On Powerful Cinema with Incendies

Written and directed by French Canadian Denis Villeneuve and based on the play by Wajdi Mouawad, Incendies is cinema at its most powerful. This is the story of a brother and a sister living in Canada who are sent, by letters of request left in their mother’s will, to the Middle East to find the father they thought was dead and a brother they did not know they had. This is high concept cinema and in many hands would descend into melodramatic farce, yet Incendies is a beautiful and powerful film. Villeneuve treats the story with the weight it deserves and draws superb performances from his experienced cast. The film does not shy away from the difficult dramatic scenes, nor does it shy away from addressing the complicated religious war in the area or the violence resulting from this. A scene of terrorism on a bus is particularly harrowing. Yet, Villeneuve has contemporary style to match his ability to handle serious issues. The use of on screen text to highlight people and locations is a nice touch and the soundtrack is surprising yet relevant.

From its commanding opening scene (set to Radiohead) to its unforgettable dénouement, Incendies is necessary viewing.

On a Redeeming Feature with Transformers: Dark of the Moon

The infinite monkey theorem states that, given enough time, a monkey typing at random would, as part of its output, produce one of Shakespeare’s play. That could take thousands of years. Before producing a Hamlet or Othello, the monkey would surely knock out several Transformers films.

Transformers: Dark of the Moon is the third of Michael Bay’s alien robot films, following 2007s Transformers and 2009s Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. The former was fun and aware of its 80s roots, willing to poke fun at itself as well as deliver in the action stakes. The latter remains not only one of the most blindly created sequels in history, but one of the worst films of the decade. Dark of the Moon is better than Revenge (most things are), but the compliments go little further.

Bay has attempted to inject the seemingly spontaneous humour that made the first film so engaging, but succeeds sparingly. John Malkovich brings a dash of enjoyment, showing up with a fake tan and white teeth. Frances McDormand and John Turturro fail to do the same (is Bay recruiting in the same place as the Coen’s?) Mostly, Dark of the Moon plods along with some horrendous dialogue and a criminally bad middle act. At 154 minutes it is way too long and if the slow motion was cut would probably make it in on the two-hour mark. The music used in the film is heavy handed and poorly chosen; yet a redeeming feature comes in the original score by Steve Jablonsky. The action scenes would be far less tolerable if it weren’t for the score, which often underlines the action with the right amount of gravitas. This is most evident in the films standout scene where three decepticons pursue some autobots along the highway. Unfortunately, Bay shows his hand as a director by choosing to end this affecting scene with a moment of badly timed and poorly delivered comedy.

Dark of the Moon is more proof that the Transformers franchise should have begun and ended in 2007.

On Stake Land

A mysterious nameless stranger. A young, orphaned boy. A desolate and violent landscape. These are the key ingredients of writer / director Jim Mickle’s Stake Land. Stake Land moves along very familiar lines. We join the story when the vampires are already rife and America has already fallen. The stranger and the orphan are trying to make their way North, where the climate makes vampire attacks rarer and a so called Eden has been created in Canada with no vampires (although with added cannibalism, the orphan is warned). They kill vampires along the way and have become figures of stories amongst the small communities trying to survive. Along the way there are moments of joy and hope – a young, pregnant folk singer joins the hunters. Yet, the film rejects these small glimpses of hope, killing the singer and her unborn child and placing the narrative in a despondent mould.

The changing American landscape as the misfit group move North is beautifully shot and frames that linger on snow covered plants offers a peaceful respite from the incarnadine vampire attacks. Stake Land shares much in common with the superb television series The Walking Dead (2010) in its approach to the vampires (although The Walking Dead is zombies), who are driven by bloodlust but far from mindless animals. There are also comparisons to be made with I Am Legend (2007), especially with how the vampire attack is introduced and the glimmer of hope that may exist. Where Stake Land differs is the independent nature of the film. The smaller budget, the lesser known actors allow greater freedom in what could be viewed as a negative approach to issues of religion or American foreign and domestic policy. This is further heightened by the ambiguous ending. Overall, Stake Land offers little surprises for the genre, but delivers a quietly effecting film with the horror genre parameters.

On Mediation with Senna

Within media studies we are told that all texts are mediated. Everything comes with its own messages, its own ideology. This may be clear in fiction cinema. Avatar (2009) hardly tries to hide its pro-environmental message! Documentary cinema is different; it always has a message, but often this message is presented as fact simply because the footage is ‘real’ and the people non-actors. The story also is based on true events. In fact, it is impossible for any medium to ever be entirely free from human influence. Even the most paired down documentaries have still been shot or edited by someone and that person has still made the decision where to point the camera and what to leave out. The fingerprints of their own ideologies, in some way, remain on the media text. Now in some documentaries, such as those of Michael Moore this is not difficult to see. It is even a stretch to rank his films under the genre umbrella.

The opposite of the Michael Moore documentary style is direct cinema, pioneered by the late British director and cinematographer, Richard Leacock. In June 2011s Sight and Sound, Leacock’s importance in advancing the non-interventionist documentary is chronicled.

“Leacock’s mantra was that the documentary should give the audience “the feeling of being there”. The audience should be able to make up its own mind about what it was seeing, without direction imposed by a commentary. Out of this came the Direct Cinema dogma: no tripods, no lights, no interviews, no commentary, no added sound. Of course, much of this was more honoured in the breach that the observance. For example, you weren’t allowed to interview – but you could film interviewers interviewing.”

Few documentaries comply with these strict criteria; yet the article goes on to say how the boundaries have been loosened, even if the ideology remains. A recent documentary that does come very close to achieving true direct cinema is Senna (2010) directed by Asif Kapadia. Senna is the story of formula 1 driver Ayrton Senna from his early go-kart racing days to his success and death in formula 1. Senna is comprised entirely of archived footage. There is no narration, no new footage. The dialogue only comes from interviews filmed at the time and the images are those of home video, news footage or race footage. The director has attempted to remove him presence from the on screen as much as possible. And this has been achieved successfully. The mark of Kapadia’s success is in the feeling of total involvement in the story. Even for non-fans of formula 1 this is an enthralling story and the way the footage has been edited together tells a thrilling narrative.

Yet, as mentioned, no media text, regardless of how ‘untouched’ it appears, and Senna does have that feeling of truthfulness, has been mediated. This remains a story and one that is pro Ayrton Senna. Another documentary could quite as easily present a pro Alain Proust story (Senna’s main rival) without using drastically different footage. This is not a negative comment, Senna is a great film and a wonderful insight into formula 1, but it is important to remember that even the most accurate seeming films reflect someone’s opinion.

On Following Tradition with 13 Assassins

Directed by Takashi Miike and written by Kaneo Ikegami, 13 Assassins is pure cinematic enjoyment. A familiar story of an evil lord raining violence and political disruption on his people and the samurai sent to kill him, the film is split between the recruitment and the action, must like Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai (1954), of which all samurai films must fall in line behind.

Thirteen is a big number when it comes to establishing character and it is no surprise that some are thinly drawn whereas others feel more real and become more memorable. The evil lord, Naritsugu, is rendered pure evil through some distressing and disturbing acts of violence, which he incurs or inspires. These acts ensure we are firmly on the side of the assassins and deeply invested in their success. When the assassins spring their trap on the lord and his soldiers, of which there are approximately 200, the leader of the assassins, Shinzaemon, holds up a note given to him as a description of what the lord previously inflicted upon a village. The note reads, ‘total massacre’ and the violence that follows feels justified and does not sway from the message. This action set piece (it is perhaps more accurate to say several set pieces beautifully shot and edited together) lasts about half of the film’s 2 hour 20 minute running time, but never descends into tedium. This is a gritty, dirty, tiring and emotion battle. Exhaustion soon takes hold and the assassins seem to be running on adrenaline only, desperate to complete their mission.

Despite the similarity to Seven Samurai, of which 13 Assassins must be somewhat of an homage (the film is also a remake of the Eiichi Kudo’s 1963 film of the same name), this film feels fresh and proves that well told stories about revenge will never go out of fashion.