Thursday, July 30, 2009
First para of a 2000 plus word piece I'm not sure what to do with...
"It must have been exhausting to live every moment at such a level of extraordinary intensity. Very occasionally you’d see her pause, droop, take stock, suddenly look tired, and you knew that was the price she paid for constantly probing, playing, and being alive to just about everything around her. A few hours in her company, particularly if it was just you and her, was thrilling and invigorating. When you said your goodbyes, you walked away feeling a few notches above your regular place in the world. She had the ability to negotiate the most mundane situations with grace, elegance and wicked humour. Most of us get bogged down by the banality of our daily grind – but Yasmin Ahmad transformed reality by sheer force of personality. When you were with her, anything was permitted and everything was possible."
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Sunday Double
Winchester '73. A very unusual screenplay which experiments with a picaresque 'one damn thing after another' structure, while lacing through the tale of Jimmy Stewart's bitter, familial revenge. However, its all about the supporting cast. Dan Duryea is phenomenal as a psychopathic bandit, a performance that lays a template for repulsive-charismatic bad guys ever since. And Will Geer is touching as a helpless cavalry veteran. Brief (absurd) turns by pretty-boys Tony Curtis as an over-brylcreemed soldier and Rock Hudson as a topless gun-fetishist Indian Chief.
In The Electric Mist. The supposedly inferior American version of Tavernier's troubled James Lee Burke adaptation is rather thinly textured, a pity since its meant to be all about 'the atmosphere'. Curtailed scenes and a time-frame that sometimes zips or crawls, imply too much 'problem-solving' in the editing suite. Populated by a dream-cast of character actor stalwarts, younger hot names and a very rare Mary Steenburgen, it's the non-actors who intrigue (mostly musicians). Buddy Guy struggles with too much exposition. But Levon Helm as the ghostly General, looks and sounds like a wizened Dennis Hopper.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Internal Affairs
Last night I dreamt I was writing the first Pixar film for adults. It was either going to be set inside the human body, or was about lawyers.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
HERE in Singapore
The reception of HERE in Singapore has been mixed to say the least. It's a tough sell, and clearly the film doesn't have the broad accessibility that other local 'indies' have used to their advantage - its much more a niche product to be targetted at specific audiences. Reviews are therefore very important.
The Cannes selection has helped; no local reviewer has failed to mention this pedigree, and it's interesting to note how several of them have pointed out the 'cutting edge' nature of Directors Fortnight, as if this context can allow us understand the strangeness of the film.
Not all the reviews are online, unfortunately. Blame this on Singapore media congloms desperate attempts to maintain the 'value' of their precious content. This includes the most important review of all - in flagship 'broadsheet' the Straits Times, which accompanied their assessment with a good, solid 'profile' piece on Tzu Nyen. The review, which as I recall was very short (200 words) was by a freelancer and 'film scene' stalwart whose byline I hadn't seen in Straits Times before. He, I think, made a tactical error of attempting to give a fair critique of the film, which came off as an outright dismissal. Perhaps he failed to realise the power with which he had been bestowed. Given the reach of that newspaper, if his piece had been more positive (even by a marginal degree), he could have significantly increased the box office of the film over the weekend. He may be the last writer in Singapore to understand that when you write for the Straits Times, you never, ever tell the whole truth.
Another 'not-online' reviewer who has clout is veteran film editor for TV listings monolith Eight Days, Whang Yee-Ling. Her review falls into the "going to make this sound intriguing for those that are interested in this sort of thing" category, although it still gets a dreaded two stars. (UPDATE: This was a misprint, it was actually 3 and half stars, as seen earlier in the mag.)
The worst review was given by a radio hack, who I guess read this out on air for a 'news-talk' station. It's a deeply crass, clumsily primitive piece of shallow thinking, that gives heavy ammo to people who believe that Singapore is culturally moribund. I won't quote and gloat over its idiocratic stance (too easy), except to say that it's critical punchline is a reference to a Macdonald's ad campaign feat. Justin Timberlake.
Strategically hedged positivity is the modus taken by poet-and-occasional journo Yong Shu Hoong in a short piece for the disposable bi-lingual freebie MyPaper. He actually suggests people should like, go see this thing!
I'll try and get an update about what the Chinese press said later.
Getting online: Gay portal Fridae posted an anonymous but largely positive review, yet the writer was compelled to keep mentioning the hypothetical audience who he or she felt would be bored or frustrated - why can't we forget about them and just talk about the film?
Dependably open-minded Stefan Shih, whose review of HERE is two posts away from a pan of Transformers 2, grapples with the film, and ultimately lets it win him over (he also points out my presence in the film, along with the infinitely more (in)famous local 'celeb' Dana Lam).
Mathias Ortman, a German who is researching local films and posts long reviews of them on the Sinema website, makes a serious attempt to engage with the complexities of the film in this article, I don't agree with everything he says, but I do think he raises some very good points along the way.
The Cannes selection has helped; no local reviewer has failed to mention this pedigree, and it's interesting to note how several of them have pointed out the 'cutting edge' nature of Directors Fortnight, as if this context can allow us understand the strangeness of the film.
Not all the reviews are online, unfortunately. Blame this on Singapore media congloms desperate attempts to maintain the 'value' of their precious content. This includes the most important review of all - in flagship 'broadsheet' the Straits Times, which accompanied their assessment with a good, solid 'profile' piece on Tzu Nyen. The review, which as I recall was very short (200 words) was by a freelancer and 'film scene' stalwart whose byline I hadn't seen in Straits Times before. He, I think, made a tactical error of attempting to give a fair critique of the film, which came off as an outright dismissal. Perhaps he failed to realise the power with which he had been bestowed. Given the reach of that newspaper, if his piece had been more positive (even by a marginal degree), he could have significantly increased the box office of the film over the weekend. He may be the last writer in Singapore to understand that when you write for the Straits Times, you never, ever tell the whole truth.
Another 'not-online' reviewer who has clout is veteran film editor for TV listings monolith Eight Days, Whang Yee-Ling. Her review falls into the "going to make this sound intriguing for those that are interested in this sort of thing" category, although it still gets a dreaded two stars. (UPDATE: This was a misprint, it was actually 3 and half stars, as seen earlier in the mag.)
The worst review was given by a radio hack, who I guess read this out on air for a 'news-talk' station. It's a deeply crass, clumsily primitive piece of shallow thinking, that gives heavy ammo to people who believe that Singapore is culturally moribund. I won't quote and gloat over its idiocratic stance (too easy), except to say that it's critical punchline is a reference to a Macdonald's ad campaign feat. Justin Timberlake.
Strategically hedged positivity is the modus taken by poet-and-occasional journo Yong Shu Hoong in a short piece for the disposable bi-lingual freebie MyPaper. He actually suggests people should like, go see this thing!
I'll try and get an update about what the Chinese press said later.
Getting online: Gay portal Fridae posted an anonymous but largely positive review, yet the writer was compelled to keep mentioning the hypothetical audience who he or she felt would be bored or frustrated - why can't we forget about them and just talk about the film?
Dependably open-minded Stefan Shih, whose review of HERE is two posts away from a pan of Transformers 2, grapples with the film, and ultimately lets it win him over (he also points out my presence in the film, along with the infinitely more (in)famous local 'celeb' Dana Lam).
Mathias Ortman, a German who is researching local films and posts long reviews of them on the Sinema website, makes a serious attempt to engage with the complexities of the film in this article, I don't agree with everything he says, but I do think he raises some very good points along the way.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Cannes Blues
Cannes giveth and it taketh away. When you break-through all the thousands of films sent in home-burnt DVDs in jiffy bags from most parts of the globe and actually get selected, you then find yourself competing not so much against a bunch of other far higher-profile films by a coterie of the World's Most Famous Directors, but for the attention of a supremely jaded press corps, whose energy-levels and attention-spans are largely dictated by the main competition, and their choosing to see anything else is a matter for whim and fancy.
Mike Goodridge wrote a good mea culpa piece for Screen International/Daily, about the "herd mentality" that dictates opinions in Cannes, the impossibility of nuanced reaction, and how exhaustion at the end of the festival means that 'experimental' films aren't given the time of day. This was something I, as a coverer of the coverage, was certainly feeling. Fatigue seemed to set in about half-way through. Going online Before-Tarantino the high energy was palpable, with reviews flooding in from all sections and news stories being posted left, right and centre (and Antichrist caught this wave perfectly), but Post-Tarantino, once all the main sources had filed their hasty opinions of that work, you could feel the buzz leaking out of the coverage like fetid air from a methane balloon.
Despite the Basterds breaking the festival's back, it had to be the most 'covered' Cannes ever, but was the opinion, response, evaluation, analysis actually any good? Nada. Qualitatively the coverage seemed very weak. I struggled to find a thoughtful, reliable, entertaining and genuinely informed source - and unearthed little (NB: Auteurs Notebook was cerebral and earnest, and Mike D'Angelo entertained, but...). Last year I'd thoroughly enjoyed the English translations of the Cahiers du Cinema blog, and there'd been some other solid bloggers, but this year it was hard-going. In desperation I sought out amusing side-shows, such as Roger Ebert's blog in which the comments section of his harsh posting on Brilliante Mendoza/Bing Lao's latest slum noir Kinatay, became the battle-ground for a civil war among Filipinos, some apologising for the poor quality of their country's film and others passionately accusing of Ebert of not having a clue. None of them had seen the film of course, but it was at least fascinating to read (and the posts are still coming in).
The Guardian's video reportage was embarrassing. Poor old Xan Brooks was reduced to mucking about on a comedy dinghy, and hassling already-harassed sales agents to make on-camera 'pitches', cue cross-cultural hilarity failing to ensue as a nice Japanese lady tries to describe a robot movie in decent, but obviously not-perfect English. The Guardian (upping its coverage considerably this year) got a lot of mileage out of the Marche, posting poorly taken snaps of posters for supposedly 'trashy' films (including Paul Schrader's latest). Sure, the market is strangely fascinating for a few moments, but elsewhere there were films being screened, and they weren't being covered. A nadir was reached when we were subjected to the sorry spectacle of a bunch of preening pundits sitting around a table sunk in sand, attempting to prove who could most viciously slag off the Tarantino. Praise be to Mark Cousins for refusing to play. One of these ardent QT-bashers was later heard being quite enthusiastic on BBC World Service, so you know this is just a parlour game for these folks, opinions shift depending on who they think is watching/listening.
One refrain heard during that item was a rhetorical question along the lines of "where were the real ground-breaking works that pushed the language of cinema?". The answer to that was pretty easy - they were in the Cannes Film Festival, but you didn't bother to watch them (Raya Martin, Ho Tzu Nyen, Gasper Noe, Tsai Ming Liang, and I'm sure there were others worth tussling with). Or when you did see them you were too bloody tired to make sense of them - so either you didn't bother to write about them, or gave them a pasting. Easy to speculate that if the Noe had screened before Antichrist, then it might have been a sensation. The schedule is utterly crucial, and a very late appearance for a difficult film is deadly (the Tsai).
Meanwhile, Critics are like those deceptive voters that were imagined in the run-up to the American election last year - they tell pollsters that they want something new and experimental, but when it comes to the crunch they'll always vote for nice, warm, humanist, well-crafted, skillfully acted, emotionally calibrated dramas like I Killed My Mother or Father of My Children. Strong films I'm sure (with very photogenic directors), but not the mind-blowing, daring, radical, risky, exciting work that we might dare hope from a festival that is gathering together the very best and most brilliant movies of the year.
A thought from someone who was actually there, a producer who had a film in competition: "Even in Cannes you have to have sex, violence and stars. And as much of these things as possible."
Mike Goodridge wrote a good mea culpa piece for Screen International/Daily, about the "herd mentality" that dictates opinions in Cannes, the impossibility of nuanced reaction, and how exhaustion at the end of the festival means that 'experimental' films aren't given the time of day. This was something I, as a coverer of the coverage, was certainly feeling. Fatigue seemed to set in about half-way through. Going online Before-Tarantino the high energy was palpable, with reviews flooding in from all sections and news stories being posted left, right and centre (and Antichrist caught this wave perfectly), but Post-Tarantino, once all the main sources had filed their hasty opinions of that work, you could feel the buzz leaking out of the coverage like fetid air from a methane balloon.
Despite the Basterds breaking the festival's back, it had to be the most 'covered' Cannes ever, but was the opinion, response, evaluation, analysis actually any good? Nada. Qualitatively the coverage seemed very weak. I struggled to find a thoughtful, reliable, entertaining and genuinely informed source - and unearthed little (NB: Auteurs Notebook was cerebral and earnest, and Mike D'Angelo entertained, but...). Last year I'd thoroughly enjoyed the English translations of the Cahiers du Cinema blog, and there'd been some other solid bloggers, but this year it was hard-going. In desperation I sought out amusing side-shows, such as Roger Ebert's blog in which the comments section of his harsh posting on Brilliante Mendoza/Bing Lao's latest slum noir Kinatay, became the battle-ground for a civil war among Filipinos, some apologising for the poor quality of their country's film and others passionately accusing of Ebert of not having a clue. None of them had seen the film of course, but it was at least fascinating to read (and the posts are still coming in).
The Guardian's video reportage was embarrassing. Poor old Xan Brooks was reduced to mucking about on a comedy dinghy, and hassling already-harassed sales agents to make on-camera 'pitches', cue cross-cultural hilarity failing to ensue as a nice Japanese lady tries to describe a robot movie in decent, but obviously not-perfect English. The Guardian (upping its coverage considerably this year) got a lot of mileage out of the Marche, posting poorly taken snaps of posters for supposedly 'trashy' films (including Paul Schrader's latest). Sure, the market is strangely fascinating for a few moments, but elsewhere there were films being screened, and they weren't being covered. A nadir was reached when we were subjected to the sorry spectacle of a bunch of preening pundits sitting around a table sunk in sand, attempting to prove who could most viciously slag off the Tarantino. Praise be to Mark Cousins for refusing to play. One of these ardent QT-bashers was later heard being quite enthusiastic on BBC World Service, so you know this is just a parlour game for these folks, opinions shift depending on who they think is watching/listening.
One refrain heard during that item was a rhetorical question along the lines of "where were the real ground-breaking works that pushed the language of cinema?". The answer to that was pretty easy - they were in the Cannes Film Festival, but you didn't bother to watch them (Raya Martin, Ho Tzu Nyen, Gasper Noe, Tsai Ming Liang, and I'm sure there were others worth tussling with). Or when you did see them you were too bloody tired to make sense of them - so either you didn't bother to write about them, or gave them a pasting. Easy to speculate that if the Noe had screened before Antichrist, then it might have been a sensation. The schedule is utterly crucial, and a very late appearance for a difficult film is deadly (the Tsai).
Meanwhile, Critics are like those deceptive voters that were imagined in the run-up to the American election last year - they tell pollsters that they want something new and experimental, but when it comes to the crunch they'll always vote for nice, warm, humanist, well-crafted, skillfully acted, emotionally calibrated dramas like I Killed My Mother or Father of My Children. Strong films I'm sure (with very photogenic directors), but not the mind-blowing, daring, radical, risky, exciting work that we might dare hope from a festival that is gathering together the very best and most brilliant movies of the year.
A thought from someone who was actually there, a producer who had a film in competition: "Even in Cannes you have to have sex, violence and stars. And as much of these things as possible."
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