Category Archives: France

Orphan (2009, Jaume Collet-Serra)

Orphan‘s a peculiar failure. The script isn’t particularly good; it’s layered with foreshadowing upon foreshadowing and some very predictable turns. But it has these occasionally strong dialogue scenes between Vera Farmiga and Peter Sarsgaard. It runs out of them after a while, but they leave a positive memory.

Then there’s director Collet-Serra. He really likes crane shots in what should be enclosed spaces and he likes to use handheld when he should have a track. Orphan feels like an inexperienced director who got the opportunity to do a lot of things just because he could. Collet-Serra can’t do the two simple things Orphan needs him to do.

First, it needs him to tie a children’s story–Aryana Engineer and Jimmy Bennett get an adopted sister–to an adult’s story–Farmiga and Sarsgaard are new adoptive parents. Both of these stories (more Farmiga and Sarsgaard because of their fine acting, Farmiga in particular) have some strong moments. Scared kids is a classic, cheap movie standard and Collet-Serra can’t pull it off. It’s sort of embarrassing, because he doesn’t even seem to get it.

Second, he needs to give the family’s house a personality. He can’t. Some of it is lousy production design courtesy Tom Meyer, some of it is Collet-Serra’s incompetence.

As the film’s bad seed, Isabelle Fuhrman is mediocre. She can’t hold her accent and she’s never believable in hindsight after the big reveal.

Orphan‘s a boring thriller with bad direction and an excellent Farmiga performance.

CREDITS

Directed by Jaume Collet-Serra; screenplay by David Johnson, based on a story by Alex Mace; director of photography, Jeff Cutter; edited by Timothy Alverson; music by John Ottman; production designer, Tom Meyer; produced by Joel Silver, Jennifer Davisson Killoran, Susan Downey and Leonardo DiCaprio; released by Warner Bros.

Starring Vera Farmiga (Kate), Peter Sarsgaard (John), Isabelle Fuhrman (Esther), CCH Pounder (Sister Abigail), Jimmy Bennett (Daniel), Margo Martindale (Dr. Browning), Karel Roden (Dr. Varava), Rosemary Dunsmore (Grandma Barbara) and Aryana Engineer (Max).


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Bangkok Revenge (2011, Jean-Marc Minéo)

About the only inventive thing in Bangkok Revenge–and I doubt writer-director Minéo uses it for this reason–is lead Jon Foo being unable to experience emotion. It means Foo doesn’t have to give a particularly good performance. He just has to deliver his lines and he does. He’s not a bad guy, of course, quite the opposite. Corrupt cops killed his parents and now he’s grown up (the brain damage is from the attack) and seeking, you guessed it, revenge.

In Bangkok.

Otherwise, Minéo’s atrocious. He can’t compose a shot, he can’t come up with good fight scenes (he amps up the stylizing to fake ingenuity), he can’t direct actors. He also has a lot of the film in English, but only Foo seems to be able to speak it. His mentor, Kowitch Wathana (in a terrible performance), mangles every line of English dialogue he’s got. He seems completely fluent in Thai, but Minéo seems more concerned with international distribution than a decent picture.

Caroline Ducey, as the erstwhile love interest, butchers her English dialogue too. Minéo would have done a lot better if no one in Bangkok spoke the same language or really understood one another. It would have made for a far more entertaining film.

Somewhat surprisingly–given Minéo’s profound incompetence–are the photography and music. Teerawat Rujinatum shoots DV quite well and Christophe Gerber’s score is professional.

Occasionally (and rather momentarily), Revenge has a moment with marginal potential. But, every time, the incompetence returns immediately.

CREDITS

Written and directed by Jean-Marc Minéo; director of photography, Teerawat Rujinatum; edited by Hugo Picazo and Nicolas Sarkissian; music by Christophe Gerber; produced by Cédric Jimenez; released by China Lion Film Distribution.

Starring Jon Foo (Manit), Caroline Ducey (Clara), Michaël Cohen (Simon), Aphiradi Phawaphutanon (Chanticha), Winai Kraibutr (Samat), Kowitch Wathana (Adjan), Lioutsia Goubaidoullina (Jessy), Julaluck Ismalone (Ying) and Thiraphong Riawrukwong (Superintendent).


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Tales of the Night (2011, Michel Ocelot)

Tales of the Night is a visual masterpiece. It’s computer generated silhouette animation, usually two dimensional (though director Ocelot does branch occasionally into the third), about what seems to be a futuristic theatre company. Late one night, two young actors (and costume designers and writers) and the guy who seems to be their director, sit and adapt a bunch of fables and folk tales for the stage.

Except the stage is never clear–the viewer just sees these adaptations as part of the film; one of Night’s major failings is the lack of emphasis on the actors. Its other major failing is related–the female actor invariably takes the backseat. Even when she protests she hates a role… she has to do it. Even when she says this role will be her strongest, it’s not. The boy–in the fable–is always the hero.

Ocelot keeps misses his chance to do something interesting with a female protagonist in a fable; by the last one, it’s more annoying than disappointing.

The fables involve a werewolf in Burgundy, an African one, a Caribbean one featuring the afterlife (sort of), a Tibetan one, one about the Aztecs (or Mayans). The final one is just a standard fairy tale. I may have forgotten one, but I don’t think so.

The African one might be the best, though the Caribbean one is hilarious. They’re all often touching. The stumbling starts with the last two.

Still, Ocelot makes a magnificent film. Shame about his gender issues.

CREDITS

Written and directed by Michel Ocelot; edited by Patrick Ducreut; music by Christian Maire; released by StudioCanal.

Starring Julien Beramis (Boy), Marine Griset (Girl) and Yves Barsacq (Théo).


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Barbarella (1968, Roger Vadim)

In terms of badness, Barbarella is phenomenal. One could spend his or her time on the gender politics–someone must have in the last forty years. The film takes place in a post-gender future, where Jane Fonda’s titular character is the most relied upon person in the galaxy. However, the president (Claude Dauphin) spends the entire time he’s giving her a mission ogling her.

A few costume changes later–director Vadim’s approach to the film is to undress Fonda, put her in something scanty, tear off those scanty closes, get her undressed and then repeat–there’s some exposition explaining future sexuality. Fonda, and the boring people of Earth, are also post-sex. Luckily, Fonda comes across a real man, Ugo Tognazzi, who shows her the way.

Those sociological aspects aside, Barbarella‘s a complete bore. While the sets are enormous, they’re ineptly realized. Claude Renoir’s photography contracts them even more. Vadim’s direction is atrocious–he has dead space at the sides of his Panavision frame, can’t direct the sci-fi aspects, can’t direct the conversations, can’t even figure out head room. Barbarella would be funnier in its badness if the writing weren’t so terrible.

As the lead, Fonda’s bad, but she’s nothing compared to the rest. Tognazzi’s laughable, but John Phillip Law and Anita Pallenberg are much worse. Milo O’Shea is rather funny, presumably intentionally. One just feels bad for David Hemmings though, especially in those tights.

Barbarella‘s only surprise is its last line, a sublime (albeit obvious), profound observation.

CREDITS

Directed by Roger Vadim; screenplay by Terry Southern and Vadim, based on the comic book by Jean-Claude Forest; director of photography, Claude Renoir; edited by Victoria Mercanton; music by Bob Crewe and Charles Fox; production designer, Mario Garbuglia; produced by Dino De Laurentiis; released by Paramount Pictures.

Starring Jane Fonda (Barbarella), John Phillip Law (Pygar), Anita Pallenberg (The Great Tyrant), Milo O’Shea (Concierge), Marcel Marceau (Professor Ping), Claude Dauphin (President of Earth), Véronique Vendell (Captain Moon), Serge Marquand (Captain Sun), Catherine Chevallier (Stomoxys), Marie Therese Chevallier (Glossina), David Hemmings (Dildano) and Ugo Tognazzi (Mark Hand).


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Love’s Surprises (1915, Max Linder)

Calling Love’s Surprises a tepid comedy would be an understatement. Writer-director-star Linder fails to understand the very basics of drama, which puts the whole short in the dumps right off.

It opens with a dinner party. The three men at the party all run off to grab hidden flowers for a girl. Unsurprisingly, they’re all courting the same girl. Only, Linder never establishes why the men are sneaking out or why they wouldn’t admit association with her.

I guess the comedy’s supposed to be in the girl hiding them around her room in closets, pianos or just under a blanket… but it’s not funny. Surprises only comes alive at the end when the girl’s friend shows up and they abuse the hiding men.

For the finish, one of the men apparently “buys” the girl (who isn’t present) from his chums.

Surprises successfully mixes unfunny, odd, discomforting and weird.

CREDITS

Written and directed by Max Linder; released by Pathé Frères.

Starring Max Linder (Max), Lucy d’Orbel (Lili) and Georges Gorby.


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The Vampires: The Ring That Kills (1915, Louis Feuillade)

In The Ring That Kills, Feuillade goes with a gradual build-up and a rather tense finish. There’s no recap of the previous Vampires entry, which gets confusing towards the end, when a supporting character returns.

Feuillade uses that character, played by Marcel Lévesque, as comic relief. He’s just revealed the Vampires evil plan for protagonist Édouard Mathé and things aren’t looking good for him.

Then Lévesque bumbles in and relieves a bunch of the tension for a while.

That scene is the best in the short, which has some other good scenes, but it’s where Feuillade finally takes a breather.

Early in Ring, he introduces Stacia Napierkowska as a dancer (and Mathé’s romantic interest). Mathé, being a dedicated reporter, however, abandons her to pursue the Vampires gang and finds himself in the aforementioned hot water.

It’s a fun short, with Napierkowska’s winged ballet visually stunning if somewhat tepid dramatically.

CREDITS

Written and directed by Louis Feuillade; director of photography, Manichoux; released by Gaumont.

Starring Édouard Mathé (Philippe Guérande), Jean Aymé (Dr. Nox), Stacia Napierkowska (Marfa Koutiloff) and Marcel Lévesque (Oscar Mazamette).


The Vampires series:

The Vampires: The Severed Head (1915, Louis Feuillade)

I probably should have paid more attention to The Severed Head‘s title. Even when the discussion of a decapitated murder victim came up, the title didn’t register any significance.

Guess what? Director Feuillade gets in a severed head. I didn’t even think the murder case mattered, since most of the short concerns reporter Édouard Mathé visiting an old family friend–played by Jean Aymé–who is selling his home to a wealthy American (Rita Herlor).

Mentioning Feuillade has a severed head in the short doesn’t really give anything away. The big finale involves something else unexpected entirely.

Since there’s no real drama–for a while I thought it was about Mathé messing up Aymé’s home sale–all attention goes to Feuillade’s direction.

He’s competent, though he repeatedly gets establishing shots and emphasis shots backwards.

Feuillade’s more interested in his plot, which complicates itself throughout.

With that emphasis, Head mildly intrigues.

CREDITS

Written and directed by Louis Feuillade; director of photography, Manichoux; released by Gaumont.

Starring Édouard Mathé (Philippe Guérande), Jean Aymé (Dr. Nox), Rita Herlor (Mrs. Simpson), Marcel Lévesque (Oscar Mazamette) and Thelès (The Magistrate).


The Vampires series:

Anemic Cinema (1926, Marcel Duchamp)

I’m not sure how Anemic Cinema cinema is surrealist. Obviously for the time, but today the most surreal thing about it is the copyright notice. Director Duchamp slaps a copyright notice on the end.

It feels completely out of place with Anemic, which is otherwise a direct communication with the viewer.

Duchamp alternates between his Rotoreliefs–think carnival spinning wheels (though sometimes not very motional)–and these little spinning disks with sayings on them. Some of the sayings are funnier than the others, some are more bewildering, most directly engage the viewer. Anemic is often second person.

It makes for an interesting experience. The more outlandish the text disks, the less movement in the carnival wheels.

Only a few of the carnival wheels disrupt the experience; these wheels are so fantastic, one has to wonder how Duchamp created them.

Anemic transfixes until that jarring, baffling finish with the copyright notice.

CREDITS

Directed by Marcel Duchamp; director of photography, Man Ray.


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Tantalizing Disaster (1970, Piotr Kamler)

Tantalizing Disaster is magnificent and wondrous, but it’s kind of dumb. Director Kamler is most enthusiastic about shapes, patterns and small movements.

The film concerns a cosmic ball bouncing on some cosmic stairs. Inside the cosmic ball is a big, gelatinous fat guy in a fedora. He’s got on a striped shirt. The striped shirt interests Kamler for a little while, as does the guy’s fat and how it can move.

The fat thing’s gross, but then the guy goes on a fantastic cosmic odyssey. Cosmic is just my word. Kamler doesn’t establish a setting but I can’t believe it’s about a microscopic fat man and an actual ball on stairs.

Disaster is never boring and Kamler’s always inventive, but it’s still a misfire. Kamler never justifies the need for ten plus minutes. It doesn’t need a narrative, but there should be a reason it continues for its run time.

CREDITS

Directed by Piotr Kamler; music by Robert Cohen-Solal.


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The Hole (1969, Pitor Kamler)

The Hole, though a precisely, beautifully animated little (two minutes, but that run time includes titles and a preface) piece, is just a cute exercise. Director Kamler comes up with a nice illustration of the futility of the human condition. But he’s too honest and Hole is predictable.

The visuals are simple. There’s a flat piece of land, an nondescript (but unhappy) background, a sad little tree and a hole in the ground. These elements are all finely illustrated, but they’re static. The “protagonist,” a gelatinous white ball, soon appears and it’s where Kamler’s talent is clear. The shading on the ball, as it breaks shape, is just amazing.

The short gets predictable not through the story–it could have gone anywhere really–but because Kamler sets up the animation for the finale. I guess he was just being honest about it, not wanting to trick the viewer. Big mistake.

CREDITS

Directed by Piotr Kamler; music by Robert Cohen-Solal.


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