Reviews

Despite being set against the paralyzing beauty of the Icelandic

coast, "The Sea" is nothing more than standard family reunion

drama. We've all seen this movie before whether in high form

"Celebration" or the more banal "Home for the Holidays." Although

"The Sea" shoots for the high form, it fails to surpass the banal. In

Baltasar Kormakur's sophomore feature (he also directed the

critically acclaimed 101 Reykjavik), he explores the explosive

relationship between parents and children. The plot revolves

around an aging owner of a small-town fishing business, more

specifically, his narrow vision of the future and the forces of

progress and time that stand in his way. While Kormakur's

themes are explicit and the tension apparent, the transitions

between moods and the dramatic arc are confused and sloppy.



The film begins by introducing us to the perils facing the mom and

pop store equivalent of the fishing industry: technologically inferior,

inefficient and out-performed by the corporate competition. In the

face of outstanding loses and potential bankruptcy, the stubborn

aging owner who built the enterprise and consequently the town

that has grown from its existence refuses to sell out. Instead, the

weak man calls upon his children in hopes that they will be

inspired by a duty to family and home, resurrect the dying industry

and restore the business to the father's imagined version of its

glory days. The children, who have long abandoned any sentimental connection with home land, have different ideas. The

reunion and father's request only reminds them of the years of

suffering and mistreatment they endured while under his roof and

the repressed anger they harbored after all of these years.



The film undergoes a major transition as it shifts between the first

and second acts. The first is designed as some light introduction

to the backward ways of the Icelandic rural society and the

incompatibility between the coca-cola city kids and the coarse

nature of the unruly outback. However, as the film shifts from perils

of the practice to perils of the past, and as the comic relief is

substituted with explosions of anger, the emotional outbursts and

the venomous shouting matches seem ill-explained. The cause

lacks the force to bring about the ensuing eruptions, which in the

end seem almost farcical on account of their extreme nature.

Nevertheless in light of several outstanding shortcomings,

Baltasar does shoot some very beautiful scenes and framed a set

on par with poetry. Unfortunately, there was no bite to the

provocative premise.

For more foreign film news, reviews and interviews check out

www.au-cinema.com

I've been had. Once again, the trailers worked their tricks. I was

introduced to "The Eye" half a year ago. The trailer introduced me

to a film that was one part horror and one part art film. I was led to

believe that the Pang brothers put together an amazingly

suspenseful picture loaded with quasi-mysticism, shock-surprise

and philosophical inquiries regarding the nature of sight,

perception and thought. "The Eye," however, was none of these

things. I can definitively conclude that after the pre-title sequence

introduction that reinforced the notion that this might be the

horror/suspense film version of "Persona," there was nothing

worth seeing. This was a totally uninteresting film. It shoots no

further than standard fare horror/suspense film fails at this

endeavor in every way. Neither art picture or suspense thriller, "The

Eye" was a complete let down. The trailer was the movie's best

editing sequence. The rest of the film lacked an appropriate

editing rhythm. The film lacked a heinous element. Without any

imminent threat, the long takes shot in hopes of extending the

audience's sense of suspense feel unnatural. Don't waste your

money watching this drivel. It lacks any redeeming aspect. The

horror is poorly executed. They mysticism is hackneyed. The

redeeming plot device/metaphor is nothing more than schmaltzy

sentimentality. I do not understand how any buzz generated from

this film or why anyone who actually saw the movie would be

interested in purchasing the rights to the picture. Perhaps it's one

of those cases where everything was lost in translation.

For foreign film reviews, interviews and news check out www.au-cinema.com

This could have been a real disaster, and even though the movie triggered a couple of cringes, it wasn't the expected trainwreck. "Derrida" was not too much of a waste. Thinking is a very difficult subject for a documentary. When filmmakers decide they want to present a great thinker, they are presented with a difficult decision: should they make a straightforward documentary concerned only with transmitting knowledge, or should they use the form to reflect the content of the thinker's work? Is accessiblity the goal of a documentary? And how much can we dilute for accessiblity's sake? I think this is one of the few cases where striking a balance between a dichotomy doesn't work. In "Derrida" the directors were trying to experiment with form and create a new audience for Derrida's work. They wanted to document Derrida's thinking. They wanted to archive the man's presense and present Derrida to a new audience. However, they felt that using the standard documentary/biography format would make Derrida's work superficially accessible. They didn't want to commit such an insult. Yet, they were not willing to alienate the audience. Thus, "Derrida" only registers as a lukewarm essay. The directors took an approach that is sold on today's market as "Self-reflexivity, the dummy's guide to artsy." "Derrida" is a series of vignettes where Derrida explains his relationship to the camera and the process by which his presence is recorded. It is a total exercise in metadiscourse, and unfortunately, this theme provides plenty of stupid irritating gimmicks with which "Derrida" proves not your standard documentary but your undergraduate film school festival The rewarding aspects of this film are not the formal experiments or anything relating to the fact that Derrida is presented as a moving image, but rather watching Derrida speak about the camera, the archive or the image. There are some excellent shots of Derrida at work. We witness his careful footwork in the field of discourse, and the director chooses the very potent passages to outline Derrida's duties as performer for no one and the role of the filmmaker in using Derrida's words to present her story. However, the director tells no story. The film offers very little beyond problematizing the roles of the actors in this production of "Derrida." And, I think what was presented would be best preserved in an essay than the series of vignettes called "Derrida."

Winged Migration is an excellent motion picture. The film offers us

an opportunity to soar with our feathered friends. Jacques Perrin

spent four years following birds in flight and his efforts to capture

their grace, beauty and near-holiness have reaped generous

returns. "Winged Migration" is a stunning documentary about birds

in movement. The film works like a dance performance. Perrin

presents a series of migrating birds and arranges the movements

to create a visual symphony. This is not a perfect documentary.

Unfortunately, as a composer, Perrin does suffer some shortcomings. At times the film is too much music. The musical

cornerstones - pattern and repetition - function as a lackluster trait

in this visual form. The effect of the repetition is sometimes more

soporific than mesmerizing. However, I've read some complaints

regarding the film as uninformative. Some critics accuse the film

for failing as a documentary because it is not informative in the

way we expect from a standard fare Discovery Channel documentary. The accusation is true. This isn't your typical nature

documentary. The goal of the film is not information transmission.

Perrin does string the film with an unnecessary romantic framing

device, and he occasionally provides text. He identifies the birds

pictured and the distance of their migration patterns. But these

"informative" features are not the film's essence. This is not a film

after factual representation, statistical documentation or special

categorization. The attraction is the movement of these birds, and

this feature alone is more than sufficient. It is overwhelming.

"Winged Migration" is a rare film. It is the kind of film that inspires

an earnest compassion for the animal world. It has the power of

those rare subliminal encounters with "Art," it's a face off with

death that strikes us with our forgotten being within the natural

world. Get in touch with God's designs by watching "Winged

Migration."

For more foreign film news, reviews and interviews check out

www.au-cinema.com

While "The Legend of Suriyothai" offers spledid cinematic delights, the story fails to inspire. This is a film where the action is more effectively communicated by the editing and soundtrack than the narrative arc or the actors' performances. The method of storytelling and the characters fail to breathe life into the editing and visual cues. The signs are empty. Instead of a complete escape, the flaws force the audience to ask if pretty signs will suffice."The Legend of Suriyothai" brings to the screen a visual opulence more characteristic of the golden years of MGM grand when the camera was merely a device used to record Roman or Egyptian themed parades. "Suriyothai" flaunts this comparison.

The press materials provide an index that details the number of years researched, money spent, elephants used, extras trained, and other outstanding statistical data. These figures are impressively presented in the film. The sheer organizational feat required by this production is bewildering. The caveat comparing directors and army generals is reinforced in these types of movies - where success on a day's shot is only determined by the precision with which the flanks of extras are employed and the accuracy with which they complete their assigned tasks. But is this enough? Is merely the presentation of this grand scale simulation enough to satisfy that need which keeps us returning to the theaters? "Suriyothai" effectively presents this other world, but it doesn't introduce us to any intriguing tour guides. The film fails at presenting the drama on a human scale. We get a sense of the battles and the rivals and the warring cultures, but we don't get a sense of where people fit into the scheme. We watch actors playing pawns to some greater narrative. But perhaps this is the point of the film. "Suriyothai" focuses on the sweep of history and not the actions of individuals. An individual's will is not the center piece of the film. Instead, the film highlights the individual as subject to the epic flow of history.

With the sardonic tone of a political cartoon, Luis Estrada skillfully

presents government the way you know it works: standing on

scandal, bribes, brutality and general treachery. Herod's Law is set

at ground zero of political corruption, Mexico's revolutionary party,

PRI. Herod's Law is an excellent balance of farce and bite. Luis

Estrada frames excellent performances from his cast. Damian

Alcazar provides a superb performance as the hapless, dutiful

member of the PRI thrown into a leadership position and is slowly

infected with power and all the neurosis and paranoia symptomatic of a whetted appetite. The story is excellent, the

narrative arc is well-crafted, and performances outstanding. It is

true, however, that the film fails to introduce anything novel.

However these are all considered trademarks in the political

cartoon business. The film deals solely with established

archetypes, it doesn't introduce new concepts or engage with any

unfamiliar issue. It does little beyond reinforcing stereotypes and

confirming preconceived notions. However, the art of the political

cartoon is the playfulness with which the cartoonist employs these

arch characters. Herod's strength is the playfully exaggerated

treatment of the subject. The posture is almost vaudevillesque in

its rhythm. The tone perfectly describes the whirlwind madness

that envelopes a man as he descends from idealist to practicing

politician.

For more foreign film news, reviews and interviews check out

www.au-cinema.com

If you fail to snicker when you imagine a film named "Whale Rider," then you will probably enjoy this film. Otherwise, don't bother. "Whale Rider" is a sentimental film about a girl who tries to reconcile her fate as a warrior with her assigned role in a partriarchal society. A Mauri tribe faced with the pressures of the modern world is in need of a strong leader to reorganize the village and inspire a new generation to turn to their heritage for strength. The Mauri tribe leader projects that his son's pregnant wife will give birth to the badly needed savior. However, in the process of birthing twins both the boy and the mother die leaving a grief-stricken father and a baby. The father, frustrated from continuously disappointing his own father decides to abandon his baby girl and his heritage for Europe. He places his little girl in the care of her grandfather. The film focuses on the tension that develops between the grandfather, the leader of this particular Mauri village, and the precocious, spunky little girl, who, to her grandfather, is not only a disappointment, but also a bad omen and a constant reminder of the tribe's immanent doom. The film does an excellent job framing this abusive relationship, and some director, Niki Caro, stages some fine performances in a series of powerful scenes. However she proves less effective when trying to evoke the more mystical elements that function. The film relies on the "Chosen One" plot line to resolve the conflict. This is where the film goes wrong. These supernatural elements, and especially the climax, are portrayed in such a hammy, clumsy fashion that the only way for the film to be even more sappy is if they ended the film on a positive note, which, unsurprisingly, they do. The magic of the film fell flat and failed to blend with the realism. It actually felt like a sloppy, wet kiss. A lot can be made of the fact that this film nearly swept the people's choice and audience awards on the festival circuit. The film reinforces the empty value of this honor. It only further establishes why we shouldn't really expect much from people. They only want to see a sweet little fairy tale. Maybe use a female lead to provide a familiar twist on the classic. Maybe make it a little cultural for some spice, mix it all together and presto. You have a perfectly mediocre movie desperate in its attempt to circle. I mean, tear-jerk the crowd. While watching the film I was constantly wondering what would happen if instead of Niki Caro we had a Pixar animation studio adapting the book.

The first half hour of "City of God" shocks us because of the subject matter and the style in which the director tells his story and puts it on-screen.

First of all, the subject matter is very compelling. The film takes place entirely in one of these modern "ready made" suburbs that the Brazilian government built in the sixties to house poor and/or homeless people. As we can easily imagine, it was mostly a political tentative on the side of the government, rather than a genuine gesture to provide aid.

The film follows a bunch of kids who are growing up in this environment, trying to survive. With that, they have to choose between either the traditional life of a poor worker, or that of a smuggler and thief. Street gangs control the neighborhoods, and the kids become involved very early on. The film takes us into this hurricane of violence, following mainly two of these kids, one who's shy and wants to become a photographer, and the other who's violent and wants to become King of the streets. This first part sweeps us along in an admirable way, as we're invited inside their family lives, and their struggles for survival, education, etc. We see how impossible it is, unless one is tremendously lucky, to arrive at a normal life in this kind of situation. The style is more than compelling on two levels: the storytelling which uses the narrative voice of our kid photographer, who endears us with stories of those most important who participated to his coming of age journey.

Even if today a non-linear approach is more than fashionable, it works here, and the director has been able to master it to a degree of perfection. More importantly, his visual style starts were "Amores Perros" left off, and it is as much in your face, raw and cinematically violent as its predecessor. It even goes one major step further: Meirelles has some distance with his subject, in the same way that the main character has with his own story (which is a brilliant transposition) and is more able than Iniarritu, to use cinematic violence constructively in order to bring us inside the true violence of the streets. For example, the opening scene (which is the end of the film) plunges us inside street violence... but the violence is of a chicken being chased, only to be caught and cut to pieces in an alley. That's why this movie is a shocker. Very rarely directors are able to combine a great story, great storytelling and a wonderful new visual style, all perfectly coherent. Is it a masterpiece? Almost. The movie is 130 minutes long, and for 130 minutes our extremely talented director will make sure that we hang on tight to the edge of our seat with his storytelling and our appreciation of his style and mastering of the cinematic medium. Unfortunately, there is a moment when we have to ask ourselves how many kids can we watch kill each other, and how many new "special effects" does the director still have in his bag of tricks? It is clearly very hard to maintain such a level of intensity at both levels for more than two hours, and our director is trying a bit too hard. If the movie were 20 minutes shorter I would dare to call it a masterpiece. Nevertheless, it will definitely become one of this year's major sensations, and will probably be studied by cinema students for decades to come.

It is definitely a film to watch and watch again in order to learn how far we can go with a pen camera. It is definitely a director to remember. He will, without a doubt, become one of the most important directors of the next decade.

This is not the story of Molly Craig, nor of her little sister and cousin who miraculously escaped the Australian government camp, but rather the story of the Stolen Generations. Those "half-castes", as they were referred by, were mixed Australian white and Aboriginal. Masses of children upon children were ripped from their mothers' arms and taken away by the Australian government and put into these camps from the late 1800s up until the 1970s.

Noyce succeeds in his direction of story and character assimilation to enthrall the audience enough to leave the cinema, go to bed, and still have the images running drumming on the conscience. The story itself is based on an autobiographical book about the quest of Molly, her sister and cousin, who managed to walk 1,000 miles back home from one end of Australia to another, just by following the Rabbit Proof Fence. The way Noyce has translated the story of this 3-month-long trek is through the developping of characters with every few steps they take. The use of the characters' points of defeat successfully turns a humble storyline into a discovery into the far-reaching situations of survival, which includes crossing the Gibson desert by foot.

The three girls on screen, aged between 6 and 14, are indigenous actors and are incredibly impacting. Their success portraying this real life situation was due to the close relativity of the issue to their personal lives; their mothers' generation were of the last of the Stolen Generations.

The start of the film's story would have been more emotionally captivating if there were personal stories revealed or unique facets of the aboriginal culture unveiled. The kidnapping of the three girls is too premature for the audience to get personal with other than watching a hostile and unfortunate scene. The remaining length of the film does justice though, as the audience walks alongside the three little girls, developing a third-person relationship, feeling concerned about the cuts on their legs from walking, wanting to stop them as they speak to seedy strangers along the way,

and wishing to aid them as an adult, in deciphering their constant recalculation of the direction toward Jigalong, their home.

Kenneth Brannaugh as `Mr. Neville', was incorporated into the film's screenplay, as the character itself was not in the original book the film is based on, which was written by the daughter of one of the Aboriginal girls. Mr. Neville served as a necessary evil into conveying the mind-blowing mindset of Australian racist duality at the time. While kidnapping the `half-caste' children from their mother and turning their lives into misery, the government honestly felt it was their responsibility to `take care' of these half-worthy children who were born innocently of `heathen' Aboriginies.

The cinematography is vast and colorful and absorbs an Australia most have never seen on film. The music composed by Peter Gabriel is another triumph, as the strong cinematic tones blend in melodiously with the entrancing Aboriginal chants. Nicole Ballivian for Au-Cinema.com

"Bloody Sunday" is the now famous story of one of the most violent

episodes in the Northern Ireland conflict. Moreover, it is that which

began the armed struggle. Now that the peace process is engaged, and an

"autonomous" government runs Northern Ireland, including members of all

factions, Paul Greengrass and his producers decided that it was time to

make a film which would once and for all confront the event from both

sides and try to make some sense out of this painful piece of history.

The film does exactly that, and quite well, in a cinéma vérité or

documentary style, a great idea from the filmmaker. He shot the film in

16mm, with no additional lighting, in order to be close to the action,

the people mainly. The filmmaking itself is the best thing about the

film. The style is perfect and works perfectly. We only regret that

being up close to the characters doesn't compensate for us actually

feeling "close to the characters;" to their emotions, their lives,

neither their pains nor sufferings. The filmmaker deliberately chose to

concentrate on the action rather than on the characters. Even the

leading character, Ivan Cooper, the famous civil rights activist for a

non-violent solution, is left for us to decipher. In our absorbing of

these events, we never really know or understand who he is as a human

being. Also, we should always remember that strong leading characters

would help an audience understand the story better than any factual,

political, or historical explanation of any given situation. Take "The

Boxer" for example, by Jim Sheridan, one of the producers of this film.

Therefore, in this sense the only criticism we have in terms of

political is that the British are shown a bit complaisant-like, as if

they had fired upon the crowd by lack of organization. Things were much

more radical than that, but Paul Greengrass is British, and trying very

intelligently to put the matter to rest, rather than open up a new

debate. In any case it's a great tool in helping people understand how

from a peaceful rational conflict, we very often arrive at a conflict

ruled by extreme violence as the only way to instill change. In the end,

when the peaceful solution is defeated, we see young men taking up

weapons and getting ready to fight by other means than marching. It is

now clear that without the violent "civil war" generated by the IRA, the

British government would never have "let go" of Northern Ireland.

Unfortunately, even if we think that's the message, Paul Greengrass

(during a Q and A with the press) doesn't, and considers and consider

that terror is always the same, mixing together the IRA, the ETA in

Spain, the Palestinians in Israel, etc., going further, thus condemning

the IRA for its violence, and affirming that a peaceful solution was

possible. This is a quite naive and simplistic point of view from a

director who made a film which shows something entirely different. In

any event, we are still grateful to Paul for giving us this great matter

to debate

"The Bengali Night" is a very subtle and beautiful film, where Indian culture has the leading role even if Hugh Grant and John Hurt are both excellent. As the film begins, we are introduced to the world of those expatriates living in India, although there are some, like Hugh Grant's character, Allan, who refuse to absorb this very strong and powerful culture. Allan is an engineer who builds bridges and paves roads with his young European mentality. Yet, there are others like Hurt's character, who instead, embrace the culture to the point that they fall into it; become obsessed by it. So, when Allan becomes ill and is invited to stay at the home of his employer, he dives head first, leaving behind his European past, including friends and a girlfriend. It's not too difficult for him to then fall in love with the boss' daughter, Gayatri, who is beautiful, charming, and the perfect "guide" for Allan. However, passion in India between a white man and an Indian woman is not something that is tolerated, and our two lovers are not prepared for the consequences. The film is held together by a wonderful cast, which includes the great Shabana Azmi, one of Indian cinema's greatest stars, along with other actors of Satyajit Ray's team. It was Hugh Grant's first starring role, and his youth and naivety makes his character ever more endearing. Based on a true story between the philosopher Mircea Eliade and Maytrei Davi, who became one of the most important poets of Bengal, the film wraps us up in the flavor and magic of India, and refuses to let go. A beautiful and very powerful film. Phil Ed.

Be warned: It's not a movie! At least not in the way we commonly understand this word: it's not entertaining. And, don't be misled by the title, it's not a love story either. It's a reflection from one of the most important thinkers and intellectuals of our times, on age, memory, history, resistance, society, culture and sense of life. If you are familiar with Godard's always-experimental style, you'll be fine and leave the theater thinking of the questions he raised or more precisely, the questions he formalized for us. Godard is important because he always helps us to formalize concepts that are sometimes difficult to put in words. In his earlier films he has raised questions about love, relationship, adaptation to a changing society, rebellion and resistance. Now Godard is 71 and looks back at life reflecting, as an old man will, on memory and history, as a way to reclaim our lives (as a character says in the film) diluted if not stolen by our modern society. As he says all over the film "there is no resistance without history" and that is a very important statement, no matter which way you want to use it. Godard began resistance a long time ago as one of the founders of the French New Wave, defining a new art form by taking the camera into the streets, and shooting with direct sound as a way to tell the truth. (He used his camera to show life as it was, undiluted) Truth has always been one of his important fights. Not because he is a moralist but because he opposes the ones who try to make us believe that lies are the truth.

In"In Praise of Love" he uses the image of Spielberg and Hollywood, which steals history, diluting it and reclaiming it in a more convenient way. We see an American agent coming to buy the rights to the story of two French resistance fighters to make a movie, the way Spielberg made "Schindler's List". However, the reality is that the old woman actually betrayed her lover during the war then they reconciled and stayed together after words. Of course Hollywood would never show this type of betrayal, the separation or the reconciliation although this is the undiluted truth.

But as Godard says with humor, "North Americans don't have a name", "Mexicans are North American and they are called Mexicans, Canadians are North American and they are called Canadians", but North Americans don't have a name and it's why they have to steal other people's history to make their own. The same way the Nazis stole paintings from Jews during the war that another character in the film is trying to reverse by buying back the paintings. This desire for truth is emphasized by the main character, a director who is working on an uncertain project that may take the form of a film, an opera or a play where the only thing he knows is that it will be on the "four moments of love: the meeting, the physical passion, the separation, then the reconciliation." This same character is helping our director because he wants him to make something in his life "more than money". We now touch on Godard's resistance to the failure of a modern society that pushes people to commit suicide, as two characters in the movie do. We know everything has a price and is sold and bought: history as North Americans have, memory as the two resistance fighters do in order to fix their hotel, sex as a prostitute tries in the film, and of course, art. As an old man looking at his life, Godard wonders how "memory can help us reclaim our lives", in other words: who am I but a product sold and bought, manipulated and lied to? The present is filmed in beautiful black and white 35 mm and the past uses video images shown in even more beautiful saturated colors, similar to the way memory intensifies the past (All the young directors who made video their medium of choice, should take lessons from the old man!).

Godard's video images are a major source of emotions, and as his character says in the film: "emotions should bring events and not events emotions". Can memory then, as well as history, help us resist but even more, learn? Of course we should learn from history and memory, which the contemporary society tries to avoid, and here is the central subject of the film: becoming adult. As Godard explains, when we see a child or an old man in the street, we say here is child or an old man. We never say, here comes an "adult". Like North Americans, adults don't have a name they have stories to define them. But, at the end of their life what remains? Only stories or bits and pieces of a story like the film?

Yes, the film is made of bits and pieces, intercut by a black screen and people talking on top of each other. But isn't this the way life is?

It's an effort to get into the true message of the film. But thanks to Godard, truth doesn't come for less. The movie more than praising love, praises resistance, resistance to this mediocre culture which falsifies the truth and take us down to mediocrity with it. The style is as much an act of resistance than the content.

"In Praise of Love" is a masterpiece of reflection, to help us enter in resistance and look at ourselves. Cinema can't do much more than that.

Movies can't make a difference more than that. Let's hope that Godard will make movies

What a great idea to try to recapture on film, the Manchester music scene during the late 1970s to early 90s. Also called the "Madchester" music scene, it witnessed the birth of punk and the death of acid house. At the top of the music revolution, a philosophical tone presented itself; a sort of "music existentialism" one might say. Inspired by both the Situationist International and the art of Andy Warhol, a bored TV journalist named Tony Wilson, created Factory Records after catching one of the first Sex Pistols concerts. The company's philosophy centered more on partying than actually working. Their mode of operation in the style of total anarchy; no rules, no organization and no real desire to launch new careers or make money. What a great concept and subject for a movie! The talented Winterbottom attempts to fill the shoes of his characters, thus adapting his filmmaking to "Factory Records standards." He shot the film on digital video, his actors equipped with radio mics. Their dialogue is mostly improvisation as they find their way through the scenes, and the credits are so cryptic and psychedelic, they are virtually unreadable. Well, guess what? Manchester is not "Madchester" anymore, the Sex Pistols are gone, and film is not the medium for a musical "improv." Music back then had something to say or to scream rather, about life, the world, or better yet, how to approach both life and music. Winterbottom doesn't appear to have anything at all to say about this subject, not even through his characters. Wilson (the real one) confesses that he has "no talent but to hang out with geniuses," and we feel it throughout the film. His character starts out as a bored journalist, and remains a boring music promoter. Wilson also says he tried to convince the filmmakers to make the film about the real geniuses, the musicians, but that they refused. Big mistake, because all this energy, passion and philosophy of life doesn't come through in the film, making it...well, boring. Even the idea of "people partying for 24 hours" is absent. The music was intellectual and emotional. The film is neit

"Sex and Lucia" had all the ingredients to be a wonderful experience both emotionally as well as intellectually. Intellectually, the film parallels the difficult creation process, and very elegantly mixes in imagination and reality. The central character is a writer, and the film follows his life story while he's writing a novel, based on the events he is currently living. What's more complex and thus more interesting, is that the female character,: Lucia, is telling us the story as if she was writing the book herself or more precisely, unearthing from her memory, the elements of the plot. Visually the movie is stunning. The director worked very hard on his framing and angles. The lighting gives the look of an image "burnt by the sun". All this together creates a unique and powerful style. Also a sensuous experience, as the beginning illustrates Lucia tracking a writer she admires, and declaring to him her unconditional love in a bar. Because love is contagious, the writer, who easily confesses to being lost himself emotionally, also falls for her. A passionate sexual relationship follows, shot with an unblinking eye by the director who doesn't mind (which is unusual) showing full frontal male erections, as part of his eroticism. All these elements are so dense and so successfully played out, that we could have had a masterpiece. Unfortunately, the film views more like a memoir than a novel. The director, or rather the writer, adds an unnecessary second layer to the story, and then tops that with a third, then fourth, etc., to the point of suffocating his audience to the degree his character is lost.