May 16 — Sunday was a day of highs and lows, of new discoveries and dashed hopes. Bertrand Tavernier and Takeshi Kitano, two directors whose films I had most anticipated here, did not live up to my expectations with “The Princess of Montpensier” and “Outrage,” respectively. Hungarian Agnes Kocsis, a director who had only made one previous feature in 2006, blew me away with her insightful “Adrienn Pal.”
This morning, Pedro Almodovar, Spain’s biggest big-cheese filmmaker, handed us a limp noodle with “The Skin I Live In,” his entry in the Cannes competition. The film stars Antonio Banderas (who began his career in Almodovar’s early films) and Elena Anaya, who looks like a cross between Penelope Cruz and Audrey Hepburn. Even a second-best Almodovar film has its delicious moments, but “The Skin I Live In” is flat compared with his best work, including “Broken Embraces,” “Volver,” and his Oscar winner “All about My Mother.”
Typical of Almodovar, the film is a melodramatic farce. Although it’s based on the novel “Mygale” (“Tarantula” in English) by Thierry Jonquet, the story is also strongly reminiscent of the 1960 French horror classic “Eyes without a Face” by Georges Franju. In the Franju film, a surgeon kidnaps women in order to graft their faces onto the head of his disfigured daughter. In “The Skin I Live In,” a plastic surgeon is engaged in highly experimental work in order to create synthetic skin as a tribute to his dead wife, who was burned to death in a car crash. He subsequently uses the results of his research in service of a unique punishment for his daughter’s rapist.
This story has a lot of twists, and the element of surprise is important. I don’t want to give away too much, especially since it’s due to open in the U.S. in the fall. I haven’t read “Mygale,” but I understand that the narrative is fragmented into sections that all come together in the end. In this, Almodovar appears to have followed the structure of the book, perhaps too closely. One of the principle weaknesses of “The Skin I Live In” is that the story is scattered in pieces. Characters and subplots are introduced then dropped. They are loosely but not completely tied together in the end.
During the first press screening here of “Creation,” during a scene when Charles Darwin walks out of church during a sermon on the first book of Genesis, an audience member stood up and walked out. Was he offended by the film? There’s no way to say. There were an unusually large number of walk-outs, but who knows if they were leaving for theological reasons, or to get in line for the screenings of “Bright Star” or “Fish Tank,” or because of boredom? I hope it wasn’t boredom. Although it’s a movie with a good deal of talk, at least no one shouted out, “You lie!”
Charles Darwin as Paul Bettany
This will adamantly not be a review of “Creation,” which will await its opening. It will be a discussion of some of the thoughts it inspires. I expected the film to be focused on Darwin’s theory of the origin of species and the controversy it provoked in mid-19th century, but it is primarily about his domestic life, centering on Down House, Bromley, where he and his wife Emma lived from 1842 until until his death in 1882.
When I began as a film critic, Jean-Luc Godard was widely thought to have reinvented the cinema with “Breathless” (1960). Now he is almost 80 and has made what is said to be his last film, and he’s still at the job, reinventing. If only he had stopped while he was ahead. That would have been sometime in the 1970s. Maybe the 1980s. For sure, the 1990s. Without a doubt, before he made his Cannes entry, “Film: Socialisme.”
The thousands of seats in the Auditorium Debussy were jammed, and many were turned away. We lucky ones sat in devout attention to this film, such is the spell Godard still casts. There is an abiding belief that he has something radical and new to tell us. It is doubtful that anyone else could have made this film and found an audience for it.
There is something about the Jewish way of humor and storytelling I’ve always found enormously appealing. I memorized material by Henny Youngman and Myron Cohen at an age when, to the best of my knowledge, I had never met a Jew. I liked the rhythm, the contradiction, the use of paradox, the anticlimax, the way word order would be adjusted to back up into a punch line. There seemed to be deep convictions about human nature hidden in gags and one-liners; a sort of rueful shrug. And the stories weren’t so much about where they ended as how they got there.
The serious man is consoled by the friend who has stolen his wife
It was two years ago on Saturday night that Jason Reitman’s “Juno” had its world premiere here at Toronto. The standing ovation that night was the most spontaneous and joyous I can remember. Still vibrating, Reitman stood on the stage of the Ryerson Theater and vowed, “I’m gonna open all of my films right here in this theater at Toronto.” True to his word, his new film “Up in the Air” played the Ryerson at 6 p.m., Saturday–same time, same place.
It stars George Clooney in one of his best performances, as a frequent flyer. His ambition is to pass the 10 million-mile mark in the American Airlines Aadvantage Program, something very few ever do. Asked on an airplane where he lives, he replies, “Here.” He’s a Termination Facilitator. He fires people for a living. When corporations need to downsize quickly, he flies in and breaks the news to the new former employees. In a lousy economy, his business is great.
Lars von Trier’s “Antichrist” is poised to detonate at the Toronto Film Festival. This willfully controversial director will inspire, as he often does, a storm of controversy, debate, critics clamoring to get into advance screenings that are already jammed, and a contentious press conference. Of the 400 or so films at TIFF this year, “Antichrist” was the first that sold out in advance. It was the same last May at Cannes, and that was before it has even been seen.
Von Trier was nothing if not canny in his title for the film. By naming it “Antichrist,” he provides a lens through which to view its perplexing behavior. By naming his characters only He and She, he suggests the dark side of an alternative Garden of Eden, and then disturbing his ending becomes a mirror image of Christ welcoming the faithful into the kingdom of heaven. The title instructs us where to begin. If he had named the characters John and Mary, and titled the film “A Nightmare,” what conclusions might we have arrived at?
I have a quirky policy about writing of films from a film festival. In the early years, I tried to avoid an actual “review,” especially negative, because I believed a film deserved a chance to open before I laid into it. This was grandiose–as if the world was awaiting my opinion. Then I began suggesting my thinking, without going into detail. Then, being human, I allowed that approach to enlarge into specific descriptions of films I really loved, or hated.
Alex Vo, editor of Rotten Tomatoes: No Meter when he needs it most.
That’s now the strategy I use, with amendments. I can only review a film for the first time once, and if I’ve used all my energy in rehearsal, what have I saved for opening night? I’ll reflect the general reception of certain films, however, if only in the spirit of providing news coverage. The first year I was here, I was one of four members of the American press. These days, with half the audience members filing daily blogs and twittering immediately after a film is over, it’s simply all part of the festival process.
I’ve just finished combing through the list of films in this year’s Toronto Film Festival, and I have it narrowed down to 49. I look at the list and sigh. How can I see six films a day, write a blog, see people and sleep? Nor do I believe the list includes all the films I should see, and it’s certainly missing films I will see. How it happens is, you’re standing in line and hear buzz about something. Or a trusted friend provides a title you must see. Or you go to a movie you haven’t heard much about, just on a hunch, and it turns out to be “Juno.”
Nicolas Cage in “Bad Lieutenant”
I can’t wait to dive in. Knowing something of my enthusiasms, faithful reader, let me tell you that TIFF 2009’s opening night is a film about the life of Charles Darwin. The festival includes the film of Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road.” And new films by the Coen brothers, Todd Solondz, Michael Moore, Atom Egoyan, Pedro Almodovar, Hirokazu Kore-Eda, Alain Resnais and Guy Maddin–and not one but two new films by Werner Herzog. Plus separate new films by the three key talents involved in Juno: The actress Ellen Page, the director Jason Reitman, and the writer Diablo Cody.
Okay, I’ve already seen two of those. They were screened here in Chicago (Page as a teenage Roller Derby in “Whip It,” Cody’s script for “Jennifer’s Body,” starring Megan Fox as a high school man-eater, and that’s not a metaphor). I already saw more than ten of this year’s entries at Cannes, including Lars on Trier’s controversial “Antichrist,” Jane Campion’s “Bright Star,” Gasper Noe’s “Enter the Void,” Almodovar’s “Broken Embraces,” Bong Joon-Ho’s “Mother,” Lee Daniels’ “Precious,” Mia Hansen-Løve’s “The Father of My Children,” and Resnais’s “Wild Grass.” A lot of good films there. Not all of them, but a lot.
