Unusual and highly personal documentary about the Killing Fields of Cambodia

The French-produced documentary The Missing Picture about the killing fields of the Pol Pot regime in Cambodia in the 70s and 80s is a very powerful, imaginative, yet also flawed movie: the greatest strength is the highly unusual way in which the filmmaker, R. Pranh, uses painted ceramic figures to reenact and recreate the many scenes of the horror of those days, which he apparently lived through as a boy and young man, because the scenes are lost to history - few were recorded or documented in any manner as the country itself shunned all "imperialist" art and forms of individual expression and moved ever closer to a peasant society from the middle ages - except that it was really a horrendous autocracy under the rule of the evil Pol Pot. Pranh strikingly juxtaposes the scenes he creates with the ceramic figures against some of the surviving footage from the era: Pnomh Penh being emptied by the Khmer Rouge, children working in the rice paddies and building stone sluiceways, Pol Pot cheerful and smiling in front of massive "adoring" crowds - just awful, frightening, and the juxtapositions Pranh develops - sometimes through montage and sometimes through superimposition - are very powerful moments: the sorrow and pathos of a grown man re-creating his youth through ceramic figures will remind some of the great documentary about an outsider artist, Marwencol; the weird acceptance of horror will also recall the recent Danish-made documentary about the killings in Indonesia. Unfortunately, the film - narrated in first person by (a stand-in in English) for Pranh, his own long narrative jumps around quite a bit from theme to theme and could definitely use more of a developmental arc, either a timeline some other form of organization. I also would have like to know more about him in later life and more about the creation and use of the ceramics: was it just of this film? or some other form or expression or obsession? We see a little bit of the use of these in the closing credits, but not enough. There have been other films about the Killing Fields and the Khmer Rouge, but probably none so personal as this one.

True Southern Gothic

There's a lot of plot material to work through in the last two episodes of season one of True Detective, and to be honest the plot itself is pretty ridiculous and so far beyond the probable as to be almost ludicrous at times; reminded me in a way of Girl w/ Dragon Tattoo - all these disappearances and dismemberments and nobody makes the connection until Rust becomes obsessed a decade later - and then things fall into place with amazing ease (just happen to find a woman in a nursing home who just happens to remember who painted her house 20 years ago and what he looked like ... and so forth). That said, particularly in the last episode, we get plenty of the material that draws us to this odd series: the long bizarre introspective philosophical rants from Rust, set off by the blunt incredulity of Marty; their tense but deep bond of affection and grudging respect; the excellent cinematography; and the extreme Southern gothic, with grotesque characters, weed-choked ruined buildings, remote and insular communities. That's been enough to keep me watching, even though I don't believe it for a minute, and I'll probably return for season 2.

The highy influential and imaginative Man with a Movie Camera

Dziga Vertov's incredibly influential 1929 silent Man with a Movie Camera is a pleasure to watch, one stunning b/w image after another, every shot imaginative and beautifully composed, and the whole working together to give a portrait of Soviet urban life from the era and for that matter a portrait of urban life in an developed city a century, actually a little less than a century, ago. The film is a mix of odd angles (many shots of trains rushing at us, or streetcars criss-crossing their way across a city square) and of imaginative and whimsical uses of the movie camera, as well as a playful examination of the art of movies in their infancy. For example, the movie is both a moving-picture image of the city and a documentary account of the making of this very movie. Vertov often cuts back and forth between city scenes and shots of the man with the movie camera making these scenes: we see, in one sequence, a car rushing along a city street, shot from a slightly elevated vantage and moving along with the car. Today that would be done pretty easily with a dolly or a mounted camera - but here we see not only the scene but, from another moving car, the same scene being shot - with the man with the movie camera (always on a tripod) perched precariously on a fast-moving car. Anotehr great sequence shows the man w/ the camera photographing a rushing spillway from high above on a very rickety cable tramway. Others: digging a hole under railroad tracks to capture the image of the rushing train; climbing a handgrip ladder on a smokestack to get an aerial view of the city. Then there are shots of pure whimsy: the camera on tripod walking along and becoming much like a Disney animated character (evidently done through many stop action shots). And some truly beautiful sequences: some faces in the crowd in still shots that are extraordinary portraits worthy of museum display in themselves, and then we see them in a moving image and realize that these portraits are single frames from the moving picture. Which is better? No answer to that. We see many scenes of Soviet industry and factory work - of course - but it's also hard to believe the film won any Soviet approval, as workers are not exactly glorified - and we see scenes of revelry on the beaches in Odessa, extremely crowded and looking very unsanitary. The film was extremely bold for its day in openness about the human body: some young women, topless, soaking themselves in mud for some kind of spa treatment, and footage of an actual in-hospital birth, with a shot of the baby emerging from womb into life. It's not a narrative film, at least not in any obvious way, but, as Vertov had hoped, more poetic and based on development of mood and style rather than a day in the life or work v play or rich v poor. Interestingly, I also recently watched Vigo's A Propos de Nice, a similar (though not quite so inventive) b/w silent documentary about the city of Nice. Only quibble with Man with a Movie Camera was the horrendous musical soundtrack on the print available with Netflix streaming, and I recommend muting for a more pleasurable viewing.

Three great narratives in one film

The English subtitles amusingly translate Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu's 2000 film Amores Perros as Love's a Bitch - a good title for the film but it's also a film about love and dogs, though hardly a film for dog lovers: some truly gruesome and disturbing dog-fight sequences, for example. A P is really fine film, however, by almost any measure. A little bit in the tradition of (and maybe in advance of) popular films such as the Oscar-winning Crash (and there are others, such as an excellent Australian film with a title that's the name of a wildflower - can't remember) that sketch in the life stories of several characters or groups of characters who intersect by chance, in fact, in the 3 examples I've just cited, by car-accident. A P is different and superior, in my view, in that it doesn't manipulatively thread the story lines together for pathos or irony; rather, these are three distinct story lines told in sequence, three movies in one in a way (total length pushing 3 hours); the characters overlap but only very slightly except for the car crash that occurs within first few minutes of the film. The stories also each center on relationship between central character and a dog, oddly enough - but as noted it's not in the least mawkish or sentimental. Roughly, the three plots are: young many falls in love with brother's wife and turns family dog into a pro fighter to try to raised money to run off with (pregnant) sister in law; fashion editor leaves family and moves in with super-model and 2 are driving to screaming anguish as they try to find rescue tiny dog that is caught beneath apartment floorboards (in a truly creepy and stunning sequence that foreshadows some of Inarritu's great later work), and homeless man who does killings for hire takes in a stray dog that turns ferocious. Each of these has elements of Latin American Telemundo melodramas of course, but each is played out crisply, with some fine acting, fast pacing, and intelligent plot design. We get a real visceral sense of various sides of life in what I think is Mexico City - without the film's being overly schematic or far-reaching: he's not a pretentious director trying to score points or to show "all of life"; he's just telling three stories of lives that cross paths at one moment in time and then move onward, each on its own, possibly tragic, course. Special props to the always excellent Gael Garcia Bernal as Octavio, the central figure in the first narrative.

What makes True Detective worth watching

Picking up again after a while on the HBO True Detective, watching episodes 5 & 6, and again reminded of the many strengths of the series: you have to like the ever-evolving relationship between Harrelson and McConaughey) - end of ep 6 their contemporary-time interrogations have ended, they've both walked out, Mcc/Rust pursues Harrelson/Marty and they agree to have a beer (or 2?) together, catching up. We're at last beginning to understand what the police are investigating, why they've called these two guys in for questioning about event that occurred 10 years previous. Well, probably not worth wading too deeply into the plot itself, which altogether is too sensational and improbable - ritual killings, a violent and predatory fringe church cult covered up by a seemingly upstanding charitable organization, multiple murders and disappearances, all infused with deep Southern gothic settings and grotesque, gargoyle-like characters); the series isn't so much about plat as about character and about mood: it gets at what many other HBO series have tried to do and failed, creating a place that seems both familiar and frighteningly alien at the same time. The many long shots of the bayou, the refineries, the waterfront - and the interiors of the roadhouses, the gun clubs, the hunting and fishing lodges and cabins - all contrast beautifully and starkly with the very mundane and familiar suburban dwellings (Marty), underfurnished bachelor pad (Rust), and the police station with the old-timer pro cop steadily berating the unconventional Rust for his unorthodox theories and practices. Highlights of the generally excellent writing continue to be the Rust-Marty dialogues, with Rust's bewildering ontological speculations and Marty's blunt and practical disbelief as well as Rust's expertise at eliciting confessions from the most recalcitrant subjects, not by coercion or threat but by getting into their minds and under their skin - and then generally is cool and curt dismissal of them once they've, to their own surprise and dismay, spilled it all.

I and I: Spike Jonze's uber-hip Her

Spike Jonze's quirky and uber-hip Her is set in the (near?) future LA, with much of the movie shot in Shanghai to give LA an even more futuristic look and feel (it works - I was surprised they actually shot in China and thought the Chinese architecture was worked in later through green screens or other Hollywood illusion). It's actually quite a powerful and disturbing movie about alienation, consciousness, love, sex, and AI: from the outset, we see a world in which people, even more than today, are completely dominated by their handheld devices. The lead character (Joachin Phoenix) works for a dot.com writing love letter and other personal missives for various clients - a former reporter (we don't know how or why he lost that job) he's pretty good at this, but obviously living his life through the lives of others (you can think of many movie and book analogies of course). Spends great deal of time dictating instrux to his Siri-like personal assistant, including requesting a phone-sex hookup - that's the extent of his emotional life. A new system emerges, however, providing an avatar-like personal assistant with a human-like intelligence and ability to reason, to learn, to mature; played in voice-over by Scarlett Johansson. The inevitable happens: he falls in love with his OS, and she provides him with everything he needs - without the problems of a "real" human relationship - or is this in fact a real relationship? As "she" becomes more human, she develops needs of her own, leading to all sorts of complications. and pulling him even further away from contact with "real" humans, leading to the inevitable question: what's wrong w/ that? I won't spoil things except to say that the movie has two faults: like almost all 2-hour movies it's 30 minutes too long (less is more), and I wish Jonze had not opted for the obvious romantic ending when the whole tone of the movie is dark and mysterious. Her is kind of like the anti Lars and the Real Girl, in which L. falls for an inflatable doll - "human" in appearance only. This is the opposite. It's also like 2001 two generations later, but with a bit of the same mood and conundrum: the artificial intelligence programmed to learn and grow and to protect itself - but in this case also to learn about and anticipate the needs of its "partner" (e.g., "she" assembles some of his writing, figures out a publisher he likes, edits the material and sends it off -without his knowledge or consent) - initially by reading email etc. but eventually by "her" own intuition and intelligence.

Still a classic: Dr Strangelove

Watched Stanley Kubrick's 1963 b/w classic, Dr. Strangelove, last night - initially worried about how it would hold up over time - and found that it held up perfectly - totally watchable and engaging film today anddoes not feel in the least bit antiquated (the b/w cinematography was a throwback even in its day). The film is a complete rarity in that it's both tense and exciting and laugh-out-loud hilarious at the same time. Peter Sellers in three roles (apparently Kubrick later quipped that he got "three for the price of six") makes the movie of course - along with the over-the-top performance of George C. Scott - but mostly it's Kubrick's genious: every single scene perfectly designed and thought through: the famous war room scenes of course, with Sellers as the president endlessly on phone with Soviet counterpart, Scott's histrionics, the tussle with the Soviet ambassador (You can't fight in here, this is the War Room!"), but also the scenes on the b-52 bomber shot just as if this were an action thriller (the source book, Red Alert, was a very good and serious thriller, I read it back in the day, which Kubrick entirely transformed and reimagined), the lockdown at the air force base, with General Ripper going insane and Sellers as a British officer trying to talk him gently back to reality, the assault on the base - a gruesome and troubling scene handled with just the right understatement - it's astonishing how well Kubrick counterbalanced the various moods and elements and that he could make a great comedy out on and end-of-the-world scenario. A film entirely worth seeing for its historic, comic, and entertainment values, today as back in '63.

You don't need a weatherman to predict the ending of Run & Jump, and yet ...

It's very easy, and probably appropriate, to dismiss the Irish Run & Jump as just another chick flick, but it has a few elements that elevate it, if only just a little, about the level of the genre: Maxine Peake in the lead role brings a lot of liveliness and spirit to what could have been a very drab part of an unhappy Irish housewife; the Irish and English filmmakers are a thousand times better than their American counterparts at capturing the look and feel of a working-class household (whether American directors can't do that, as I think Woody Allen can't, for example, or don't want to do that because people want to see style and glamor, regardless of plot credibility, is another question), and the plot manages to counterbalance a large number of elements without collapsing under its own weight. Plus most Americans, me included, enjoy seeing anything set in the Irish countryside - or really in any foreign country: movies, like fiction, help us see and comprehend the lives of others. That said, the movie is definitely a genre film, as even the barest plot summary will make plain: early 40ish mom contemporary Ireland goes to pick up husband at rehab center; he's been there for several months recovering from severe stroke, and at home is barely verbal, sometimes has outbursts, can relate to animals but not to people not even lovely wife. American research scientist moves into the household to observe daily progress of husband for book he's writing - highly improbable, but OK we accept that - and as the wife is obviously not being satisfied sexually or emotionally she turns toward the dour and serious (played by Will Forte, a master at this kind of role) visiting stranger, with lots of flirtation. Which will lead where? You don't need a weatherman to predict the likely outcome of all of the plotlines of the the move; I won't give any spoilers but will say that, again to its credit, some of the lines are left ever so slightly open at the end - not a Hollywood ending, exactly, but as close as an Irish chick flick is likely ever to get.

Who wouldn't want to go back in time and say that to mean teacher?

Jean Vigo's Zero for Conduct is better known but lesser in stature than the more ambitious L'Atalante - still Z4C drew a lot of attention on college campuses in the 1960s and 70s for its exuberant portrayal of a student rebellion in a repressive French boarding school for boys. There's not all that much to the film: begins with boys returning to the school after probably the xmas vacation, and it looks as if they're prisoners heading back to jail, in their uniforms, traveling by train through the night, arriving in the dark hours. But we also see the rambunctious spirit of some of the boys - smoking up a storm in the non-smoking car, starting the rumor that another passenger has died. At the school, their inspired by a new teacher who's very free-spirited and lets them get away with a lot of riotous behavior. The headmaster, played by a very small man, a midget perhaps, with a very dark probably fake beard, is a bit of a martinet - but the kids clearly have the upper hand, tearing apart the dorm, a classroom, and ending - during the school's founder's day ceremonies - by locking themselves in the attic and prancing around - insanely dangerously - on the sloped, tiled roofs of the school buildings. The film ends with a nice fixed image of the boys on the roof raising their hands in celebration. Well, who wouldn't have wanted to do that in school? I 100-percent wish I could go back in time and say to some of the horrible, cruel teachers whom I endured in silence: You're full of shit. So this film speaks to something in all, or almost all, of us. Yet it's a technically screwy film - obviously a very early example of sound narrative, the narrative is choppy, the dialogue is spare - you can almost see that Vigo was thinking in terms of the sound cards of silent films rather than truly spoken dialogue - and none of the characters emerges with any depth. It's another early-cinema curiosity, definitely worth seeing - esp. in that it's only 45 minutes - to get a sense of where movies came from, how far we've come, and also of what we've lost: the free spirit and innocence of the early movies is now mired in complexity and production values.