Reviews

This film is about as cheap a play on emotions as you can get. A lot of people found this film offensive because it was graphic and brutal, I found it offensive because it treated me like an idiot.

It's like, OK, I want to make a film that people will walk out and say "Wow, that really affected me, what an intense and touching film!" So, I'll get four characters, and I'll just screw 'em up real bad. That's all it's gonna be, I'm just gonna try and think of the worst way I can possibly screw each of them up, and then I'll screw 'em up - and people will come out bawling, thinking that, "well, I'm bawling, so it MUST have been a good film!"

Without being too harsh, the film did have a few (but only a few) good things about it, mainly visual things. However, the predominant feature of Requiem for a Dream is it forcefully trying to squeeze emotion out of you. I'm sorry, but there's more to a good film than just something which crudely forces you to feel shaken and sick in the stomach. A good kick below the belt will achieve a similar effect, and any idiot can do that. Sure, make a film that will make us feel shaken and hurt, but do it creatively! Don't just go for the easiest, bluntest, most transparent and hollow option! 'Cause the only emotion I felt when the credits came up in Requiem for a Dream was a slight anger for paying to see it and then laughter when I saw tears in the eyes of the person next to me. Because since the 'emotion-squeezing' didn't work on me, I was pretty bored throughout the film as there was little else to it.

4/10. See PI instead.

As possibly the world's most influential film-maker, Spielberg has a responsibility. And that responsibility entails NOT using his cheesy, shallow sensibilities to turn one of the most profoundly horrible parts of human history into a soap opera-style piece of fluff. This film is more than just a bad film, it is a downright dangerously bad film that will be watched by millions of impressionable people who might have had few other sources to base their knowledge of the Holocaust on. Most of us agree that the worst thing to do about something like the Holocaust is to forget it, lest it happen again. The next worst thing is to trivialise it to the point where it resembles so many other Hollywood pieces of trash.

What possesses a man who has become rich and powerful in the film industry solely through the making of shallow, transparent films for children to think that he is talented and wise enough to present to the masses a subject which should only be touched by the most careful and socially responsible hands? A Mid-life crisis, and an over-inflated ego, most likely, not that it matters though.

Only someone with many years of study may be a doctor; only an experienced engineer may build a bridge, and even the guy who fixes your toilet must be a qualified plumber. Yet this fool, whose only previous qualifications have been cheap, shallow, movies made strictly for entertainment, thinks he is in a rightful position to educate our children. Because, unfortunately, many people have a frighteningly limited amount of knowledge about the second world war, and Schindler's List will be for many of them their main source of information. Showing it to them in as cheesy and hollow a fashion as almost only Spielberg can, is simply a crime.

The first, and biggest, mistake to make while watching Mulholland Drive is undoubtedly the one that most viewers will make: To try and understand it. We've been force-fed linear, narrative, films with simple cause-and-effect plots so much that we find it almost inconceivable that a film could be made any other way. So when we see one that isn't, we think that the film-maker is confused, pretentious, or slack.

Most films are made predominantly for the intellect (this doesn't mean, of course, that most films are intelligent): to appreciate these films you have to use your mind. We are so used to mentally understanding films that many of us forget that there are other ways to understand things. For example, through intuition. Mulholland drive is a film that should be received with intuition. Treat it something like you would a dream.

Imagine that you've just had a strange, wondrous (or scary) dream that was full of bizarre things. There were some people in it that you know, but they weren't quite the same as they are in real life. Perhaps they were the same, but they looked like someone else. Other things in the dream were just plain unexplainable. One second you're in one place, then, without any reason, the next you're somewhere else. I won't go on, I'm sure you can remember many weird dreams you've had that were somewhat similar to this, and that left a deep impression on you. Well, when you wake up from one of these dreams, you don't say "My God, what a stupid dream that was! It didn't make any bloody sense! Man, am I an idiot for having these dumb unrealistic dreams - why can't my dreams by like my everyday life, and not weird, illogical rubbish like that!!" I doubt many people say that after a truly strange and affecting, dream. I'm assuming that most people have a similar reaction to mine: they contemplate it in silence for a while, because it affected them. They can still FEEL the imprint of the dream in them. They can still remember, or even still feel, the various emotions that they were feeling. They go over it in their head and try and better comprehend it - but it belongs more in a sort of a netherworld than in the reality they are in when they wake up, so they'll never understand it fully. But they appreciate it nevertheless, glad that they had such a strange, interesting, and wondrous experience to start the day off with (if it was an unpleasant dream, then they're probably less glad, but not necessarily). And try explaining such a dream to someone else! You know it was such a fantastic dream, because you lived it, but anyone else just nods politely and says, "yeah, well that does sound weird". Because what you experienced wasn't just a bunch of ideas that you can simply put into words and tell someone else, it was more - you also experienced it through your emotions and your intuition.

Mulholland Drive, as Lost Highway was, is in many ways similar to a dream. The viewer who walks away saying that it was confused, pointless gibberish is the fool who has entirely missed the point - the fool who would wake up from a dream and complain that it was illogical.

Similarly, the viewer who ponders it endlessly desperately trying to figure out exactly what every part of the film meant, trying to neatly package everything in a rational, ordered manner, is like the child trying to force the square-shaped block into the star-shaped hole.

So, when you see this film, don't limit your experience by trying to understand it intellectually. Remember that there's more than one way to experience a film, and that some should be felt more than understood. By all means, think about the film and discuss it afterwards with friends, but don't listen to anyone that thinks they've got it all worked out, because they haven't (David Lynch himself says that he doesn't understand all of the mysteries in it – so how could anyone else?) . And if they spent so much time mentally battling with the film, trying to cognitively understand it, then they probably spent much less time feeling it and letting it simply overwhelm them. And their experience will be all the poorer for it. So don't you make that mistake, because you'll be passing up the opportunity of a pretty great, unique film experience. ;)

I never thought that I'd be the sort of person to come out of a film raving about the use of light. But, to my surprise, after seeing Barry Lyndon, I am. As in most Kubrick films, the use of light is unbelievable. Almost every scene is so expertly and beautifully lit. Lighting is something you can usually ignore in a film, but after only a little examination of it in Barry Lyndon, you realise what a profound influence on the film it can have.

Kubrick wanted this film to be as faithful to the era as possible, so he ordered that all of the costumes be meticulously designed in complete accordance with not only the techniques of the period, but the fabrics. As a result, they no longer look like costumes, but like clothes - it's a big difference.

Also to make the film seem realistic, Kubrick used only natural/candle light. It makes sense if you think about it. There was no electric light at the time, yet in all other period films, that's how everything is lit up (as opposed to how it actually looked). The difference is phenomenal (just think how different the light is in a lit room compared to outside in the daylight). As a result, the actors aren't mercislessly covered in light, but bask in it.

In one scene, set in a large hall, the set is lit up exclusively by candles - from chandeliers, from along the walls, from on the tables). In such indoor scenes, you've probably never seen actors' faces lit by anything other than overhead electric lights. Here, they are lit from the side with a much softer, orange light, and the effect is surprisingly refreshing. Due to the lack of intense brightness that candles produce in such a large room, Kubrick had to specially modify his camera. He took a camera that had not been manufactured anymore for years, broke it apart, and got NASA (!!!) to modify it for him. The result was a camera that had an f-stop (I think it was f-stop) that was higher than any cameras being used even today! And this was all just for one few-minute-long scene! And this insane perfectionism had serious results! The use of music in this film is about as breathtaking as I've ever seen/heard in any film - And I'm not usually a big fan of classical music! One scene (a crescendo-ing sequence of scenes actually) is, because of the way it is fit with music, one of the most profound and beautiful scenes I've ever seen. Fans of Martin Scorsese might be interested to see Barry Lyndon, because - if I'm not mistaken - this is Scorsese's favourite film.

Inevitably, this film begs comparison to the three other recent Polish historical "super-productions", Ogniem i Mieczem, Pan Tadeusz, and Przedwiosnie. Quo Vadis isn't made with quite the elegance and visual grace of Pan Tadeusz, nor is it quite as dynamic and classy as Przedwiosnie, although it is elegant, visually graceful, and dynamic. It shares similarities, unfortunately, with Ogniem i Mieczem as well: at times it reverts to Hollywood-style kitsch, such as with close-ups that take themselves too seriously, and tacky, forced, over-dramatic music. However, these elements are both less frequent and less pronounced than in Ogniem i Mieczem; and - if you allow yourself to ignore them - are overpowered by many positive elements.

Boguslaw Linda is great as Petroniusz. This is, I think, one of his best roles for years, and he produces the grace and dignity of a Roman gentleman very well. Michal Bajor's characterisation of the naive, vain Nero, at once contemptible and likeable, was for me one of the nice surprises of the film.

The scene where lions tear Christians apart in the circus is shocking and heart-wrenching, and looks almost as realistic as I could imagine is possible. The famous scene where Ursus battles the bull in the circus is, if not as spectacular as the lions, similarly effective.

Not a masterpiece, but a very good film. 8/10

Much of the action of "Man in the Crowds" ("L'homme des foules")(in the form of narrated flashbacks) takes places in an unnamed Eastern Bloc country. These scenes are filmed in Poland, and most of the actors are Polish, but in the film they all speak Russian. Most likely, the reason for this is that, while for some reason or other it was easier to get Poles rather than Russians to play in the film, the film-makers wanted the Russian language in the film, because it more strongly evokes stereotypical cliches of the trashy cold-war movie variety. It would seem that the filmmakers feel that that the absurdity of shooting Poles in Poland speaking in Russian doesn't much matter, since it seems that they would have you believe that the largest and most diverse ethnic, cultural, linguistic, and geographic group in Europe - the "Eastern Europeans" - are all the same anyway.

This film, apparently written by France's most prominent screenwriter, uses its "Eastern European" characters in much the same way that many Hollywood films used them during the Cold War, or the way it used Yugoslav characters later: to - in a shallow and uneducated way - create the concept of a foreign, suspect, off-putting alternative to the morally secure West - as a vehicle for a black&white portrayal of right and wrong; goodies and baddies. When Hollywood films do this, it's bad enough, but when it's done by a film which considers itself an "art film", that's even worse.

If, for example, in Poland or Russia a film was made which was set in France, and in which the actors were French, but spoke in German, or in Italian - this purposeful linguistic and cultural mismatch being considered unimportant by the filmmakers because the film was about 'universally Western and capitalistic issues' - the film would be laughed off the screens for the sheer idiocy of its premise.

Eastern Europe is a concept which can only legitimately exist in a geographic sense. The countries within "Eastern Europe" are as - or more - diverse culturally, linguisitcally, religously, and ethnically as those within "Western Europe", and can no longer said to be similar economically or politically. So it is unfortunate to see such a film made in 2000 (which in educated hands could definitely have been worthwhile) treat the subject matter of Communist Europe in such a naive, sub-consciously racist, and pseudo-intellectual manner. I can only hope that my hunch that this film will be praised as a "bold work surveying the often dim and uncharted history of the Eastern Bloc, as it awakens towards democracy' is wrong.

The medium of film is such that it can outdo almost all other forms of art, because it can include them all, and mix them to boot. Anything photography can do film can do, but if it wishes, it can expand on it. It can include music, but if it wishes, it can add visuals to enrich the musical experience. It can do anything that theatre does, but without the physical restrictions that theatre has. And so on... One of the few areas where another artform is superior to film is literature (including poetry, off course). Literature can (because it DESCRIBES rather than merely SHOWS) describe the inner workings of the human mind at a depth that film can not reach. It is a current fashion in "Art Films", especially European ones, to have many long, lingering shots on characters' faces while they undergo strong emotional experiences. That's fine, but you're still just looking at an actor's face. You can try and guess on what's inside, but that's not the same as been described, in detail, on what exactly is going on inside, and why it is that the character has such or other facial expressions. So many of the best literature is literature which does just this: describes exactly what is happening in the mind and in the soul. That is, after all, one of the major accomplishments of the artist: to convey what is happening in her (or her character's) mind and soul. In other words, film is good medium for most things, but it simply is not a good medium of storytelling - literature is much better suited to storytelling. For some reason, many decades ago, someone decided that people should use the medium of film to tell stories, and that's what 99% of filmmakers have done ever since - and have left the many other possibilities of film to rot away into inexistence. However, there are a number of films which have tried to tell a story, yet overcome this inherent shortcoming of film as a storytelling medium (the films of Tarkovsky, Denis, Lynch, and Fellini's "8 1/2" spring to mind). Yet none that I have seen have succeeded as much as "Pink Floyd The Wall". No film that I have ever seen takes you for such a deep, relentess ride within the character's psyche as "Pink Floyd The Wall". Proving that dialogue is all but unneccessary, this film takes you deeper into the character's mind than perhaps you wanted to go - because it makes you so clearly understand and feel what he's going through. While watching the film, you are put almost literally in his shoes - in his mind - whether you like it or not. This is why, whether you enjoy the film or not, this film has got to be one of the greatest artistic achievements of film - you are within the character's world, as ugly and offputting as the experience might be.

And yes, the animated sequences are the best I have ever seen (perhaps not technically, but creatively speaking). (the flower sequence is phenomenal)

P.S. I am a film-maker myself, and am very interested in discussing the artistic nature and goals (and what they should be and what they should not bother being) of films. I'm open to all opinions on the matter, the more critical the better (email address provided above).

;)

In one part of this artistically and technically inspired animated short film, the eye travels leftwards: past buildings, beautifully changing shape, colour, and texture, past rows of seemingly abstract shapes, which turn into what appear to be rows of trees, and then - before your very eyes, yet without you noticing it - into rows of marching soldiers. Like most great films, I know I will have to see this at least four more times before I have a satisfactory appreciation of it. One of the richest, most engaging, and technically impressive films I have ever seen.

This film movement, while in no way the most important film movement artistically, considerably helped morally support and unite the Poles into a decade long, almost nation-wide rebellion against the Communist party which bloomed into the freeing of the Polish state from Soviet rule. This was a catalyst for the break-up of Communism in Central and Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union, the end of the cold war, and a new stability in Europe, and indeed the world. Only taking this into account can one watch "Czlowiek z Zelaza" and truly appreciate how powerful this film is.

The medium of film is blessed with the fact that with it, it is possible to exploit the merits of almost every artform. Film can make use of still imagery, like painting and photography, and three-dimensional (albeit in a virtual sense) imagery, like sculpture. It is music with visuals - theatre without physical restrictions. Hence, the possibilities of film are more numerous than any one other artform. However, the medium's potential remains largely unexplored, as very few film-makers venture far past conventional dialogue-based storytelling. As a means of story-telling, film is inferior to literature. The book, after all, is almost always better than the film. Dialogue-based storytelling is simply not the medium's forté. Claire Denis, with Beau Travail, has reminded us of this by making a beautiful , and powerful, film which is told largely through imagery. The subject of Beau Travail is very masculine: Men in the foreign legion - and in particular, one man's bitter obsession with another when he feels his 'alpha male' status threatened. The manner in which the film is made, however, is very feminine. Instead of a logical, cause-and-effect structure, the film has an ethereal fluidity. It is less made up of scenes, than it is of dozens of segments - most of them devoid of a narrative - which flow in and out past each other, sometimes reappearing later on, sometimes not. In one such segment, the tense relationship between Galoup and Sentain is shown as the two, eyes fixed, circle each other as if in some sort of surreal, hate-driven ritual. This moment, while being far removed from real human behaviour is, through its striking symbolism, as telling of the characters' inner experiences as any dialogue between them could be. Denis focuses on the details of the mens' lives in long, fascinated shots, observing almost every element of their lives - how they exercise, rest, fight, dance, swim, iron, eat, and hate. She sees the beauty of both the men and the world they inhabit, and shows this beauty as an integral (if not THE integral) part of the film. These many studied observations are small elements that, together, make up a remarkably rich whole. They form a film which has a depth and subtlety of perception which most male directors could not, in my opinion, achieve.

Written by Dawid Bleja