DaViD´82

The Coen’s announce a return to cynical waters. That definitely is good news. But the bad news is, that they are returning to waters that they have already peed into countless times. And this time with an almost non-existent screenplay. But in terms of acting, this is right up my street. And paradoxically it makes it better, because everybody is acting their life out, even though they have nothing really to act. Bizarre.

What good is an outstanding ensemble and material of genius to Morávek, when he chooses inappropriate stylization and everything goes up shit creek? Forcing all the characters to perform on a theatrical, booming level full of over-done grimaces and gestures is simply out of place. This means that instead of the audience getting any closer to the characters, they remain on an impersonal level of grimacing figures on a wooden stage spitting onto the front three rows. All honor to the exceptions. I would never have said that someone could approach the Karamazovs in a way that meant that I wouldn’t understand the characters. And, even worse, wouldn’t give a damn about them. While in other productions the same characters speak from the heart and I love them. Maybe this is purely a feeling I have due to my adoration of competing productions, but this simply got on my nerves. Which is a shame, because I found Morávek’s “Hus" very convincing.

Which was better, the camerawork or the music? The wild child Jean-Pierre Cargola or François Truffaut? And did Truffaut do a better job at the typewriter, in front of the camera or behind it? I don’t know and I don’t care. It’s enough for me this all resulted in a film whose only drawback is that it’s too short, and ends just as everything was going so well. Which may well be good, but on the other hand I was a little disappointed. I would like a few hours extra in the “almost documentary" company of Madame Guerin and those two rascals.

Taková normální rodinka (Just an Ordinary Family) has one hitch. And that’s the name, which logically makes the viewer expect a comedy. Which is perhaps the only genre that you can’t find anywhere in this family drama. From all points of view it is clean, uninteresting in any way, but for me personally surprisingly not futile and not embarrassing movie that looks like the cheapest ever TV movie. But I can’t say that I didn’t enjoy it. I did, but not in a comedy way.

The first Bergman that lost me, absolutely, in terms of theme and, primarily, emotions. I wouldn’t expect that of all directors he would put a handicapped, unwanted daughter, an abortion, infidelity, the tragic death of a child and many other “cheaply powerful" artsy topics. Which might have worked even so, if this weren’t his most talkative picture. Or rather, empty waffling from the first to the last minute. While the same could have easily been intimated by silence, too. And as the only scene where we find some good old benign silence (yes, the one where they are sitting at the piano) is so much more powerful. The more I think about it, rather than the entire movie, the short passage devoted to this in Bergman’s “Magic Lantern". In terms of power and impact this couple of paragraphs is in a completely different class than the entire Autumn Sonata which in my eyes (and ears, due to the shouting) should have tried mopey autumnal melancholy instead of theatrical affect. Then I would have taken pity on it. Gladly.

A living classic set off to warm his bones under the Catalonian sun to make his old-man’s wet dream come true. And because he’s no jerk, he eagerly shares full screen footage of Scarlett’s nipples (*glurp*), Penelope’s butt (yum!), Rebecca’s thighs and Bardem’s five o’clock shadow (wowie) with the public... Oh but, no, no, that neurotic miser only shares the thighs and the five o’clock shadow. But really, in places it’s so hot that, despite it being the beginning of a damp and drizzly fall, I recommend you wear summer clothes when you watch this. This applies mainly for those who can boast chromosome Y in their genetic makeup. And how Bardem organizes his household is priceless. But it wouldn’t be a Woody Allen movie of past years without one big “but". A kind of nothing intro. It’s just too sleepy summer like. It requires María Elena to plunge in and save the movie. Personally I was also upset that the two best characters (Juan’s father and María Elena) are criminally kept in the background. Overall, no miracle to be penned into the master’s filmography in gold lettering, but excellent as relaxing summer entertainment.

An outstanding cast, a couple of side-splitting scenes, an excellent opening half hour and corners of the mouth lifting here and there for the rest of the movie. But what good is not taking itself seriously and spot on mockery of buddy action pictures when it backfires due to unnecessary length. Just a classic project from Apatow production studios. Cutting twenty minutes wouldn’t have done any good in the end. To make things better, it would need at least twice as much material on the cutting room floor. Including the action finale which is like out of a completely different movie. Which wouldn’t matter if it had been a good movie. But that wasn’t the case. Plus it’s d-r-a-w-n--o-u-t so much that it dethrones the Return of the King with its never-ending stream of endings. The Rogen, Franco and Robinson trio simply doesn’t have a chance to pull the Pineapple Express along, however hard they try. Clouds of marihuana smoke can’t hide everything. And not even smoking a “Christmas time" joint before switching on.

The Killing Fields is a movie where ambition simply oozes out of every frame. I’m not saying it’s bad. Especially when it’s in the hands of a director who knows how to avoid cheap sucking up to the Academy (although Lennon at the end was a step way over the mark). In the first half I couldn’t help asking myself why the story revolves round such an uninteresting, self-centered journalist when his gofer who he treats like shit is a hundred times more interesting. And luckily the filmmakers thought this too and in the second half they put him to the fore. And did well to do it in my eyes. Otherwise the scenes like developing photos in Spartan conditions, the video with Nixon’s speech and shots of the atrocities of the Khmer Rouge cut with Vincerò or lost in the killing fields are such powerful scenes that Roland Joffé has earned my greatest admiration. On the other hand, it doesn’t change the fact that I can see mistakes here. Which I can’t say about his next movie, however much I might want to.

A typical Italian sandal where, if you were looking for Leone’s usual genius, you would be disappointed. The characters are black and white, no historical faithfulness or logic! That’s completely missing. The Colossus of Rhodes doesn’t pretend to be anything more than what it can offer. In other words, an entertaining, historical “popcorn movie", although a lot longer than they tend to be. At least in the director’s cut. If it weren’t for that grinning Calhoun and occasional funny moments (no more underwear, please God), then my satisfaction with the first solo picture by my favorite director would have been a good deal greater.

Why did Truffaut make so few “Hitch-esque" movies? And why, when he did make one, in the second he had to grind it down to a study of an unusual relationship? Don’t get me wrong, both moods are Truffaut precise, it’s just that together then don’t hit it off in any respect. It’s like trying to stuff a beautiful round shape into a perfect triangle hole. In the end you might even get it in there, but it won’t result in perfect beauty however hard you try. It just won’t.