Reviews

Egoyan's movies (excepting perhaps "The Sweet Hereafter") are coolly detached, intellectual essays that relentlessly investigate the same theme: how do postmodernists deal with loss? In "Exotica," Egoyan finally goes past the techno-theoretical trickery that informs "Family Viewing," "Calendar" and "The Adjustor," past all the Baudrillardian commentary to tell a real story of a man's heartbreaking attempts to re-assemble his world after its savage, random devastation. (OK, Egoyan doesn't abandon his lit-crit background completely; the elaborate shots of everyone-watching-everyone and/or voyeuristically getting the goods on everyone or/and generally cruising the mise-en-scene will inspire heated recognitions in graduate schools everywhere; but the actual _story_ pulses on bleakly, brilliantly.) Don't be fooled by its video-marketing as some kind of softcore/action Zalmankingthing: the movie is a profound mystery; it will leave you absolutely demolished.

I went to this movie with no expectations; I've gotten middling reviews from friends, bewildering opinions from professional reviewers, and the positive comparisons to "American Beauty" (which I hated) didn't salt my appetite. But I had 3 hours to kill. I did not expect to become so enraptured with P.T. Andersen's kaleidoscopic narrative, so involved with his characters, so moved by the seemingly off-handed novelistic sophistication belied by the film's naturalism. The film's structure is beguilingly simple, taking an hour each to build, maintain, and denoue: its second hour is a breathtakingly sustained hour of unrelenting narrative suspense. Now, now that I'm not watching the movie, I can pick at its nits; but I must admit that, while watching it, I was absolutely transported.

Chris Marker's elliptical, oblique documentary on the making of Akira Kurosawa's "Ran" is an uneasy blend of hagiography (usual Cahiers du Cinema stuff) and Marker's trademark meditations on the mediating role of technology in memory and the human experience, plus probably aging, and etc., etc., etc. These Gallicisms seem out-of-place; but the philosophies are easily discarded. What makes the film a pleasure are the glimpses we see of Kurosawa's work processes, in addition to all the detail and work that goes into the making of a true epic.

I've only seen this film twice, both on the same day, nearly fifteen years ago; and yet its poetic-philosophical themes, its melancholy, its images still remain with me. Viewing it was an intensely personal experience; I find myself a little startled to find that other people have seen it. I find myself plagiarising it constantly; I think of it at odd times (when I accidentally catch someone's eyes and immediately look away; whenever I visit San Francisco); it is a work of lingering and subtle beauty that percolates through my bloodstream, informing the hours and days, changing the things and ways I see...

I selected this movie from the video shelf because the title seemed consonant with my mood. My girlfriend had just dumped me, my best friend had just broken off with me, and it was raining. The realisation that it was black and white throughout seemed to be perfect. Yet the story, of a struggling actor's frantic attempts to mount a benefit showing of Hamlet to save a church, along with Branagh's comedic editing, begins as a farce, sails along with Coward-like snippets of conversation (along with the use of Coward's song "The Show Must Go On") and develops facilely and elegantly into a moving portrait of the camaraderie of an acting company without one noticing. I didn't realise I wasn't unhappy and in love with all these people until the movie was over and I was beaming quite sunnily (who needs friends and girlfriends anyway when you've got movies?). Julie Sawalha's reading of the line "Let's face it, we're all depressed" may very well have saved my life.

The plot, which you can read elsewhere on this page, seems slim and easily dismissable; one can imagine an ABC afternoon special made on the same themes. The film's grace, however, is achieved entirely by its performances. Lukas Haas, as an American Brooklyn boy initially irritated by his Jewish heritage, is wonderful to watch as his character grows in affection and charm. Michael Gross is surprising in his affable characterisation of Alan's Dad -- not a far stretch from his "Family Ties" role perhaps but charming nevertheless. The film is mawkish in a few instances but on the whole it is incredibly bittersweet and poignant. See this movie.