Tuesday, 17 July 2012

THE MAN WHO COULD CHEAT DEATH - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Terence Fisher's eerie horror classic from Hammer is up there with his best work and stars the insane Anton Diffring from "Circus of Horrors" and the stunning Hazel Court - she of the soft, milky protuberances. Available on Blu-Ray as a double-feature with "The Skull".


The Man Who Could Cheat Death (1959) dir. Terence Fisher
Starring: Anton Diffring, Hazel Court and Christopher Lee

***

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Even if The Man Who Could Cheat Death were an awful movie (and it is far from that), it would have one big thing going for it. Well, actually two big things – those soft, milky protuberances heaving ever so-delicately beneath the low-cut velvet dress of Heaven itself; namely, the breasts of that utterly flawless example of womanhood, Hazel Court.

These bounteous pillows of perfection are, however, not all that mesmerize Dr. Georges Bonnet (Anton Diffring) the title character of this delicious Hammer Horror picture from master Terence Fisher. When his (and our) eyes gaze above her cleavage, then glide upwards along her perfect breastplate and delicate neck, they run smack into a delectable puss replete with full lips, exquisite cheek bones and eyes you want to dive into. There’s also that pile of soft scarlet atop her crown, tied and trussed in a manner that hints, ever so invitingly, at the cascading waterfall that awaits when the pins are removed and the locks tumble down.

And beneath it all – beneath her upper bounties – is a svelte torso, supple, childbearing hips and, no doubt, other hidden fruits best left to our imaginations.


The estimable Miss Court as the comely model Janine Dubois makes her first appearance in the picture on the arm of the dashing Dr. Pierre Girard (Christopher Lee) during a private gathering in Bonnet’s home where the mad-scientist/artist is about to unveil his latest sculpture to a small, but admiring public of society people. It is obvious to all, including Girard, that she and Bonnet are former lovers and it is here we discover that Bonnet’s artistic output has been reserved to sculptures only of the upper portions of the most beautiful women imaginable.

Once the party disbands, we are treated to the revelation that the 30-something Bonnet is, in fact, over 100 years old and that he’s found the secret to eternal youth through the occasional implantation of a fresh gland in addition to a lime-green potion. His goal is to steal, Janine from Pierre, implant a new gland – making her “immortal” – and to spend the rest of eternity in bliss.

And who wouldn’t want to spend an eternity with Hazel Court? Only a madman, right?

Well, there’s the rub. Implantation of the gland and adherence to steady doses of the lime-green bubbling Kool-Aid renders all those under its influence to go stark raving, psychotically bonkers. This, of course, will not do and it’s up to Girard (one of Christopher Lee’s few heroic roles) to save the day.

With a Jimmy Sangster screenplay adaptation of a creaky, but oddly literate play by Barre Lyndon (The Man of Half Moon Street, already made as a film in the 40s) is one part The Picture of Dorian Gray, with dashes of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Dracula.

It’s perfect material for Terence Fisher who delivered some of the finest and most stylish British horror films of all time. Though much of the action is constricted to a few rooms, it’s an always engaging thriller thanks, in part to Fisher’s splendid direction and, most of all, because of the superb cast. Peter Cushing look-alike Anton Diffring (star of the luridly magnificent Circus of Horrors) is the perfect tragic villain with his aquiline features and sorrowful eyes, Lee handles himself expertly as the hero and Miss Court is breathtakingly engaging in her role.

The Man Who Could Cheat Death is a welcome addition to Fisher’s fine work from the 50s (including Curse of Frankenstein and Horror of Dracula). In fact, it’s kind of cool seeing Fisher work his magic in a genre film that is bereft of an already identifiable monster (he also helmed versions of The Mummy, The Werewolf and Phantom of the Opera) and if the picture seems a trifle dated and a smidgen derivative, these are but minor flaws in an otherwise delightful chiller.

Besides, it stars Hazel Court and that is, of course, reason enough to see pretty much anything.

"The Man Who Could Cheat" is one of several British genre pictures distributed in North America by Legend Films. It's currently available as a double-disc Blu-Ray with the added Amicus attraction, "The Skull".

This is a must-have Blu-Ray disc for vintage horror fans and the price is certainly right. The movies are also available as single-disc DVDs. If you plan to buy, please consider supporting the maintenance of this site by ordering it via the links below:


Sunday, 15 July 2012

CERTIFIED COPY - Review By Greg Klymkiw - If you love, or PURPORT to love Abbas Kiarostami, then this movie was made for YOU! The rest of us plebeians can see "Freddy Got Fingered" for the umpteenth time instead.


Certified Copy (2010) dir. Abbas Kiarostami

Starring: Juliette Binoche, William Shimell, Jean-Claude Carrière

**** - for Kiarostami fanatics
** - for everyone else

Review By Greg Klymkiw

I used to have this stock response when people of the beret-adorned-granola-munching-knapsack-wearing-bike-riding-Birkenstock-clumping-persuasion would excitedly ask if I'd seen the latest cinematic Persian snail crawl from the Land of the Aryans.

Staring blankly I'd rudely answer, "Yeah, uh, sorry. I don't do Iranian movies."

This wasn't just a vaguely offensive joke, nor was it merely utilized to get a rise out of the oh-so groovy politically correct types who were inspired to groove on anything from this artist-hating dictatorship (not because the movies were really any good, but because it was the right thing to do).

Deep down, I suspected these poseurs probably detested the drab, dullsville Middle-Eastern depression-fests as much as I did, but simply fooled themselves as much as anyone else into believing they did actually like them. When people of a certain ilk desperately crave to be hip, they need to lie to themselves successfully before growing Pinocchio noses in front of others.

And the reigning Shah of these dismal Iranian affairs was none other than the intelligentsia-embraced Abbas Kiarostami. Critics and other pseuds gushed geysers of laudatory semen and vaginal juices all over this guy's movies.

In fairness to Kiarostami, he was the best of the cerebral lot from Iran and I accepted that some genuine film lovers appreciated his work for the right reasons, but even still, I found watching his movies was a ton of effort for very little payback other than acknowledging how tough it was to make movies in Iran and how truthful he was in light of all the repression over there.

And by-golly-gee, he did it.

He really, really did it.

And the pseuds really, really liked him.

But not this fella.

Now before you accuse me of only liking Michael Bay movies, a perusal of my reviews will demonstrate how much I love many foreign films, art films, slow films, Neo-Realist films, silent films and yes, even Freddy Got Fingered.

I do, in fact, admire, respect and even acknowledge Kiarostami's clear intelligence, distinctive voice and seriousness as an artist.

That doesn't mean I actually like any of his movies, though.

Certified Copy vaguely interested me. Its star was Juliette (Hubba-Hubba) Binoche and it didn't appear to be made in Iran. Two runs on base, for sure, but not fully loaded enough to warrant a grand slam into the stands that would actually get me into a movie theatre to watch it. (And I almost always try to see as much as possible in movie theatres.)

Luckily, a sumptuous Criterion Collection Blu-Ray came along and I finally had some incentive to gird my loins and give this new Kiarostami a whirl.

Well, what I discovered and indeed, have to report is that Certified Copy features first-rate production values, gorgeous scenery and the engaging performances of Juliette Binoche and William Shimell (the opera star in his first movie role), but it's ultimately, pretty much the same old, same old.

The only difference here is that Kiarostami's up to his usual shenanigans in Tuscany instead of Iran.

Two well-dressed rich people, a writer/academic (William Shimell) and an antique dealer (Juliette Binoche), who may or may not be married or who may or may not be having an affair, who may or may not lay eyes upon each other for the first time during a lecture the man may or may not be delivering on his latest book which he may or may not have written in the town hall of Arezzo which apparently does exist, though in this movie, it may or may not.

The woman passes a note to the man and leaves with her son, who may or may not be her son and may or may not even exist. The man finishes the lecture he may or may not have delivered and saunters into the antique shop the woman may or may not own and which may or may not exist.

Here, they talk a lot. This much, we know.

The man announces he must leave town soon, which may or may not be true and that he prefers being outdoors, which may or may not exist. Though he seems pressed for time, he accepts the woman's offer to take him for a drive to a nearby village of artistic and historical significance, which does indeed exist (though as per usual, no guarantees). They get into the woman's car, which may or may not belong to her and during the pleasant ride through the lovely countryside, they talk a lot.

They eventually arrive in Lucignano, a village noted for its art, architecture and beauty, but mostly as a place where - WAIT FOR IT - people flock to in order to get married - it's the Las Vegas of Tuscany.

All round our man and woman are young couples madly in love and on the verge of marrying. The man, during one of their many talks, remarks how foolish these Tuscan does and bucks are and that none of them realize it yet, but that - WAIT FOR IT - love and marriage do not last too far beyond the honeymoon period.

The man and women continue to walk around and talk a lot.

They look at local points of interest and talk a lot.

They settle into a trattoria and, you guessed it, talk a lot.

At this point, I began to wonder:

Why does Abbas Kiarostami bring out the redneck in me?

Ah, but I digress.

So, up to this point, the couple have been strangely snippy and snappy with each other, but in that way in which you know they really enjoy each other's company - if, in fact, they even exist at all in order to enjoy said company, which, as per usual, might not really be happening at all.

Why, after all, should anything happen? It's only a movie.

But then, before you can say "Abbas Kiarostami" fifty times in a row without stopping or stammering, something happens.

Yes, it's true.

Something actually happens.

A brief separation occurs when the man excuses himself to take a cel phone call while the woman remains at the table, when at one point, she sees him - WAIT FOR IT - through - WAIT FOR IT - a glass.

I am not kidding. She/we see him through a - WAIT FOR IT - looking glass, perhaps?

Mais oui.

Bella-bella.

Mozzarella.

Their manner with each other immediately morphs into that of a couple who've been together for years and know each other very well. Or, at the very least, there's a sense that they think they know each other well, but perhaps do not.

Gee Willikers!

What cerebral cinematic magic Kiarostami weaves!

Ain't it just the cat's ass!

And guess what?

Wait for it.

They talk a lot.

"Certified Copy" is available on a gorgeous Criterion Collection Blu-Ray edition. The Crown Jewel of this edition is a terrific bonus, Kiarostami's 1977 feature film The Report which has seldom been screened outside of Iran. Kiarostami completists will absolutely need to own this. As per usual, the transfers are outstanding - the picture's been blessed with a high definition digital restoration as well as a 5.1 surround DTS-HD Master Audio soundtrack. Other items are a documentary on the making of the film, a new interview with Kiarostami and a brand new English translation of the subtitles.

Saturday, 14 July 2012

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

Friday, 13 July 2012

HEATER - Review By Greg Klymkiw - 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 review is PART ONE 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 TWO of my HEATER coverage is an interview with writer-director Terrance Odette 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

****

By Greg Klymkiw


Under the harsh glare of fluorescent lights, a large Aboriginal Man (Gary Farmer) with the name Ben emblazoned on his jacket sits patiently in a typically sterile welfare office. It could be anywhere, really, but this cold, hostile and slightly grimy government office is, for the purposes of the story in Heater, buried deep inside the stinking shit-cave of the world’s many assholes, Winnipeg.

The Aboriginal Man patiently waits – seemingly forever – while a thoroughly detestable welfare worker (Mauralea Austin) takes her sweet time shuffling papers like all good, little bureaucrats do. Though our friendly gentle giant is imbued with Job-like qualities, the slight shuffles and glances betray a desperation. When the Civic Sloth finally drags her living carcass behind the counter, a fortress wall to separate her and her ilk from those in society who need their help and understanding, she does what most petty bureaucrats do with relish - she serves up a toil and trouble brew of disdain.

And she's most eager to dish out her bilious verbal phlegm because, frankly, she can.

Ben, if that's even his name - he's homeless so chances are good he's wearing a piece of donated clothing from the Sally Anne - needs two simple things from this pasty-faced drudge.

You see, he's finally found a home - a real home.

It's not much, a squalid rooming house in Winnipeg's core area, but it's going to beat flea-ridden flophouses or worse, the streets. In a city where exposed flesh can freeze in 30 seconds or less, even the violence, filth and disease in flophouses is preferable to losing limbs to severe frostbite, or worse, curling up in the bitter cold to die.

Bottom line:

A home would be nice.

The other thing he needs from this hag is his welfare allowance cheque.

She looks at him with disgust. His face has an oozing sore on it. Feeling more self conscious, than concerned about the blood filled pustule, he lowers his eyes and remains silent through her badgering barrage of questions that have nothing to do with what he really needs.

When the topic turns to said needs, he suffers even further indignities. She can't possibly release a cheque for his home unless the landlord signs some idiotic form. Though Ben claims she made no mention of this the day before, she insists she did.

It's her word against his.

In a world of petty bureaucrats who are we supposed to believe? Sadly, most will side with the losers who collect a steady cheque for following impersonal rules to a "T" and making the lives of those whose lives couldn't possibly be worse - worse.

Ben practically goes on his knees to get this money. After all, he is on the verge of securing a HOME. He's promised the landlord money from the welfare department (based on the vile harpy's say-so) and if he doesn't deliver the goods, he loses the room.

The welfare official could care less. You can see the hate and utter revulsion she has for her clients etched into her granite face with a chisel and hammer by some unfeeling God a la Bergman's Winter Light (or, for that matter, the God who gave poor Job the unpleasant, unwanted butt-blasting). Ben is clearly affected by this woman's evil and his replies alternate between shame and defiance.

This scene, far from over, is so harrowing, so utterly horrendous and realistic in its depiction of what the disenfranchised suffer at the hands of those who one assumes are paid to help, but instead, fall back on their niggling pieties to pull pathetic power trips and ensure that the meagre amounts of money they dole out aren't squandered on booze or drugs.

It's clear Ben isn't going to do that.

He just wants a home.

And in the few opening minutes of Terrance Odette's Heater, Ben is like Charles Laughton's Quasimodo at the end of William Dieterle's The Hunchback of Notre Dame, looking at the gargoyles atop the great cathedral. Quasimodo, however was bathed in the rays of sunset. Ben is awash in fluorescent light whilst staring at the welfare clerk, a more insidious contemporary rendering of a gargoyle.

As we weep through much of this heart-wrenching scene, Ben's sad, soulful eyes, seem to silently evoke the words of Quasimodo:

"Why was I not made of stone like thee?"

13 years after Heater was first made, it is a film that has not dated and in fact, is probably just as vital now, if not more so than upon its premiere showing. Given that the gap between rich and poor is ever-wider and that the misled (and dwindling) middle class (and brain-bereft rural hayseeds) side, sheep-like, with an oligarchy (there's no real democratic government) that wants everyone to be at their mercy (or dead), the importance of Odette's film can't be overstated.

The film works perfectly as advocacy, propaganda (in the Michael Moore sense), great drama and most importantly as a staggeringly original use of cinema.

That Heater is a film which was entirely bungled and mishandled upon its completion is yet another testament to the sad state of English-Canadian production, distribution and exhibition. Idiotically rejected by the Toronto International Film Festival for God knows what inexcusable reason, unable to secure proper domestic distribution, sold far too quickly to some fly-by-night distribution entity in the United States (a completely boneheaded move considering the film eventually got a prestige berth at the Sundance Film Festival) and afforded only a briefly successful DVD release - Heater is a movie that DEMANDS to be seen by as many people as possible.

It's a great picture and will eventually achieve masterpiece status, but until then, anyone who truly cares about cinema will demand it be played on any format, though given the film's unique power and how stunning it actually looks on 35mm film, it's a shoe-in for specialty screenings in the few independent cinemas that still could do very well with the film if both the exhibitors and producers were willing to put in the necessary grassroots elbow grease into promoting it.

Thankfully, the TIFF (Toronto International Film Festival) Bell Lightbox is making up for the sins of past programmers and highlighting Heater at a special Open Vault screening in Toronto. I suspect this could be a perfect start to a new life for this great film.

Part of the film's power is rooted in the utter simplicity of its narrative. When Ben dejectedly leaves the Welfare Office, he's accosted by a Man (Stephen Ouimette) a squirrelly, limping, intense, homeless lower-drawer Ratso Rizzo.

Clutching a brand new baseboard heater still intact in its box - and obviously stolen goods - The Man is desperate to sell it.

He'll take 20 bucks.

Ben and the Man connect on several odd levels and begin an odyssey on the mean winter streets of Winnipeg to sell the heater or perhaps, even return it to the store for a refund.

Terrance Odette wrote and directed this astounding and deeply affecting film. It's a script that is imbued with a delicate simplicity that yields enough layers worthy of any great piece of literature.

Odette's mise-en-scène is rooted in genuine neo-realist traditions: mixing professional actors with real people, on real locations and allowing the camera enough time and space to capture the drama of life. There are no false touches (at least none I have ever detected). Odette lets the camera roll and the actors and locations (especially those hauntingly desolate Winnipeg streets) do their thing.

There are obvious parallels to be drawn between Heater and Don Shebib's seminal Goin' Down the Road (two male friends on a journey, looking for the simple pleasures in life and finding poverty and desperation at every turn), but for me, Odette's film comes closest to the stripped bare realism (albeit manipulated) of Lionel Rogosin's landmark classic about post-war-end-of-the-road alcoholics who live, from one drink to the next On The Bowery of New York's meanest streets of the 50s and 60s.

The "actors" in Rogosin's film are NOT actors, but they ARE directed and they do work from a narrative. Odette's actors are actors, but given the similar documentary approach and the genius of both Farmer and Ouimette as The (Homeless) Odd Couple, this is certainly a movie that feels like the real thing and most importantly, for those unfamiliar with the cast, it could well seem as realistic as Rogosin's masterpiece (which, by the way, is an absolute must-have DVD/Blu-Ray available from the visionary American cinema archivists and distributors, Milestone Films).

Made on a shoestring budget, the movie doesn't feel like it. Sure, the picture is raw, but cinematographer Arthur Cooper deftly shoots and lights the film like a true master. It's probably safe to say that in the intervening years between Heater and the present, Cooper is one of the country's great cinematographers. The funny thing is, based solely upon his work in Heater, Cooper already was a Master when he shot the film 13 years ago.

Another superb creative element is the ace editing of Canada's hands-down-undisputed-greatest-living-editor David (Sarah Polley's Away From Her, Guy Maddin's The Saddest Music in the World) Wharnsby. With his work in Heater, Wharnsby establishes a perfect rhythm. He strictly adheres to the stunning directorial virtuosity of the first scene - placing the audience into an almost hypnotic state throughout the almost somnambulistic (though always compelling) pacing. But every so often, Wharnsby brilliantly breaks the rules and delivers cuts that are utterly breathtaking - giving us a visceral response to dramatic beats and moving us ever-forward. And, of course, he even throws in a few French New Wave cuts a la Godard to jolt us onwards when we NEED to be jolted.

In addition to the leads, Odette has cast the movie to perfection. Some of the supporting performances, though brief, are true gems. Tina Keeper shines - as she always does - in the role of a nurse at the homeless drop-in centre and in a double-barrel whammy of sleaze, Blake Taylor and Joyce Krenz are so utterly creepy they look like every slum landlord I had the misfortune to meet in a life I briefly led in Winnipeg. (Does anyone remember the notorious Local Employment Assistant Program - LEAP - of the 80s? Mega-dollars-from-public-coffers for middle class caucasians to provide on-the-job training to the "disenfranchised" but instead feathered the nests of those who smarmily referred to this cash-cow as "The Indian Deal".)

Heater exposes truths that many want to avoid. This is one of many reasons why it's a great film. Odette is not content to simply drag us, Ulrich Seidl-like (the brilliantly insane Austrian filmmaker) through inhumanity to find some scrap of humanity. He trains his cameras on the disenfranchised with truth and compassion. It is finally a movie that celebrates those small dignities that can, in the lives of some, be larger than life itself.

Love, dignity and understanding drive this movie's engine and in that respect, Heater is a cinematic locomotive of hope.

See it. Demand it. Embrace it.

Check back for part two of my HEATER coverage where I present an interview between myself and writer-director Terrence Odette. You'll find that coverage HERE.



Tuesday, 10 July 2012

Neil Young Journeys - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Our Lord God brilliantly captured up-close-and-personal within this edition of the Holy cinematic trilogy known as The Gospel of Jonathan Demme.


Neil Young Journeys (2011) dir. Jonathan Demme
Starring Neil Young

***1/2

By Greg Klymkiw
On the other side of Winnipeg
Neil and The Squires played the Zone
But then he went to play
For awhile in Thunder Bay
He never looked back and he’s never coming home

-Randy Bachmann "Prairie Town"

Ultimately, Neil Young belongs to the world, but it's the city of Winnipeg that allows Him to be shared.

Toronto, the pathetic, self-absorbed self-proclaimed centre of the universe tries to claim everything as their own. Yes, Neil was born in Toronto, the City of (to coin a phrase from the late, great Canadian literary giant Scott Symons) Smugly Fucklings, but His earliest, most formative years were spent on the prairies and in the deep bush territory of Northern Ontario.

Jesus Christ was born in Bethlehem, but He will always be Jesus of Nazareth.

You follow?

From the North Ontario town of Omemee, Neil and his Mom eventually moved to The 'Peg where they lived in Fort Rouge (a south-end enclave for those of the working class). He played numerous gigs at the immortal Kelvin High School and this is where he formed his first major group The Squires.

For me, and those of my ilk, Our Lord will always be Neil Young of Winnipeg.

It is then, with heavy heart I report that His latest concert film, Neil Young Journeys was shot at Toronto's Massey Hall.

My Father, why hast Thou forsaken me?

"Because, My son, much as Winnipeg will always be My spiritual home, it is now a cesspool that has nary a single venue worthy of My Holy Voice and Hallowed Words."

Sad, but true. Massey Hall in Toronto is an astounding venue for Neil Young. It is replete with history, whilst most of Winnipeg's history has been systematically decimated.

All Winnipeg has these days is a grotesque downtown arena built on the demolished ruins of a historic department store called Eaton's - this after the historic Winnipeg Arena, the original home to Canada's National hockey team, the Winnipeg Maroons and the glorious Winnipeg Jets in the late lamented World Hockey Association, was levelled.

Now, all that remains is an acoustically perfect, but cold and history bereft venue that booted the glorious Manitoba Moose (who played in Winnipeg from 1996 to 2011 in the International and American hockey leagues respectively) in favour of an NHL Jets comeback within an arena bearing the name of the Manitoba Telephone System.

An arena named after a telephone company is no place to capture Our Lord on celluloid.

And ultimately, the raison d'etre of Jonathan Demme's latest cinematic record of a great live performance is seeing Neil Young in concert like you could never see him live in ANY venue - up close and personal, through the lens of a great artist like Jonathan Demme.

Besides, even I have to admit that Our Lord has shuffled his Winnipeg influence to the middle of the deck. Witness the lyrics from his song "Love and War" from his great 2010 album Le Noise: "“Since the backstreets of Toronto / I sang
for justice and I hit a bad chord / But I still try to sing about love and war.”

Neil Young Journeys features some of the most astounding footage of the hallowed rock legend you will ever see committed to film.

Neil is admittedly in great form here, but the star of the movie is definitely director Jonathan Demme. Only one filmmaker has ever been able to capture live performance as brilliantly as Demme - Martin Scorsese. But not even Marty has delivered as MANY great live performance documentaries as Demme.

Will anyone ever forget their first screening of The Talking Heads concert film Stop Making Sense? This was truly one of the most exciting and visually gorgeous concert films imaginable (save, perhaps, for Scorsese's The Last Waltz). Demme managed to outdo even himself with the astounding Swimming To Cambodia wherein he captured the genius of the late Spaulding Gray delivering one of his outstanding monologues. Demme's crowning glory, however, must surely be the trilogy of Our Lord's concert films Neil Young Heart of Gold, Neil Young Trunk Show and now Neil Young Journeys.

The best of the three is still Heart of Gold - it had the most clearly defined aesthetic approach of the three films, but there are plenty stunning moments in Journeys; a heartbreaking "Down By the River" and a truly powerful sequence in honour of those slain during the Kent State Massacre.

The sequence begins with Neil driving around his old hometown of Omemee and admitting that the only time he listens to music these days is when he is driving in cars - this statement leads into the sweetest cut imaginable as Neil launches into one of the most soulful renderings of "Ohio" I have ever experienced. Neil is in exquisite form here - his passion and intensity is pitched so acutely that one could close one's eyes and just listen and be forced to open them to allow a flood of tears to pour out.

What pushes us over the top emotionally during this sequence is the beautifully edited newsreel footage of the Kent State Massacre, a roll call of those innocent young people murdered by the National Guard and finally, a collage of the victims' photos accompanied by their dates of birth and death - all the more gut wrenching as the photographs reveal such brightness and promise in the eyes of those who were slaughtered like pigs by their own government - and for no reason.

If this were the only sequence worth watching in the film, then the entire picture would still be worth seeing. In fact, while Neil Young Journeys - as a film - falls a bit short of Heart of Gold, the Kent State sequence renders some of the entire trilogy's greatest moments.

What the movie is lacking is not really its fault since the whole approach is to meant to be All-Neil-All-The-Time, but the fact remains, one misses Neil's interaction with the guest artists accompanying Him during Heart of Gold and that of His band in the second picture. Journeys is, however, a bit more successful than Trunk Show, which occasionally felt too distanced and impersonal.

At the end of the day, all three films are an important record of a Man who might well be the mightiest musical bard in all contemporary music. An ideal situation - which I plan to do as soon as I can - is to watch all three pictures back to back and preferably in one marathon sitting.

I'm salivating at the prospect of doing so.

One technique I love in Journeys are the amazing extreme close-ups - the camera straight on Young's lower jowls and mouth whilst the camera remains fixed on Our Lord emoting with a simple in and out bob of His head.

And for those of us who care, there are numerous shots of Neil Young wearing a Manitoba Moose hat.

It sure warmed my cockles.

"Neil Young Journeys" is in theatrical release via MONGREL MEDIA. For playdates and showtimes, please visit the Bloor Hot Docs Cinema website HERE. The Bloor is delightfully programming a number of Demme-related films such as "Something Wild", "Stop Making Sense" and "Swimming to Cambodia". The film is also playing at the International Village Cinemas, so please visit the website for dates and showtimes HERE.

Saturday, 7 July 2012

THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN - Review By Greg Klymkiw - This bland, barely competent and utterly useless cash-grab reboot of the series is best left ignored.


The Amazing Spider-Man (2012) dir. Marc Webb

Starring: Andrew Garfield, Emma Stone, Rhys Ifans, Denis Leary, Martin Sheen, Sally Field, Campbell Scott, Embeth Davidtz, C. Thomas Howell and Stan Lee

*1/2

Review By Greg Klymkiw

There's really no reason for The Amazing Spider-Man to exist save for greed.

Sam Raimi delivered the greatest motion picture comic book trilogy of all time with his magnificent Spider-Man movies starring Tobey Macguire as the webslinger in 2002, 2004 and 2007 respectively.

What made Raimi's work special (aside from his DNA-hardwired filmmaking genius) is that he adhered to the spirit of Spidey prime-time from the 60s and 70s era of Marvel Comics (which I devoured and collected ravenously as a kid). His use of CGI came closer to the spirit of Harryhausen stop-motion magic in that it all had a delicious other-worldly quality to it, he was not afraid of sentimentality, he balanced a straight-faced approach with over-the-top comic book elements and in the masterpiece of the trilogy, he went for broke with his trademark sense of humour that veered from darkly vicious to looney-tunes-insanity in S-M-2 and brilliantly juggled a multitude of villains throughout the series, but most notably in S-M-3.

The Amazing Spider-Man is reasonably well-made. This, however, doesn't mean it's all that good.

Its bland, tasteful hack-manship slides down one's gullet not unlike the ease with which sewage spills into water treatment tanks. With by-the-numbers direction that delivers the all-too-familiar Spidey origin story (which Raimi already did with so much force and panache), we basically get a slight reworking served by little more than semi-competence to render the movie barely watchable.

As a kid, Peter Parker is delivered secretly in the night by his Mom and Dad (Campbell Scott and Embeth Davidtz) to his Uncle Ben, played by Martin Sheen - a reasonable, though not entirely successful facsimile of the late Cliff Robertson and Aunt May, etched by the, uh, "likeable" Sally Field instead of the wonderful Rosemary Harris (imagine Marjorie Main in place of Vivien Leigh as Blanche DuBois in Kazan's A Streetcar Named Desire and you'll get some idea of how dreadful Field is). Yes, Miss Field, we do NOT really, really like you this time.

Mom and Dad are then "accidentally" killed while Dad's best friend and former research partner Dr. Curt Conners (Rhys Ifans) continues their cutting edge work while Peter is raised in relative obscurity by Captain Willard and The Flying Nun.

Scott and Davidtz as Peter's Mom and Dad are such great actors with clear chemistry that I kept longing for some cool flashbacks to delve into life before the events of the movie to visually enhance a lot of the information deposited upon us like so many verbal turds. These actors and characters are so sadly, unimaginatively underused I'd like to think they'll be seen as more than cameos (in flashback) in the inevitable sequels. Better yet, a prequel with Scott, Davidtz and Ifans - directed by Sam Raimi, who felt he'd gone about as far as he could with Spidey in the trilogy, would frankly be amazing.

But, I digress.

Peter grows up into a plucky teenage science nerd, rendered rather annoyingly by Andrew Garfield, an actor saddled with an almost perpetual sneer and lacking Macguire's fresh-faced, sensitive, teen-heartthrob quality. Pete's got an erection for the gorgeous, sexy, leggy Gwen Stacy. As played by the genuinely brilliant Emma Stone, what young (or old) lad wouldn't be trying to hide the bulge in his pants? Stone is so good, one wishes this was a better movie.

I also have a special request to Lars von Trier to cast Stone - mostly naked - in a new movie, not unlike Melancholia that starred Kirsten Dunst, Peter's love interest Mary-Jane Watson from the Raimi films. In fact, every time the Spidey series is rebooted, von Trier can provide us with an art film featuring mega-nudity from whatever ingenue happens to be boinking and/or holding a torch for the webslinger.

But, I digress.

When Pete gets bitten by a radioactive spider he develops mega-super-powers, inadvertently causes the death of his beloved Uncle Ben, then seeks Ben's killer, while Aunt May shrewishly worries about Pete's mysterious nighttime sojourns. Our webslinger goes on to collaborate with Dr. Connors on some experiments a la his Dad in better times, locks horns with Gwen's anti-vigilante, Spidey-hating cop Captain Stacy (well played by Denis Leary) and after some perfunctory derring-do he does battle with the film's primary villain, The Lizard.

Allow me now to make another request to Lars von Trier. Just as you did with Willem DeFoe, perhaps you could cast a Spidey villain or two in an absolutely horrific, stomach-turning horror art-fest as you did with Anti Christ. Both Leary and Ifans are perfectly poised to appear in such a potentially great motion picture.

But, as per usual, I digress.

While Peter is a photographer, he does NOT work for The Daily Planet newspaper and the movie is bereft of the crusty Spidey-hating editor J. Jonah Jameson.

No J. Jonah Jameson? "The horror, the horror."

The only new addition, save for the casting of Stone, Leary and Ifans, is a supporting character who plays a pivotal role in two genuinely welcome moments and is played really nicely by 80s heartthrob C. Thomas Howell.

The bottom line is that The Amazing Spider-Man is strictly a case of been-there-done-that which is especially frustrating since Raimi's final film in the original trilogy is only 5 years old and that for the past decade his take on the franchise has been so indelibly etched upon the psyches of moviegoers - almost iconic, really - that this barely competent lame-duck seems like an unfortunate cash-grab.

Are contemporary audiences so stupid that they require these endless reboots? Are they so bereft of attention spans that they need a pallid re-telling of Spidey's origin so soon? Have they become such lambs-to-the-slaughter suckers they'll contribute readily to putting money in the pockets of the unimaginative business school graduates pretending to be studio moguls?

The answer it would seem is a resounding "Yes!"

One of the more annoying things about this reboot are the ridiculous montage sequences set to a raft of pathetic pop tunes in a music video style. This, I suppose has more to do with the fact that Marc Webb's canon, as it were, includes one loathsomely quirky feature (500) Days of Summer and about 100 music videos mostly by groups I've happily never bothered listening to (nor, frankly, have even heard of) and only a handful of musical artistes that vaguely register on my oh-so cultured palate (the intolerable Green Day and P. Diddy, etc.).

That said, Webb HAS directed music videos for Hilary Duff and Miley Cyrus - a ringing endorsement to be sure.

"The Amazing Spider-Man" is currently in mega-wide theatrical release all over the world. It's also in 3-D and IMAX 3-D. I've seen the IMAX 3-D version which is no doubt superior to the Real-D and other regular 3-D formats and can safely say you should save some money and only watch the 2-D version as seeing it in 3-D makes absolutely no difference.

Please consider supporting the maintenance of this site by ordering direct from the links below in case you are planning to buy the spectacular Blu-Ray box set of the Sam Raimi "Spider-Man" trilogy or the individual titles on Blu-Ray that include an Ultra-Violet Digital Copy (though best to buy from Amazon.com than the stupid Amazon.ca that seems to have its links mixed up as per usual) or the DVD box set of the phenomenal and very strange animated Spiderman cartoon TV series from 1967:


Sunday, 1 July 2012

TAKE THIS WALTZ - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Sarah Polley's fine new film is part of a great humanist tradition in cinema and in spite of some current naysaying is a picture so ahead of its time that it stands a great chance to eventually attain masterpiece status.

PLEASE NOTE: THERE IS A MUCH MORE DETAILED REVIEW TO COINCIDE WITH THE BLU-RAY/DVD RELEASE OF "TAKE THIS WALTZ" WHICH YOU MIGHT WISH TO READ BY CLICKING HERE.



Take This Waltz (2011) dir. Sarah Polley
Starring: Michelle Williams, Seth Rogen, Luke Kirby, Sarah Silverman, Jennifer Podemski, Damien Atkins

****

Review By Greg Klymkiw

"Danny fell round and round and round and round…like a whirligig, he did." - John Huston's film adaptation of Rudyard Kipling's The Man Who Would Be King.
The Scrambler is one of the most enduring rides ever invented. Along with the Ferris Wheel and Merry-Go-Round, it maintains its solid reputation as a tent pole fixture in any self-respecting amusement park and travelling carnival. Whilst traversing the Stations of the (Midway) Cross until reaching the Golgotha-like pinnacle of pre-Lent funfairs, 'tis The Scrambler which remains front and centre of its staid companions on the Mount to Ascension (and indeed, the immortality of the Resurrection).

And why, Father, you ask?

My child, 'tis simple: The Scrambler scares the living bejesus out of you, BUT with an odd sense of complacency - comfort, if you will.

"Begone, Jesus!" The Scrambler intones with Father Merrin-like intensity. "Allow danger and thrill-seeking into your soul and know that unlike the unrepentant gaylords, the Ferris Wheel and Merry-Go-Round, or worse, the rabble along the Midway sidelines with their vomit-inducing touch-the-heavens vantage points, you will be firmly planted on terra firma, but instead you will feel like you are well beyond the Pearly Gates - jettisoned through the Tunnel of Light as that most Holy and joyous throbbing of The Buggles cascades you into deep space for a multi-orgasmic encounter with the Star Child."

The Scrambler, located in a pitch black room, is accompanied by ear-splitting music (mostly late 70s and early 80s) and a lightshow that includes strobes. You and your companion (preferably a loved one or somebody you want to boink) sit in a carriage connected to trestles that spin you around while the Babel-like phallus, the main driver in the centre, spins in the opposite direction.

The Scrambler is unique amongst carnival amusements. Unlike most of the ride's copycat versions it is not rotated hydraulically, but is in fact operated with cogs that allow for the constant (and potentially whiplash-inducing) kick-spins that are exclusive to the Scrambler.

The ride delivers throat-gulping thrills and utter joy that in turn inspire mad adrenalin rushes, occasional butterfly fluttering in the tummy and a resolute sense of conquer-the-world freedom. It yanks you this way and that way, it spins you insanely and furiously, it tosses you from side to side like a rag doll and depending upon which side you choose to sit on, it forces one lucky person into the arms of another. When it's over, you're giddy, breathless, dizzy and weak-kneed.

Kind of like love.

Kind of like Sarah Polley's extraordinary second feature film Take This Waltz.
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For me, the Scrambler operates as a tremendously moving and powerful central metaphoric symbol in Polley's great movie - a movie so great that it feels like it's going to have a very long shelf-life as opposed to the ambitious, but flawed sophomore feature many critics - or rather, reviewers - seem to be knobbishly kvetching about. I daresay this might be the one Polley's remembered for in the distant future - more, I suspect, than the finely directed, though fairly straight forward, Oscar-nominated Alzheimer's drama Away From Her.

In its exploration of love and life, Take This Waltz is brash, bold and uncompromisingly gutsy. Painting an indelible portrait of young love, the movie's a galaxy or two away in the originality sweepstakes from the typical studio and indie romantic comedies and dramedies. Most of those offer pat three-act structures with minor league conflict and tied-in-a-bow resolutions.

Polley serves up a dish best savoured over several courses (or in this case, viewings). She delivers high wattage humour, sizzling romance and ever-so cool styling, but it's not prepared or flavoured to be sucked back like a Big Mac.

This is one for the ages.

Margot (Michelle Williams), a late-20-something information writer for Parks Canada has been married to Lou (Seth Rogen) for five years. Hubby's a master chef writing a cookbook devoted solely to preparing chicken in new and interesting ways. On the surface they seem like the happiest couple in the world - cooing, giggling, playing practical jokes and expressing their love by endlessly conjuring up sentiments like "I love you so much I want to . . . [insert torture here]." Implements included in these perverse sweet nothings include a myriad of household items - my personal favourite being melon ballers to scoop out the eyes.

On a strictly personal note, I've been heard to emit my own variation: "I love you so much I want to grab your soft, tender cheeks, pinch them until they're ripened black and blue, then rip them off with my bare hands, stuff them into my mouth and gobble them up like a greedy pig at the trough."

But, I digress.

There is, in this seemingly perfect marriage, a spanner in the works.

Margot has a "meet cute" with a hunky, dreamy Daniel (Luke Kirby) whilst on the job. He's got his eagle eye on her fetching looks and oh-so-sexy/cute serious demeanour while she takes copious notes to write copy for an official Parks Canada publication.

Cupid's arrow finds it aim during a tour of the Louisbourg Fortress in Nova Scotia. This is one of those annoying historical parks that dot the Canadian landscape where two-bit costumed actors prance around recreating what life used to be like behind the walls of the respective sites of yore.

More often than not, these historical recreations focus upon Old World British and French colonial rule which entrenched themselves insidiously within Canadian society. Only until Trudeau's multicultural policies during his reign as Prime Minister did the mosaic that truly comprised Canada since the early 20th Century start to flourish.

These monuments continue to exist as a perverse tribute to the genocide of Aboriginal peoples, suppression of all those not of lily white Brit stock, the evil spread of French Catholicism and British Presbyterianism (plus all the whack-job Calvinism and Protestantism) and lest we forget, the subjugation of a kaleidoscope of cultures who served as the working class backbone to the building of the country from the late 19th and throughout the 20th Century.

Selecting Louisbourg as the the setting of the seeds that drive much of the narrative is a nice touch. Nova Scotia not only offers a picturesque background, but on a deeper level, the Fortress itself is rife with so many elements that inform the tale. Louisbourg was a sturdy French fortress designed as a port of call, a new colonial society and to repel any attacks by the English. So strong was the structure and the forces within that the Brits were sent packing with their tails twixt their legs after two major attacks. Eventually, though, the Empire succeeded in bringing Louisbourg down - its major flaw being that it was designed to repel sea attacks, but land attacks made it especially vulnerable. Once the Brits took control of it for good, it was systematically decimated.

The Louisbourg Fortress that now exists is a fake - a relatively modern recreation erected in the 1960s. Maybe the only thing real in the Fort on the day Margot visits is her growing dissatisfaction with married life and Daniel's genuine attraction to her. The perfect little fortress of domestic bliss is not, it seems, all that ideal. Like the original Louisbourg it's vulnerable to attack and like the new Louisbourg, it's a sham. And finally, much like the Cape Breton Isle location of Louisbourg, Margot is, deep down, an island unto herself.

The movie, in fact, opens on a series of shots of Margot - the camera focusing almost fetishistically upon her seeming otherworldliness, an ethereal quality that initially masks how much she's rooted upon good, old terra firma (but doesn't know it yet). We sense it, though, right from the beginning through images of Margot's blue-toenailed feet (foot fetishists, please take note) padding back and forth on the kitchen floor as she prepares some baked goods - her strong, though delicate legs bending and crouching in front of the oven, the manner in which she strides along the streets with purpose. She's determined, searching for something, but has yet to discover what that something is so she can actually find it.

What Margot witnesses in Louisbourg is loaded with portent. At first, she sees a wedding ceremony. Is it real? Or a re-enactment? She joins a party of tourists and follows along. In no time, she's with the rest of the vacationers, assembled in the "town" square. A man is dragged against his will to a post to receive punishment for adultery. He is to be flogged.

One of the things I hate about these ludicrous historical parks is precisely what happens to Margot.

Audience participation.

Ugh!

Margot is dragged from her comfort zone, handed a whip and asked to administer the flogging. She's clearly not into it, but hunky Daniel chides her submissive flicks of the whip and goads her to a point where she cuts loose on the "adulterer" like a first-class dominatrix.

We next see Margot at the airport in a wheelchair. Personally, my own ruse to get on planes ahead of assholes in business class is to hobble to the front when the announcement is made for parents with small children and any others who might require assistance boarding the plane. Margot, it seems, has a more flamboyant approach.

Here Polley throws us for a bigger loop. We go from "meet cute" to wild coincidence. Margot's not only on the same plane as Daniel (who knows she isn't a cripple), but is seated next to him.

Disembarking at the Toronto Airport, they decide to share a cab downtown. He gets off on the same street. Lo and behold - after a plane ride and cab ride infused with furtive glances, mega-flirtation and ultra-rom-com banter - it seems that hunky Daniel, an artist who works as a ricksha driver to pay for his cultural endeavours (and keep himself nice and buff for the ladies) lives across the street from Margot and Lou. Uh-oh!!! (During the course of the film, we see Daniel in not one, but TWO very cool pads - both perfect save for a lack of central air.)

I loved this entire sequence. It toys with the conventions we expect from romantic comedies by loading on the most ludicrous coincidence. In fact, it goes well beyond convention. It's an insanely, wildly and completely over-the-top concurrence of fate - one in which a boneheaded development or studio executive might argue is not "realistic", but who will just as likely pooh-pooh something for being too "realistic" - as if any of those clowns actually know what they're saying beyond the need to say something.

As nutty as this demonstration of pure chance might seem, Polley is actually exploiting the stuff of life in extremis - so much so, that in less capable hands, an audience would have had one hell of a time swallowing any of it.

We do, though. Polley takes a risk here and it pays off in spades.

It helps that Williams and Perry have great chemistry and the dialogue alternates seamlessly from snappy Hecht and MacArthur banter to Wes Anderson-like whimsy to gushingly entertaining and sexy flirtation that when put all together is pure Polley. And most importantly, the proceedings are so deliciously offbeat that dramatically we're as prepared to accept the coincidence as we do when it occurs to us in life itself. (Sometimes we're happy about it while at others we're not, but we accept it just the same.)

The movie is one hell of a great ride. There's an extremely solid structure buried beneath the nuttiness of many of the film's set pieces, allowing Polley to yank us this way and that way - not unlike an amusement park ride, but most importantly, fused to the very stuff that all of us, one way or another, have experienced.

It's classic filmmaking with pleasing, fresh variations and it hooks us - line and sinker included.

This new spark of romance in Margot's life, while pleasing to her and the audience, is equally filled with tension and frustration. She and Lou are in love. Most of all, Lou is a really nice guy - so nice that neither Margot, nor the viewer would ever want to see him hurt.

Lou has a wonderful, loud, funny extended family of the ethnic persuasion - full of the life not normally associated with the white-bread ethnicity that Margot appears to be spawned from. A wonderful scene has his family visiting their impossibly groovy semi-detached brick heritage home in Toronto's West End - perfect, it seems, in every respect, save for a lack of central air conditioning.

Lou's mother, brothers, sisters, cousins, nieces, nephews and God knows who else are crammed into Lou and Margot's livingroom - eating, drinking and all talking at the same time. Not unlike my family. Or maybe even yours. It's as if there was a competition to see who is able to speak the loudest.

These are people who crackle with the stuff of life. We get no sense of where Margot comes from save for the Happy Wasp Homemaker comportment adorning her as she serves platters of Lou's chicken. At one point Lou's pathologically loquacious Mother looks up at Margot who's juggling a cheerful, bouncing, curly-headed niece in one arm and bending over with a tray of Lou's comestibles in the other.

"I love being served!" caws Lou's Mom.

Margot with a wide, toothy, somewhat quizzical grin offers:

"Well, I . . . love seeing you . . . sit down."

It's a strange, but familiar moment. And incredibly funny. It feels a bit like the WASP out of white bread water with the garrulous "ethnics", but the sequence is written and played so indelibly and truthfully that there's no way one would equate moments like these as the TV-styled sit-com approach in movies like My Big Fat Greek Wedding or Mambo Italiano.

It's familiar because it's real and a genuine reflection of one of many aspects of indigenous Canadian society. The "ethnics" of Take This Waltz are, in a contemporary context, not even what might normally be associated with what it means to be "ethnic". They're Canadians of Jewish heritage, to be sure, and, no doubt (this writer opined stereotypically, but with, perchance, a grain of truth buried beneath his own perceptions) one hell of a lot livelier than a meandering herd of WASPS downing highballs.

Lou's family seems so wonderful I wanted to move in with them. Margot clearly loves them too, but there seems, in this moment between the female in-laws something quite subtle and delicate that suggests all might not be right - almost a tiny suggestion that Lou's Mom might not be entirely sold on her son's choice for a wife and/or that Margot sees something of Lou in his Mother that doesn't quite rest easy with her. Granted, Lou's done the cooking prior to the family fête, but during the festivities he's the one seated comfortably and kibitzing with his family while Margot alternates between spending most of her time doting on her niece and dashing about like June Cleaver.

One of the many things I love about Polley's writing and Michelle Williams' performance is that everything is stacked on Lou's side. We get to know him through and through - especially in the context of lavishing so much time on his family. Margot, however, is a mystery - the best kind. What we get to know is from the tiny bits Polley parcels out about her, but most of all through a sort of WYSIWYG approach to the character in terms of the action she experiences and initiates.

At times, Margot seems locked in the innocence of days gone by - at times childlike, at others adolescent and often 10-years younger than she actually is. This is clearly a trait that Lou is enamoured with - he's truly, madly, deeply in love with her because of it. There is, however, little to show that he also sees a maturity, an old soul quality and definite intelligence buried beneath her innocent and honest facade. Worse yet, Lou seems oblivious to the fact that he's married to a mega-wattage babe who's dying to explode from her submissive comportment and ravish him with total abandon.

So many movies, whether they're stupidly entertaining like the American Pie variety or imbued with the grace and intelligence of Diner (and its clear inspiration I Vitelloni), audiences and critics seem quite happy to accept male characters not acting (at least on the surface) their age. Here, though, we get the female perspective on this exclusively male trait in popular film entertainment. It's not only refreshing, but provides a myriad of hurdles for Polley as both writer and director and star Michelle Williams to overcome and, hence, explore quite winningly in wholly cinematic ways.

The movie is a cornucopia of wonderful set pieces - all of which are joyful, hilarious, sexy and heartbreaking (sometimes all at once). These, however, are not splotched onto the movie willy-nilly, but all come naturally from the narrative and/or character.

Margot has two very close female friends. One of them we meet at the family gathering noted above. Geraldine (Sarah Silverman) is Lou's sister (and Mom to the niece Margot is obsessed with). Geraldine's an alcoholic in the midst of recovery. This is a role made in Heaven for Silverman - the character is perfectly rendered on the page to allow so many natural opportunities for Silverman to deliver several meters of kishka-links worth of fall-on-the-floor-laughing one-liners. When Margot comments on how well the post-rehab Geraldine looks, the response made me double over each time she emits: "I know. When I look in the mirror I want to fuck myself." Silverman is not only funny, but her performance is utterly exquisite. Even when she's cracking jokes and rendering all that's wonderful about the character of Geraldine, she uses her eyes so expressively and subtly to evoke the constant pain of her disease. Alcoholics are not easy to play with honesty and a sense of humanity and Silverman is up to the task and then some.

The other character is Karen (Jennifer Podemski), the friend who accompanies Margot and Geraldine to an aquafit class. If Geraldine is Margot's whack-job pal, Karen seems to be the fun, though rock-solid type. Podemski is so winning in this smaller role, I kept wanting more of the character to appear. What we get is probably just fine since more might have upset the balance of the picture. That said, Podemski is one of the most charismatic actresses in Canada - the camera loves her - and while I'm always happy to see her onscreen, a part of me wishes she was in front of the camera more - not just here, but across the board. (Canadians in the movie business are always kvetching about the lack of a star system in English Canada. Well, stop kvetching and get Podemski in front of the camera more - she's funny, versatile and has, since she first caught my eye in Bruce McDonald's Dance Me Outside, a top-drawer screen presence. The rapport between Margot, Geraldine and Karen is pitch perfect.

The set piece involving all three female characters at the aquafit class is one of several sequences that demonstrates Polley's gifts as a director. It's funny as hell and features a poignant followup in the shower room. And let it be said right now that Damien Atkins as the crazed aquafit instructor gives the entire cast a run for its money on the laughs-per-second meter. This guy is supremely talented and had me (and the three audiences I saw it with) in stitches. He's so good and the character so rife with potential that someone in Canada needs to develop a series of franchise pictures around Atkins as The Aquafit Instructor - not a stupid TV series, but a bonafide feature franchise. I wonder if any Canadian producers have the good sense to take this suggestion and run with it?

A few of Polley's set pieces involve the smoulderingly playful and sexy Luke Kirby as Daniel, the rickshaw-driving object of Margot's potential toe-dip into adultery. Kirby has one outstanding scene where he tells Margot what he'd like to "do" to her and he's so good, I dare any woman not to get out-of-control wet and, for that matter, any fellas out there not to get a rock-hard erection. Though the scene doesn't have the overt public qualities of the "orgasm" scene in When Harry Met Sally, it has a similar effect.

Another set piece involving Kirby is when Margot takes Daniel to Toronto's Centreville Amusement Park on the Toronto Islands - insisting they ride the aforementioned Scrambler. As the couple is tossed to and fro and into each other's arms - Polley and cinematographer Luc Montpellier (whose work in the film overall is masterful) create a light and colour-dappled chiaroscuro blended with an almost interstellar light speed movement and all accompanied to an ear-splitting recording of the Buggles's "Video Killed The Radio Star". This happy, free-spirited and decidedly romantic sequence lifts both the couple onscreen and the audience to the Heavens until, much like the experience of riding The Scrambler, the ride stops short before the music ends.

Kirby also commands the screen during his scenes with Seth Rogen. Both actors are great here - when they first meet, during a ricksha ride through Toronto and finally at a house party Lou is throwing in honour of Geraldine's sobriety. Kirby conveys a strangely effective blend of admiration (in other circumstances, we feel he and Lou could actually be friends), guilt, jealousy and a take-no-prisoners attitude of romantic rivalry.

Rogen, not surprisingly, is terrific. In addition to his exquisite performance in the criminally overlooked 50/50, Rogen's clearly one of our great actors and his performance as Daniel is multi-layered and heartbreakingly touching (especially in a brave series of direct-to-the-camera monologues). He also handles the dual nature of the character superbly. Yes, Daniel is a great guy, but we see him making a couple of really stupid moves that suggest otherwise. Not that he's evil, mind you - just human, like all of us.

Humanity, is of course, the thing that pulses throughout Polley's film and she etches several central figures who share noteworthy characteristics that one sees at play in the best works by such towering humanist directors like Jean Renoir, John Sayles, Werner Herzog, Agnes Varda and Yasujirō Ozu (whilst adding dollops of perverse humour that are vaguely Buñuelian, occasionally charged with 30s and 40s Sturges-like snap-crackle-and-pop and the wry observational gifts Woody Allen is endowed with).

Her characters are neither saints nor sinners - they are all human - imbued with a myriad of dichotomous characteristics and feelings. Lou is a great guy - on the surface, nobody in their right mind would want to hurt him, but he is selfishly self-absorbed and oddly asexual. Daniel is sexy, charming and romantic as all get out, but he's also creepily predatory.

And Margot?

She's childish, skittish, selfish, needy and borderline unlikeable. But, she is unique - her seeming innocence and naive qualities are infectious, she radiates (occasionally) an inner resolve - especially with respect to her quest which, I think, has less to do with the outer layer of Lou vs. Daniel, but more to do with grounding herself in who she is and not living in the shadows of others.

In Take This Waltz, a film destined for eventual masterpiece status (I'll put money on it), Margot is like so many of us. She wants to hop aboard The Scrambler of life and experience the freedom and joy of inner abandon. What she wants more than anything is to climb aboard the ride herself, fingers crossed that she'll be able to hear "Video Killed The Radio Star" in its entirety.

Like the character of Danny Dravot in John Huston's film adaptation of Rudyard Kipling's The Man Would Would Be King, Margot's fate will be determined by a dive into an abyss, spinning round like a whirligig, enveloped by the peace, terror and joy this will bring.

And she will make this choice.

"Take This Waltz" is now playing theatrically via Mongrel Media."



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