Cannes

El Festival de Cannes no sólo es uno de los festivales cinematográficos más antiguos (creo que el segundo, después de Venecia) sino que es, con mucho, el más prestigioso. No es de extrañarse: el cine nació a finales del sigo XIX en Francia, y volvió a nacer a mediados del siglo XX también en Francia. Al día de hoy, se siguen notando las influencias de los cahieristas en Cannes: no siempre se premia a lo mejor, pero rara vez se premia a algo poco arriesgado (sólo se me viene a la mente cuando Ken Loach ganó la Palma de Oro por su película más convencional, The wind that shakes the barley, en el 2006). El día de hoy, Terrence Malick acaba de ganar la Palma de Oro por The tree of life, continuando esta tendencia: Malick se ha caracterizado por hacer un cine muy personal (y muy a sus tiempos, 5 películas en más de treinta años) y por crearse un estilo propio, donde la narrativa está dominada por la contemplación. Aunque no tengo nada contra el cine de Malick (al contrario, pienso que The thin red line es una gran película) yo hubiera preferido ver recibir la Palma de Oro al finlandés Aki Kaurismäki, quien también se ha sabido hacer de un estilo muy personal y lo ha pulido muchísimo (alcanzando su mejor nivel, a mi parecer, en El hombre sin pasado, del 2002... que conste que no he visto La havre, su película que se presentó este año en Cannes). En fin... tendré que esperar a ver The tree of life, y juzgar con más bases. Mientras tanto, revisando la lista de ganadoras de la Palma de Oro, ahí les van mis favoritas, por orden de aparición:

Breve encuentro (Brief encounter), de David Lean (1939)

El salario del miedo (La salaire de la peur) de Henri-Georges Clouzot (1953)

La dolce vita, de Federico Fellini (1960)

Viridiana, de Luis Buñuel (1961)

M*A*S*H, de Robert Altman (1970)

La conversación (The conversation), de Francis Ford Coppola (1974)

Taxi Driver, de Martin Scorsese (1976)

Apocalipsis, ahora (Apocalypse now), de Francis Ford Coppola (1979)

El show debe continuar (All that jazz), de Bob Fosse (1980)

La sombra del guerrero (Kagemusha), de Akira Kurosawa (1980)

Paris, Texas, de Wim Wenders (1984)

Barton Fink, de Joel & Ethan Coen (1991)

El piano (The piano), de Jane Campion (1993)

Underground, de Emir Kusturica (1995)

El listón blanco (Das weisse Band), de Michael Haneke (2009)

Biutiful. Directed by Alejandro González Iñárritu, 2010.
The fourth film by "El Negro" González-Iñárritu is also his first one without screenwriter Guillermo Arriaga. In many interviews, González-Iñárritu has declared that he got sick of the multi-story fragmented narrative style. Well... you certainly can't say that just by watching Biutiful: a wannabe-Ikiru film, González-Iñárritu has to learn that sometimes less is more. Do we really need that storyline with the gay chinese couple? Why does Uxbal, the main character (Javier Bardem) has the gift of talking to dead people? This doesn't really add up anything to the story, or to the character. It is undeniable that González-Iñárritu has talent, there are many memorable images in this film. Unfortunately, they end up being diluted in a 2 1/2 hours film that never really finds its focus. At times, Biutiful is a great film. But most of the time it is busy with being a great movie, with being really profound and... bah. Let's hope González-Iñarritu's next movie doesn't have a script written by himself, or Guillermo Arriaga.


Another Year. Directed by Mike Leigh, 2010.
A perfect companion film to Leigh's previous film Happy-Go-Lucky, Another Year follows a married couple, Tom (Jim Broadbent) and Gerri (Ruth Sheen) during the course of... well, a year. Lovely structured (roughly four scenes, one for each season of the year) the movie is less concerned with the happy couple than it is with their friend, the troubled Mary (Leslie Manville). A sort of antipode to Sally Hawkin's Poppy (the main character in Happy-Go-Lucky), Manville's Mary is always either neurotic or depressed. This doesn't prevent the film from having its joys, most of them through really delicious dialogue (it is said that most of the dialogue in Leigh's films is improvised) and, ultimately, the big question is: what's about Tom and Gerri that they seem to have no problem at all? Is there a secret? Of course, nobody seems to have the answer, and that's just one of the high points in this greatly-enjoyable, not so easy to watch, film.



Hausu (aka House). Directed by Nobuhiko Ôbayashi, 1977.
Ha! Do you really think Zack Snyder and his Sucker Punch deserves to be regarded as innovative? This, ladies and gentlemen, is the stuff cult movies are made of. A fantasy-childish-horror movie, it tells the story of 7 girls that go on vacation to the house of the aunt of one of them... from here on, the movie just keeps getting more and more bizarre. The great problem I have with this film is that it seems too self-conscious, as if it wants to be a cult film so badly. Anyway, the film has its charms, it is fun, it has lots of blood and Kung Fu (yes, one of the characters is named Kung Fu) is really pretty. I can definitely see why this is highly regarded as a cult movie.

Sisters. Directed by Brian DePalma, 1973.
DePalma's first horror film tells the story of a young reporter who is investigating a murder in which a pretty girl may have killed a man... but, why does she has the same ugly scar as the pretty girl? Very Hitchcockian in its humor and its suspense, Sisters prove that, very early in his career, DePalma already was a master in split-screen (something that Tarantino, for example, still has to work in) and in enjoyable horror. The movie is no much more than a small homage to Hitchcok, but still, it is a very good one.

Black Swan

Directed by Darren Aronofsky.

Darren Aronofsky has never been recognized for being the most subtle of directors. In Requiem for a Dream, Aronofsky used every possible cinematic resource to scream out loud 'drugs are bad'. In The Wrestler, he exposed the miserability of Randy 'The Ram' in all its splendor. Now, in Black Swan, he takes his 'not-sublety' to new levels. Just to make myself clear: I don't think that's bad. If you are in the mood for a subtle film, go see a Tarkovsky one. If you are in mood for a draaaaaaaama, go see Black Swan.

Nina (Natalie Portman) has just been selected to play the lead role in a new version of Tchaikovsky's ballet Swan Lake. The problem, says Thomas, the director, (Vincent Cassel) is that, while Nina is perfect to play the pure and virginal White Swan, she falls short when trying to play the enigmatic and sensuous Black Swan. To play the Black Swan, then, Nina has to embrace her dark side.

As I said, Black Swan is a draaaaaaama, and, at least in story, not a very original one. Think of All about Eve mixed with The red shoes (the inevitable ballet movie). The good news is that the movie doesn't try to hide its origins. It is a draaaaaaaama (yes, with all those a's) and it's proud of it. Like all good draaaaaaaaamas, it is exagerated, morbid and at times comes close to being ridiculous. But hey, it's all part of the show, and I must say, this is a pretty good one precisely because it screams everything out loud. For example, Lily (Mila Kunis) is another ballerina wanting the lead role in the play. She's everything Nina is not. She's loose and sexy. Nina is enormously attracted to her: she's her dark side. Nina is the White Swan, Lily is the Black Swan, cappicci? If this is not clear enough, here goes another hint: Nina is always wearing white or light colors, while Lily is always wearing dark ones. The movie, I insist, is not subtle at all, and this is one of the reasons why the draaaaaaama works so well.

Like all good draaaaaaamas, Black Swan also comes close to horror. Nina's mind is cracking, its horrors are unleashed now. How can she get away from her? This is where Aronofsky's talent for creating unsettling atmospheres shines. The movie is not a 'jump-of-your-seat' horror film, but a stressing one. This, combined with all the draaaaaama, creates a unique, if not precisely comfortable, film experience. Black Swan is one of the most satisfying draaaaaaamas I've seen in a while.

I would like to end this review with a praise to Natalie Portman. The movie relies heavily on her performance, and I think that with any other actress the movie would not have been quite successful. She manages to create a completely likeable character at the beginning, and to keep us enthrilled with her descense to madness. If a great actress is that one who pulls a great performance, then with this film, more than with any other (even more than with Closer) we can say that Natalie Portman is a great actress.

El infierno.

Qué buena película, y que póster tan feo. Pero, ¿A qué película de Kurosawa homenajea?

El infierno. Dirigida por Luis Estrada, 2010.

Yo no se quién dijo que El Infierno es una comedia. Y es que, aunque el más reciente largometraje de Luis Estrada ( La ley de Herodes, Un mundo maravilloso) me arrancó muchas sonrisas ("pos qué más, pos un chingón, como mi apá") y hasta una franca carcajada (ésa pinche tumba excéntrica) el tono que domina en la película es francamente deprimente, oscuro. Estamos San Miguel (N)Arcángel, un pueblo ubicado en algún lugar en el norte de México. Un lugar dominado por la mentira, el engaño y la doble moral. Donde cualquiera es capaz de vender hasta a su madre por dos pesos. Donde la única persona moralmente transparente está encarnada en la piel de un sádico matón. Un lugar, pues, dominado por el narco, como casi cualquier lugar en (ya no nada más) el norte del país. Ante tanto pesimismo, hay una pregunta, por lo menos para mi, obligada: ¿no estará exagerando Estrada?

El infierno supone la consagración de Luis Estrada como un autor con todas las de la ley, con todo y actor fetiche (Damián Alcázar). Ya podemos hablar en Luis Estrada de un estilo fácilmente reconocible. Sí, un estilo dominado por la brocha gorda y la propensión al tremendismo, pero un estilo al fin: estos dos rasgos, como cualquier otro, no son malos si uno los sabe digerir bien, y Estrada lo ha sabido hacer (a excepción, quizá, de Un mundo maravilloso, que aún así presume una de las mejores secuencias finales, de un humor negro descarnado, que se recuerde en la historia del cine mexicano). En fin, me enorgullece decir que a partir de El infierno ya podemos hablar de Luis Estrada como un autor, sobretodo si consideramos que si en el cine de González-Iñárritu se notan influencias de Kieslowski y en el de Del Toro de Romero (y Spielberg, que no se haga), en el cine de Estrada son apreciables bien digeridas influencias de Luis Alcoriza (Mecánica Nacional), Ismael Rodríguez (Los tres García, La oveja negra) y Arturo Ripstein (El lugar sin límites), sólo por nombrar algunos de los verdaderos autores del cine mexicano de cuya influencia podemos hablar, y bien, en el cine de Estrada.

Estamos, pues, en San Miguel Arcángel, hasta donde ha llegado Benjamín "El Benny" (Damián Alcázar) desde los yunaired, sin un peso en la bolsa y veinte años después de haberse ido a buscar un futuro mejor. Encuentra a su madre (Angelina Peláez) peor que antes, desamparada y literalmente en medio de la nada. Encuentra que su hermano fue asesinado siendo conocido como "El Diablo" (Tenoch Huerta). Encuentra a una cuñada emputecida (Elizabeth Cervantes) y a un sobrino (Kristian Ferrer) que en lo único que piensa es en seguir los pasos de su ajusticiado padre. Encuentra a su padrino (Salvador Sánchez) en la miseria y apenas sobreviviendo con un empobrecido taller mecánico. Encuentra que su amigo de la infancia es ahora un reconocido matón conocido como "El Cochiloco" (Joaquín Cosío, robándose la película impunemente). Encuentra a su pueblo en medio de una guerra entre el capo Don José Reyes (Ernesto Gómez Cruz) y su hermano, Pancho Reyes (otra vez Ernesto Gómez Cruz). Y encuentra que, si quiere salir adelante, no hay de otra que entrarle a las huestes de Don José Reyes, aunque sea "nomás en lo que sale algo mejor".

Decía que en El Infierno todo está dominado por la mentira, el engaño y la doble moral. Una madre que se lamenta de que su hijo le haya entrado al narco, pero que no duda en aceptar una televisión y hasta exigir el relojito y el walkman. Un padrino que reniega del crimen organizado, excepto cuando le mejoran su tallercito con dinero lavado. Una vecina (Zaide Silvia Gutiérrez, de El Norte) que reniega de la gente que le quita su dinero a un muerto para inmediatamente después ir a hacerlo ella misma. Un jefe mafioso que no muestra reparos en hablar de la unión de la familia, ni en asesinar a sangre fría a sus sobrinos. Un protagonista persignado que, a las primeras de cambio, no duda en encamarse a su cuñada ni en seguir los pasos de su "Diablo" hermano. Ante todo esto, el único asidero moral que ofrece Estrada viene encarnado en la figura de "el Cochiloco". Una persona despreciable si quieren, pero en tierra de ciegos el tuerto es rey, y el Cochiloco destaca por su honestidad: asesina a sangre fría y no tiene reservas en robarle a su narcotraficante jefe, pero el Cochiloco expone sus motivos con franqueza, sin reservas ni persignaciones de ningún tipo. El Cochiloco es, pues, un personaje fascinante, y fascinante es la interpretación de Joaquín Cosio (con el Ariel en la mano, si es que la Academia no se inclina ante Bardem y Biutiful), quien en pocos años (su debut cinematográfico fue en Matando Cabos) ha sabido hacerse presente en el ámbito cinematográfico mexicano.

Estamos, entonces, ante un film indudablemente valioso, incluso quizá necesario, pero que no está exento de fallas: a ratos, lo que es una película fuerte, briosa, se convierte en un film complaciente y autoindulgente, poco estricto. Es como si Estrada y su co-guionista, Jaime Sampietro, se pusieron a ver las noticias durante un año y quisieron meter absolutamente todo lo que vieron, para que la gente exclame "mira, como el pozolero". ¿El resultado? Una duración excesiva, 145 minutos que bien pudieron haber sido 120.

Por último, a la pregunta del primer párrafo me gustaría contestar afirmativamente, me gustaría decir que Estrada está exagerando. Pero ahí están los 72 inmigrantes de Tamaulipas, la corrupción que todos los días vemos (más notoria, pero no necesariamente más, en los pueblos chicos) y más recientemente los casos de Marisela Escobedo y Don Alejo Garza para recordarme tristemente que no, que Estrada no exagera. Y que, en una de esas, se queda corto.

2010's 10

In order of preference.

1. The social network. Directed by David Fincher. Not your typical lawsuit movie, Fincher's film is more about the loneliness of our times than, well, Facebook. Extremely well made (very classy) and with excellent performances (Justin Timberlake CAN act!) the movie is really profound and, at the same time, very entertaining. And the end is, I insist, the Rosebud of the new millenium.

2. Das Weisse Band - Eine deutsche Kindergeschichte. Directed by Michael Haneke. The german's auteur latest film is, like Funny Games and Cachè, yet another medidation on the roots of evil, now powered by the black & white mise-en-scène and, specially, the time setting. A whodunnit where no one is innocent, I just know one thing: I don't want to see Das Weisse Band: 20 years later or something like that.

2. The bad lieutenant - Port of call: New Orleans. Directed by Werner Herzog. A "remake" of the Abel Ferrara's 1992 cult classic, Herzog's film is, dare I say it, better for a number of reasons. Among them: that Herzog loves his 'bad lieutenant' much more than Ferrara, the best performance of Nicolas Cage's career, iguanas, and dancing souls.

4. El secreto de sus ojos. Directed by Juan José Campanella. The film of the pause: a love story on pause, the punishment of a crime on pause, a life on pause. Campanella manages to create a movie that goes through many genres: we have a romantic comedy, a crime story, a film noir and a tale of revenge, all in one.

4. Shutter Island. Directed by Martin Scorsese. Scorsese's homage to German Expressionism feels more authentic than the director's The departed or The aviator. The movie is cliche over cliche, but that's the thing about it, it is a really good movie by not fearing to be a bad one. It is deliciously over-plotted and over-done. Just like much of the director's work.

6. Inception. Directed by Christopher Nolan. The great thing about Christopher Nolan's thriller is that it manages to keep us enthrilled and that, while we are watching the film, we never think about the obvious plot holes. Now that I think about it: that's kind of becoming Nolan's specialty. How much more will he be able to trick us?

6. Toy Story 3. Directed by Lee Unkrich. The latest (and supposedly last) film in the Toy Story series is the most sketchy, yes, but that's because it needed a few more laughs than its predecessors in order to balance the most tragic scene of the series. For a moment, I really thought that the toys were going to die in the garbace incinerator. But then the movie wouldn't be kids friendly...

6. How to train your dragon. Directed by Dean DeBlois and Chris Sanders. Another kids movie... well, How to train your dragon is tremendously entertaining, with some lovable characters and a message that is really worth saying. The end is so strong that this is no longer a kids movie, but much more than that.

9. The kids are all right. Directed by Lisa Cholodenko. A family film... if by family you understand two mothers and their kids. These two women, having a mid-life crisis, are a perfect reminder that the usual definition of family falls short in this world. The indie comedy of the year. (and I must say that is much better than some other years)

10. Enter the Void. Directed by Gaspar Noè. As I've said, the movie is not perfect. At times it is horrible, tedious and laughable. But it tries to be something new, and it succeeds. That's admirable.

Enter the Void

Enter the Void. Directed by Gaspar Noè, 2009.

Let's cut to the chase: Enter the Void, the latest movie from the enfant-terrible Gaspar Noè (Irreversible) is, visually, like nothing you've seen before. A mental trip through the skies of a very much hell-like Tokyo, the film has no noticeable cuts but many visual effects to masquerade them, as we see exactly what Oscar (newcomer Nathaniel Brown) sees in his way to the afterlife. Or something like that. As Noè himself has said, it is not necessarily innovative, but he takes a familiar element and manages to make it 'new' (as a perfect example, point-of-view (POV) films, while uncommon, are not new, but here the point of view is that of a soul, so the camera always floats around).

Oscar lives in Tokyo with his sister, Linda (Paz de la Huerta). It seems that they cannot live without each other. When they were kids, they lost their parents in a car accident. They got separated and now they are, finally, together again. But Oscar has found his way into becoming a drug-dealer, and he... well, he 'pays the consequences'. This is a mere pretext (or should I say a Mac-Guffin) for Noè to rumiate about love, life, death, brotherhood, sex, loneliness, reencarnation, afterlife... you name it. That's one of the main problems of Enter the Void: it wants to say so much that it ends being exhasperating. And a bit ridiculous (we see a man and a woman having sex, the camera enters her belly, then her vagina and... yes, we see his penis entering her vagina). That's not to say that Noè doesn't get some things right: the fixation he has for the neon lights is, to say the least, fascinating, and the relationship between Oscar and Linda is really complex and fucked up. This is the highlight of Enter the Void: it creates two interesting characters and, since we go through all of Oscar's life, we really get to know and understand them. The film's best sequences are precisely those of their childhood (that car accident is freaking shocking) and it really help that de la Huerta plays her character very naturally and convincing enough (we really never see Oscar, except for one or two times, always in a mirror, so there isn't much to say about Brown's performance).

Unfortunately, the movie spends too much time dealing with more esoteric themes. Although that is not necessarily bad, Noè thinks he has all the answers and the film becomes didactic, especially in the scenes dealing with the afterlife. Noè has expressed his admiration for Kubrick's 2001, and this is pretty tangible here, but, where Kubrick throws questions, Noè provides answers and not only that, but he also seems to think that his answer is THE answer. Therefore, the movie succeeds emotionally but not intelectually: it doesn't let you think at all, it has an answer and it wants you to believe it. When a film expends so much time trying to stimulate you intelectually, this is a problem.

Finally, while I have mixed feelings for Enter the Void, I urge you to see this film. I cannot assure you will like it, but here's a film that's trying to do something new and to do it right. I believe that's always worthy of appraisal, even if it is not completely successful. Only a warning: the film can be very strong and it's not for weak stomachs (but, don't worry: there's nothing here that can compare with the infamous rape-scene from Irreversible).

You will meet a tall dark stranger

You will meet a tall dark stranger. Directed by Woody Allen. 2010.

I know it's unfair, but I just can't help it: everytime I see a Woody Allen movie, I expect a masterpiece. Or, at least, a remarkable movie. I'm sure this is because most of Allen's films are, indeed, damn good movies. From his early comedies (Sleeper, Everything you always wanted to know about sex* but where afraid to ask) to his mature dramedies (Annie Hall, Manhattan, Hanna and her sisters (if you ask me, not only his best movie, but one of the best films of all time)) his "Bergman" period (Another woman, Interiors, Crimes and misdemeanors) and his more recent films (Match Point, Vicky Cristina Barcelona) Allen has proven to be a fine deconstructor of modern relationships, and an expert storyteller, always with wit and charm. As I was saying, from Woody I always expect a masterpiece. Maybe this is the reason why his most recent film, You will meet a tall dark stranger was a bit of a disappointment. But only a bit.

The movie starts with Helena (Gemma Jones) going to a fortune-teller (Pauline Collins) because she wants to see if her future is better than her present: her husband Alfie (Anthony Hopkins) has left her for a much younger (and sluttier) woman, named Charmaine (Lucy Punch). This fortune teller, Cristal, was recommended to Helena by her daughter, Sally (beautiful, Oscar-worthy Naomi Watts) who is experiencing troubles of her own: while trying to survive her dying marriage with the one-hit writer Roy (Josh Brolin) she is falling for her boss, Greg (Antonio Banderas).

Sally does not believe in Cristal, but she believes that her mother has to have hope, even if it's a lie. Because, Woody seems to ask, what is the importance of hope in a world where chaos reigns? The question is very powerful and, in many scenes, the movie does justice to it. It doesn't try to answer it (that would be a terrible mistake) but to go through its many variants. As a consequence of this, the movie feels kind of disconnected: basically, there are four stories: Helena, Alfie/Charmaine, Sally, Roy. Helena and Alfie/Charmaine are comedies; Sally and Roy are dramas. Since Melinda & Melinda, Allen has been a great drama director, and a so-so comedy director. This is no exception: while the Roy, and specially Sally, stories are very powerful, the comedy part feels old and unnatural. For example, watching Anthony Hopkins waiting for the Viagra to make effect may have been funny in the 90's, not now. On the other hand, the pathos in the drama part is very strong, one can feel the urgency, the need and the desperation of the characters. Much of the credit, of course, goes to the actors, specially Naomi Watts. But Woody also deserves recognition: he knows where to put the camera in order to highlight the actress's expressions. This being said, the drama moments in You will meet a tall dark stranger rank among the greatest Woody scenes, while the comedy parts fall flat. There are two movies here: a great drama, a poor comedy.