Movies! Movies! Movies! Pt1

So, somehow I've managed to watch a few more films than usual lately. It seems proper to put them down for posterity, not that I can promise any sort of sense to be parsed from these ramblings.

Due to the influence of the often well-schemed RJ, I found myself attending a few screenings at the recent LA Shorts Fest. I also seem to just be wandering around watching stuff online, staying up too late, and consuming way too much British cinema.

Beyond the cut lay films that include Joanna Hogg, Paul Newman, Baz Luhrman, PT Anderson, and my Sweet Baboo.

Beware: here thar be spastic ramblings.


The LA Shorts Fest was an interesting experience. We only attending two program series. It was overwhelming how many films were playing.

Program 12
Kali the Little Vampire -->
A Little Push
Outside Paradise
Heck
Divorcing the Devil
The Sweatshop
Benny

Program 3
Life Styles of the Rich and Fabulous
Harold's Bad Day 
Leader of the Pack 
Plan B 
Inside the Master Class 
Derek  

I'm pretty sure nobody's interested in my extensive wanking on each film. The two that stood out were Benny and Derek.

Benny was a film of wonderful balance. The threat of familial violence, fear of reprisal, the overlapping resentment and desperate love of siblings. Even though the film style is realistic, I would classify this as an almost impressionist style of story telling, because so much is conveyed with small, subtle touches. I felt like I knew this whole family, understood each movement and decision, each character's motivations and role in the family dynamic. And as with real people, there are no monsters or black and white villains. Just the day to day tragedy of people trying (but not as hard as they could be) and screwing up. This film was intimately familiar, without being a direct reproduction of my own personal experiences. Just amazingly well done.

What can one say about Derek? Fuck you, Ricky Gervais, that's what. Even though I saw your blatant emotional manipulation coming from a mile away, it still got me. And there I was sitting in a theatre, sniffling, having to dab my eyes. I don't cry at movies, you jerk. Goddamn Ricky Gervais.

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I've recently watched two films by British director/writer Joanna Hogg: Unrelated and Archipelago. These are inescapably British films, in the vein of this description (:42 mark):

Hogg's films, at first glance, emody this type of film. They are quiet, with static camera angles and no soundtrack. Silence is allowed to accumulate and ambient background noise fills in the spaces.

Both films focus on middle class/well off family groups on holiday in beautiful places. But Hogg doesn't lavish us with gilded Tuscan landscapes or amber lit alcoves. There is some beauty to be found in these areas, but it's not romaticized or capitalized upon.

Because there are not dramatic reveals  or speechifying (even the "confession" in Unrelated is anticlimactic), the viewer has to take everyone at face value. Where your sympathies lie in these films probably has more to do with the baggage you walk in with than with any manipulations by the writer.

The characters and situations are all familiar, with the complex unspoken histories of families, the desperate bid for relevance and acceptance from outsiders, etc. Even when the motivation for someone's behavior (a sister's overwrought tantrum in Archipelago, for instance) is murky, the complicated dance of action/reaction in the family is recognizable. Sadly.

In an interesting and effective move, Hogg eschews "show don't tell" rule and has major points of action occur off camera. In a particularly effective scene, a fight between a father and son is heard in the background, indoors. Meanwhile, the camera focuses on the group sitting around the pool, much like the viewers, suffering uncomfortably with the knowledge of the drama occurring within earshot.

I like my movies with more polish, I enjoy close ups and two shots, and I definitely enjoy more dialogue. Having said all that, Hogg deserves fair credit for making movies that engaged despite not being the type of fare I normally gravitate towards. These portraits are intimate, without feeling grossly invasive or exploitative. Perhaps by keeping her distance with the camera it allowed for a flatter, but more digestible, affect. Maybe awkward love, confusion, and misery don't need to be in extreme close up.

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Holy crap, I have a headache. Okay, more to come in the next installment.