’t write such difficult ones. Write easy ones."

One of the most powerful sequences in the film, one that enshrines the picture as one of the truly great rock documentaries, is when the band plays a gig at a club in Tampere. The performance is mind-blowing and the audience is electric.

The band sings:

Decision-Makers lock people up
In closed rooms
But we don’t wanna be in those rooms
Nobody looks after us
Nobody comes to visit us
What’s going to happen
To us orphans in those rooms?
Decision-makers cheat
Cheaters make decisions
They don’t give a shit
About us disabled
Decision-makers cheat
Cheaters make decisions
They don’t give a shit
About us disabled

In the dressing room after a truly intense performance, the band is triumphant. A beaming Kurikka declares, "This is as good as it gets".

And WHAMMO!

A breathtaking cut to a shot worthy of Ulrich Seidl - one that captures a terrible beauty of the character-bereft building the band lives in, a blue sky and a magic hour sun.

And yes, this is a band that writes and performs songs from the pits of their respective guts, from experience - their unique experience in the world as mentally disabled men.

Brave, passionate and talented men.

And yes, mentally disabled.

And they are so cool.

How cool?

They recorded their first single on vinyl.

And now, they are competing in the 2015 Eurovision Song Contest.

That's how cool!

Just like this movie!

"The Punk Syndrome" is available via Kinosmith on iTunes

RARE EXPORTS: A CHRISTMAS TALE - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Grim Yuletide from Finland

Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale (2010)
dir. Jalmari Helander
Starring: Onni Tommila, Jorma Tommila

Review By Greg Klymkiw

While it is an indisputable truth that Jesus is the reason for the season. the eventual commercialization of Christmas inevitably yielded the fantasy figure of Santa Claus, the jolly, porcine dispenser of toys to children. Living with his equally corpulent wife, Mrs. Claus, a passel of dwarves and a herd of reindeer at the North Pole, Santa purportedly toils away in his workshop for the one day of the year when he can distribute the fruits of his labour into the greedy palms of children the world over.

Is it any wonder we forget that Christmas is to celebrate the birth of Our Lord Baby Jesus H. Christ?

In the movies, however, we have had numerous dramatic renderings of the true spirit of Christmas - tales of redemption and forgiveness like the Alistair Sim version of A Christmas Carol, Frank Capra's immortal It's a Wonderful Life and Phillip Borsos's One Magic Christmas, but fewer and far between are the Christmas movies that address the malevolence of the season celebrating Christ's Birth. There's the brilliant Joan Collins segment in the Amicus production of Tales From the Crypt, the Silent Night Deadly Night franchise and, perhaps greatest of all, that magnificent Canadian movie Black Christmas from Bob (Porky's) Clark.

And now, add Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale to your perennial Baby-Jesus-Worship viewings! This creepy, terrifying, darkly hilarious and dazzlingly directed bauble of Yuletide perversity takes us on a myth-infused journey to the northern border between Finland and Lapland where a crazed archeologist and an evil corporation have discovered and unearthed the resting place of the REAL Santa Claus.

When Santa is finally freed from the purgatorial tomb, he runs amuck and indulges himself in a crazed killing spree - devouring all the local livestock before feeding upon both adults and children who do not subscribe to the basic tenet of Santa's philosophy of: "You better be Good!" A motley crew of local hunters and farmers, having lost their livelihood, embark upon an obsessive hunt for Santa. They capture him alive and hold him ransom to score a huge settlement from the Rare Exports corporation who, in turn, have nefarious plans of their own for world wide consumer domination. How can you go wrong if you control the REAL Santa?

There's always, however, a spanner in the works, and it soon appears that thousands of Claus-ian clones emerge from the icy pit in Lapland and embark upon a desperate hunt for their leader. These vicious creatures are powerful, ravenous and naked.

Yes, naked!

Thousands of old men with white beards traverse across the tundras of Finland with their saggy buttocks and floppy genitalia exposed to the bitter northern winds. For some, this might even be the ultimate wet dream, but I'll try not to think too hard about who they might be.

All cultures, of course, have their own indigenous versions of everyone's favourite gift-giver and this eventually led to the contemporary rendering of the Santa Claus we're all familiar with. Finland, however, absorbed in considerable wintery darkness for much of the year, insanely overflowing with rampant alcoholism and being the birthplace of the brilliant Kaurismäki filmmaking brothers, is one delightfully twisted country. It's no surprise, then, that the Finns' version of jolly old Saint Nick is utterly malevolent. As presented in this bizarre and supremely entertaining movie, Santa is one demonic mo-fo!!!

Directed with panache by the young Finnish director Jalmari Helander (and based on his truly insane short films), Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale is one unique treat. It's a Christmas movie with scares, carnage and loads of laughs. Helander renders spectacular images in scene after scene and his filmmaking vocabulary is sophisticated as all get-out. In fact, some of his shots out-Spielberg Spielberg, and unlike the woeful, tin-eyed J.J. Abrams (he of the loathsome Super-8, the Star Trek reboots, the worst Mission Impossible of all time and now, God forbid, Star Wars), I'd put money on Helander eventually becoming the true heir apparent to the Steven Spielberg torch. Helander's imaginative mise-en-scène is especially brilliant as he stretches a modest budget (using stunning Norwegian locations) and renders a movie with all the glorious production value of a bonafide studio blockbuster. The difference here, is that it's not stupid, but blessed with intelligence and imagination.

While the movie is not suitable for most young children (except mine), it actually makes for superb family viewing if the kiddies are not whining sissy-pants. Anyone expecting a traditional splatter-fest will also be disappointed, but I suspect even they will find merit in the movie. Most of all, Moms, Dads and their brave progeny can all delight in this dazzling Christmas thriller filled with plenty of jolts, laughs, adventure and yes, even a sentimental streak that rivals that of the master of all things darkly wholesome, Steven Spielberg.

You have hereby been warned:

You better watch out,
you better not cry,
you better not pout,
I'm telling you why,
Santa Claus is coming to town,
with razor-sharp big gnarly teeth,
a taste for human flesh,
he knows if you've been bad or good,
and he likes to eat kids fresh.
Hey!

Or in the words of Tiny Tim: "God Bless us, everyone."

THE FILM CORNER RATING: ***½ 3 and-a-half stars

Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale is currently available in a superb Bluray and DVD from the Oscilloscope Pictures (and distributed in Canada via the visionary company VSC). I normally have little use for extra features, but this release is one of the few exceptions. It includes Helander's brilliant shorts and some truly informative and entertaining making-of docs. This is truly worth owning and cherishing - again and again!

Dead Snow 2 REDvsDEAD aka Død Snø 2 Review By Greg Klymkiw TorontoAfterDarkFilmFestival2014

A rotting, flesh-eating Obergruppenführer der
Einsatzgruppen der Sicherheitspolizei Zombie
Waffen is no mere wurst einen Gehackte Leber!

Dead Snow 2: Red vs. Dead
aka"Død snø 2" (2014)
Dir. Tommy Wirkola
Starring: Vegar Hoel, Ørjan Gamst, Martin Starr, Jocelyn DeBoer, Ingrid Haas, Stig Frode Henriksen, Jesper Sundnes, Tage Guddingsmo, Charlotte Frogner

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Those plucky Nazi Zombies have returned to invade contemporary Norway, but there's little need to see the precursor to this sequel, since the first instalment wasn't especially good to begin with, nor is there any real need to get up to speed with it. All one needs to know is that the latest shenanigans of Der Führer's rotting, flesh-eating Waffen-SS in Død snø 2, is a truly jaw-agape treat of the highest order.

Martin (Vegar Hoel) is hell bent on avenging his girlfriend's death from the first Nazi Zombie outing. However, a major screw-up finds zombie Kommandant Herzog's (Orjan Gamst) hand sewn onto Martin's arm. Herzog, in turn, now sports Martin's hand. Complications ensue from the swap and lead to laughs-a-plenty and a running homage to Sam Raimi's The Evil Dead.

Herzog's goal is to complete a mission ordered by Der Führer - a major offensive against Norway. With the help of Zombie-Squad basement-dwelling geeks from America and resurrecting Soviet zombies, it doesn't take too long for an all-out battle on Norwegian soil. Carnage ultimately rules the day. The movie has a few shock-cut scares, but for the most part, it's very existence is rooted in non-stop gross-out gags, thus solidifying Død snø 2 as a madcap farce, replete with a barrage of Zucker-Abrams-Zucker-like one-liners and slapstick humour. There's nothing really scary about the picture, but it's a damn joyous one.

Amusingly, the movie features a very strange homage to Star Wars and manages to sneak in famous lines of dialogue into the proceedings. I'm no fan of Lucas's blockbuster space opera, but the geek-meter in me still hit the top bubble when I encountered the dialogue in what feels like virtually every scene in Dead Snow 2. God knows I found this movie way more entertaining than any of the Star Wars movies (and, for that matter, many others), but then again, how could any movie that feels like Braveheart with Nazi Zombies and Norwegians, not be anything less than captivating?

With movies like this one, there was a halcyon time when you used to be able to say, with a bit of tongue-in-cheek, "Oh, those crazy Germans!" Given the oddball movie output of Norway in recent years, one is more likely to emit the friendly chiding, "Oh, those crazy Norwegians!"

(And, of course, as this film is Norwegian, but shot in bloody Iceland, feel free to add, "Oh, those crazy Goolies!")

THE FILM CORNER RATING: *** 3-Stars

Død snø 2 plays the 2014 Toronto After Dark Film Festival. Visit the TADFF website HERE!

DOCTOR PROCTOR'S FART POWDER - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Fabulous Family Fart Fun @FantasiaFest2014

These happy kids investigate a hole in the wall blown open by a FART.

DOCTOR PROCTOR - Inventor

Doctor Proctor's Fart Powder
aka "Doktor Proktors prompepulver" (2014) ***½
Dir. Arild Fröhlich
Script: Johan Bogaeus, Based on Jo Nesbø's Book
Starring: Kristoffer Joner, Atle Antonsen, Emily Glaister, Eilif Hellum, Arve Guddingsmo Bjørn, Even Guddingsmo Bjørn

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Who in their right mind doesn't appreciate a good, rip-snorting fart? I know I do and I'm sure you do too, so pull my finger and I'll emit the following review.

If you're sick of the same old crap Hollywood keeps foisting upon your kids, reject the empty-headed faecal matter and embrace farts instead. The Land of Fjords has delivered one of the best family films in years, the cool and funny adaptation of Jo Nesbø's terrific book Doctor Proctor's Fart Powder.

Set in a seeming never-never land of an Oslo that must surely exist, two inventors, the kind, benevolent, scatterbrained and poor Doctor Proctor (Kristoffer Joner) and the evil, greedy and disgustingly corpulent Mister Thane (Atle Antonsen), live within a stone's throw of each pother in the same neighbourhood of manicured lawns and fluorescent-colored interiors ripped from the world of a Pee Wee Herman-like playhouse.

Two lonely, parentally-neglected kids, sweet, blonde Lisa (Emily Glaister) and the goofy, grinning carrot-top pompadoured Nilly (Eilif Hellu) discover that Doctor Proctor just created a fart powder that emits gaseous excretions that are both odourless and so powerful they can blow holes through brick walls and most importantly, so propulsive they can allow those who use them properly to fly.

Rival inventor Thane, steels the formula and claims it as his own. It's up to the wily kids to save the day, but they face formidable odds when they tussle with Thane's repulsively brutish twin sons (Arve Guddingsmo Bjørn, Even Guddingsmo Bjørn).

Alas, this is Doctor Proctor's only chance to finally hit it big and allow him to claim his rightful place amongst the world's greatest inventors. Most importantly, Doctor Proctor will never be able to claim betrothal to his one and true love unless he can amass a big enough fortune to satisfy the father of the woman he adores. Fart Glory is just around the corner - especially since NASA has shown keen interest in the Fart Powder for their Space Program.

Will justice be done?

Will our heroes save the day?

Will farts bring lovers together?

For a movie about flatulence, this is one sweet and lovely little film. It's original, funny and decidedly explosive. Pitting underdogs against the Status Quo is tried and true stuff, but add farts to the mix and you've got full-on, full-bodied happy-faced shenanigans to melt the hearts of even the most stone cold grumpy-pants.

I don't know about you, but I'll take farty-pants over grumpy-pants anytime.

Doctor Proctor's Fart Powder had its international premiere at the 2014 FantAsia Film Festival in Montreal.

IT'S ONLY MAKE BELIEVE (Eventyrland) - Review By Greg Klymkiw - The Joys of Liberal Norway Just 4 U

Norwegian Wood = Hot Norwegian Babe With Phallic Shotgun

It's Only Make Believe (Eventyrland) (2013) Dir. Arild Østin Ommundsen **
Starring: Silje Solomonsen, Iben Østin Hjelle, Vegar Hoel, Egil Birkeland, Ole Romsdal, Fredrik Hana

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Come to lovely Norway
We have lovely fjords
And you will NOT be
Raped Anally unless
you want to be!!!

The first thing our eyes are drawn to in the opening shot of the lightweight Norwegian crime thriller It's Only Make Believe (Eventyrland) is a pair of horking, mean-ass stainless steel clippers which we immediately hope will be used to snip off someone's appendage(s) and/or get slammed repeatedly over a skull. No such luck. A Babe (Silje Solomonsen) and her boyfriend (Fredrik Hana), the holder of the aforementioned clippers, are patiently waiting for an accomplice to show up before they pull a supposedly simple job. This is Norway, you see.

While we wait for the third wheel to appear, our attractive Norwegian leads rest calmly in the dark and talk about how much they love each other since the babe reveals she's preggers with her beau's seed. Seems the lad's Norwegian Wood yielded just the right pay dirt during one of their copulatory trysts. After some soulful yapping, their accomplice doesn't make an appearance, so the babe and her true love wander over to a humungous greenhouse and - SNIP - the cutters open a chain and they wander in.

Finding a whole whack of drugs and a shotgun, they're ready to blow the popcorn stand, but as these things go, someone unexpected shows up. After a mad dash, the babe starts to pump out lead from the shotgun and sooner than you can say Kris Kringle (that's Norwegian, right?), the intruder is lying dead and hubby-to-be is wounded. The result of these shenanigans is that beau-boy survives, but must live the rest of his life as a vegetable in an institution. Happily, as this is Norway, the babe pops the vegetable's progeny and spends ten years in prison.

As it's a Norwegian prison, it pretty much looks like a country club and we never get a single instance of some Linda Blair Born Innocent action with our Norwegian Babe being held down nude on a tile floor whilst being raped with a broom handle. In fact, Norwegian prisons look so humane that instead of, say, John Vernon as the warden pulling some Chained Heat hot tub rape action on our Babe (much like Vernon did to Linda Blair in that immortal 1983 chick-in-prison picture), she saunters out on release day with a friendly and oh-so-genial fatherly hug from a prison official.

Isn't Norway grand?

It's grander than you think, let me tell you. The babe's daughter has been raised by an affluent foster mother and for the little murderess's entire prison term (uh, only ten years for killing one guy and turning another into a vegetable), she's actually been allowed day-trip visits with the kid. Man, those Norwegian hoosegows are really progressive. And now our Babe, who merely popped the little bugger in a nice, clean Norwegian prison hospital, wants to take her spawn from the woman who's been its real mother.

Fat chance. Norway might be liberal, but it's not completely run by bleeding heart retardates. The babe can only get custody of the kid again if she can prove that the pretty little babe-ette daughter (Iben Østin Hjelle) will be better off than she is now. This is going to be quite a challenge since the babe's apartment needs new plumbing and she can't afford it. She pays a visit to the scumbag accomplice (Vegar Hoel) who never showed up that fateful night and he agrees to pay for plumbing. He even helps her steal some paint so she can doll the place up with a few fresh coats and brightly coloured drawings of ponies and other nice girly things.

Isn't Norway a wonderful place?

Well, it's not all peaches and cream in the Land of Liberal Fjords. It seems the brother (Ole Romsdal) - at least I think he's the brother - of the man she killed, is one mean mo-fo who wants to make her pay dearly. With his grotesquely psychotic henchman, who goes by the name of - HAH! - Eddie Vedder (Egil Birkeland), our Babe is going to be in a real Norwegian pickle barrel. She has to do all manner of drug deals to pay off her "debt" and if she refuses, her little girl will be used as the bait to make sure she complies.

She's just got to get out of this sticky wicket somehow, but if you have any doubts that she will, allow me to remind you that this entire ludicrous, precious, but compulsively watchable movie is set in - you guessed it - NORWAY!!! Seriously, it's a great place to raise a family. Just like our babe-o-licious murderess, you can romp around with the daughter you've never really known while lame, on-point Norwegian Eddie-Vedder-wannabe songs play on the soundtrack. In Norway, it's like life stops every so often and turns into a music video.

You know, I can't stress Norway's magnificence enough. Norway, you see, is truly the Land of Make Believe! How make believe is it, you ask? Norway is so make believe that when the bad guy holds down the babe face flat in the dirts, pulls her pants down and orders Eddie Vedder to rape her in the ass, Eddie refuses to do so.

I don't know about you, but I'm booking a one-way ticket to Norway next week. Who wouldn't want to use a bit of that magical Norwegian Wood on Norwegian Babes and be able to refuse orders to forcibly sodomize them in a land of milk, honey and, uh, fjords.

It's Only Make Believe (Eventyrland) opens theatrically at the Carlton Cinemas in Toronto via Vagrant Films. Alas, there are no promotional tie-ins with the Norwegian Tourist Bureau.

THE GERMAN DOCTOR (aka WAKOLDA) - Review By Greg Klymkiw - TJFF 2014 - Toronto Jewish Film Festival 2014

Just looking at the brilliant Alex Brendemuhl as Josef Mengele
makes you feel mired in filth and in need of a good scrub.

Astonishing newcomer
Florencia Bado delivers
a knockout performance
as the very unfortunate apple
of Dr. Josef Mengele's eye.

The German Doctor Dir. Lucia Puenzo (2013) ***
Starring: Alex Brendemuhl, Florencia Bado, Natalia Oreiro,
Diego Peretti, Elena Roger
Review By Greg Klymkiw

From the very first moment we see Dr. Gregor (Alex Brendemuhl) eyeballing the fetching little girl Lilith (Florencia Bado), it's a fait accompli that this film is heading for dangerous territory. Based on director Lucia Penzo's novel, in turn a fiction rooted in fact, it's even more obvious that a living Hell awaits us when the good doctor takes a room in the family-owned Patagonia hotel of Lilith's Mom and Dad (Natalia Oreiro, Diego Peretti) and even worse, that his obsessions with: (a) assisting Dad in perfecting the design of toy dolls, (b) offering to fix Lilith's recessive genes to cure her stunted growth and (c) taking special interest in Mom's pregnancy with twins, suggest he's not all he seems to be. That Dr. Gregor is spending far too much time in this beautiful out of the way Argentinian town with other German gentlemen bandying about the word Führer and that a concerned photographer (Elena Roger) is making secret telephone calls to Israel whilst being suspiciously looked-upon by the town's upstanding Aryans, we're even more convinced that the well-dressed, soft-spoken Dr. Gregor is none other than the epitome of Nazi evil, crazed geneticist Dr. Joseph Mengele.

The German Doctor makes for compelling viewing on two counts. First of all, there is a definite grace and intelligence with which Puenzo unfolds this chilling tale and secondly, and perhaps most of all, the performances on every level are charged with the stuff of supremely bravura work. Brendemuhl as Mengele is chillingly muted, but at the same time, he occasionally lets the ooze of evil creep out so subtly that we almost feel tainted by having to lay eyes on him -- even to the point where we feel like we need to scrub away the filth he sullies us with, by his mere presence. This is certainly a brilliant and brave piece of work.

The newcomer Florencia Bado has a magnificent screen presence. The camera clearly loves her and she tackles her role as the diminutive Lilith with natural ability and surprising maturity. The scenes where Brendemuhl and Bado share screen time are especially creepy and much of this comes from the chemistry between both actors.

Director Puenzo does not ever really create the mise-en-scène of a thriller, but rather allows the material to move at the pace of a straight-up drama (albeit one infused with sheer evil and darkness). We are, for example, never in the territory of Franklin J. Schaffner's nerve-jangling, bigger-than-life film adaptation of Ira Levin's The Boys From Brazil, but are sucked into a whirlpool on a much smaller scale so that Puenzo can concentrate on the subtleties of character.

Alex Brendemuhl and Florencia Bado: Creepy Chemistry

Since she does not want to be in thriller territory, part of me feels bad saying that her approach seems far too muted given the intensity of the material. Yes, this is her intent, but there is the old saying that "the road to hell is paved with good intentions" and if we apply the interpretation of said meaning that the intent yields the kind of cinematic inaction that feels far too precious, then I do think it's worth mentioning that the film's whole is, indeed less than the sum of its parts.

The problem for me is that when we edge closer to the utter horror of the tale, there's an inevitability to it that detracts from the picture's overall ability to deliver a genuine knockout punch. I appreciate Puenzo's desire to handle her material with both taste and detachment, but there are times, when good, old fashioned Hollywood "vulgarity" can yield far more satisfying experiences and still manage to do so with taste, style and a good dose of slam-bang. It is, however, a worthy effort even as is.

The German Doctor makes its Toronto premiere at the Toronto Jewish Film Festival (TJFF 2014). For tickets and showtimes, contact the festival website HERE. It opens theatrically in Toronto via A-Z Films on May 9, 2014.

OLGA, TO MY FRIENDS - Review By Greg Klymkiw - HOT DOCS 2014 - Visually sumptuous contemplations.

Olga - To My Friends (2013) Dir. Paul Anders-Simma ***

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Life in Lapland's Russian district has its own special pace. Oft-ascribed stereotypes like "slow as molasses" might spring to mind when considering its day-in-day-out solitude, but the reality is something else altogether. Paul-Anders Simma's gorgeously photographed Olga - To My Friends captures the beauty of silence through the eyes and words of its title protagonist.

Dumped in an orphanage and raised there for most of her childhood and early adolescence, Olga was eventually removed by her Mother when it became convenient for her to "provide" for the family. For some time, Olga has worked in the northernmost reaches of the continent and the film focuses upon her time working with trappers, hunters and herdsman in an isolated outpost. Her primary duties include keeping the food supplies secure and general upkeep. These duties don't necessarily take an eternity, so it seems Olga has plenty of time on her hands.

This is a good deal for both Olga and the audience. It allows her a lot of time to contemplate the north and her life in it (before and beyond). Furthermore, the film allows us to share in these few glimpses into both her inner life and the world that surrounds it. This is a special opportunity because Olga is very sweet, down-to-earth. Her stocky solid frame puts her in good stead to handle the more arduous tasks and her eyes, so sparkling and alive, betray a soul at peace with the world and herself.

We get a few sad glimpses into her past life (one heartbreaking tale from the orphanage moves us to tears), but she doesn't dwell on unhappiness for too long, nor does she ever display the kind of self-pity someone in her position might. She loves the north, she loves nature and she even seems to love the revolving door of solitary men passing through on their way to somewhere, anywhere - just so long as they're not in one place too long - and we're allowed to love all this too.

Simma's picture is barely an hour long. Its running time feels perfectly appropriate as we never feel like it has overstayed its welcome. If anything, the entire experience is so uplifting and engaging, it seems like maybe we don't get as much time as we'd like.

This is another good thing. The best artists always understand the value of leaving an audience wanting more.

Olga - To My Friends plays Toronto's Hot Docs 2014. For further information, contact the festival website HERE.

THE PUNK SYNDROME - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Finally Opens Toronto: SEE IT THEATRICALLY OR DIE, MO-FO!!!

Two fresh viewings of this phenomenal rock-doc have prompted me to reassess my star rating and boost it from **** to *****. The film is not only superbly crafted, but its subjects are hardcore punks who embrace the anger-charged musical form to create the most phenomenal insight into what it means to be mentally disabled and forced to live in a world of fluorescent lighting, rigid control, shitty food and seemingly random rules as prescribed within the cold, institutional world of their homes for life. This opens theatrically in Toronto at the Magic Lantern Carlton Cinemas via Kinosmith and it MUST be seen theatrically. Hopefully more cities will follow before it's released (hopefully) to Blu-Ray.

The Punk Syndrome (2012) *****
dir. Jukka Kärkkäinen & J-P Passi
Starring: Pertti Kurikka, Kari Aalto, Sami Helle, Toni Välitalo

Review By Greg Klymkiw

"Pertti Kurikka’s Name Day" is, without question, one of the greatest punk bands of all time. They are the unforgettable subjects of The Punk Syndrome, a breathtaking feature documentary that declares: "I demand your immediate attention or you die, motherfucker!" I'm somewhat ashamed to admit I had never heard of the band before. Now, I'll never forget them! Neither will you. This quartet of hard-core, kick-ass, take-no-fucking-prisoners sons of bitches pull no musical punches. They slam you in the face with repeated roundhouses - turning your flesh into pulpy, coarsely-ground hamburger meat. In true punk spirit, they crap on hypocrisy, celebrate a shackle-free life and dare your pulse not to pound with maniacal abandon.

The band is, of course, from Finland. This is the great land of the brown bear, the Capercaillie grouse and the nearly-extinct, but damned-if-they'll-go-down-without-a-fight Saimaa Ringed Seal - a country with one of the largest land masses and smallest populations in Europe that spawned the great glam group Hanoi Rocks, the brilliant hockey player Veli-Pekka Ketola and one of the world's greatest filmmakers, Aki Kaurismäki.

And now, Finland can boast of generating one the world's great punk bands, "Pertti Kurikka’s Name Day". With Pertti Kurikka's grinding lead guitar, Kari Aalto's powerhouse vocals, Sami Helle's muscular bass and Toni Välitalo on drums (a veritable punk rock Gene Krupa), this tight unit commands audiences with a power that borders on mesmerism.

Their songs - many of them ripped straight from Kurikka's diaries - take aim at government corruption, mindless bureaucracy and pedicures. Yes, pedicures!

Early in the film, Pertti Kurikka explains:

Writing a diary is important to me. I can release my anger. It is especially helpful to have a bad day. I’ll write in my diary that Pertti is a shithead, that Pertti is an asshole and that Pertti is a faggot and a shit-goddamn-asshole. Pertti will be stabbed. Pertti will be punched in the face. Pertti will be strangled to death.

Not every song the band sings spews venom, though. Giving a concert in a public square, the jaws of old ladies hit the ground, while young party animals hoist their fists in the air as the band extols the considerable virtues of mundane, but pleasant activities with the following lyrics:

It was a Sunday
I went to church
I had coffee
I took a dump

Three kick-ass chords and four glorious lines and we're hooked.

The movie follows the band from practising to recording, from jamming to performing, relationships with family, friends, fans and women. There are the usual creative differences between the band - some serious, and others, a bit more tongue in cheek. At one point, Kari complains to Kurikka, "When you write riffs for songs, don’t write such difficult ones. Write easy ones."

One of the most powerful sequences in the film, one that enshrines the picture as one of the truly great rock documentaries, is when the band plays a gig at a club in Tampere. The performance is mind-blowing and the audience is electric. The band sings:
Decision-Makers lock people up
In closed rooms
But we don’t wanna be in those rooms
Nobody looks after us
Nobody comes to visit us
What’s going to happen
To us orphans in those rooms?
Decision-makers cheat
Cheaters make decisions
They don’t give a shit
About us disabled
Decision-makers cheat
Cheaters make decisions
They don’t give a shit
About us disabled
In the dressing room after a truly intense performance, the band is triumphant. A beaming Kurikka declares, "This is as good as it gets".

And WHAMMO!

A breathtaking cut to a shot worthy of Ulrich Seidl - one that captures a terrible beauty of the character-bereft building the band lives in, a blue sky and a magic hour sun.

And yes, this is a band that writes and performs songs from the pits of their respective guts, from experience - their unique experience in the world as mentally disabled men.

Brave, passionate and talented men.

And yes, mentally disabled.

And they are so cool.

How cool?

They record their first single on vinyl.

That's how cool!

Just like this movie!

"The Punk Syndrome" opens theatrically December 13, 2013 via Kinosmith at the Magic Lantern Carlton Cinemas. If there is any justice in the world, it will play theatrically in many more Canadian cities before it is released to Blu-Ray. It's a movie that demands an audience!

PIONEER - Review By Greg Klymkiw - #TIFF 2013 - New thriller from INSOMNIA director

Pioneer (2013) ***
Dir. Erik Skjoldbjærg
Starring: Aksel Hennie, Wes Bentley, Stephen Lang, Stephanie Sigman, André Eriksen, Jonathan LaPaglia

Review By Greg Klymkiw

When the United States of America wants something that doesn't belong to them, they're the scariest, nastiest and most relentlessly corrupt power on this Earth. God help you if you try to fight back- your life will never be the same. You might even die.

In the 1980s, oil was discovered off the coast of Norway 500 meters at the bottom of the North Sea. A pipeline had never before been laid so deep and certainly not in deadly waters where the pressure was brutal and potentially crushing. America, of course, wanted a piece of the action. Norway wanted it, rightfully, for themselves. A compromise was struck and in director Erik Skjoldbjærg's fictional rendering of this deal with the devil, we're dragged to almost unfathomable depths below water and into the cesspool to which American-controlled multinational corporations will go to snatch what isn't rightfully theirs.

Skjoldbjærg is, of course, the father of modern Nordic thrillers with his chilling 1997 creep-fest Insomnia, ineffectively remade by the boneheaded Christopher Nolan in 2002. Hollywood will, no doubt, again be seeking remake rights to this new Skjoldbjærg property, though whomever they get to direct it, the likelihood is pretty high that America's complicity in the aforementioned conspiratorial manipulations will be dampened considerably. For now, though, we have the real thing. It's solid, but I wish it was better than it actually is.

What's good about it is Skjoldbjærg's superb direction of the suspense-filled set pieces. His work lessens the potentially irreparable impact of the mediocre screenplay (delivered by five writers no less) to tell what should actually have been a simple, streamlined story. The mechanics of the plot and characters, however, almost always veers into clunky and slightly predictable territory.

Luckily the film features a hypnotic performance from Aksel Hennie as a Norwegian diver who suffers a tragic loss when he takes an initial dive in the American submersible. He discovers that the Americans have cut a sleazy deal with a corrupt Norwegian and that the divers are all being poisoned/manipulated into doing their jobs in a manner that allows them to withstand the crushing pressure down below.

Unfortunately, the tragedy he suffers has been laid upon his shoulders and so he needs to do triple duty to clear his name, expose the Americans and bring honour to Norway by finishing the job he started. On the surface, all this seems quite reasonable on paper and certainly works in a perfunctory fashion to keep things moving. Often, though, the film feels like it's too bogged down in story details and doesn't leave quite enough breathing space for the political ramifications of the story.

In a sense, this potentially fascinating backdrop might well be based on actual facts, but the fictionalization of it is what hampers it. At times the movie feels like everything between the major action/suspense set pieces is shoehorned into the proceedings as the glue to bind one set piece after another.

That said, the film works splendidly when Skjoldbjærg is running our hero through some extremely harrowing paces. From the initial tests on land, to all the phenomenal footage at sea and below water are first-rate filmmaking. We're on the edge of our seats as Skjoldbjærg delivers one fine shot after another that wisely builds suspense with cuts that do in fact offer the sort of breathing space that builds nail-biting suspense.

If anything, the film not only offered several great sequences that were positively terrifying and gripping, but in the process, captured images and emotions that - for lack of any other clear description - induced a physical response. It wasn't the el-cheapo herky-jerky used in so many found footage horror movies and poorly directed action films, but superb compositions, movements and cuts designed to place us in the same psychological and even physical conditions that our main character finds himself within.

Pioneer might truly be the first film in motion picture history to induce sea sickness. This, I believe, is not without considerable merit.

"Pioneer" is part of the TIFF Special Presentation series at the Toronto International Film Festival 2013. Visit the TIFF website HERE.

TURN ME ON GODDAMMIT - Review By Greg Klymkiw - This terrific, stylish and intelligent Norwegian teen sex comedy from a female perspective is a must-see for all and signals the appearance of a vital, new filmmaker.

Turn Me On, Goddammit! (2011) Jannicke Systad Jacobsen

Starring: Helene Bergsholm, Matias Myren, Henriette Steenstrup, Malin Bjørhovde, Beate Støfring, Jon Bleiklie Devik

****

Review By Greg Klymkiw

She's 15-years-old and horny. So, what's a girl to do? She calls a phone sex service and masturbates on the kitchen floor while her perplexed dog watches and whimpers. He's 15-years-old and has a crush on a pretty girl. So, what's a boy to do? He approaches the girl stealthily outside a dance at the local community centre, opens his fly, whips out his schwance and pokes her with it.

Ah, young love in Skoddeheimen, Norway.

Alma (Bergsholm) is overflowing with teenage love hormones. The results, at least for her, are not pretty, but for those who make the effort to see this terrific little movie, the results yield a laugh-out-loud funny and at times, delicately moving experience. Based upon Olaug Nilssen's novel, Writer-director Jacobsen delivers a lovely portrait of young teenage women in a cloistered, repressed rural environment where anyone with any imagination and/or intelligence wants to escape at the earliest opportunity.

The movie has a lovely low-key deadpan quality that allows it to burst with the stuff of life and make the laughs so much more resonant than in typical American (and Male-centric) sex comedies. The picture's controlled personal style signals the arrival of a brilliant new filmmaking talent and gives us a great female character in a world mostly bereft of them. Alma is, quite simply, a brand new motion picture icon as emblematic as any of the silver screen's great characters - Scarlett O'Hara, Benjamin Braddock and yes, even the immortal Stifler.

When Alma reveals to her best friend Sara (Bjørhovde) and Sara's vain, mean-spirited sister Ingrid (Støfring) that Artur (Myren) has poked her with his penis, she quickly becomes a pariah in the small town. Ingrid carries a torch for Artur and as the Queen-Teen-Bee of Skoddenheimen begins to jealously and nastily spread rumours about Alma, declaring her persona non grata, poor Alma finds herself in social jeopardy. Ingrid even orders, in her catty bullying fashion, that sibling Sara is not allowed to fraternize with Alma.

Our heroine is shunned by all and earns the oft-repeated monicker "Dikk-Alma". Even the annoying brats who seem to perpetually bounce on a front yard trampoline which Alma passes everyday on her way home chant tauntingly: "Dikk-Alma-Dikk-Alma-Dikk-Alma-Dikk-Alma-Dikk-Alma".

Her sex fantasies run totally amuck. Not only does she concoct imaginary lovemaking with dreamboat Artur, but conjures up an early morning visit from Ingrid who demands, Dominatrix-like, that Alma squeeze her "fat tits" and go down on her.

When Alma's Mother (Steenstrup) makes the shocking discovery that her child has racked-up a whopping phone sex bill she orders her to get a part-time job to pay it off. She takes a clerk position at the local grocery store run by Sebjørn (Devik), Sara and Ingrid's Dad. Alma's sex fantasies now include her nebbish boss driven to predatory Casanova-like distraction by her sex-starved presence.

When Sebjørn discovers that Alma has been stealing porn magazines from his store, he informs Alma's Mom of this strange employee theft. This definitely causes a rift in that sacred of all relationships, that of Mother and Daughter, but their special emotional bond takes an even-deeper plunge into the chasm that opens up when Alma stops hiding her need for sex and defiantly indulges in obsessive (and very loud) vocal masturbation sessions behind the locked door of her bedroom.

It's kind of like a gender-bended Portnoy's Complaint (minus the Mounds-wrapper spunk receptacle) and we're even blessed with Alma sniffing her fingers to make sure the stench of masturbatory activities will not prove too obvious when she goes out in public.

Turn Me On, Goddammit! is one of the most delightful and original teen comedies ever made. It's not only great entertainment, but I also urge parents to take their own kids to see the movie. On a recent long car ride up to the cottage, my 11-year-old daughter was, as is her wont, sitting in the backseat with a portable DVD player and headphones - helping herself to whatever movies were in my briefcase. Unbeknownst to me she watched a preview screener of this very movie. When it was over, she announced: "Wow! What a great movie!"

"Oh?" I queried, "What movie was that, sweetie?"

"Turn Me On, Goddammit!" she replied.

I was briefly mortified, but as she discussed the movie with me, the shock dissipated and happily transformed to delight that good cinema knows no boundaries. The movie spoke to her in terms of relationships with her own girlfriends, the general attitudes at school towards boys and bullying and very touchingly, how the movie perfectly captured her own horrendous experience from when she went to school while living in a small town. I realized just how important this movie might be for pre-teen and teen girls who are inundated with the juvenile antics of boys that are thrust down their throats ad nauseam by the Hollywood hit machine.

As well, I was even more - as a parent - relieved that she pointed out how drugs and alcohol played a role in Alma's trials and tribulations. The movie is NOT moralistic on this point, but just simply realistic and matter-of-fact. Proof positive that reality, not head-hammering is what can allow any audience member, regardless of age, to view what's onscreen and make their own minds up about what they see.

Don't miss this one! It's a winner all the way!

"Turn Me On, Goddammit! is currently in release via Mongrel Media. In Toronto it is playing at the TIFF Bell Lightbox. For Tickets and Info, visit the TIFF website HERE

PUSHWAGNER - Reviewed By Greg Klymkiw - HOT DOCS 2012 MUST-SEE #15

Pushwagner (2012) dir. August B. Hanssen, Even Benestad ****
Review by Greg Klymkiw

"But then they danced down the street like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes 'Awww!'" - Jack Kerouac

Pushwagner rocks! It rocks hard! This has easily got to be one of the best documentaries I've ever seen about a contemporary living artist. And WHAT an artist! What a movie! On the surface, we learn very little about Norway's septuagenarian bad boy beat-punk maniac artist and yet we learn EVERYTHING we need to know. What's fabulous about the picture - among so many things - is that it never slips into the horrid doc-cliches of so many profile biography portraits. We meet who we need to meet. We hear who we need to hear from. We learn what we need to know. No endless parade of ex-friends-lovers-family-pundits. No endless, boring details about his life (just the good stuff, thanks). No annoying insert shots. No twee solo guitar strumming or piano tinkles in the background (just a stunning, vibrant musical score from composer Gisle Martens Meyer). Even the central conflict of the film, his court battle to regain control of all his artwork that he mistakenly signed over to a former associate, is handled in a compact manner evocative of Pushwagner himself. Mostly, all we need to know is what we get in spades - Pushwagner is clearly some kind of genius, an astounding artist and totally fucking cooler than cool!

The art. WOW! First of all, Pushwagner as a human being is a work of art. The movie opens with a great image of one of his paintings and words of his mad wisdom that pretty much summarize the film, Pushwagner, art, life and (at least for me) the central question of the universe and why we're even here.

Pushwagner Declaration: "You have to press on like a bulldozer to reveal the man behind the mask for future generations."

Tell me about it! Rock on, man. Give me more.

We see the mad genius directing the directors. They know what they're doing. They get what they need and then some. Ah, but what movies I'd have loved to see Pushwagner direct. At least I can imagine them. At least my imaginings can, after seeing this astounding motion picture, permeate my dreams. I can let the pieces of Pushwagner time float about my cerebellum in those deepest points of slumber.

Pushwagner Declaration: "Control has nothing to do with fantasy. Art is fiction. It's about telling a good lie. It doesn't matter as long as it's entertaining. The fun thing about it, is not whether it's true or false, it's the story itself."

The central question that presses on like a bulldozer to reveal the man behind the mask for future generations is this: In a documentary portrait of anyone or anything: Who has upper hand? The subject or the director?

Or both?

Pushwagner demands the filmmakers ask him what he is reading. He demands they compose the shot to his liking. He demands to reveal what he IS reading. He tells them what their next question SHOULD have been.

A stirring series of shots as Pushwagner marches through the streets on his way to court. He will do battle with his former collaborator/assistant Morten Dreyer. He gave 2000 artworks to Dreyer. He wants them back. I know nothing about Dreyer. For all I know, he is a lost bastard child of my favourite director of all time, Carl Dreyer and has assumed this surname, abandoning that of his birth mother. This is not true, of course. It doesn't have to be. I'm more than happy to imagine it. To let it permeate my brain cells. It's a lie, of course. A good lie, I think. Would Pushwagner think so? Probably not. In the meantime, he wants his art back from Dreyer - not much else matters.

Pushwagner Declaration: "If you don't fight you won't survive. You need opposition."

And the art. Creepy, haunting, funny. Hordes of suited suits in dead cities of glass. Magritte by way of Jack Kirby. Bureaucrats. Dead, Empty. So alive.

Pushwagner Declaration: "Art means life or death. In the last 40 years I've lived a vagrant life. Between different social strata but also in different rooms."

Axel Jensen - writer extraordinaire. Pushwagner's chief influence. Collaborator on several great books. And an astounding montage that sucks us into the Pushwagner-Jensen world of Soft City, an artistic collaboration seldom paralleled.

And the vodka. Endless vodka. Mother's milk down Pushwagner's gullet.

Pushwagner Declaration: "To listen to rock and roll you must live it."

What we wonder is when Pushwagner will keel over? Will it happen on film?

Pushwagner Declaration: "Only a catastrophe can change the human heart."

And there he lay in a hospital bed. Kidney failure. Dehydrated. Undernourished. For weeks, Pushwagner has ingested nothing but vodka. He looks to the homeless for guidance. He too was once homeless and like them, he seeks to "neutralize negative psychological circumstances by drinking."

His mantra is "so little time, so much to do".

Will he do it?

A mad dance with a Bloody Mary clutched in his hand. Crazed brilliant sketches during the court case. Refusing to speak at his own art show, then taking over from a mouth-piece to toast Mother Norway.

Pushwagner the artist. Pushwagner the man.

The man who "goes to loo and wipes his arse."

Billowing smoke.

A cigarette stubbed into an ashtray.

See this movie.

Now!

"Pushwagner" is playing Thu, May 3 9:15 PM at Cumberland 2 and Fri, May 4 11:30 PM at Bloor Hot Docs Cinema during the Hot Docs Canadian International Documentary Festival 2012. To get tickets, visit the Hot Docs website HERE.