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Showing posts with label _ Film Writings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label _ Film Writings. Show all posts

Nov 24, 2010

Could You Please Pinch Me?


Note: This post has a Spanish version below.
Nota: Este artículo tiene una versión en español abajo.

Yes, I know, it's just a tweet, it's only 119 characters. Yes, this story may end up with hundreds of authors... but I'm one of them! Yesterday I read the news about Tim Burton (Big Fish, Batman, Corpse Bride, etc.) inviting the Twitter world to co-write a story through tweets. And there I am; Part 21 was my idea:

“...began to bubble. The air got dense and hot. Stainboy closed his eyes and held on to the chandelier as hard as he could."

Tim Burton is one of the filmmaker that I admire the most. I can't tell you how happy I am for collaborating in this project. Now it's your time. Go to BurtonStory, and share your ideas. I have no doubt this literary experiment will turn into a marvelous story. Like any of Burton's.


Sí, ya lo sé, es sólo un tweet, son sólo 119 caracteres. Sí, puede que esta historia termine teniendo cientos de autores... ¡pero yo soy uno de ellos! Ayer leí una noticia sobre Tim Burton (El Gran Pez, Batman, El Cadáver de la Novia, etc.) invitando al mundo Twitter a co-escribir una historia a través de tweets. Y ahí estoy; la Parte 21 fue mi idea:


“...comenzó a burbujear. El aire se hizo denso y caliente. Stainboy cerró sus ojos y se agarró al candelabro tan fuerte como pudo.”

Tim Burton es uno de los cineastas a los que más admiro. No puedo decirles cuán feliz estoy de colaborar en este proyecto. Ahora es su turno. Vayan a BurtonStory, y compartan sus ideas. No tengo dudas que este experimento literario se convertirá en una historia maravillosa. Como cualquiera de Burton.


Artwork above:
Tim Burton's Stainboy
© Tim Burton



Oct 27, 2010

Cinema Tropical Awards


On Friday night I was lucky enough to participate in a little piece of history for Latin American films in New York. Cinema Tropical held a fantastic awards ceremony in the Times Center: The 10 Best Latin American Films of the Decade. Filmmakers Lucrecia Martel, Carlos Reygadas, and Felipe Lacerda were among the stars of the night that wouldn't be possible without the tireless work of Carlos Gutierrez and Monika Wagenberg, founders of Cinema Tropical. Even Mayor Michael Bloomberg signed a proclamation in the name of the City of New York for the "Cinema Tropical Award Day in New York"!

Cinema Tropical is a non-profit organization dedicated to the distribution, programming and promotion of Latin American Cinema in the United States. Since its creation in 2001, Cinema Tropical has become the country's premier purveyor of Latin American films by establishing screening programs in 12 venues in North America, having built a library of over 35 titles, and providing marketing and promotional campaigns for various film releases, programs and festivals in the U.S.

It was an honor for me to have been a writer and interviewer for them in the past. Thanks to Carlos Gutierrez I met amazing filmmakers like Francisco Vargas Quevedo (The Violin), Jorge Gaggero (Live-In Maid), and Camila Guzmán Urzúa (The Sugar Courtain). Of course, I also had the chance to discover those jewels among many other hand-picked independent films. My congratulations to them, and I hope this great event marks a before and after for them, and for Latin American films in New York and the United States.



May 26, 2009

Tribeca 2009: School Desk


Picture this: you tell your family and friends that you have an idea for a new movie about a Colombian woman coming to the U.S. with her two children and husband. Two weeks after arrival, he abandons them, she then must struggle as a single mother against all odds: including hunger, homelessness, a home-made abortion. Your friends will probably think this story is too much; not realistic.

Well, you better believe it, because this is the life story of Paola Mendoza, writer, director and leading actor of Entre Nos (2009), who dedicates the film to her mother, who fought and never gave up, envisioning a bright future for Paola and her brother. Gloria La Morte co-wrote and co-directed this film that probably would be impossible to achieve without this double-helmed collaboration, being such a tremendous challenge for Mendoza to embark on all these roles, especially being a personal poignant story.

There is a very interesting and diverse casting: Andrés Munar (TV series Law & Order, Che) plays husband Antonio, first-time actors Sebastián Villada and Laura Montana play children Gabriel and Andrea, and two experienced actors like Anthony Chisholm (TV series Oz) and Sarita Choudhury (TV series Kings, Lady in the Water) play Joe and Preet, integrating amateur and professional performances into a balanced, authentic combination. Multicultural Queens, New York is the scenario for this immigrant chronicle where immigration is not the main theme, it is a given and actually, it is barely addressed. What allows the plot to develop is Mendoza and La Morte’s focus on the whole emotional journey of struggling to survive beyond a visa status. Mendoza plays Mariana, the mother, whose first instinct is to provide a daily solution for her children’s basic needs; she is also overwhelmed by the situation.

At some point the plot leaves some important questions unanswered: Why did Antonio abandon them? Why did they never try to call for help in Colombia? We don’t know if that was part of the true story or flaws in the script. Though there is a permanent collaboration between Mendoza and La Forte, the team took an important risk having Mendoza playing such a personal role in her first feature directing herself. But it’s not pretentious, simply because it’s a tribute to Mendoza’s mother. Said that, we must give a lot of credit to this team: it was a first feature for La Forte, and a second feature for Mendoza after her collaboration with Gabriel Noble (P-Star Rising, also in the Festival this year) in Autumn’s Eyes (2006).

Beyond some forced shots and a plot that becomes somehow predictable, this Tribeca All Access Alumni team have a bright future on their hands. Entre Nos has some glimpses of humor inside the drama, and it is an example of hope, inspiration and dignity, not only for most of the immigrants coming to the U.S., but also for all kind of people that must struggle in life. Empanadas for $1, collecting cans for 5 cents, and many other odd jobs that most New Yorkers ignore make possible accomplishing the American dream that still so many immigrants pursue. It is not necessarily becoming a successful artist, or a top executive, or living in a democracy. For many, it’s as simple as having the opportunity to sit in a school desk, the very basic step to have a dream coming true.

(Written for Remezcla)

Apr 27, 2009

Tribeca 2009: In The Bottom


Like she did in her debut film XXY (2007), the first sequences of writer/director Lucía Puenzo’s El Niño Pez (The Fish Child, 2009) submerge us in a dream-like submarine world. While the beginning credits fade in and out we can fly (well, swim) in our imagination and recollection of memories. According to Roland Barthes, the ultimate goal of any literary work is to make the reader participate as a producer of the text instead of a consumer. This fantastic film is based on her first novel with the same title (published in 2004 when she was just 23 years old). and we feel in every part of the story that she is not only a great storyteller, but at this early stage in her filmmaking career, she is becoming a great director as well.

The film score (originally composed by Andrés Goldstein and Daniel Tarrab, who also composed for XXY), the narration, the suspense, the dreams, all get us into a journey that beyond the images on the screen, let us create our own sequences like we do when we read a book. But Puenzo never abuses of that resource: everything is appropriate. The story lays on the Guarani legend of the fish child (mitay pirá), who inhabits the Ypoá lake in Paraguay, and guides the drown people to the bottom of the lake. La Guayi (Mariela Vitale), a Paraguayan maid who has been employed by an Argentine rich but dysfunctional family since she was a young teenager, introduces this legend. Lala (Inés Efrón, also the star of XXY) soon falls in love with La Guayi – and so does Lala’s father Bronté (Pep Munné), a fact that turns this story into a sea of jealousy, fury and unconditional worship. The two girls plan a dream life together somewhere in Paraguay, and to that extent they start stealing from Lala’s parents. But if a runaway and a lesbian forbidden love look complicated, things will get even worse after a mysterious death and the new presence of Sócrates (soap opera star Arnaldo André), Guayi’s father.

Puenzo digs one more time into the exploration of sexuality and acceptance, this time with a bigger role of seduction rather than curiosity – we could now perhaps expect her next film to be about sea and sexuality completing a trilogy. La Guayi sings in Guarani: “The moon is singing to me, while I sing for you, so you can sleep my baby, so you can sleep my baby.” Bronté, who doesn’t care about anybody’s feelings (probably not even about himself) explains that it’s exactly what Guarani women did with Spaniards conquerors: singing to them to mesmerize them; La Guayi mesmerizes everyone in the film – myself included. Cinematographer Rolo Pulpeiro (Emir Kusturica’s Maradona by Kusturica) shot this picture in 16mm, and captured the scenery so well that we can even feel the dry and arid climate without a word from the characters, also playing wonderfully with the use of shadows.

Another attractive element is brought by the presence of dogs and his trainer El Vasco (Diego Velázquez), who is close friend of Guayi and will help the girls with their passionate goal. Serafín, the girls’ dog, plays a passive but interesting role – check the book to find out why he’s not just an ordinary dog. The performances are very convincing – especially the two girls – in this dark and poignant tale produced by Oscar winner Luis Puenzo (Lucía’s father) among others. Lala devotes herself completely to La Guayi, especially when she cuts her precious hair. With this action as a symbol of loyalty, Lala suffers but hopes - that the hair will grow, and that Guayi will stay with her, like the fish child legend, even in the bottom of the lake.

(Written for Remezcla)

Public Screenings:

Mon, Apr 27, 6:15PM (AMC Village VII 3)
Tue, Apr 28, 2:00PM (AMC Village VII 6)
Wed, Apr 29, 9:15PM (AMC Village VII 3)
Sat, May 02, 2:00PM (AMC Village VII 6)

Feb 10, 2009

Feeding The Pigeons


The smart use of talented kids in film and television is a guaranteed formula for success. We will never forget Gary Coleman in the television series Different Strokes, Haley Joel Osment in The Sixth Sense (1999,) and so many others in advertising. It automatically grabs our attention and wins our hearts, even if the story is not so good. But nobody since Larry Clark/Harmony Korine’s Kids (1995) went as far to depict street youth drama authentically as Iranian-American writer-director-editor Ramin Bahrani did in Chop Shop (2007, co-written with France-based Bahareh Azimi), his second feature film after his widely praised debut with Man Push Cart (2005.) I dare to say this is one of the best filmed portraits about the life of a child worker. That’s how effective Bahrani is in this shocking, simple but multi-layered story, winner of the “Someone To Watch” award from the Independent Spirits Awards, and official selection in Cannes, Berlin, and Toronto.

Chop Shop, a flawless piece of street realism, is the story of Alejandro (Alejandro Polanco, a non-professional actor chosen from 2,000 kids), a twelve-year-old Latino street orphan in Willets Point, also known as the "Iron Triangle," an industrial neighborhood teeming with auto-body repair shops, scrap yards, and garbage dumps in Queens, New York. Alejandro, like other young boys in the area, works at one of the “chop shops” that line the street. He spends his days in an adult world, running errands, convincing customers to come to the garage where he works instead of a competitor's, and learning how to paint and repair cars. Alejandro’s life brightens with the long-awaited arrival of his sixteen-year-old sister Isamar (Isamar Gonzales), who moves in with him in the tiny room that he has found for them in the back of the shop. Knowing that creating a better life for the two of them is their best bet at staying together, Alejandro finds her a job in a food van cooking and selling meals to the workers in the Iron Triangle. With a mixture of childlike naiveté and adult ambition, Alejandro begins obsessively saving his money to buy a mobile food van as the two dream about owning and running a small business of their own.

Alejandro not only works as an adult, but he also lives like one: his little room is a bachelor’s pad of sorts, a luxury for a street kid. He makes popcorn at night in an old microwave oven, takes a soda from the fridge like a tired worker with his beer, he does pull-ups from a cupboard and excercises his small but toned body. He stares out his only window, with an unusual and dull view to the interior of the chop shop. Nevertheless, rather than bored his gaze suggests that he is wondering if another life is possible, perhaps dreaming of being a Mets’ player, a chop shop owner, or who knows what. One of the remarkable things he has is his positive attitude and strenght: most children his age wouldn’t survive his way of life alone. He’s always pushing forward, trying to have fun. He learns from other employees, he always pays attention, and he even manages the finances for himself and his older sister. Their age difference doesn’t prevent him from being the one who set the rules in their home, making sure every little thing they have is secure.

Yes, this boy on the verge of adolescence is the head of the household, and must deal with all the challenges he faces in this complex world: the dangerous environment, the disappointment of a failed business, and working double-journal at night until he falls exhausted. His ambitions and the heartbreaking discovery of his sister prostituting herself lead him to take his brother-father-boyfriend-advisor role very seriously. He shows her how to make extra money as an indirect way to take her away from her parallel life. Isamar’s prostitution is like Alejandro’s thefts, each taking their own risks for the big dream. Yet in this though adult world, Alejandro also has time to be a kid, to laugh and enjoy some glimpses of life: going out for a decent meal, tickle fights with Isamar, or baseball with his buddy Carlos (Carlos Zapata) behind Shea stadium. A few steps away, we see with mixed feelings a shocking contrast: between the street kids and their makeshift baseball game while in the stadium multi-millionaire players become richer regardless of the final score.

The incisive cinematography by Michael Simmonds has a very important role; to be Alejandro’s roommate, consciousness, shadow and soul. Bluring the boundary between documentary and fiction, the cinematography becomes another inhabitant of the Willets Point multicultural community. Every single shot is so smooth and unobtrusive that from the beginning we feel we’re there, but unaware of the camera’s presence. Nothing stops Alejandro in his dream to buy that old ruined van, but he underestimates his unfortunate and obvious lack of experience: even if he lives as an adult, he’s still a child. In one of the most powerful paradoxes in the story, he helps to chop his own investments and savings, living in the flesh the dismantling of his dreams. His hope is untouchable, though his fate unchangeable.

Bahrani deploys a savage beauty, unique sensitivity, and complexity of characters that reminds of Abbas Kiarostami, one of his biggest influences – Kiarostami himself embraced him after the premiere at Cannes. It’s not a coincidence that Bahrani worked with amateur actors. The shop owner, Rob Sowulski, plays himself – he met Bahrani when he was scouting locations. Polanco and Gonzales, both from Puerto Rico, attend the same school, and she was the close friend of his sister. The most experienced of the cast is Ahmad Razvi, who also starred in Bahrani’s debut Man Push Cart - a very strong presence who doesn’t seem like an amateur actor at all. Though many times it looks improvised and natural, every scene was carefully based on the script. If there was space for improvisation it was rehearsed over and over during months where the actors put their own words in the language that worked for them, and finally shot with many takes. The best example of how Bahrani handled the documentary-fiction border happened during training before shooting: Alejandro got paid $5 for every car he pulled in, just as the kids who work there do.

The way that the relationship between Ahmad and Alejandro changes (sometimes Ahmad is the big brother, other times buddy, and other times tough employer), makes us wonder if it’s good or wrong that they treat him like an adult. Are they using him and keeping him out of school? Are they teaching him and helping him to survive in a tough but controlled environment? A flip-flop floats in a puddle of rain, like Alejandro wanders in the the darkness where he will discover a difficult truth about his sister Isamar. But although he doesn’t like what he sees, he understands. Life is hard for everyone, but love is stronger, and among all things he has, Isamar is the most precious. One day things will likely change, and they will fly like the pigeons they feed. This film is not for popping corn. I will leave it in its natural state and feed it to the pigeons.

(Written for Remezcla)

Dec 29, 2008

Indy 2008 Honors Key Figures


This year has gone like the wind and most of the films I watched were what is usually called "independent". Today there is a blur line to divide independent films from non-independent, probably because the big studios already took over the independent film world to what they consider a market with budgets under $10M. But we know most of the real indy films sometimes have budgets under $1M. Anyway, to me what it's truly independent is the soul of the project and the kind of control the creatives like writer and director have.

We could be discussing the essence of independent films forever, so let's highlight the best indy films I had the pleasure to live this past year. For most of them you may find articles or interviews in this same blog. Here I post the links to IMDb:

3 Américas
(2007, Cristina Kotz Cornejo)

Chop Shop
(2007, Ramin Bahrani)

(2007, Ariel Rotter)

(2007, Carlitos Ruiz Ruiz)

(2007, Harmony Korine)

(2007, José Padilha)

XXY
(2007, Lucía Puenzo)


In Memoriam

I can't overlook four key figures that passed away during the year. They are Sydney Pollack (director, producer, actor), Anthony Minghella (writer, director, producer), Harold Pinter (writer, director, actor), and Michael Crichton (writer, director, producer). All of them were in some way related to that soul of independent film I mentioned in the beginning, and all were highly respected not only by their audiences, but also but their colleagues. You will find below the links to The New York Times' obituaries. I was lucky enough to assist to a talk by Sydney Pollack at The New School in New York. Among other things he told a remarkable anecdote from the time he was shooting The Interpreter (2005) in the U.N. (first time ever the U.N. allowed to shoot there. Second time was Steven Soderbergh with his double feature Che Guevara during 2007). Pollack said that after a diplomatic dinner with many ambassadors and consuls, one of them took him aside. He was afraid to not follow dinner etiquette, and he was sure he would be reprimanded for that. But that enigmatic diplomat from a top European country asked him: "Can I give you my reel?"

Michael Crichton
(1942 - 2008)

(1954 - 2008)

(1930 - 2008)

Sydney Pollack
(1934 - 2008)

Nov 17, 2008

Beyond 3 Américas



The opening image of a pan of water about to boil foretells events in América’s life (played by Kristen González): she’s a troubled teenager in the middle of a crisis. Her CD player and headphones are her best companions. Even her friends can’t fully understand her. The difficult relationship with her aunt Carolina (Gy Mirano) and the aggressive personality of her uncle Joey (Gilberto Arribas) do nothing else than turn her into a hermetic girl impossible to talk with. She shoplifts for attention but isolates herself in her bedroom. Bored, she finds a spider near her bed. She follows it with her eyes, and nudges it to move faster. Then, suddenly, she squashes it.

América needs change, but she doesn’t foresee the radical change waiting for her steps from her door in the suburbs of Boston. There, América witnesses family violence that ends in fatality. América’s new destiny is Argentina, where her reclusive anti-American grandmother Lucía (Ana María Colombo) receives her without a single smile. Lucía doesn’t speak a word of English and lives in a rundown home in the outskirts of Buenos Aires.

3 Américas is Cristina Kotz Cornejo’s first feature film. Born in Buenos Aires, Argentina and based in Boston, Cristina also teaches Film Production at Emerson College. She wrote, produced, edited and directed this film which took its first steps at the Sundance Screenwriter’s Lab and counted with the support of NALIP, IFP and the Moving Image Fund grants from LEF Foundation. América’s story developed from a Bostonian North American tale into an international one, making its way to Argentina. The film was ready for shooting after three years of writing and polishing. Besides three Americas, this independent, low-budget film has another three compelling elements that make it worth watching.

First of all, the script is very tight, reduced to its minimum set of lines. The words are meaningful and precise. This leads directly to the second fundamental element: the acting. Although only a few standout, everyone in the film is well-casted. Kristen González (América) achieves a convincing role in her debut. Ana María Colombo (who plays Lucía), with vast experience in Argentine theatre and television, delivers a masterclass. The last element in question is the very smart use of resources. It is tempting to show Buenos Aires in full glamour, depicting its iconic tango, its many restaurants and distinctive nightlife. But Kotz Cornejo managed the temptation, taking full advantage of the budget. She set the story in the town of Ramos Mejía outside of the main city center, captivating the essence of an Argentine life that not so many know about it.

Sergio (Nicolás Meradi), a multi-functional plumber-electrician and neighbor, keeps América grounded and helps her to adapt to a new culture with its idiosyncrasies and language. In this foreign environment, everything must be fixed rather than replaced, “cartonear” (cardboard collecting and selling) is an honest job, and little things can make a difference. The relationship between América and her grandmother Lucía goes from bad to worse until Lucía suffers a stroke –a turning point– leading to an adaptation and learning process for both grandmother and grandchild. Though the story takes some time to catch our interest during Boston scenes, it fully develops in Argentina, bringing together those 3 elements. Simple doesn’t mean easy, but when it succeeds as a formula, it reveals the core of independent film. I wonder if there is a second feature in the works. If not, maybe there’s still time to enroll in one of Kotz Cornejo’s Emerson classes.

(Written for Remezcla)

Aug 9, 2008

VI Cine Fest Brasil



Inffinito Group Proudly Announces the 6th Edition of the Annual Cine Fest Petrobras Brasil to Be Held August 10 – 16 in New York City


Between August 10 and 16, Central Park, Tribeca Cinemas and the United Nations will host the 6th edition of the annual Cine Fest Petrobras Brasil, created and produced by Inffinito Group. During the course of one week, the festival will feature over 24 films, both short and feature length, documentary and fiction, including one World Premiere, three US Premieres and eight NY Premieres.

The festival will be launched this year with a special tribute to the 50th Anniversary of Bossa Nova, Brazil's world renowned musical invention, at Central Park SummerStage. This special opening night will feature a live concert with acclaimed singer Maria Rita, daughter of two icons of Brazilian music Elis Regina e Cesar Camargo Mariano, and the screening of the feature film Out of Tune (Os Desafinados) by Walter Lima Jr. which reveal the 50's,60's and 70's in Brazil through the story of a fictional Bossa Nova band.

The Bossa Nova celebration continues with a special screening at the United Nations Headquarters of Anna Jobim's The House of Tom, an endearing documentary on her late husband, the music legend Carlos Antonio Jobim. The director will be awarded with a special Crystal Lens Award at a cocktail reception hosted by Embratur, following the screening.

“The festival is going to surprise everyone with the depth and range of our screenings along with the exciting special events : the concert at SummerStage and the United Nations event. We believe in attracting businesses through culture, and our sponsor shares this view”, says Adriana Dutra, director of Inffinito Group. Cine Fest Petrobras Brasil has become an official event of the Brazilian Government as well of the New York cultural calendar. The event is also sponsored by Embratur, the country's Tourism Office.

Some of the highlights of the film program are the World Premiere of Youth a film by Domingos Oliveira and Philippe Barcinski's film Not by Chance by Executive Producer Fernando Meirelles (City of God, The Constant Gardener). The selected films showcase the diversity of themes, narratives and landscapes that Brazil has to offer and they offer New York audiences a great opportunity to get a taste of the vibrant local film scene that has created such international hits as Central Station, City of God and the forthcoming sensation Elite Squad.

All of the film screenings of the official selection will take place August 11-16 at the Tribeca Cinemas. All features compete for the Crystal Lens Award for the Best Feature Film, a prize awarded by the audience. The Closing Ceremony will take place on Saturday, August 16 at the Tribeca Cinemas.

Additionally nightly after the screenings, the audience along with special guests, directors and actors, will be treated to the Petrobras Lounge, hosted by DJ Luluta, who will be spinning different rhythms every night. The Petrobas Lounge is also located at the Tribeca Cinemas.

Two new additions to the annual roster of Brazilian premieres are the special shorts project Revealing the Brazils and the sidebar DOCTV. Before each screening at the Tribeca Cinemas, there will be the projection of a short film from the Revealing the Brasils project. The project, in partnership with the Audiovisual Secretariat of the Ministry of Culture and sponsored by Petrobras, was born from the idea to show an unknown Brazil to the world. Its stories are told from the point of view of the common Brazilian inhabitant of small cities, who would normally never have the chance of seeing their talent on the big screens.

DOCTV is a unique program developed by the Audiovisual Secretariat of the Ministry of Culture, TV Cultura and the ABEPEC (Brazilian Association of Public, Education and Cultural Broadcasters) that promotes the partnership between Brazilian public TV and independent producers. Created in 2003, the program aims at promoting the regionalization of the production of documentaries, articulating a national circuit of TV broadcast through the Public Television Network and proposing a business model that makes regional markets viable for Brazilian documentary films. This sidebar showcases some of the most outstanding works that have participated in this program.


Additional information:
- Opening night screening + concert: Sunday, August 10 at Central Park SummerStage (Rumsey Playfield, enter at 72nd and Fifth Avenue). Free Admission.
- Film screenings: daily August 11 - 16, at the Tribeca Cinemas (54 Varick Street at Laight St.) Tickets: $10.
- Special Private Screening of The House of Tom + cocktail: Tuesday, August 12 at 6pm at the United Nations Building (UN) Library Auditorium (1st Avenue and 46th Street Entrance). By invitation only.
- Awards Ceremony: Saturday, August 16, 10pm at the Tribeca Cinemas.

For tickets and schedule:

Jun 14, 2008

Tribeca 2008: Interview with José Padilha


Tropa de Elite (Elite Squad) is José Padilha’s first fiction feature-length after his critically acclaimed documentary Ónibus 174 (Bus 174, 2002). Acquired by The Weinstein Co. for distribution in the US, the film was a huge success and cultural phenomenon in Brazil, where it is said it was watched by more than 10 million people before its release in theaters – all in pirated DVDs. This is a powerful film with brilliant cinematography by Lula Carvalho (O Ceu de Seuly - Love for Sale, 2006, and son of cinematographer Walter Carvalho), an extremely sharp sound supervised by Alessandro Laroca (Cidade de Deus – City of God, 2002), great music by Pedro Bromfman and a tight but smooth editing job by Daniel Rezende (Oscar nominated for City of God, also editor for The Year My Parents Went On Vacation, one of the best picks for the past Tribeca Festival in 2007.)

What is ground breaking about Elite Squad is that it is told through a cop’s point of view. Corruption, hypocrisy and social justice take a role over the action in this in-your-face story of a very complex society where everything falls into a grey zone flooded with personal interests, socio-political networks and a lot of violence. Padilha wrote the script with Bráulio Mantovani (City of God) and Rodrigo Pimentel, a military cop himself for eleven years (five of these as a captain in an elite squad). The film is based in the book Elite da Tropa, by Pimentel, Luiz Eduardo Soares and André Batista. A few months ago, Elite Squad won one of the most important awards in the film world: the Golden Bear at Berlinale.

Extraordinarily performed by Wagner Moura (Captain Nascimento), Caio Junqueira (Neto) and André Ramiro (Matias), this is a film as direct as José Padilha’s answers during our interview. With a smile and a friendly, positive attitude, Padliha received me at the Tribeca Filmmaker’s Lounge and answered all the questions right to the point. He was getting ready for more interviews in a hectic agenda that includes being part of the Jury too. In any case, compared with shooting a film about police in the favelas, doing press is surely a kind of a well-deserved vacation for Padilha, as he shared with us.

Pablo Goldbarg: Did you have to make a compromise with drug-dealers, in order to work in their territories, much like NGOs do?

José Padilha: The only way you can film in a favela in Brazil is talking to the drug-dealers. There is no other way. They control the favela. Everything that goes on in this land that has drug-dealers in it, it has to go through the dealers. Every single favela has an association of people living there, so instead of going through the drug-dealers, we went through the associations, because we didn’t want to have to deal with the dealers. But we know that once we cut up a deal with the association, the association is cutting up a deal with the drug-dealers. At least that’s what we thought. But then, in the middle of the shoot the dealers hijacked a car with four crew members and all the guns we used. The crew members were released after an hour, but the guns were stolen and the police went up to the location, so we had to stop shooting for two weeks. We didn’t cut a deal directly with the drug-dealers; and it proved to be the wrong thing to do.

P.G.: How did you convince the police institutions they were fairly portrayed in the script? How did you get their blessings or permits?

J.P.: The police institutions were fairly portrayed, but I never gave them the scripts, if I had, there wouldn’t be a movie. We only got the permit to shoot after several months through the Governor, because we threatened him to go to the press, and that would be a scandal, because Brazil has free speech. So, the Governor made the police give us the permit to shoot. After the film was finished, copies were stolen, and the police saw the movie before it opened, and they sued us, they tried to prevent the film from opening if we didn’t edit the torture scenes and killings in the favelas. So, the police hate us because the film portrayed them fairly (laughs.)

P.G.: What did you get the most after this film: friends or enemies?

J.P.: I got a lot of friends, even in the police. People who collaborated with the movie are interested in showing how things are, and they want to make the statement that things need to change. Those are my friends. My enemies... I don’t know where the hell they are. I don’t talk to them, I don’t call them up. From my perspective, I didn’t make any enemies. Maybe from the perspective of somebody else, I’m an enemy. I don’t even think about this.

P.G.: Is it possible to deal with the violence in the favelas without violating human rights?

J.P.: Yes, of course it is. The movie I’ve made has a protagonist who believes that violence can be controlled by violence. He believes that you can sort of violently force somebody not to be violent. It’s a kind of what America decided to do with Iraq: let’s go in and violently make the Iraqi government not to be violent. And you see what you get, right? The movie is basically a statement against that proposition, the idea that violence can be controlled by violence. This proposition not only destroys the lives of many innocent people but it also destroys the lives of those who believe in it. So, the protagonist who believes in that is suffering from post-traumatic stress and panic syndromes, he wants to leave the unit he has always lived for, his wife and kids don’t want to be with him... and we don’t make this up; this is true. This is what we found in all the research: most cops that abide by those violent behaviors end up fucked up. I mean, they end up with serious psychological problems. So, there is a way to deal with violence, and that’s by taking education to the favelas, trying to give people a chance to have jobs. That’s the right way to do it. That’s the only way to do it.

P.G.: Beyond the amazing portray of Nascimento, the transformation of Neto and Matias is a key element in the film. Can you talk about the work you did with the actors? Did you use any acting coaching like Sergio Machado did with Maria Fatima Toledo in Cidade Baixa - Lower City?

J.P.: I had like 120 actors in my movie. Many, many characters. It’s impossible for a director to handle this alone. What I did was separating the actors in groups: regular police men, elite squads, students, etc. For the actors who played regular or corrupted cops, I brought cops to train with them. Elite squad actors were trained with real elite squads. Supervising them was Fatima Toledo, an acting coach who worked also in City of God and Cidade Baixa, and myself. We would go with the different groups and rehearse with the actors and the real people to make the film feel realistic; that was the goal. Furthermore, I didn’t give the screenplay to the actors, I mean I took the dialogue out. So, they had the script but they didn’t know the lines. They had to learn to improvise, and we did this for three months, then we shot the movie. It’s a cool way to do it.

P.G.: Do you think action and entertaining films are the only way to get a good distribution of Latin American films in the U.S.?

J.P.: No, I don’t. I don’t see my movie as an action movie. I worked on it and I thought about it as a social critique of Brazilian society, but we had action in there. We have scenes that had energy in it, and it’s a way to get an audience. How good it is to make a very intellectual, sophisticated, slow paced detached movie about society that nobody goes to see? It doesn’t do any good. I believe there is a way to do serious social critique, and at the same time make movies that will have an audience. This is what we tried to do with Elite Squad, and this is what I think Latin American filmmakers at good at it. Actually, we have a tradition of doing engaging movies. Not only Latin American but also other foreign filmmakers are good at it, like [Greek] Costa-Gavras in Missing (1982). I think South American filmmakers should make movies primarily for their own audiences, because if their audiences go to the theaters, the movie will pick up distribution outside.

P.G.: Do you feel some kind of responsibility as a filmmaker and a mass communicator about social issues? What’s the difference between using documentary and fiction to pursue your goals?

J.P.: Even my fictional work, which is Elite Squad, has a documentary flavor. It’s meant to portray a reality as it is. You can ask anybody in Brazil and they will tell you that reality is very similar in the movie. We did a lot of research, interviews with cops, psychiatrists, to get reality into the script. So, as far as representing reality, you can do it with documentaries, but you can also do it with fictional movies. When they work out, they reach a larger audience than documentaries. A movie like City of God is strongly based in reality. It’s a fictional movie but it also reveals to you how the drug-dealing business started off, as well as a documentary does. But they can do the same thing, basically, which is bring up debate on social issues if they aim to portray reality. I don’t make a distinction there, but I do realize that fiction movies get to a broader audience.

P.G.: Is there any hope in Latin America to finish corruption beyond the use of extreme violence?

J.P.: I’m now working on my third movie, which I’m going to call Corruptology. It states the logic of politicians and politics in Latin America. Why politicians are so corrupt, and how the corruption at highest levels spreads out to the whole society and ends up generating the kind of violence you see in my previous two movies and others. I’m writing it with a sociologist in Brazil. I think there is a way to solve this, but it’s not an easy way, and it’s going take a while. I think South America is in a slow process towards a stronger democratic society, a fairer society. We don’t have it yet, but we’ll get there... we’ll get there.

P.G.: You were part of an intense training camp, your crew was kidnapped, your props stolen… yet you made a great film. What’s next? Do you think you could handle a romantic comedy?

J.P.: [laughs] Can I handle it? Well, I don’t know. I don’t think like this. I just do the story that I wan to do. If at some point I’m running at a romantic story that I do believe it’s important, I’m gonna try to do it. Then we’ll find out whether I can do it or not (laughs.) I wouldn’t refrain myself of trying to do it, nor a science fiction movie, or a comedy, or a movie for kids. I’ll do the movie that I have in my heart. This is what I want to say next through this language of filmmaking, and whatever it’s I’ll go for it. Maybe it’s a romantic comedy, or a cartoon! I like cartoons, I see a lot of them with my kid, so maybe one day I’m going to do a cartoon...

P.G.: I’ll definitely watch it...

(Written for Remezcla)

May 30, 2008

Tribeca 2008: Fantasy, Reality & Viceversa


What comes first: pain or pleasure? Happiness or sadness? Does it hurt to love and be loved, or because we’re already in pain we need to find love? Will these dualities ever be able to exist separately? Do they happen at the same time? All these questions are presented in a very smart way in Amor, Dolor y Viceversa (Love, Pain & Vice Versa), the new film of Mexican director Alfonso Pieda Ulloa, written by Alex Marino, based on a story by Blás Valdez. They take a step further turning this existential duality into a matrix for the spectator: what if, not knowing if pain or love comes first, we also don’t know if it’s reality or fantasy?

Night after night, Chelo (Bárbara Mori, La Mujer de mi Hermano) dreams about an attractive and mysterious man with an accent. These dreams slowly consumed her life, to the point that after a year, she becomes so obsessed she doesn’t want to meet any other guys. Her friend Gaby (Irene Azuela, El Búfalo de la Noche) tries to tell Chelo to forget about the perfect man of her dreams and come back to reality but one day, Chelo shows up, crying, at a police precinct to give a description of a man who, supposedly, attacked and raped her. Was she really attacked? Is she making it all up? Is she in love with her attacker? Is it the man of her dreams or an ex-boyfriend?

Dr. Ricardo Márquez (Leonardo Sbaraglia, Plata Quemada) has been suffering the same nightmares for a year: a very attractive woman seduces him only to kill him. Even his fiancée (Marina de Tavira, La Zona) is annoyed and jealous by this recurrent woman of his nightmares, but Ricardo swears that he doesn’t know this woman. What happens next, I cannot give away. Their stories cross, the double-searching becomes a paradox, and dreams merge into reality – and viceversa. This dark psychological thriller is wonderfully depicted by cinematographer Damián García (Más Que a Nada en el Mundo), and the escalating, tension and he/she versions of the story accurately supported by editor Jorge Macaya (Fermat’s Room, also showing at Tribeca Festival 2008.) They have created a isolated, atemporal urban setting for these characters, detaching the story from any local references. This could be Mexico or it could be Bilbao or Detroit. I even overheard someone commenting “It doesn’t look Mexican!” due to the film’s Hollywoodesque quality in the lighting, texture and mood. But people shouldn’t be surprised about good Mexican cinema anymore, this is 2008. Mori’s performance is strong and convincing, subdued for a telenovela actress although sometimes a little too monotone. Sbaraglia’s performance? Well, he can’t fail. At his 37 years of age, he has been in almost the same amount of movies, and in some of them with highly emotional and difficult roles (Intacto, En La Ciudad Sin Límites.)

In this his first feature film, Pineda Ulloa jumps back and forth twisting the storyline and forking paths in a puzzle that is re-constructed from two different points of view. Sometimes he abuses the flashbacks, repetition of dreams, and a few obvious images to make some noise – how many times did you seen in movies a desperate man, fully dressed, crying under the shower? In spite of that, the double-way prey-predator game works great, and the evident scenes are balanced with some imaginative ones. This film is the only Latin American film among the twelve selected for the World Narrative Feature Competition, where The Aquarium (Egypt), Quiet Chaos (Italy) and Lost-Indulgence (China) are favorites, though Pineda Ulloa and Marino’s clever and original story has good chances too, and we hope Mexico takes home one of the most important Tribeca awards again, like last year did Enrique Begne with Dos Abrazos winning Best New Narrative Filmmaker award.

Do Chelo and Ricardo finally meet? Oh, they definitely do. But, is it real...?

(Written for Remezcla)

May 19, 2008

Tribeca 2008: Cliché's Room


Let’s just face it: it’s practically impossible to be an innovative storyteller in film. It’s an art that usually re-uses, re-orders, and pays tributes. The magic and originality of cinema lies in the way filmmakers put all the elements together. It’s hard to detach our minds from thousands of images already recorded by our subconscious. The problem arises when the evident becomes too obvious or when re-use turns into overuse: then it just becomes “cliché” (and yes, sorry for using such a “cliché” word.)

Lluís Piedrahita and Rodrigo Sopeña are the writers and directors of their first feature film La Habitación de Fermat (Fermat’s Room), a new Spanish suspense film about four mathematicians who don’t know each other, and are invited by a mysterious host to solve a “great enigma.” Tempted for the challenge, they travel to an unknown house in the hills. The room where they meet ends up being a death machine that shrinks each time they can’t solve a riddle. Sooner or later they will die unless they discover why they are there and who wants to kill them. The film has enclosed itself in the big challenge of making a film mainly in one room. Cinematographer Miguel Angel Amoedo and editor Jorge Macaya (Love, Pain & Viceversa, also showing at Tribeca) helped the writers/directors duo make a good job keeping a steady rhythm and aesthetic quality, but the movie falls early into a series of clichés that give you a claustrophobic sensation of hopelessness.

With performances that are accurate but not convincing enough, the four mathematicians are played by Lluís Homar (La Mala Eduación), Alejo Sauras, and Spanish TV stars Elena Ballesteros and Santi Millán. Some dialogues are not in the level of high IQ scientists, and it’s even disturbing to see these four supposedly genii sweating, excited and worried about puzzles and equations that reminds you of elementary or high school. That doesn’t mean that these are easy problems to solve, but it’s a strange situation. Even Fermat himself, the great Federico Luppi (an Argentine legend that acted in almost 100 movies, most recent one Pan’s Labyrinth) has no space to fully develop his role.

How many times can the characters jump scared from their spots when the intercom announces a new riddle? How much more tense can they get every time the walls move and shrink? How necessary is it to repeat and reveal a tense moment through the device of a zoom or a high-pitched violin? Why do they need to explain everything with flashbacks and leave nothing to the audience’s imagination? Excess is the main sin of this movie: with stereotyped expressions and character development, and even the use of extra saturated color and evident suspense music score to announce….more suspense. All of this can easily turn off an audience, though one of the things this film actually does really well is embedding the riddles into the tight storyline. Proof of this is the number of awards it has won in two fantasy film festivals: Málaga Fantastic (Spain) and Fantasporto (Portugal.)

The beginning credits show a miniature room being furnished by a human hand. It’s probably a way of advancing part of the plot: the walls will shrink. Or it’s perhaps that the film itself has already shrunk at the beginning. The most original element in this film is... the official website! (You don’t have to be a scientist to find it). Fermat’s Room didn’t go well in Spain: it was released in November 2007 with positive reviews, but despite counting with a few star-actors, it did less than a million dollar in the box office. Nevertheless, it has been sold to more than 20 countries, and it faces now a new challenge: IFC Entertainment has acquired the rights to do an American remake. Probably then we can solve the puzzle: can the story be saved? Is there any room for some fresh air, or nobody can make it better than their own creators? What happens at the end is pointless: it has already been (excessively) explained in this review, and the key lies in the title. I’m a sinner too.

(Written for Remezcla)

May 8, 2008

Tribeca 2008: Paraíso Redux


A lot of Latin American countries are considered “paradise:” gorgeous beaches, exquisite cuisines, kind people, cheap clothes, sporting events that become passionate social phenomena, historical architecture, and landscapes that are devotion of National Geographic photographers. Nevertheless, every year millions of Latin Americans believe the paradise is to the north, often embarking in humiliating and risky experiences, far away from their families, friends, language and customs.

Paraiso Travel is Colombian director Simon Brand’s second feature film after Unknown (2006) which starred James Caviezel. Written by Jorge Franco and Juan Manuel Rendón, and based on “Paraiso Travel”, a novel by Franco, it tells the story of manipulative and ambitious Reina (Angélica Blandón) and lovesick Marlon (Aldemar Correa), two teenagers from Medellín who travel illegally to New York looking for a better life. Reina wants to get out of Medellín and her conservative father, and Marlon, the movie’s “hero”…well, he comes from a good and loving family but he just wants to sleep with Reina and so follows her lead. So it is a bit preposterous that these two students steal their way to get $3,000 to buy a “non-guaranteed” ticket to freedom through Paraiso Travel Agency. Their naïve intents are soon crushed as they make the dangerous journey to Guatemala, Mexico and finally through the US border and New York, but soon after the first day, Marlon gets lost. No money, no friends, no family, no Reina... no English.

“New York is a monster to tame”, tells Giovanny (Pedro Capó, one of the best performers in the film) to Marlon while contemplating the Manhattan skyline on a break from work at Mi Tierra Colombiana restaurant in Jackson Heights, Queens. Marlon is rescued by fellow Colombian immigrants and he meets generous and affable Latinos such as Giovanny, Milagros (superstar Ana de La Reguera in a disappointing role), a Mexican aspiring salsa singer who makes a living selling CDs outside the restaurant and Roger (John Leguizamo,) his sadomasochist (literally) but kind (and of course being Leguizamo, funny) landlord. Everyone takes Marlon’s hand to make him feel at home and forget about his quest to find Reina. “In this country you have to wait in line for everything…even to be happy” musters Giovanny, who serves as the Voice of Reason throughout the film.

Immigration to the U.S., beyond its legal/illegal condition is one of the hottest and most complex issues in the current political campaigns. It’s also a very important issue to address in a more serious way in Latin American countries, where citizens live immersed in false promises, corruption and poverty. But no matter how huge is the topic of massive Latin American migration to the U.S., lets not forget about the basic premise of the film: it’s a love story. No matter how many friends Marlon makes or Milagros’ seductive hip swivels, he is miserable because in the middle of Queens, he can’t find his Reina. Simon Brand tried to be as faithful as possible to Franco’s novel, and in some way it turns the whole migration discussion into an entertaining soap opera adapted to the big screen: it’s humorous, romantic, dramatic, sexy and has lots of topless shots. Paraiso Travel is a high-quality production (it cost almost $5 million), and drew one of the biggest box offices in Colombia’s history (no doubt it can have the same effect in many Latin American countries.) Thousands, if not millions of spectators will feel identified when a crying Marlon calls his mother asking for her daily blessing. Or will know what it feels like when he discovers commodities that don’t exist in our yet developing countries (like a handicapped-ready bathroom that works), and all the suffering and home-away-from home situations immigrants must face in a new country.

That said, even if the Latin American immigration in this country is a necessary and important topic on screen, don’t expect exceptional acting. Even Leguizamo, who also produced the film and is one of the best Latino actors in the U.S. along with Benicio del Toro, leaves us wishing his character were more developed. And yes, you must deal with some classic novelas stereotypes, including too much of plot explanation and an over-the-top ending. "I wanted to make a film that makes Latin Americans think twice about traveling to the U.S. illegally," Simon Brand told me during a meet and greet with the press at the Tribeca Film Festival, "but one that also makes Americans think twice about how these people are treated once they get here." Simon’s intentions go right to the point: his honest adaptation definitely brings new questions to a very relevant issue.

(Written for Remezcla)

May 1, 2008

Tribeca 2008: Net of Dreams


Who hasn’t felt lonely at some point? Who hasn’t spent endless nights staring out a window? Who hasn’t felt that strange pain in your chest when you spot a group of people screaming, laughing, and having fun while walking alone on the street? Loneliness is one of the most common themes in film, yet nobody has ever portrayed it with the awkwardness, or the poetic and crude sensitivity of Harmony Korine. When he was twenty-two years old, he shocked the cinema world with the screenplay for Kids (1995), a documentary-style story about drug-addled promiscuous youth in New York City. Thirteen years later, he comes back with a maturity unusual for a filmmaker who is not even forty with Mister Lonely, his most important and complex piece to date.

Written in collaboration with his brother Avi, Mister Lonely tells the story of Michael Jackson (Diego Luna), a young Mexican immigrant who roams the streets of Paris impersonating--and living his everyday life as--Michael Jackson. He is delicate, shy, and wears a surgical mask in public spaces. Michael confesses his strong and heartbreaking desire to be someone else to a tape recorder, expressing his disappointment with his personality and looks. While performing in a nursing home, tenderly making the elderly sing and hope to live forever, he meets Marilyn Monroe (Samantha Morton), who convinces him to move to a community of impersonators lead by her husband Charlie Chaplin (Denis Lavant), as they are getting ready to perform the best show ever. They live in an isolated commune in the hills, and a better place couldn’t exist for this wacky group of impersonators--everyone is accepted by the others devoid of judgment or prejudice, and things run according to their own rules.

In the meantime, a parallel story unfolds in what seems to be a disconnected plot, though beneath the surface they share a common soul. Thousands of miles away, in some Latin American village, a foreign priest (Werner Herzog, the great German filmmaker) works with nuns in a mission to distribute food to the poorest communities. Like the impersonators, all of them are true believers, the purest dreamers: defined by desire, devotion, obsession. From the first scene, the film submerges us in a type of slow-motion dream. Harmony Korine confesses that the story originated as isolated images that later started taking on shape. This is sometimes intricately translated to the screen, but it is exactly what makes the film so interesting: everyone can take the different symbolisms and align them in different directions.

The impersonators share a very particular characteristic: they are all awful performers – yet they believe. Charlie Chaplin behaves more like Hitler than the comic, Abraham Lincoln (Richard Strange) curses and screams exaggeratedly, and every other character in the film is taken to another reality through their own impersonations and others’ souls. Their everyday duality is constantly exposed in public and private: in costume yet naked, embarrassed yet happy. The main performances of Luna, Morton, Lavant and Herzog are wonderful and rich, exploding their limits thanks to careful direction by Korine, as well as in subtle improvisations. The cinematography by Marcel Zyskind (9 Songs, A Mighty Heart) is stunning, and it’s no surprise to find the name of editor Valdís Oskarsdóttir (responsible for the masterful work in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind) in this film’s credits.

Dreams come true crossing the frontiers where Michael, Marilyn and the priest travel to other countries to accomplish their goals and live freer--nuns can fly too. In this thorny world, the pursuit of happiness is probably a never-ending search. The answer, if it exists, is deeply within us. “Sometimes the purest dreamers are the ones that get hurt the most,” says Harmony Korine. In a way, lonely dreamers are not alone. Michael rides a small bike with a cuddly monkey toy attached to it, trying to skate with him. Is Michael happy? We can’t see behind the mask. But something is clear: hope is the last thing we lose, and dreams are the first thing we create.

(Written for Remezcla)


Mister Lonely
[MISTE] Spotlight
Feature Narrative, 2007, 113 min
Directed by: Harmony Korine

Thu, May 01, 10:00PM AMC Village VII Theater 2 (Map)

Mar 29, 2008

Trapped


Privacy is one of the most precious things we have. Freedom from intrusion, disturbance and the view of others; privacy is a right. What happens when privacy ceases to be individual and becomes collective? The growth of violence and insecurity has created a phenomenon in many big South American cities: the “barrios privados,” gated communities outside main cities, fortresses with private guards watching, making the privileged who live inside the walls to think they’re “safe.”

La Zona is Rodrigo Plá’s directorial debut, and was adapted by him and Laura Santullo, author of the original short story. It’s a first feature that did very well in the international festival circuit, winning awards at Toronto and Venice. The film has brought together a few well known actors like Blanca Guerra (Lucía), Spaniards Daniel Giménez Cacho (Daniel), Maribel Verdú (Mariana) and new promising talents like Alan Chávez as Miguel. Alejandro (Daniel Tovar) appears in the first scene driving inside “la zona” being followed by the security cameras, in an image that anticipates part of the story: these affluent people seem to have everything except happiness. They are caught by their own freedom under the surveillance of an eye – the view of others – so ever-present that it has become an intruder.

After a power failure makes a private neighborhood in Mexico City vulnerable, resulting in a fatal robbery, residents are left in a state of shock. Before the incident becomes public, they decide to conceal it and take justice into their own hands. Officer Iván (Enrique Arreola) also tries to solve the case on his own but must fight against the police department’s corruption.

The story builds up suspense from beginning to end, and makes the audience identify unusually with the poor “bad guys,” contrasting them with the group of rich people who lie to the police and don’t care about anything but their internal eco-system. This aspect of the plot is handled in a very smart way: it doesn’t matter if those thieves get into the private property and kill; we only want social justice. Is it fair? Is it about good vs. bad or is it an urgent call for discussion about inequity? Plá and Santullo add an interesting element: while Daniel leads the persecution of the supposed killer, Miguel, one of the thieves who escaped the deadly night of the robbery is discovered by Daniel’s son, Alejandro, in his own basement. Here the film has a golden opportunity to rise above the genre as a sensitive reflection on friendship beyond classes, but instead, gives in to the suspense structure, becoming a victim on two levels. On the one hand, the relationship between Alejandro and Miguel can’t be fully developed. On the other hand, to keep constant the “cat and mice” chase, the film falls into cliché and overboard situations that could excite some audiences but really disappoint others.

Immorality everywhere, dissatisfaction among the poor and emptiness among the rich,, boredom and isolation, all create a zone surrounded by a big wall that not only produces a new unofficial geographic border, but also leads to an inevitable transformation: if it wasn’t possible to get in, it won’t be possible to get out. The private turns into public, and everybody becomes trapped: the residents, the thieves, the police, the public and even the film too. Depending on which level you want to play, you may find the exit or not.

(Written for NYRemezcla.com)


La Zona

Series: New Directors/New Films 
[April 4 @ MoMA, April 6 @ Walter Reade - Lincoln Center]
Director: Rodrigo Plá
Writer: Rodrigo Plá & Laura Santullo
Release: 2007
Runtime: 97

Oct 22, 2007

Sun King


Andrei B. Severny was born in Russia in 1913. According to the New York Times, he was a "leader in Soviet astronomy and an authority on the physics of the sun and the stars". The second Andrei in this story, Mr. Tarkovsky, was born in Russia in 1932. He is remembered as one of the most influential Russian filmmakers of the history. In 1952, Andrei the astronomer won the Stalin Prize for his study of solar flares. In 1972 Andrei the filmmaker made Solaris - the same day I was born. Five years later, in 1977, the third Andrei in this story was born, also in Russia: he is Severny's grandson. Although he had no idea at that time that he could have any kind of relation with his grandfather's solar flares or with Tarkovsky's Solaris, the connections are particularly close.

Andrei Severny, the photographer and filmmaker, spent most of his career in the business world. In 2004 his life changed and he moved from Moscow to New York. This prolific and talented artist who used to take pictures for the world wide renowned Moscow-based magazine Monitor, had also a prolific beginning of his new career with five short films in two years. All of them have different perspectives and tell different stories, but they share something in common: its unique defiant cinematography. Notably influenced by Andrei Tarkovsky's Solaris, and in some way also under the inheritance of Andrei B. Severny, this third man brings textures and moods that automatically make us travel to a new atmosphere, as if we were floating against gravity.

The audience becomes Tom, Tom becomes Andrei, and Andrei depicts a magic tale of astronomy and suspense beyond imagination, crossing limits one more time with his hidden but active camera: third eye; third Andrei. Probably Tom On Mars is his most engaging film, although the experimental way in which he tells the story of Frames, mixing a beautiful 16mm film with the digital "making of" provokes us the need to watch more. Growing and walking on the experimental path we find Ocean Whisper: reality, fiction and metaphors are melted into a very old look and feel; reminiscence of a projector from the childhood, traveling back to a melancholic present. His last but not least film, Disparait, v, are the best example of what mixed media fundamentally tries: it is not about having and mixing, but multiplying different layers. All these sensations invite us to imagine, to reflect about solitude and vanishing into the city movements, and especially to co-create.

From sun flares to other planets, and from past thoughts to present consciousness, I also feel connected to them - actually 2004 was the same year I also switched careers and moved from Buenos Aires to New York. This mystically shared experience make me believe I'm a sun king too. Little Bay Blues cries, probably because it's not a comic anymore. The transformation is a fact, and everybody is naturally scared about the unknown; us and them. The bad thing is that the unknown is unavoidable. The good thing is that in Andrei Severny's hands there is nothing to fear... except about ourselves.


Andrei Severny's filmography:

Little Bay Blues (trailer)
3', 16mm, 2004
Cinematographer

Ocean Whisper
5', 16mm, 2004
Cinematographer

Frames
12', 16mm/digital, 2005
Cinematographer

Tom On Mars
7', 16mm, 2005
Writer/Director and Cinematographer

Disparait, v
5', mixed media, 2005
Writer/Director and Cinematographer
Milano Film Festival 2005, Italy (
official selection)


* Picture above copyrighted by Andrei Severny

Oct 17, 2007

Real Mondays at the MoMA


It's Monday and I'm arriving at the Museum of Modern Art in New York. I feel similar sensations that I had back in 1999, when I first came to the city and the Museum. Eight years later, the same smell captivate me - nice, clean and particularly recognizable in a few New York buildings. The whole experience of walking into the MoMA reminds me of those days as a tourist, and make me realize again that I'm in New York; I'm at the MoMA. After a conversation with Sally Berger (Curator, MoMA) I understand that the Museum has a strong commitment with its mission, and a constant pursuance for new challenging materials. There is one goal that I believe it specially represents its main soul:

"...these forms of visual expression are an open-ended series of arguments and counter arguments that can be explored through exhibitions and installations and that are reflected in the Museum's varied collection..."

This goal is directly interwoven with the Modern Mondays series. The organizers of the film exhibitions asked themselves: where is the cutting edge of the motion picture? Following the Museum's long tradition of exploring cinematic experimentation, these screenings salute "innovation on screen" and invite us to meet new and old filmmakers, to enjoy not only their films but also to engage in dialog with them. This series developed from a program that commenced in 1968 entitled Cineprobe. In the mid '70s, a complementary program of new video work was screened in Video Viewpoints. Both of these programs were combined into a new program entitled MediaScope in 2002 and from there, Modern Mondays was born, bringing today thought-provoking questions with more than one answer.

This Monday - inaugurating the 2007 cycle - presented Michael Haneke's Funny Games (1997), a film that has been remade ten years later, marking an unusual chapter in cinema history: the filmmaker is the same, what changed are actors (Tim Roth and Naomi Watts) and country (U.S.A.). A remake that remains exactly the same, according to Haneke, except that unfortunately in today's world, violence is even worse. Feeling the subway rumbling beneath my feet in the Roy and Niuta Titus 1 Theater, I was ready to be delighted for first time by Haneke's original version of Funny Games, here in the Museum of Movement and Art.

After the film ended, Joshua Siegel (Assistant Curator, Department of Film at MoMA) introduced writer and director Michael Haneke as one of the best examples of what represents Modern Mondays. After a small conversation, they opened to Q&A with the audience that filled the theater:

- "The rules had become boring. We had to break them." I believe him: in this disturbing film, an animal and a child are killed, and both the characters and the filmmaker play with the audience. Haneke was asked why he needed to show this extreme violence in a film. He shot back: - "Why did you stay? Probably you needed it." There is a particular scene where part of the audience applauds a murder... but Haneke stops and rewinds, making everybody realize that in this parody of adults playing funny and kids behaving seriously, there are more things to question down beneath the surface.

Toward the end of this great night, I was lucky enough to ask Michael Haneke one of the last questions: - "I wonder what would you do if you have to define the word real for the dictionary..." He replied masterfully, summarizing the very essence of these Mondays: -"I had a philosophy professor who told me once that, if you are forced to define something, you're going into a slippery path, so it's better to avoid it..."

He laughed - another funny game around the permanent quest for meaning. It was probably the best answer I could obtain.


Modern Mondays full schedule

Organized by Sally Berger, Assistant Curator; Jytte Jensen, Curator; Laurence Kardish, Senior Curator; Rajendra Roy, Celeste Bartos Chief Curator; and Joshua Siegel, Assistant Curator, Department of Film; and Klaus Biesenbach, Chief Curator; and Barbara London, Associate Curator, Department of Media.
Modern Mondays is supported by The Contemporary Arts Council of The Museum of Modern Art. Media sponsorship is provided by Artforum.

The Museum of Modern Art
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Getting to MoMA
MoMA is located at 11 West Fifty-third Street, between Fifth and Sixth avenues. Subway: E or V to Fifth Avenue/53 Street; B, D, or F to 47-50 Streets/Rockefeller Center. Bus: M1, 2, 3, 4, 5 to 53 Street.


* Picture above: Arno Frisch has
Stefan Clapczynski under control in Michael Haneke's Funny Games (1997)

Aug 20, 2007

The Light Warrior



Akira Kurosawa's Kagemusha, The Shadow Warrior (1980) is not only about the philosophic meaning of a man's shadow but also about a powerful poetry with shadows experienced through behaviors and cinematic landscapes. Is not a coincidence that shadows are a constant in most of the shots. Just in the first shot we can see a dark ambient illuminated by a candle and a kind of magic source, creating different shadows as a "mother image" that anticipates what will be experienced through the whole film: ambition, submission, war and... shadows.

The light is justified in this first shot by that candle in the middle of the scene, even when we know that there is more light in the ambient that a candle can give. Kurosawa repeats the use of a magic source masterfully. He never shows ceilings, and especially in those Japanese scenarios, we never know if the characters are in a closed or open space. Every kind of houses and castles have the possibility of rooms without ceilings, gardens or courtyards. Thus, the director can play with the idea of a light coming from a lantern, a high lamp, a streetlight, or the moon. The fire is another resource that is used aesthetically powerful--and also appropriate for that age. There is a beautiful shot with the soldiers waiting outside the castle at night, near a tall old wall and some mountains, where big bonfires allow the hit of huge orange key lights mixed with soft blue fill lights justified by the moon's presence.

Maybe the most amazing -and famous- shot in the film is where the soldiers march under the sunlight in the dawn, where due to a sun just becoming visible, different kind of shadows are created and converted into giant soldiers. One more time the importance and detail in the cinematography and lighting generate new meanings. The shadow of an emperor, the shadow of the soldiers, the shadow of natural resources, are all over there unavoidably. In this specific shot the soldiers carry on big flags, most of them perpendicular to the sunlight, maybe used as reflection sources. The shadows are also used to emphasize the power of the character and his oratory. A great example is a discourse told by the Takeda's leader Shingen (brilliantly interpreted by Tatsuya Nakadai). While he talks under a light coming from a mysterious ceiling and some candles, the rest of the clan is seated in rows confronting him scarcely illuminated in the darkness. The shadows of the clan members are big enough to show that even when a fundamental figure is recognized as a leader, all of them are crouching tigers ready to emerge at any given moment.

The final battle arrives, in an open space during the day. Some shots are illuminated by the natural sun, others are opaque due to the presence of clouds, but all of them are like wonderful paintings--as most of the original Kurosawa's storyboards. Like any other Kurosawa's film, this story converges ambiguity, different layers, aesthetic splendor and powerful meanings: beneath the shadows lies the light.

Aug 13, 2007

Japón Sublime


“Thou Shalt Not Make Graven Images”
(Exodus 20:4-6)


A black square fades to distorted images with blurred colors and lights. A distorted sound catches our attention. A few seconds later, we know that the images and sounds are those of cars waiting inside a tunnel. As they move, we see a white light in the distance, like the light of a near-death experience. A mother-image gives birth to a magically sublime story about a trip to death and the unavoidable encounter with life--and vice-versa. According to Jean-François Lyotard in Postmodernism, A Reader (1992, Ed. Thomas Docherty), the sublime can’t be put in words, representations or conventional forms. Mexican filmmaker Carlos Reygadas does a great job in his opera prima representing the sublime with a defiant cinematic language. Released in 2003, Japón (Japan) features a nameless antihero (Alejandro Ferretis). Reygadas said that he wanted to have his film untitled too--perhaps the sublime can’t be named either. With a rough profile and an arthritic limp, this man in his fifties travels to a small and special village deep in the Mexican hills, to kill himself. In that difficult trip he meets Ascen (Magdalena Flores), a woman in her eighties that invites him as a guest to her humble home. Before arriving to the small village in the State of Hidalgo, north of Mexico City, a hunter tells him: -“The devil loads weapons and idiots shoot them…” The man won’t be able to commit suicide. He is not an idiot, and he is blessed finding in the elderly and extremely kind Ascen a stunning salvation.

The constantly and marvelous spiraling camera movements shot by the Argentine cinematographer Diego Martínez Vignatti (also in his first long feature) causes no dizziness. On the contrary, the viewer can admire in the midst each amazing spot. As Reygadas said: “…I wanted to show all around… even in unmoving objects the world continues.” Shot in 16mm with anamorphic lens (another distortion of reality), the camera shakes during long trips; alternating between stillness and movement, sometimes blinding us with bright white light, other times with absolute black darkness. Similarly, Kasimir Malevich represented with white or black squares the sublime or un-representable, like emptiness or infinite. Making it impossible to see, it pleases only by causing pain. According to Kant’s aesthetics, beautiful can’t be something defined “a priori”. He argues that the sublime is an emotion that carries with it both pleasure and pain. With this ambiguity the Man and Ascen develop a powerful relationship as difficult to describe or show as the sublime itself. Reygadas makes, as Lyotard says, an allusion to the unpresentable (Kant’s “formlessness”) by means of visible representations. In a strange and almost magical effect the trees seem to shake and dance with the music, with a nature more alive than ever against the presence of death, evoking the unseen.

The unavoidable passage of time, roughness, memories, and permanent obstacles are symbolized through stones, beginning with the opening Japón title over a stone-strewn route. The man walks through those stones during his daily walks, with a sacrifice necessary to reach the sublime. Ascen, not only generous but almost holy, became an object of a paradox between sin and redemption while she accepts the man’s proposal of sexual intercourse before he abandons the village. A complex link is traced between the scene of two horses mating in front of many children, and the sexual scene between Ascen and the man, joining the private and the public, instinct and intention. She accepts but only if the act is postponed for the next day. He prepares at home anxiously and she goes to the church. Like a virgin, she appears in her home naked. And one of the most strange, strongly emotional, beautiful and tense sexual scenes of all times puts us on the limit again: pain and pleasure, rejection but desire, ugliness and beauty, anxiety and relaxation. Like in a first sexual encounter ever, difficult and emotionally painfully, love and lust go together, and guilt appears. He cries as a boy in his naked mother’s arms, while the Oedipus myth emerges. Ascen saves the man with a Christian sacrifice and reward, and she saves herself with her last opportunity for pleasure. Death and life merge. In one second, he is thirty years older. She becomes thirty years younger. This event marks a new destiny that drives them in opposite directions: he survives and she dies.

Constantly reaching for nature, from the beginning the presence of dead animals offer the viewer not only more death but also an immediate contact with a realism that becomes postmodernist by challenging some cinematic rules. Robert Bresson talked about actors only as human models in Notes on the Cinematographer (1975): “The thing that matters is not what they show me but what they hide from me, and above all, what they do not suspect is in them.” The film was totally performed by non-actors; the landscapes, weather events, and virginity take us back to basics. With a crass treatment between the village inhabitants--and the animals--as a natural law, the film chafes another challenging limit between the documentary and the fiction form. First we see a villager explaining something difficult to understand almost directing his view to the camera. Then the arrival of more residents to be witnesses gives more raw beauty and awkwardness to the strange moment. A long line of kids passes in front of the man, looking also to the camera, symbolizing hope in some way.

Lyotard says that “the avant-gardes are perpetually flushing out artifices of presentation which make it possible to subordinate thought to the gaze and to turn it away from the unpresentable.” Reygadas, in his own avant-garde and defying another rule, includes a great moment where a drunken person not only sings so out of tune--that the song becomes also sublime--but also he says in search of more drinks: -“They don’t invite us to anything… the people from the film.” More strange moments occur, declaring that life in itself is mysterious and many things have no explanation. The man is a painter that doesn’t stop painting, maybe as a way to survive. Ascen discovers a book about paintings. The man asks, “Which is the drawing you said you like so much?” Ascen chooses an abstract one with white squares (what looks to be a Malevich painting). He laughs. “I love comics”, she explains. This dialogue, one of the strangest in the film, takes us to a surreal trip, like when they suddenly take each of their hands in front of the fire, or when the man fails at suicide and falls aside a dead horse while rain mixes with blood.

An angelical film score perfectly chosen strengthens these scenes: Johann Sebastian Bach (from "St. Matthew's Passion"), Arvo Pärt (from "Miserere" and "Cantus in Memory of Benjamin Britten") and Dmitri Shostakovich (from "Symphony No.15, Op.14"). Reygadas explains that he was always thinking about sound. With models like Andrei Tarkovsky being a master in subjective sound, and Abbas Kiarostami a master in objective sound, Reygadas goes beyond, constantly crossing between the score being listened by the man or Ascen on headphones, to the music as film score. Then, it's suddenly broken by a hunter screaming to the kids: “Shut up we are trying to listen to some music.” The silence becomes present too, especially when images are everything: the man masturbates dreaming of a strange woman while kissing Ascen on a beach. Later we see the reality of Ascen kissing Jesus Imagery. Love and religion, nature and death, landscapes and paintings melted in a new dimension, all of them touching the sublime as we witness the raw beauty from the sky.

A person with disabilities comes to Ascen -confirming her power to save- asking for help to tie his shoes, and then we see him eating an apple with his feet. Disability is shown as normality in a place where everybody has his own disabilities. The man travels to end his own, but finds life. Ascen travels in search of more life and finds death in a trip that comes full circle; with different landscapes and a new point of view, a trip to a new unavoidable destiny. Simple in dialogue but complex in emotion, Reygadas’s work is a reflection of his main film influences, as he said: “you got so much emotion watching a car from a distance moving around… there’s a lot of things happening there… much more than two cars chasing each other and burning bridges, and crushing, and running over people”. Simple things are kings in the indomitable terrain of the sublime. A western hara-kiri, a source of living haikus, love for an elderly, quietness, vastness, maybe a disconnected title, a place far away, a rising sun after the storm, and mainly cinema itself imposing art over film industry laws, convert this film into Japanese philosophy. In his book Japan: Strategy of the Unseen (1987), Michel Random recounts his visit to the house of an important former General from the Japanese Army. He found a variety of artifacts from diverse countries. Then he asked the General: “What is Japanese here?” The General replied: “The invisible”… like the sublime.

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