Australia

Baz Luhrmann's Australia is a sincerely grand spectacle shot in the Gone with the Wind epic style minus about an hour and one intermission. Lady Sarah Ashley (Nicole Kidman) moves from Britain to Australia's Northern Territory with the intent of selling her husband's ranch, known as Faraway Downs. But upon her arrival she discovers he's dead and that there's been some seriously underhanded wheeling and dealing taking place on their land. Hence, she decides to drove (move cattle across a distance) her husband's cattle to Darwin in order to prevent his rival King Carney (Bryan Brown) from monopolizing the business. To drove she must find a drover and a tough-as-nails-plays-by-his-own-rules-no-one-hires-me-no-one-fires-me Drover (Hugh Jackman) surfaces and reluctantly agrees to assist. To stop them, Carney requires a villain, and weaselly-dead-beat-dad-environmentally-abusive Neil Fletcher (David Wenham) agrees to arrest their stride. Tying together and narrating the different multilayered threads is an Aboriginal child named Nullah (Brandon Walters) who desperately wants to avoid being taken away from his home and sent to a mission. And in the second half Japan invades, disrupting their insatiable antagonisms and turning both old and new worlds upside down.

A lot of what takes place in Australia is sappy, predictable, and highly melodramatic: but it's the best damned melodrama I've seen in years and every time I knew what was going to happen I happily sat back and soaked up the sentiments. Lady Ashley is one brazen, solid, tenacious, heroine who lives by a strict and passionate code which occasionally yields unfortunate yet necessary results. The Drover droves dynamically and thanks to Lady Ashley's inspiration overcomes many of his social phobias eventually maintaining that certain things simply shouldn't be. And it's simply great to watch them ferociously fall in love even though snobby socialites turn up their noses and utter banal witticisms at their expense. An epic tale complete with heartfelt harmonies and progressive social symphonies, Australia may be a bit hard to take at times, but the overall product is downright resilient, all down the line.

Waltz with Bashir (Vals Im Bashir)

Ari Folman's Waltz with Bashir's jam packed with divergent expressions of militaristic bravado condensed into an animated arsenal whose ending champions peace. Film director Ari Folman can't remember the details of his war experience and begins trying to unravel them through a series of conversations with old wartime associates. The frame becomes less opaque but he still can't remember the details of a Palestinian massacre that took place in Lebanon during the early 1980s. Searching and seeking and sleuthing and suffering. Roll away the stone, deal with it on your own. And that stone is brilliantly rolled away no doubt explaining why Waltz received so much praise last year in various film circuits. The ending's as powerful as that from Neil LaBute's In the Company of Men, a stark realistic extended yet minimalist encounter with death, serpentinely subverting the previous material's form, highlighting the necessity of peace (in Company the encounter's with life). The score contains jingoist jargon, retro rhythms, symphonic stitches, and electronic nuts. A multidimensional collapse built into an unforgettable relapse.

The Examined Life

Astra Taylor's The Examined Life presents intimate encounters with 9 feisty thinkers as they move about pondering the world around them. Daily life's complexities examined through particularly constructive multidimensional lenses, Cornel West, Avital Ronnell, Peter Singer, Slavoj Žižek, Martha Nussbaum, Michael Hardt, Kwame Anthony Appiah, Judith Butler, and Sunaura Taylor offer insights into God, death, responsibility, politics, and prada within. Can poetry and spirituality be found in a dimension of pure mathematical abstraction? Are expensive clothes worth their ethical price tag? How does one transfer Central American revolutionary political ideas to the landscape of the United States? What are the benefits of a road leading nowhere? How do we deal with grandiose philosophical treatises which leave out substantially significant details yet find themselves culturally reified? How do we progressively utilize an anxiety disorder's strength? Have you ever been so wrapped up in a book you've had to stop reading to prevent the ecstasy from becoming overbearing? Melancholia, failure, rebuilding, commitment, starvation, the Blues. And I've finally heard someone else say they've been nervous ordering coffee! A profound treat for the intellectual senses, Taylor's The Examined Life offers poignant insights in explosively lucid bits and bites and shouldn't be missed if you're even remotely interested in viewing philosophy in motion.

Doubt

John Patrick Shanley's Doubt presents a simple story layered with political complexities in a straightforward manner. Sister Aloysius Beauvier (Meryl Streep) austerely respects the rules and regulations of her church's code but nevertheless her shrewd devotion challenges its gender based hierarchy when a Priest's conduct seems to be crossing the line. Father Brendan Flynn (Philip Seymour Hoffman) delivers heartfelt homilies and appears to be genuinely caring for his flock but his methods become suspect and Beauvier launches an unrelenting underground crusade to have them rigorously reprimanded. But Sister James (Amy Adams) disagrees with her verdict and demonstrates a sincere degree of courage herself as suspicion and rumour threaten the integrity of their congregation. And Mrs. Miller illustrates how hard it can be being the loving mother of a child who receives contempt from both his classmates and his abusive father, Viola Davis providing a profound cameo whose impact is strong enough to momentarily distract the audience from the rest of the cast's assiduous acting.

Shanley's screenplay provides Doubt's principal characters with a stark cinescape within which to display their raw talents and they succeed in infusing potentially stale caricatures with a sincere degree of dynamically subdued emotion. With difficult subject matter displayed in a directly ambiguous fashion, Doubt deftly demonstrates the refined results of one woman's committed, determined resolve, while simultaneously pointing out how seriously problematic the maintenance of such a disposition can be.

Sawdust and Tinsel (Gycklarnas afton)

It's difficult to discuss Ingmar Bergman's Sawdust and Tinsel without describing exactly what happens so lets just say it's a hard-boiled bucolic tale of a traveling circus's harrowing hardships. The principle theme is fidelity and how love transforms and evolves according to the designs of each distinct challenge it faces. Time, the grind, the future in mind. Bergman uses his profound sensitivity (in the form of a lurid tale of temptation and trust) to lure us into his narrative and adjust to its particular pace. Within, we live and breathe the trials and tribulations of the Alberti Circus as they try their best to make a buck. The politics of the performing arts are displayed as Albert Johansson (Åke Grönberg) must borrow costumes from a local theatre, and insights into an aging traveling artist's psyche are provided as Albert explains to his ex-wife (Annika Tretow) why he's never been able to settle down.

There's also a bear.

If looking for a glimpse of Bergman's early work or an examination of the realities interrogating a manner of life that often isn't the focus of a feature film, Sawdust and Tinsel is worth checking out. Playful and poignant, tragic and lucid, all the while reminding one of the importance of not taking their selves to seriously, it instills a romantic and dedicated cantoring caravan with a profound degree of vivacious sentiment, dealing with that which must be dealt, rolling on down the road.

Gran Torino

Clint Eastwood's back at it again playing and directing the lovably cantankerous and bitter hero of Gran Torino. Walt Kowalski tells it like he sees it, holding back nothing, ever, period. Does he want to confess his sins to an overeducated virgin straight out of the seminary (Christopher Carley): no he does not. Does he want to have a potentially soul searching conversation with his acquisitive granddaughter (Dreama Walker): once again, no. Does he want to do anything that doesn't fit his perfectly prescribed and particular way of doing things: shit no. There's a routine, he knows it well, he follows it, that's it, end of story.

Until he catches pesky Thao Vang Lor (Bee Vang) trying to steal his prized Gran Torino from his garage one night. At first, his response is predictable: stay the hell off my lawn I should have shot you yap yip. But his wife has died and he has nothing to do so he begins to take an interest in his shy sensitive neighbour, especially after a local gang tries to unconditionally recruit him. Walt sticks up for young Thao but the gangland politics prove to be pernicious, leaving him stuck between his rock and their hard place, searching for a strict solution to a grizzly state of affairs. Basically, he's lived his whole life quietly suffering from his war wounds and now has a chance to vindicate himself for his crimes. So he digs in his heels and responds with his gut, eventually providing a shattered family with a sincere degree of holistic satisfaction.

It's Clint Eastwood at his best, delivering another strong performance in a downtrodden caustic tragedy stripped straight from the hood. Can one curmudgeony man's dying attempt to befriend a neighbour make up for a lifetime of familial and communal neglect? Why yes, yes it can, and Gran Torino illustrates how seriously affective one man's commitment to solidarity can be, this is a bar padre, you'll have a drink, she likes you, go with it, yeah.

Revolutionary Road

Sam Mendes's Revolutionary Road spikes a solid conjugal punch with a healthy dose of conflicting viewpoints regarding the process of prioritization. What comes first, your heart or your responsibilities?, your dreams or your obligations? Frank (Leonardo DiCaprio) and April (Kate Winslet) Wheeler's marriage convolutes the aforementioned polarities leaving them stark yet twisted, barren yet novel. The Wheelers meet fall in love at a party then find themselves married. Frank has a hard time clueing in and April doesn't take to being a housewife. They come up with an ingenious plan to break from the suburbs and escape to Paris much to the confusion of the neighbouring Campbells (Kathyrn Hahn and David Harbour) and the delight of local lunatic John Givings (Michael Shannon). But promotion, pregnancy, and adultery complicate their departure, leaving room for many a heart breaking fight and several despotic discussions.

It's a good look at the darker side of marriage, commitment, fidelity, routine. I mean, neither of them even speak French (although no one mentions this [a sly take on how to socially deal with spur of the moment surprise situations]). Frank's a dick and to caught up in the ways of the world to seriously listen to his beautiful wife, thereby breaking her romantic heart and rupturing his own. And only Mr. Givings shares in their dreams, eventually unleashing a monstrous onslaught of vituperative contempt after discovering there may be a change of plan.

Strong emotional impact, neither kitschy nor melodramatic, heartfelt, conditioned, real; a solid American movie. There should be some serious debate regarding whether or not this is a feminist or a masculinist film, meaning that's its packed with critical controversy. Love, loyalty, leisure, loss, I don't know anything about being married but understand that it lasts for a long time and some people have trouble adjusting to the status quo, no matter what the price tag. Could save your marriage or break it apart if you happened to love movies as much as I do and were married to me. Reason number 723 . . .

Breathless (À bout de souffle)

Jean-Luc Godard's Breathless begins with car thief Michel Poiccard (Jean-Paul Belmondo) declaring that he is no good, which he most certainly is. And it's fun to watch him go about the days events after he rashly commits an act of murder. It's only a film and Poiccard is nothing more than he says that he is.

With no attachments, no responsibilities, no knowledge of cause or effect, Poiccard dipsy-doodles throughout Paris and hooks up with aspiring young writer Patricia Franchini (Jean Seberg). They enjoy each other's company and their innocent sprightly spur of the moment mischievous and for the most part mendacious dialogue consummately untethers a convivial non-committal conversation (between friends of would be lovers). His father was a genius on the clarinet, you can always tell someone's afraid if they fail to light their cigarette, do you prefer my eyes, my lips, or my shoulders?, we're like elephants hiding (not exact quotes). During their dialogue it's tough to imagine Poiccard as a murderer and the ways in which Godard desensationalizes both the act and the criminal accrues myriad deconstructionist dividends. It's obvious Poiccard's time's running out and it's obvious he's oblivious to everything that didn't happen three hours ago. It's not that he can't feel remorse, it's that he can't feel anything that isn't capriciously linked to his existentially disaffected manner. Hence, he's intriguing, for a bit of light-hearted distraction, while the authorities close in, just lean, mean, and on the screen. Faulkner and Dylan Thomas are mentioned. Can't tell if she's a Femme Fatale (it's ironic). And there's an interview with an author who provides perspicacious insights into open-ended culturally popular questions.

Drunken Angel (Yoidore Tenshi)

Akira Kurosawa's Drunken Angel examines the life and times of a frank doctor whose passionate commitment to rationality leads to a puzzling confrontation with a neighbourhood syndicate. Alcoholic Dr. Sanada (Takashi Shimura) tells it like it is and doesn't hold back his professional opinion when confronted with the violent and feudal aggression of criminal thugs. His practice is located by a swampy chemical bath that his unchecked drinking has forced him to reside beside. Enter Matsunaga (Toshirô Mifune), territorial chief and reluctant sufferer of tuberculosis. His underground lifestyle has trouble adjusting to Sanada's problematic prescriptions notably due to rival chief Okada's (Reisaburo Yamamoto) reappearance on his hard fought for turf. Okada's prominence soon seeks Matsunaga's love interest as well, and as he's overtly pushed out of the gang, tempers flair and tensions despair.

Dr. Sanada forms an awkward friendship with Matsunaga for he recognizes within the young hood a semblance of his own brazen youth and wants to help him transcend his life of crime. Sanada also boldly defends the rights of women when Okada comes seeking the attention of Nurse Miyo (Chieko Nakakita) (his former partner). But as Sanada fades from the narrative the film's temperamentally upbeat focus dissipates as well and Matsunaga is left alone to confront the heartless confines of his changing world. Princes among paupers, heroes amidst happenstance, in Drunken Angel Kurosawa deftly displays one man's brave attempts to save a lost soul, all the while offering progressive social commentary that highlights how he's saved his own.