Best Korean Films of the 2000s: Lee Myung-se, "Duelist" (2005)

Duelist (Hyeongsa). 2005. Produced, directed and production designed by Lee Myung-se. Written by Lee Myung-se and Lee Hae-gyeong, based on the comic book "Damo" by Bang Hak-gi. Cinematography by Ki S. Hwang. Edited by Go Im-pyo. Art direction by Lee Hyeong-ju and Jo Geun-hyeon. Costume design by Jeong Gyeong-heui. Sound by Park Jun-oh. Special effects by Jang Sung-ho. Martial arts choreography by Jeon Mun-shik.

Cast: Ha Ji-won (Nam-soon), Kang Dong-won (Sad Eyes), Ahn Sung-ki (Ahn), Song Yeong-chang (Song).

One of cinema's supreme visual stylists is Lee Myung-se, whose films have the vibrancy and kineticism of action painting, and who seemingly reinvents movies with each new film. Lee is an exacting and precise artist, with painstaking attention to detail, colors and mood, so much so that he has made only two films this decade, each one an art film in the truest and greatest sense. The first is his 2005 film Duelist, the latest incarnation of a story that first began life as a popular manhwa (Korean comic book) entitled Damo, which was subsequently turned into a hit television series of the same name. Both the film and the TV drama featured the same actress, Ha Ji-won, as the central female detective. Below is what I wrote on this film when it screened at the 2006 New York Asian Film Festival.

The most gorgeous of this year's selections is Lee Myung-se's masterpiece Duelist. Lee is best known in the U.S. for his 1999 film Nowhere to Hide, which enlivened its cops-and-criminals story with a wall-to-wall visual arsenal of silhouettes, impossibly vibrant color and kineticism, and the elemental forces of wind and rain. In Duelist, released six years after Nowhere to Hide, Lee ups the ante considerably, reducing narrative to a bare minimum, concentrating on exquisite color, balletic swordplay, wind, rain, and leaves, and the pursuit of its lovers/antagonists throughout the film. Like Nowhere to Hide, Duelist is also a detective story, set this time in late 19th century Korea. The detective Nam-soon (Ha Ji-won) and her older partner Ahn (Ahn Sung-ki) are in dogged pursuit of Sad Eyes (Kang Dong-won), an elusive, androgynous figure who is the henchman of Minister of Defense Song (Song Yeong-chang), who is amassing power by counterfeiting currency. That's about it as far as plot goes. However, most of the negative public and critical reaction to the film, contributing to its meager box office, which generally ran along the lines of the lament "There's no story!", seem to me to be beyond missing the point. The film's press materials contain this statement by Lee, which point to the proper way to approach this film: "I thought of two words - movement and rhythm, and two paintings - 'Dance' by Matisse and 'Manhattan' by Mondrian." (Lee is most likely referring in the latter case to "Broadway Boogie-Woogie," Mondrian's most famous painting.)

Those who insist that films should be all about narrative and character development are blinding themselves to the thrilling experience of pure cinema that Lee offers in Duelist. In much the same way that Matisse and Mondrian sought to liberate painting by using their materials to portray pure movement and color without insisting on verisimilitude, Lee utilizes the plasticity of the film medium - sound, color, music, motion - to liberate cinema from the shackles of 19th century notions of narrative derived from literature and drama, highlighting the reasons cinema is indeed a distinct art from either.

The ultimate theme of Duelist is transcendence and transgression, of boundaries, borders, and gender roles - Nam-soon is as tough and violent, if not tougher, than her male colleagues, at one point going undercover in male drag, while Sad Eyes is all flowing robes, long hair, and soft features. Duelist is in essence avant-garde cinema thinly disguised as genre cinema, and given the emphasis he puts on color, the physicality of its nature, and its relation to the material of film itself, Lee seems to be positioning himself as Korea's answer to Stan Brakhage.

Duelist trailer:

Scenes from the TV drama Damo:

The Bourne Cinema Filmography: Frederick Wiseman, "La Danse: The Paris Opera Ballet" (2009)

La Danse: The Paris Opera Ballet. 2009. Directed by Frederick Wiseman. Produced by Pierre-Oliver Bardet, Frederick Wiseman and Francoise Gazio. Cinematography by John Davey. Edited by Frederick Wiseman and Valerie Pico. Sound by Frederick Wiseman.

Documentarian Frederick Wiseman’s latest film, La Danse: The Paris Opera Ballet, is a typically rigorous institutional examination, this time of the famed Paris Opera Ballet, getting up close and personal behind the scenes, observing rehearsals, administrative meetings, and many other minutiae of the day-to-day activities of this venerable institution. There is nothing especially earth-shattering or revealing that happens during the course of this film; the closest we get is a meeting with the dance troupe and the ballet’s artistic director about changes in retirement and pension policy that the French government is considering. Neither does this film break with Wiseman’s tried-and-true methods of filmmaking: fly-on-the-wall observation, eschewing interviews with subjects, soundtrack music, or onscreen identification of the subjects. Wiseman holds true with the cinema vérité techniques he has been practicing since Titicut Follies, his 1967 debut. He is less interested in personalities and drama than in process, procedure, and daily institutional life. This film focuses on lengthy, unhurried (La Danse clocks in at 158 minutes) and thorough observation of all the workers at the opera, from the dancers, choreographers, and administrative personnel, down to the cafeteria workers and janitors. Wiseman even gives us some shots of the basement and sewers underneath the opera house, as if to show us just how complete his document of this building is.

The heart of the film is the lengthy rehearsals of the opera repertory shows. These lithe, wiry dancers painstakingly perfect their movements, and under their trainers, refine everything down to the very smallest detail. And while the repetitive scenes of this process can at times be a bit wearying, it is still fascinating to watch, all of it happening at an intimate level that very few of us are privileged to witness in person. Behind the scenes, there are some telling moments that impress upon us the extreme physical demands ballet puts on a person’s body. One older dancer relates to the festival director her concerns that she is being scheduled for too many performances that will tax her physical abilities. “I’m not 25 anymore,” the dancer opines. This scene contrasts with another near the conclusion, in which a young, fresh-faced newcomer to the company gets advice from the festival director. “Don’t be afraid,” the director advises her.

All in all, La Dance: The Paris Opera Ballet is an interesting (if overlong) and worthy addition to Wiseman’s impressive body of work. It screens at Film Forum from November 4 through November 17; Wiseman will appear in person at the 8:30 screening on November 4. Click here to purchase tickets.

The Best Korean and Japanese Films of the 2000s: Inaugural Post

Yesterday I received an email from the Korean Film Council (KOFIC), a Korean government-supported, quasi-independent organization that funds, supports and promotes Korean films domestically and abroad. If you have even the smallest amount of interest in Korean cinema, I highly recommend checking out their website, where you will find a wealth of material on both current and older Korean films. You should especially explore their "Publications" section, where you will find PDFs that you can download of their published material on Korean film history, films, and directors, and their periodicals on the Korean film industry. This is an invaluable source of information, and one which I refer to frequently.

KOFIC's newest publication is Korean Cinema Today, a bimonthly periodical with articles, reviews, and interviews concerning the current state of the Korean film industry, and especially Korean films that have been selected for major film festivals. Their next issue will be a special one that will look back on this past decade, the first of the 21st century, and included in this issue will be a reader's poll of the 10 best Korean films of the decade. The email I received was in reference to this, asking me to choose the best 5 films of the decade. If you would like to participate in this survey, you can do so here. (Click the button at the bottom to send your message.) If you include your name, nationality, and mailing address, your name will be included in the printed list of participants, and they will send you a copy of the published issue.

KOFIC's project has inspired me to do something similar for this blog. So for the next several months or so, I will be posting periodically on my picks for the best Korean films of the 2000s. Since Japanese films are also a major presence on this blog, I will be doing the same for Japanese cinema. Some of the posts will be republished here from elsewhere, others will be original posts. These will exclude films that have already been reviewed on this blog, or that I have written for other sites that I have chosen not to republish here. Of course, there are far more than five films that are worthy of inclusion on my list for the best of the decade. There will be no rankings or evaluations of which ones are better than other films. I'll leave it to you readers to decide that for yourselves.

Here are links to my reviews of my first best-of-2000s selections:

Korean Films

Radio Star (Lee Joon-ik, 2006)

Our School (Kim Myung-joon, 2006)

Woman on the Beach (Hong Sang-soo, 2006)

Voice of a Murderer (Park Jin-pyo, 2007)

Ad-Lib Night (Lee Yoon-ki, 2006)

The Happy Life (Lee Joon-ik, 2007)

Forever the Moment (Yim Soon-rye, 2007)

Epitaph (Jung Bum-sik and Jung Sik, 2007)

Treeless Mountain (So Yong Kim, 2008)

Old Partner (Lee Chung-ryoul, 2008)

Breathless (Yang Ik-june, 2008)

Joint Security Area (Park Chan-wook, 2000)

Japanese Films

I Just Didn't Do It (Masayuki Suo, 2006)

Memories of Matsuko (Tetsuya Nakashima, 2006)

Sway (Miwa Nishikawa, 2006)

Dear Pyongyang (Yonghi Yang, 2005)

Matsugane Potshot Affair (Nobuhiro Yamashita, 2006)

The Mourning Forest (Naomi Kawase, 2007)

All Around Us (Ryosuke Hashiguchi, 2008)

Confessions of a Dog (Gen Takahashi, 2006)

Halfway (Eriko Kitagawa, 2009)

Dainipponjin (Big Man Japan) (Hitoshi Matsumoto, 2007)

Yasukuni (Li Ying, 2007)

For the record, these are the Korean films I chose for the KOFIC poll:

Turning Gate (Hong Sang-soo, 2002) -- the above still is from this film.

A Good Lawyer's Wife (Im Sang-soo, 2003)

Memories of Murder (Bong Joon-ho, 2003)

Sympathy for Lady Vengeance (Park Chan-wook, 2005)

Secret Sunshine (Lee Chang-dong, 2007)

Certainly I could have picked five completely different films that would have been just as good, but I'm fairly satisfied with the above list as representative of the best Korean films of the decade, within the limited parameters of KOFIC's survey. What are your picks for the best Korean and/or Japanese films of the 2000s? You can submit your responses in the comments below.

The Bourne Cinema Filmography: Peter Greenaway, "Rembrandt's J'Accuse" (2008)

Rembrandt's J'Accuse. 2008. Written and directed by Peter Greenaway. Produced by Femke Wolting, Bruno Felix, and Kees Kasander. Cinematography by Reinier van Brummelen. Edited by Elmer Leupen. Music by Giovanni Sollima and Marco Robino. Production designed by Maarten Piersma. Costume design by Marrit van der Burgt. Sound by Bram Boers.

Cast: Peter Greenaway (Himself), Martin Freeman (Rembrandt van Rijn), Eva Birthistle (Saskia Uylenburgh), Jodhi May (Geertje), Emily Holmes (Hendrickje Stoeffels), Jonathan Holmes (Ferdinand Bol), Michael Teigen (Carel Fabritius), Natalie Press (Marieke).

Peter Greenaway’s new film, Rembrandt’s J’Accuse, in which he subjects Rembrandt’s famous 1642 painting The Night Watch to intense forensic, visual, and historical analysis, is one of Greenaway’s very best films, and certainly his best in well over a decade. I have been greatly disappointed by most of Greenaway’s recent output, for example The Tulse Luper Suitcases, in which Greenaway puts into practice his long-standing theories about what he sees as cinema’s currently impoverished state, which he sees as essentially illustrated literature, and how Western culture is text-based instead of visually-based, leading to what he sees as a woeful lack of visual literacy in the public at large. (Early on in Rembrandt’s J’Accuse, Greenaway gives voice on screen to these opinions once more, in the scolding, schoolmarmish tone that is probably his most off-putting and least attractive quality.) Greenaway’s recent films have become increasingly impenetrable and hermetic, seemingly made only for an audience of one – Greenaway himself. The alternative he has come up with to conventional cinema, using text, calligraphy, and frames within frames within frames to form an ornate collage, however visually elegant it often is, turns out in practice to be not quite as compelling as he thinks.

So it is with genuine pleasure (and relief) that I say that with Rembrandt’s J’Accuse, Greenaway has finally come up with a film that puts his visual and intellectual arsenal to brilliant effect, turning Rembrandt’s The Night Watch into evidence of an elaborate murder conspiracy. (Call it CSI: Amsterdam.) Greenaway appears on screen throughout to state the case for the prosecution, namely that Rembrandt’s painting is his “J’accuse,” or accusation of guilt towards the perpetrators of a conspiracy on the part of a group of Dutch military officers to murder their captain to gain more power for themselves. The officers planned to disguise this murder as a military accident. Greenaway is our guide to the evidence for this conspiracy, all of which he believes can be found within the frame of Rembrandt’s painting. His running voiceover and visual presence (usually in a box in the bottom center of the screen) relates 31 clues to the murder conspiracy (Greenaway’s well-documented obsession with numbers and lists continues unabated in this film) that can be found in the painting. Fully-staged reenactments with actors are peppered throughout to illustrate Greenaway’s thesis.

Greenaway identifies The Night Watch as the beginning of Rembrandt’s popular and economic decline, which he sees as a result of the successful attempt by the powers that were to suppress and bury Rembrandt’s accusation and force him into a later life of poverty and obscurity. As Greenaway intones at the film’s conclusion, “It is imperative that we reopen the case.” Greenaway uses the canvas of Rembrandt’s masterpiece to create one of his own, a film that is simultaneously a documentary, a murder mystery, an art history lecture, a political history of Amsterdam, and a seminar on the arts of both painting and visual analysis, and is endlessly fascinating and compelling.

Rembrandt’s J’Accuse is at Film Forum now through November 3. Click here to purchase tickets.

The Bourne Cinema Filmography: Lars von Trier, "Antichrist" (2009)

Antichrist. 2009. Written and directed by Lars von Trier. Produced by Meta Louise Foldager. Cinematography by Anthony Dod Mantle. Edited by Anders Refn. Production designed by Karl "Kalli" Juliusson. Art direction by Tim Pannen. Costume design by Frauke Firl. Sound design by Kristian Eidnes Andersen.

Cast: Willem Dafoe (He), Charlotte Gainsbourg (She).

Lars von Trier's latest (and most extreme) provocation, Antichrist, opens today at the IFC Center. Below is what I wrote on this film when it screened earlier this month at the New York Film Festival.

At the New York Film Festival, it’s almost guaranteed that there will be at least one controversial film to set the Alice Tully Hall denizens’ tongues wagging. The Danish cinematic enfant terrible Lars von Trier has supplied a few of these throughout the years – Breaking the Waves, Dancer in the Dark, Dogville, Manderlay. It’s safe to say that his latest, Antichrist, is without a doubt his most extreme provocation to date. Reportedly the result of a lengthy depression von Trier suffered in the period before he made it, this film astonishes with its free-associative, dream-like (or, more accurately, nightmare-like) style. Though it seems like most of the film doesn’t make a lick of sense, it is never less than riveting, even though most viewers will very much want to look away, especially in its extremely violent latter sessions. Von Trier has often been tagged with the label of “misogynist,” and Antichrist will do little to assuage these detractors. However, as with all things von Trier, the reality is not quite that simple.

The scenario is spare and archetypal: a couple, known only as He (Willem Dafoe) and She (Charlotte Gainsbourg), after the death of their young son, venture into the woods, to a place they call Eden, where He, a professional therapist, attempts to cure She of her extreme grief over her child’s death. These are the only two characters in the entire film, and von Trier unleashes an arsenal of nightmare imagery and WTF moments to depict this couple’s psychic journey. There are talking animals, genital mutilation, and other extremes, and at first it seems that von Trier is having a laugh at our expense. But it eventually becomes clear that what we see is far from a joke, and that this is as close a peek into an artist’s id as any that has ever been created. Gainsbourg won best actress at this year’s Cannes Film Festival, and while evaluating performances in a film such as this almost seems beside the point, one can’t help but admire the fact that both actors are more than game for everything von Trier throws at them.

Divided into four chapters – “Grief,” “Pain (Chaos Reigns),” “Despair (Gynocide),” “The Three Beggars” – bracketed by a prologue and epilogue, Antichrist begins with a gorgeously shot slow-motion monochrome sequence depicting the death of the couple’s child. Accompanied by the music of Handel on the soundtrack, we see the child make his way out of the crib and fall to his death out of the window, unnoticed by his parents having passionate sex, very graphically shown – par for the course for von Trier, ever the provocateur. At the outset of the film proper, which switches to a muted color palette, She collapses during her son’s funeral and is subsequently admitted to a hospital. He pulls her out of the hospital, believing that the hospital is prescribing her too much medication, and that he could do a better job at curing her of the extreme grief and guilt over their son’s death. He intends to be analytical and logical in how he goes about doing this, to the extent that She at one point accuses him of being indifferent to their son’s death.

When the two retreat to “Eden,” a small log cabin deep in the woods, He puts She under hypnosis, to exorcise her guilt as well as her deep fears of the woods themselves. But very soon, his carefully planned strategy begins to unravel. She becomes increasingly erratic and less responsive to her husband’s admittedly unorthodox treatments. Through flashbacks and her husband’s discovery, we learn that She has been working on a thesis titled “Gynocide,” about the history of man’s brutality to women throughout the ages. (The film’s credits include a “misogyny consultant.”) Her studies have brought her to an unexpected and disturbing conclusion: women are the source of evil in the world. And in the increasingly brutal final reels of the film, she sets out to prove her theory in very graphic ways that will torture her husband, as well as the audience.

The above description may make Antichrist seem much more coherent than it actually is, at least initially. Von Trier also indulges in some rather clichéd and tacky depictions of the hypnosis sessions. And yet there is an elemental power to the flow of images in the film that, to this viewer, eventually proved irresistible. Von Trier clearly means to give the audience a taste of the psychological torture he experienced during his depression. Given the catcalling and booing that greeted its premiere at Cannes, it would seem that I am in the minority opinion. How one responds to this film ultimately depends on how one responds to its creator. If you are a hardcore von Trier fan (as I must confess I am), then you will fund much to savor. If not, well, as they say, caveat emptor. As one of the film’s chapter titles state, “Chaos Reigns.” That statement could stand as a credo for von Trier’s entire oeuvre, and it has never been truer than his latest work.

Antichrist can be seen (if you dare) at the IFC Center beginning today. Click here to purchase tickets.

Review: Adolfo Alix Jr.'s "Adela"

Adela. 2008. Directed by Adolfo Alix Jr. Written by Adolfo Alix Jr. and Nick Olanka. Produced by Arleen Cuevas. Cinematography by Albert Banzon. Edited by Aleks Castaneda. Production design by Adolfo Alix Jr. and Jerome Zamora. Sound by Ditoy Aguila and Marc Locsin.

Cast: Anita Linda, Jason Abalos, Joem Bascon, Angeli Bayani, Perla Bautista, Iza Calzado, Ricky Davao, Cyra Dela Cerna, Katherine Luna, German Moreno, Kenneth Ocampo, Arnold Reyes.

The wonderfully expressive face of veteran Filipina actress Anita Linda is the heart and main attraction of Adolfo Alix, Jr.’s mesmerizing film Adela, which recently concluded its run at the Museum of Modern Art, as part of its ongoing series “ContemporAsian,” highlighting recent films from Asia that have not been widely seen in New York. Alix takes the opposite approach from many recent films from the Philippines that have gained attention on the festival circuit, exemplified by such filmmakers as Brillante Mendoza, who recently boosted his profile considerably by taking home the best director prize at this year’s Cannes Film Festival for his film Kinatay. Mendoza’s restless camerawork and depictions of the desperate slums of Manila have been echoed by many of his peers, affording their audiences a visceral, vicarious experience of poverty, hustling, and corruption. Alix eschews all of this in Adela, preferring long takes and panoramic master shots when it is not intimately focusing on its title character. Adela is celebrating her 80th birthday (the entire film takes place on this one day) and hopeful that her children and grandchildren will finally pay her a visit, which we quickly learn is a very rare occurrence, as her children have their own lives far away from her. Adding to her solitude is the fact that she has been a widow for many years now; Adela often passes the time by listening to radio plays as she cooks and does other chores in the home. Many years ago, Adela was a popular actress on these radio shows, giving it up both because of her husband’s wish for her to stay home with the children, and the waning popularity of radio dramas due to the advent of television.

Adela, however much she dominates the narrative, is by no means the only character here, and one of the great strengths of Alix’s film is the broad view he affords us of the environment that Adela exists in. Before we are introduced to Adela, we first follow a very pregnant woman who catches her mate having sex with another woman, whom the pregnant woman is in debt to – whether this other woman is her landlady or some other sort of benefactor is not quite clear. As she fights and hits her philandering partner, she suddenly goes into labor, and is helped through it by Adela, who becomes an impromptu midwife, helping the woman deliver her baby. Adela’s other neighbors are just as colorful – other important characters include: a ne’er-do-well who habitually steals from people’s homes and tries to sell off his ill-gotten goods afterward, and who may or may not have stolen Adela’s wedding ring; the boisterous and very effeminate neighbor who gives Adela a manicure; and in the film’s most amusing scene, a neighbor and fellow grandmother whom Adela walks in on as she is having sex with a much younger man, justifying her behavior as a necessary way to stave off loneliness and fulfill her sexual needs. “Besides, I won’t get pregnant, anyway,” she tells Adela. Most pertinently to our understanding of Adela’s character, this friend asks Adela, “Are you happy?” The silence that follows this query speaks volumes.

Anita Linda does so much more than portray this elderly woman; she seemingly inhabits this woman body and soul. And that face! It is as transparent a vessel for displaying emotion as any I have ever seen. This now is the second film I have seen this remarkable actress in; the other is Brillante Mendoza’s latest film Lola, which I recently saw at this year’s Pusan International Film Festival. In the latter film, she is just as riveting, playing a very different character than Adela. Color me a fan: I would love to see her earlier work. She is in practically every scene of this film, and minute by minute we are drawn deeper into her world. Alix’s style is austere and spare, but without the aridness of similar films that employ this kind of aesthetic. The final scene of the film, in which we feel the full force of Adela’s solitude, is what remains with me: the sound of lapping waves, crickets, and passing airplanes as she has a picnic alone, one of the saddest scenes you will ever see in any film. Adolfo Alix, Jr., with Adela, has created a brilliant character study that also doubles as a sharply trenchant depiction of the casual corruption that manipulates the lives of poor people in the Philippines. The political backdrop against which Adela’s story is set concerns the bribery, with food and money, of the people of her village to join a rally in support of Philippine President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo. It is a testament to Adela’s sense of dignity and justice that she resolutely refuses to participate in this farce, probably because she and the rest of her neighbors will soon be forced to move out of the shacks that sit beside a landfill to make way for a highway extension. It is this awareness of both the macro and the micro of his characters’ circumstances that made Adela such an emotionally and politically astute film.

Adela trailers:

Interview with Adolfo Alix Jr.:

Interview with Anita Linda:

Alain Resnais, "Wild Grass" -- New York Film Festival Press Conference, 9/25/09

The 2009 New York Film Festival opened with Alain Resnais' loopy and lovely film Wild Grass. You can read my Meniscus Magazine review here. Below are clips from the afternoon press conference on September 25, 2009. From left to right are Resnais, translator Lucius Barre, and actors Andre Dussollier and Mathieu Amalric.

In this clip, Resnais offers his thoughts on the future of film, which he believes is represented by one director in particular:



On Mathieu Amalric's performance:



And here, Alain Resnais discusses the theme of sexual desire in his films, and his disavowal of the label "auteur":

The Bourne Cinema Filmography: Claire Denis, "35 Shots of Rum" (2008)

35 Shots of Rum (35 rhums). 2008. Directed by Claire Denis. Written by Claire Denis and Jean-Pol Fargeau. Produced by Bruno Pesery. Cinematography by Agnes Godard. Edited by Guy Lecorne. Music by Tindersticks. Production design by Arnaud de Moleron. Costume design by Judy Shrewsbury. Sound by Martin Boissau, Christophe Winding, and Dominique Hennequin.

Cast: Alex Descas (Lionel), Mati Diop (Josephine), Gregoire Colin (Noe), Nicole Dogue (Gabrielle), Julieth Mars Toussaint (Rene).

One of the very best films you will see this year is Claire Denis' exquisitely rendered 35 Shots of Rum, now playing at Film Forum through September 29. Denis' latest film White Material, which returns her to the African setting of her debut Chocolat, will make its latest stop at this year's New York Film Festival, after its appearances in Venice and Toronto. So New Yorkers will have the opportunity this fall to be blessed with two new films by one of cinema's greatest living artists. Below is my review of 35 Shots of Rum, written when it screened at last year's Pusan International Film Festival.

Claire Denis’ gorgeous new film, 35 Shots of Rum, is as essentially plot-less as her previous feature, the globe-trotting philosophical treatise L’Intrus (The Intruder), but it is less experimental and more grounded in character and emotion. However, it is hardly less of a revelatory experience. The central relationship depicted in this film is that of Lionel (Alex Descas), a train operator living with his daughter Josephine (Mati Diop), in a working-class suburb of Paris. 35 Shots of Rum’s affinities with the works of Ozu, especially Late Spring, have been much remarked on by other commentators: the many shots and scenes that revolve around trains; the brief establishing shots between scenes analogous to Ozu’s “pillow shot” inserts; the delicacy with which unspoken aspects of intimate relationships are handled. The film’s central situation also recalls Ozu. Lionel, a taciturn widower, lives a quiet life with his daughter, and their deep love for one another is expressed through such gestures as one early scene in which Lionel buys a rice cooker for Josephine, who expresses great delight. The film is so patient about revealing the connections between its characters that it takes a bit of time before we realize that they are in fact father and daughter.

Two other characters also figure here: their neighbor Noe (Gregoire Colin), a rather eccentric young man who is attracted to Josephine, and Gabrielle (Nicole Dogue), Lionel’s ex-girlfriend who remains close to Lionel and Josephine, and seems to wish to rekindle her romance with Lionel, who in turn keeps her at arm’s length. Everything else in the film flows from this initial situation. But rather than imposing a dramatic plot, although almost any other filmmaker would have turned these potential conflicts into melodrama, Denis allows these characters to interact and lets their actions evolve organically. This is not to say that nothing happens in the film; actually, there is a definite progression that occurs, and it leads to a great deal of emotion. This occurs most significantly with what happens to Lionel’s colleague Rene (Julieth Mars Toussaint), who after being compelled to retire, finds himself adrift and unable to replace the order and sense of purpose that his job provided him.

The way in which Denis depicts the milieu of her film is quite extraordinary. The popular notion of the Parisian suburbs, many of which are inhabited by those of African and Arabic descent, is that of poor and angry people who every now and then erupt into riots against police and other authorities. The depiction of these neighborhoods in French films often plays upon these problems and concentrates on their conflicts with the larger French society. Denis, however, takes quite a different tack, concentrating much more on her characters as individuals rather than representatives of their race. These are ordinary working-class people who experience the normal joys and pains of anyone else, although presented here in an aesthetically beautiful way. Denis, to be sure, does not ignore a global perspective: she includes a key scene in which Josephine participates in a classroom debate about how African nations are adversely impacted by having to repay massive debts to Western nations. However, we are mostly immersed in the lives of the central characters, and it is always a pleasure to be in their company.

The loose structure of 35 Shots of Rum allows for some exquisitely lovely moments, most notably a key scene of the film in which Lionel, Josephine, Noe and Gabrielle all retreat into a bar during a rainstorm after their car breaks down on their way to a concert. Although the bar is already closed, the owner generously allows them shelter. A nearly wordless scene ensues, during which much occurs: Noe and Josephine’s relationship becomes subtly much more than a casual friendship; Lionel sees this happen, and tacitly accepts this despite his slight unease, while Lionel in turn acts upon his attraction to the statuesquely beautiful bar hostess, eventually spending the night with her. The four central characters dance to the tune of the Commodores’ song “Nightshift,” which is quite appropriate to the elegiac tone of much of this film. This is a beautifully choreographed and constructed scene, conveying everything through glances and gestures, and it is a great testament to Claire Denis’ prodigious artistry.

However, Denis is by no means a solo act. She has surrounded herself over the years with an ace group of collaborators who are essential partners in creating one of the great bodies of work in cinema. One of the most important members of her crew is Agnes Godard, one of the world’s greatest cinematographers, who seems incapable of composing a bad shot. She imbues all of the film’s environments with a textured, tactile quality that illuminates everything it touches. Denis’ regular screenwriting partner Jean-Pol Fargeau contributes greatly to a scenario that feels loosely improvisational yet exactingly precise at the same time. And of course, as always with Denis, much credit is due to the excellent cast she has assembled, which includes two Denis regulars: Alex Descas, a ruggedly handsome man who imparts tremendous gravity and great emotion to his role; and Gregoire Colin, who goes far beyond the quirks of his character to deliver a very poignant performance. Newcomer Mati Diop also impresses as the daughter who is protective of her father almost to his detriment (much like the typical Ozu heroine usually played by Setsuko Hara). Nicole Dogue skillfully expresses her character’s sense of regret over her life decisions, and her wish to have to same closeness with Lionel that his daughter enjoys. In every gesture and action Denis’ ensemble cast radiates a deep beauty that makes watching them a joyful experience.

35 Shots of Rum, along with Beau Travail and L’Intrus, is one of Denis’ greatest works, conveying the ebbs and flows of life with uncommon sensitivity. And by the time Lionel partakes of the titular drinks, an act that signifies his philosophy of life, one begins to wish one could spend many more hours in the endlessly fascinating world of this film.

35 Shots of Rum is at Film Forum through September 29. Click here to purchase tickets.

Review: Yoon Je-kyun's "Haeundae"

Haeundae. 2009. Produced, written and directed by Yoon Je-kyun. Cinematography by Kim Yeong-ho. Edited by Shin Min-gyeong. Music by Lee Byeong-woo. Production design by Hwang In-jun. Costume design by Kim Jong-weon. Sound by Eun Heui-su and Andy Wiskes. Visual effects supervision by Jang Seong-ho and Hans Uhlig. Visual effects by Polygon Entertainment. Special effects by Hong Jang-pyo.

Cast: Sol Kyung-gu (Choi Man-sik), Ha Ji-won (Kang Yeon-hee), Park Joong-hoon (Kim Hwi), Uhm Jung-hwa (Lee Yoo-jin), Lee Min-ki (Choi Hyeong-sik), Kang Ye-won (Kim Hee-mi), Kim In-kwon (Oh Dong-choon), Song Jae-ho (Eok-jo), Kim Ji-yeong (Geum-ryeon), Seong Byeong-sook (Dong-choon's mother), Kim Yoo-jeong (Ji-min).

The disaster movie is a tried-and-true mode of popular cinema, the apotheosis being such 70’s films as The Towering Inferno and The Poseidon Adventure, as well as the all-time box-office king, Titanic. The formula is simplicity itself: take a diverse assortment of characters (preferably cast with as many big stars as possible), spend some time introducing them and examining their conflicts, add a man-made or natural disaster that upends everything with state-of-the-art special effects, stir very thoroughly with some tragedy, pathos, triumph, bravery, and sacrifice, and voila, you’ve got your movie. The next step, hopefully, is watching the tons of cash roll in. Now Korea has one such movie to call its very own: Haeundae, set in and named after the famous beach in the southeastern port city of Busan, a very popular tourist attraction, not only for Koreans but for visitors from Asia and the rest of the world. It is currently a massive blockbuster hit, and is now the fourth highest-grossing film in Korean history, after The Host, The King and the Clown and Taegukgi. The film itself is a crude, clumsily written and edited, yet brutally effective piece of big-budget spectacle, which follows the disaster-movie formula to the letter. It takes its sweet time following its large cast of characters, crisscrossing their stories and connections until the disaster hits, which in this film is very skillfully staged. The filmmaking, which up until that point is rather standard and unimaginative, rises along with the massive tsunami to be thrilling and genuinely emotional. The best aspect of the film is the actors, especially the wonderful Ha Ji-won and the equally excellent Sol Kyung-gu, who do a great job selling this material, even when it is beneath their talents, which is quite often.

The premise of Haeundae is that a massive tsunami, on the order of the one that hit Southeast Asia in 2004 (referenced repeatedly in this film, and which was Busan native Yoon’s initial inspiration), is on track to directly hit Haeundae Beach and the rest of Busan. This tsunami is diligently tracked by seismologist Kim Hwi (Park Joong-hoon), who advocates for a tsunami warning system of their own, and not depending on the one in Japan, a project not without nationalist overtones – “We can’t let the Japs beat us!” one of Kim’s colleagues exclaims at one point. Kim is divorced, and has a contentious relationship with his ex-wife Yu-jin (Uhm Jung-hwa), who refuses to tell their daughter (presumably born after their marriage ended) that he is her father, out of lingering anger over his neglect of their family in favor of his work.

While the scientist nervously tracks the waters, in scenes accompanied by ominous shots of threatening undersea earthquakes, the film turns its attention to several characters by the seaside. Yeon-hee (Ha Ji-won) runs a small raw-fish stand, and is in love with Man-sik (Sol Kyung-gu), who has been akin to an older brother since their childhood; she was taken in by Man-sik’s family after her father’s death. Man-sik is fairly thick-headed, and fails to notice Yeon-hee’s feelings for him. He has a penchant for getting drunk, and this aspect of his character mostly played for laughs, most notably in a scene in which he gets arrested for drunkenly harassing a baseball player at a game.

There is also a colorful assortment of other characters, such as a group of vacationing girls from Seoul, including Hee-mi (Kang Ye-won), a haughty girl rescued by coast guard Hyeong-sik (Lee Min-ki) after she falls off a yacht, which begins a slapstick romance between the two. The town’s vendor association is up in arms over a proposed shopping mall that will drive them off the beach. Much low comedy is supplied by ne’er-do-well slacker Dong-choon (Kim In-kwon), who at one point poses as a blind man to make money.

The film benefits greatly from its vivid portrayal of Busan, a place very distinct in character from Seoul. And just as the broad comedy and corny whimsicality starts to become a bit too much to bear, the big wave hits. And it’s an impressive one, and the lengthy setting up of characters and incident in the first half of the film begins to reap dividends, making the emotional aspects of the story moving, if not any less obvious or heavy handed. Haeundae is an entertaining enough night out at the movies, its crude and clunky scenario elevated by spirited performances by its cast, and expertly staged special effects (supervised by CG whiz Hans Uhlig, who worked on two of this film’s Hollywood natural disaster forebears, The Perfect Storm and The Day After Tomorrow), which in the end make this material more potent than it really has any right to be. And there are a few inspired sequences, most notably a Buster Keaton-type bit where Dong-choon deftly dodges a series of falling freight cars displaced by the wave, and another scene in which he causes an inferno with a faulty cigarette lighter. Just don’t expect great art in the bargain.

For a film that successfully marries its behemoth budget with a smart, politically acute, and genuinely heartfelt story, look no further than the current all-time Korean box-office champ, Bong Joon-ho’s The Host. Bong’s film proved conclusively that one need not pander to the lowest common denominators of both Korean and Hollywood filmmaking to be both an artistic and popular success. One wishes for the sake of art that Yoon had heeded this lesson. Unfortunately, the massive box office receipts of Haeundae will no doubt convince him that bigger, broader, and cruder is better.

Haeundae is currently playing at the AMC Loews Bay Terrace 6 in Bayside, Queens and AMC Loews Ridgefield Park 12 in Ridgefield Park, New Jersey. It opens this Friday in Manhattan at the AMC Loews Village 7.

Haeundae trailer:

Two segments from Arirang TV about the film:

Review: Leslie Cockburn's "American Casino"

American Casino. 2009. Directed by Leslie Cockburn. Written and produced by Leslie Cockburn and Andrew Cockburn. Cinematography by Phil Geyelin, Gregory Andracke, Bill Cassara, Bob Goldsborough, and Sam Painter. Edited by Peter Eliscu. Music supervised by Susan Jacobs. Sound by Daniel Brooks, Tom Craca, Michael Karas, Erik Knox, Charlie Macarone, Lupe Mejia, David Mitlyng, Mark Wilson, and Everett Wong.

Just in time for the one year anniversary of the global economic collapse comes Leslie Cockburn's powerful and timely documentary American Casino, which opens tomorrow at Film Forum for a two-week run. Below is what I wrote on this film when it screened at this year's Tribeca Film Festival.

The title of Leslie Cockburn’s nothing-if-not-timely documentary American Casino says it all, an apt description of the world created by the reckless Wall Street financiers who have brought the U.S. economy (as well as the rest of the world’s) to its present sorry state. Much like Charles Ferguson’s Iraq War documentary No End in Sight, Cockburn employs a straightforward, just-the-facts approach to her devastating play-by-play indictment of the barely legal shenanigans that led to our current mess. From the initial stock market free-fall and the attendant billions in government bailouts to Jon Stewart’s recent mano a mano with Jim Cramer, none of this is new information for anyone who has at least been semi-sentient for the past year or so. But what makes Cockburn’s film an especially valuable addition to the burgeoning collection of economic crisis postmortems is that she goes beyond the facts and figures to show us the human faces behind the numbers. Cockburn offers specific, poignant examples of people who existed as simply a line on a brokerage firm’s computer screen, reminding us that these were not simply irresponsible and naïve would-be homeowners, but people with lives of value that are real, and in some cases, tragic. Cockburn also details the aftereffects of the spreading cancer of mass foreclosures and how they led to depressed neighborhood property values, crime, and disease. Class and race were very much a part of the picture also, as Cockburn persuasively demonstrates: the deregulated toxic sub-prime loans that were, and remain, a major part of this crisis were deliberately targeted towards minorities and low-income homeowners, many of whom actually qualified for prime loans. These were the chips that were the currency of the “American Casino,” since through derivatives, credit-default swaps, and other such unregulated financial products, bets would essentially be made on which consumers would default on loans made to them, and billions were made on both sides of the equation. Cockburn’s briskly paced yet sobering documentary makes its case powerfully, and is a humanist work in the best sense, always keeping the individual victims of Wall Street’s games as its central focus.

American Casino is scheduled to run at Film Forum from Sept. 2 through Sept. 15. Click here to purchase tickets.