Trance

It's probably considered treason by now to criticize Danny Boyle. The man is a national hero today after he brought home the Best Picture Oscar after nearly 10 years (I wouldn't count Shakespeare in Love before I crap in my pants) went on to direct the 2012 Olympic Games ceremonies, made the Queen of England paraglide (well, apparently) in front of the whole world before politely declining a knighthood from her Majesty for the love of being a common englishman who simply happens to love his country so much. And for a film director of such caliber, Mr. Boyle, has carved a niche of reputation for himself, right where legends like Quentin Tarantino, Christopher Nolan, David Lynch, Steven Soderbergh and Steven Spielberg are at the top of their games, in their own unique styles. He broke ground with a murder mystery, a trippy rabbit-hole through the muck of Edinburg's drug scene, went ahead to experiment with a wayward retrospection that leads to a hidden Beach, redefined the Zombie genre with an epidemic-survival guide, a fable of innocence, a space-mission adventure, a Bollywood love-story and a critically acclaimed true story about survival in the Utah plains. With Trance, he now takes on a Bank Heist. Through the viewpoint of a hypnotherapist. Who's hypnotized Simon, an art-house auctioneer. Who's in cahoots in an art-house heist. Who has um.. well lost his fucking mind. And to fully understand Trance, you really MUST lose your mind. Here's why.

To continue, the art-house heist goes wrong. The thieves plan the robbery of a multi-million-pound worth paining by Spanish romantic painter Francisco Goya (Witches in the Air), but manage to get away nothing but a bronze frame, thanks to Simon, who's apparently devised a plan of his own, to deceive the gang single-handedly, but not before getting shotgun-walloped on the head by their leader Franck (Vincent Cassel). Simon drifts into a coma, losing his mind and with it, his memory of what he did with the still-missing painting. No amount of torture seems to revive his damned amnesia. Desperate for solution, Franck draws help from Elizabeth Lamb, a seemingly talented hypnotherapist, who immediately senses something is amiss with her patient, and decides to help him out. Things seem so straightforward and simple at first, even during Simon's initial hypnosis. All that had to be done was to reach inside his mind and retrieve the memory. Simple, right?

Actually, no. If you're willing to do some serious retrospection, a LOT of questions would instantly arise. Why would Elizabeth lamb, (seemingly adept at her profession) agree to help a bunch of goons retrieve their loot? Is retrieving a memory from within amnesia really that easy? Did Simon really steal the painting? Or did someone else do it? Slowly you realize there's a lot going on behind the story that you have no clue about. Franck isn't just another petty art thief. Lamb actually knew who Simon was, even before he came to her for professional help. They even seem to share a history. The more that is revealed, the more contrived the plot becomes. Stretched beyond imagination, through loops and knots, only a lengthy explanation seems capable of clearing the fog.

As expected, Trance has all the visual flair you want from a Danny Boyle film, with all the cross cutting between flashbacks and the present time and Boyle does gets to play around with the dreamscape. Trance also serves as a great example of how a music score can amplify the action on the screen, being a fast and pumping when the action picks up to being calm and tranquil for the hypnotist sequences. Boyle does get to audience absorbed into his dream worlds with his use lens flare, camera movement and music.

Trance is similar to other thrillers like Memento and The Machinist, twisting and turning constantly. Boyle starts the film as a heist flick and then slowly turns the genre gears and turns the film into a psychological thriller. Like Christopher Nolan, Boyle and his writers set out to explore themes of memories, relationships, manipulation and trust and it was done to an expect level. Throughout the film, it changes courses constantly, leaving to the audience guessing: but Boyle and the writers do leave some clues about the eventual ending and I am sure there's more to the film, during a second viewing.

The characters themselves are also enigmas, as their motivations change and we get to see more pieces of the puzzle. Simon starts off as a victim but as the film progresses, we see his dark and twisted side and McAvoy effectively brings this out of his character. He was much better fitted for this role, than his recent action anti-hero role in Welcome to the Punch. On a whole, the characters are generally unsympathetic and the film constantly shifts both its focus and who the audience should root for. But added to the film's theme of who we are meant to trust as relationships, the motives in the film that shift along coincide with its themes and makes some sense overall.

Whilst Trance is a fun ride, people might begin to see multiple plot holes and raise questions about how characters know certain actions and reactions were going to happen. But it can be argued that The Dark Knight Rises had plot problems, if you held it to any form of analysis and people still enjoyed that film. The aim of Boyle and the writers was to focus on the themes and how the puzzle fit together once you get more information, even if the foundation itself is a little shaky.

Trance is a highly entertaining and engaging crime and psychological thriller. It is a fun ride as it brinks through its 101 minute running time. Whilst there are some logic and logistical problems in the plot when everything is revealed, it is still a well made film that explores the themes of memory, trust and the framework of the mind. Fans of Boyle's previous work will certainly be pleased. The only reason you'd probably dislike the movie is that you were not able to decipher it.

Upstream Color

A question that is likely to plague many that have the pleasure of viewing Upstream Color is regarding what defines "a film," or, more specifically, a worthwhile film. In my view (and many will and are free to disagree), one of the most exciting and interesting characteristics of film is the ability to take an abstract concept or complex social force we all encounter and manifest it into a narrative via a character or concrete mechanism for the protagonist to interact with or confront. Furthermore, film, as an audiovisual medium, can be best used to express ideas or develops through carefully considered combinations of images and sounds. Expositional dialogue is present in so many movies that it is refreshing to come across that rare filmmaker who dares to take a more symbolic or lyrical approach. Should aforementioned images and sounds be beautifully captured, as they are here, all for the better.
I actually view Upstream Color to be both substantially superior to and less confusing than Primer, his debut. So what is Shane Carruth going on about? Primarily, our conception of identity and forces that perhaps we are unable to perceive - much less understand - that mold this identity. It is obvious to even the most casual observer that our lives are overwhelmingly influenced things outside of our control. The plot we see, then, might be viewed as simply an innovative way to introduce these ideas into a film. Kris (Amy Seimetz) is accosted by a man who forces her to ingest a parasitic maggot that allows him to easily hypnotize and control her, with the ultimate goal being to steal everything she has. Once he's achieved this goal, he exits abruptly, leaving behind a ruined life. At this point, a mysterious figure surgically transfers the parasites from Kris to a pig, for motives more complex. No longer physically infected but still influenced by forces she doesn't understand, Kris encounters Jeff, a man similarly broken, and together they struggle to reassemble their lives and make some sense of what has happened to them.
In many ways, Henry David Thoreau's "Walden" may be the key. First, the Thief has Kris copy Thoreau's work as he prepares to wrench away all her material possession, an act which, despite its obvious malevolence, allows Kris to have a spiritual journey of sorts, to build her life up from the ground floor and truly seize life, as Thoreau sought to do in "Walden". As we see Kris reciting lines from "Walden" while retrieving stones from the bottom of a pool, she is expressing not only that she is beginning to remember some of what happened to her, but also that she is becoming aware that her life is not her own and that she must take action to secure her agency, which one could argue is the core thesis of Thoreau's novel. Finally, referencing "Walden" as an analogous narrative demonstrates that the Thief, Sampler and Orchid gatherers as a cycle represent Carruth taking advantage of that most elegant possibility offered by film to heighten and personify all of the inexplicable things that shape our lives. To make any of these figures entirely comprehensible (i.e. scientifically) would defeat the point, and ultimately make for a less intriguing narrative.
The title, then, is quite fitting. Most structurally, it refers to the blue chemical that flows downstream to affect the development of the orchids. Yet, in a metaphysical sense, it refers to the indistinguishable waves vastly divergent from actions taken far outside our perception, their ripples influencing the trajectory of our lives. As suggested by the trailer of the film, we may be able to force the shape of our story, but the color, the details that may define its richness are decided long before we have any say. Likewise, the oblivious and likely mostly benevolent florists, the morally grey or sometimes compromised Sampler and the explicitly exploitative and unethical Thief exist in a cycle, entirely dependent on each other with varying degrees of awareness, true of the power structures that we interact with ubiquitously.
Of course, it would be a mistake to trivialize the importance of romance in this film. In fact, much of the romantic development serves for a crucial springboard into the more ontological issues, and vice versa. What Kris gets from her time with Jeff beyond just companionship in an otherwise bleak existence, is some sense of self-worth, some understanding that fractured she may even be able to be loved to an extent previously unknown. Along the way, we see refreshing glimpses of the insecurities and questions of trust associated with opening your life up to another person. Carruth's framework for the issues that plague these characters allow the realization of such tender truths that the endurance of the film in the hearts of the willing viewer is practically ensured.
Despite the centrality of the romance, this is Kris' story and Seimetz's expression of the character's emotional trajectory is riveting. Carruth is great as the essential but reserved supporting character of Jeff, and succeeds in that his presence never detracts from the immersion. In a leading role, blemishes may have appeared, but there are none here. The score, sometimes reminiscent of Cliff Martinez's score for Soderbergh's Solaris, is universally captivating and worth listening to independently. The soundscape and visual cues serve to demonstrate how the characters most directly perceive a world controlled informed by powers they have no way of rationalizing or verbally expressing, and are always hypnotically rendered. The editing (done in collaboration with David Lowery, himself burgeoning with talent) facilitates a powerful emotional relevance and further aids in suggestion of thematic connections.
Destined to be lauded as a masterpiece by some and condemned as pretentious by others, Upstream Color is at the very least an ambitious sophomore effort from writer/ director/ producer/ editor/ actor/ composer/ distributor/ cinematographer Shane Carruth. I hope to unravel more of its carefully constructed mysteries in much-anticipated future viewings.

Suggested Reads (Heavy Spoilers):
ANGRYROBOT.CA's interpretation of Upstream Color (very plausible explanations) 
Everything you were afraid to ask about Upstream Color 
Upstream Color, Room 237, and why some movie mysteries don’t need to be solved 
FSR interview with Shane Carruth
i09 interview with Shane Carruth

The Intouchables

From the opening roar of a Maserati pursued by police along the Parisian périphérique, Intouchables captivates. At the wheel Driss, (Omar Sy) a young, Senegalese street hustler, bets his passenger, Philippe (François Cluzet) a middle-aged, bourgeois Parisian, he can escape. Cornered but not defeated, Driss ups the ante to secure a police escort. With Phillippe aping a potentially fatal fit, Driss races to A&E with Earth, Wind and Fire blaring above the attendant sirens.
Flash back to Driss, fresh from a prison stretch, unwelcome at his Mother's overcrowded flat on the sprawling Berlioz housing slum. Living on benefits conditional on attending interviews, Driss applies to care for Philippe, a rich quadriplegic confined to his first arrondissement mansion. Devoid of pity or reverence for Philippe's rarefied world, Driss's open about his motivation optimistically coming on to Magalie (Audrey Fleurot), Philippe's assistant. Although totally unsuitable, Philippe withholds his signature to satisfy the benefit agency. Forced to return, Driss around his expansive quarters and homeless, Driss reluctantly accepts a trial recoiling at the indignities expected of him. Despite initial tantrums and ineptitude, Driss develops an unlikely relationship with Philippe that transforms the entire household.
Intouchables, contrary to the tragic set up, is one of the funniest comedies of the year. Creative collaborators Olivier Nakache and Eric Toledano have produced a string of popular and critical successes since 1995. They took France by storm when Intouchables, based on a true story, was originally released in November 2011. The films worldwide release has broken box office records for a French language film, racked up awards, contending for an Oscar and already scheduled to be remade in English by The Weinstein Company; it will need a brave director to try and live up to the original.
Intouchables's casting is superb. Cluzet plays Philippe, a former adrenalin junkie born to entitlement but paralysed in a paragliding accident and mourning his wife. His performance, with the physical limits of Philippe's condition, is an expressive master class, his comic timing perfect. Sy, who emerged from the working-class suburbs of Paris himself, is authentic and effortlessly charismatic as Driss, the aimless, street smart, opportunist whose overwhelming vitality is infectious.
Their cultural clashes drive the comedy. Philippe fills his life with intellectual stimulation; poetry, art, opera and classical music repressing the physical pleasures he can no longer feel. Directionless and irresponsible, Driss grasps all life has to offer living in the moment and, forgetting or dismissing his employer's disability. For Philippe Berlioz is the great French composer of the 19th Century; to Driss Berlioz is his family's housing project. While Philippe has poetic epistolic relationships, Driss collects hooker's flyers and constantly propositions Magalie. For his birthday Philippe's extended family gather for a dour classical concert but Driss gets them all grooving to Boogie Wonderland.
It's an education for both. The odd couple overcome the barriers of class and race, sharing honesty, humour and contempt for bourgeois pretension. Through Driss' ignorance and innocence, cajoling and challenge, Philippe's rediscovers the pleasures and possibility of life while Driss matures, developing empathy and a knowledge of classical cultural denied his social class.
Intouchables avoids sentimentality touching on the deeper issues of social class and discrimination poignantly reminding the viewer to live life to the fullest and embrace our common humanity.

The Hunt

According to English Professor Jack Lynch, "Lies, once they are accepted as true, take on a life of their own, one that lasts long after the original falsehoods have been exposed." The power of the continued acceptance of lies is reflected in Thomas Vinterberg's The Hunt, the disturbing story of the false accusation of a kindergarten teacher of sexual abuse. It is an accusation that reveals the sordid underbelly of a small town, hidden beneath the veneer of middle-class civility. Written by Vinterberg and Tobias Lindholm, The Hunt is a thought-provoking drama that makes us aware both of the vigilance needed to protect our children from predators, and of the crucial importance of following the precept that an individual is innocent until proved guilty in a court of law.
Mads Mikkelsen is Lucas, is a caring kindergarten teacher who has been recently divorced and shares custody of his teenage son, Marcus (Lasse Fogelstrom). He has a good relationship with his students, especially six-year-old Klara (Annika Wedderkopp), the daughter of his best friend Theo (Thomas Bo Larsen) and his wife Agnes (Anne Louise Hassing). Lucas walks her home from school when her parents are late in picking her up and she obviously likes him very much. In class one day, Klara kisses Lucas on the lips but is admonished by him that kissing on the lips is only for mum and dad. Sparked by seeing images on her bother's iPod, she tells kindergarten head Grethe (Susse Wold) that she doesn't like Lucas anymore because he has a "weenie." When Grethe tells her that this is normal because every man has one, Klara tells her that his was "straight and pointed." The incident is forgotten about for a few days until Grethe realizes that "children never lie", and begins questioning the little girl again, coming to the decision that sexual abuse has occurred and that some action must be taken. Though Klara now says that she cannot remember, her parents attribute her loss of memory to trying to forget what is uncomfortable. Calling a group of parents together, Grethe accuses Lucas before the parents, telling them the signs to watch out for in their own children. Slowly, the word gets around of widespread abuse at the school, though Lucas remains in the dark because Grethe refuses to give him any details about the accusations.
Word spreads by hearsay, gossip, and innuendo as a child psychologist, teachers, parents, and eventually the police are brought in, but no through investigation is ever conducted. Klara is questioned again (questions taken directly from the transcripts of actual police cases) and it is obvious she is a confused little girl who tells the adults what they want to hear. Vinterberg ratchets up the tension and we sense the world closing in on the embattled teacher. Though Lucas' male friends in the community have a long-lasting bond, they break the ties of their close-knit group and turn against one of their own.
Lucas and Marcus are denied the right to shop in the local market even to the point of threats and violence, his best friend Theo rejects him, and even his girlfriend Nadja (Alkexandra Rapaport) asks him if he's insane or sick. Lucas' only friend is Marcus' godfather, Bruun (Lars Ranthe), who soothes his friend's psyche with black humor. After Lucas is arrested, a preliminary hearing rules that there is not enough evidence to hold him and he is released, but this does not stop the violence. A rock is tossed through his window and neighborhood thugs take out their aggression on his dog Fanny.
The Hunt is a harrowing experience that is not an easy film to watch, especially if the viewer has had past experience with the subject. The exceptional performances, however, make it easier to appreciate. They are not only from Mikkelson who won Best Actor at Cannes, but also from Fogelstrom as Lucas' loving and supportive son, Ranthe who keeps Lucas afloat, and especially that of seven-year-old actress Annika Wedderkopp who is so angelic that we never turn against her even though we know she is lying. While some critics bemoan the fact that this kind of story has been told before, it has never been told like this, building with inexorable power from the warmth of small-town conviviality to a shocking picture of injustice and paranoia that hits us right in the solar plexus.

Pairon Talle

Hindi movie audiences have in recent years been treated to many an edgy cinematic tale set in India’s National Capital Region, warts and all. But Pairon Talle (English title: Soul of Sand) is miles away, both textually and stylistically, from any other Delhi film one might have seen before.
Debutant director Sidharth Srinivasan presents a landscape that is unrelentingly grim, stark and drenched in blood. Rarely have the unseemly facets of life in a rapidly expanding Delhi been captured on the big screen quite as unflinchingly.
Pairon Talle shocks and provokes and calls attention to all that is going wrong as material progress and modernization wage a losing battle with ominously regressive thought processes.
The film paints a dystopian portrait of a lawless fringe of a gleaming urban expanse that is going to seed post haste as land sharks and feudal mindsets run riot and violate all norms of humanity with complete impunity. It plays out in a space that is, on the face of it, placid, even idyllic. The mine overlooks a misleadingly tranquil water body.
Srinivasan adopts a style that yokes the conventions of cinematic naturalism to clearly identifiable elements of a genre film. The plot is built around a slew of disturbing systemic and social issues that Delhi and its denizens confront today on a daily basis.
Among other things, Pairon Talle addresses the simmering tensions unleashed by land deals, honour killings sanctioned by guardians of medieval morality and blatant anarchy engendered by lax and corrupt policing. These are all harsh and undeniable facts of life in Delhi NCR, but Srinivasan couches his concerns in a deceptively simple linear narrative.
Much of the film’s action takes place in and around an abandoned silica mine on the crime-prone outskirts of Delhi. A watchman, Bhanu Kumar (Dibyendu Bhattacharya), keeps vigil over the decrepit compound.
It is difficult to divine what he is really protecting for there is nothing left here. The gate to the mine is as rickety as Bhanu’s spirits, and the rusty padlock inspires anything but confidence.
Bhanu lives on the barren premises with his pretty wife, Saroj (Saba Joshi). His commitment is to his master, Lakshmichand Ahlawat (Avtar Sahni), is unquestioning and total.
He is servility personified – a figure not too different from the slavish migrant worker in Adoor Gopalakrishnan’s 1993 film, Vidheyan. Bhanu has been robbed of his sense of dignity and well-being by years of enslavement and he does his master’s bidding without a pause.
The only man who seems to treat Bhanu as an equal is a pliable policeman, Chattar Bitta (Rupinder Walia), whose palms have to be regularly greased in order to keep the mine out of harm’s way. But when trouble does strike, the cop proves to be as emasculated as Bhanu.
The lecherous Lakshmichand, who has inherited the silica mine from his father, thinks nothing of taking advantage of Bhanu’s loyalty and sexually exploiting his young wife.
On his part, Lakshmichand pledges his daughter, Twinkle (Geeta Bisht) to a man old enough to be her grandfather in a bid to induce the latter to buy the defunct mine.
In this world where anything goes, real estate is valued much more than family ties and women are treated as chattel to be battered and bartered for personal and pecuniary gains.
On the prowl here is a masked killer on a motorcycle. The nameless man is in pursuit of a pair of young runaway lovers. The hired assassin’s path crosses Bhanu’s, making life even more fraught with physical danger for the watchman.
The only time the marauder reveals his visage, it stays off camera. Obviously, his face is as disfigured as the treacherous world that he has emerged from.
When Bhanu, somewhat like the silent tribal victim in Govind Nihalani’s Aakrosh, eventually gathers the courage to break free from his shackles and give vent to his anger, it is too late for any sort of redemption. The consequences of his act are shockingly bloody.
Pairon Talle goes for the jugular. It isn’t a joyride of a film. But the palpable air of menace that hangs over the setting and the sheer power of its cautionary statement make it a consistently riveting experience.