Brief comments on films seen at the 2002 Thessaloniki Film Festival.

THE KITE (38) (dir., Alexei Muradov) Victor Solovyov, Nadezda Ozerova, Pavel Zolotilin ["From the very beginning, we didn't make this film as an entertainment," prefaced director Muradov grimly ; "It was very difficult for us, and it will be difficult for you". A dour-looking man sits at a table pouring vodka. Dogs howl, a train rumbles in the distance. A little boy enters ; he has a scarred face. The vodka bottle falls to the floor. Dogs keep howling, joined by the screams of a baby. Miserablism follows, done in washed-out colours and a DV aesthetic, so it looks like the image you might get if you set the Brightness knob too high on your TV ; apartments garbage-strewn ("Take out the garbage, it stinks"), a child crippled, even the sugar - so we're told - is no longer sweet. Straightforward tale of post-Soviet hellishness might've had a certain integrity, but it's also pretentious : hero's job involves executing condemned prisoners (Everyman doing the State's dirty work, or something), and the last 5 minutes go into allegory - cut to a projectionist threading film followed by a cross-shaped light in the night sky, presumably meaning the film-maker will now offer his own message, viz. a return to religion as a possible answer (tying in with earlier talk about the icon-stand needing a new wick, etc.). All a bit depressing.]

BEND IT LIKE BECKHAM (59) (dir., Gurinder Chadha) Parminder Nagra, Keira Knightly, Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, Juliet Stevenson [Can't help wondering how reliable that rating is, especially having now seen (and disliked) MY BIG FAT GREEK WEDDING ; is it just a case of crying foul when my own kind are stereotyped but joining in the laughter when it's someone else (Indians in Britain, in this case)? Difference is perhaps that this is a teen movie, and not even that really - oddly sexless, as if targeted primarily at 12-year-old tomboys, nor does it make the BILLY ELLIOT mistake of bringing in more serious things (e.g. politics) and ending up seeming glib. It's just a sweet-natured crowd-pleaser, cartoonish family portrait justified by our heroine's youthful perspective, whole thing distinguished by glorious Juliet Stevenson performance - "Absolutely Fabulous" coquette reluctantly jammed into the body of a suburban housewife - and obvious affection with which it's made, if only in being dedicated to Chadha's father who apparently shared the background (a Kenyan Punjabi) of the Dad in the movie ; still very conservative, family values triumphant in the end (heroine even gets non-Indian boyfriend reconciled with his own estranged folks), everything prettified and feelgood and of course contrived, blending the twin passions - Girl Power and football - of the New Britain. Silly fun for those in the mood, with football icon David Beckham - "this bald man" ; "this skinhead boy" - as its benevolent totem ; what's the point of the heroine's burned leg, though?]

BELLISSIMA (34) (dir. Artur Urbanski) Maria Goralczyk, Ewa Kasprzyk, Pawel Wilczak [The world of teen fashion models, young heroine ruthlessly pushed by termagant stage-mother trying to re-live her own youth ("Someone at the salon thought we were sisters!" she rejoices) ; could've been great, but too many twists - final ones way too melodramatic - and characters seem overcooked, esp. when our heroine falls in with kinky bisexual neighbour and her bad-news boyfriend with the Liam Neeson looks (much less sexy than it sounds, I should add). Style similarly misguided, tries too hard really - montage of postcards to denote a round-the-world trip - though I guess it could be trying for precisely the glossy flashy look you'd find on a fashion program. Is the scene where the camera ogles half-dressed girl in apartment to be taken as a comment on exploitative fashion-industry mentality - or just plain ogling?]

THE RELIGION HOUR (MY MOTHER'S SMILE) (75) (dir., Marco Bellocchio) Sergio Castellitto, Jacqueline Listig, Chara Conti [Second half of the awkward title seems to be the preferred translation, which is unfortunate since the first half is much closer to what it's about - in a nutshell, the reasons why people turn to religion (and why some people don't). Great premise - atheist finds out his mother is about to be canonised - makes for intricate, rich statement on the right not to believe - or, more accurately, to live one's life honestly, without opportunism : everyone in the film goes along with the proposed canonisation (which is based on a lie) for purely practical reasons (our hero's wife points out a saintly grandma would be good for their son's career when he grows up!), a form of hypocrisy as useful yet corrupting as the aunt who advises our hero to get a mistress, or indeed the need for religion as insurance against fear of Death. Only one person - the religion teacher - believes for pure, 'artistic' reasons (because of a sense of something greater in the world, like the Russian poem she quotes : you look at Nature, Beauty, all the magic of the world "and yet that's not enough"), but she turns out to be an ideal, not what she seems (if indeed she even exists at all - for who ever heard of a religion teacher being so angelically beautiful?) ; the film moves increasingly into the baroque, taking place in old, shadowy buildings, bringing in echoes of Dante, the Renaissance, secret societies - all the baggage of Opus Dei and the Christian Democrat tradition of Italian politics, a reminder that Religion = State and the film isn't just a call for spiritual but also political (i.e. individual) freedom. Not-believing is the badge of the rebel ("Go on, you delinquent," is the father's affectionate final line to the son he 'saves' from the believers), yet nothing can quite replace the fear of nothingness (the truth is too painful : the child must be reassured with a blatant lie - "people aren't going to die anymore") ; insecurity is the price of freedom, as it always must be - freedom from omnipresent God (we begin with the boy yelling at God to leave him alone) and a controlling Establishment. Final act moves into allegory and paranoia, making for a film that's perhaps too cerebral - yet I felt chills up and down my spine when the mad brother finally breaks out in blasphemy and our hero hugs him with tears in his eyes. Great stuff, with Castellitto the perfect man of doubt ; how the mother's smile fits into it exactly must remain a question for a second viewing.]

LES CHEMINS DE L'OUED (47) (dir., Gael Morel) Nicolas Cazalé, Amira Casar, Mohammed Majd [French-Algerian teenager forced to return to the mother country (UNDER ANOTHER SKY is the English title), finds clichés for the most part - wise old grandfather, kids traumatised by civil strife, older people sporting scars left by French torturers during the war of independence, and a pretty young cousin to explain it all. Best aspect is that he never quite makes his peace, remains ambivalent right to the end (doesn't even bother to learn Arabic, to his eventual cost), but it's all a bit flimsy and Morel's style too obviously striking (you can always tell when something's being done for visual effect). You know you're watching a French film when : (i) a sheep is slaughtered in gratuitous detail ; (ii) a young man masturbates on-camera for no apparent reason ; (iii) everything stops so we can look out from a car cruising down the street, with Nick Cave wailing plangently on the soundtrack.]

GRILL POINT (42) (dir., Andreas Dresen) Steffi Kuhnhert, Gabriela Maria Schmeide, Thorsten Merten, Axel Prahl [Tricky one to get a handle on : call it the feelgood FAITHLESS, or perhaps Mike Leigh without the rigour. Some (e.g. the Berlin jury, where it won the Grand Prize) will say it reflects the messiness of Life - couples fall out of love, stray, come together (or don't) - but it just seemed thrown together, going from broad comedy to straight drama with disconcerting casualness (a comic encounter at the dentist's comes just a couple of scenes before a tearful breakdown, which in turn is followed by buffoonish husband trapped in the car-wash). The real flaw is that characters aren't consistent, changing according to the script's dictates - notably roly-poly Uwe, owner of the titular café, who's initially comic relief (storing legs of pork in the bathtub, much to his wife's despair) then becomes sympathetic (calm and surprisingly civilised as the cuckolded husband) then reverts to type in the final section ; bits of it do recall Mike Leigh - lower-middle-class couple showing friends their holiday slides, or going out to look for lost budgie 'Hans Peter' ("He shouldn't be too hard to spot - I mean, he's bright yellow") - but Mike Leigh never had a fast-motion comic montage as our heroes rush through a department store. Straight-to-camera interviews out of HUSBANDS AND WIVES don't belong at all ; quirky touches like the bagpipes man do, unfortunately.]

MONDAY MORNING (69) (dir., Otar Iosselliani) Jacques Bidou, Arrigo Mozzo, Anne Kravz-Tarnavsky, Otar Iosselliani [No-one else currently makes films like Iosselliani ; they're like going to a casual, slightly drunken party, slow to start as you wait for things to warm up then gradually enveloping you in their good humour and gregarious vibe and love of having fun, so that by the time you leave you look on the people there as lifelong friends. Big Tati influence, of course, and that same odd mix of delight in people and a certain aloofness : lots of collections shown - bicycles, garden snakes, cigarette butts - and Iosselliani too is a collector, taking various eccentrics and putting them together so it starts to look like poetry ; elements include Morse code, St. George, pickpockets, sozzled aristocrats, bare-legged nuns and a crocodile (taking the place of that big stork-like bird in FAREWELL, HOME SWEET HOME) - all in the service of the overriding theme, which is work vs. leisure (or Science vs. Art, or smoke-stacks vs. hang-gliders as in the film's final shot). It's a paean to the pleasures - even, why not, the spiritual pleasures - of bad behaviour (singing, drinking wine, hanging out, goofing off), acting out Plato's dictum that work is inimical to the practice of philosophy ; it runs a bit too long, and it's rather childlike in many ways - women tend to be domineering mother types, and kids potter about on the fringes, frequently getting clipped or scolded (they typify the world of leisure and having fun) ; there may be something regressive in middle-aged Iosselliani's hankering for freedom and a lost age of innocence. It's also delightful, impeccably elegant and really quite inspiring, a dream of a parallel universe where people live Life as it comes. Aren't movies - and indeed parties - all about the moment when escape shades into transcendence?...]

BUNGALOW (66) (dir., Ulrich Kohler) Lennie Burmeister, Devid Striesow, Trine Dyrholm [Lean, dark and spare, the only real caveat being that 'nothing happens' : troubled young hero, an Army deserter (running away is his only positive act), wanders round middle-class home - has a beer, pencils random line or two on absent Dad's architectural designs, makes desultory attempt at jerking off - finally gets into absorbing dynamic with more responsible older bro and bro's actress girlfriend. Mostly a series of incidents, shot in wry, understated style - putting on girl's swimsuit, hitting a deer with the car - and much depends on how it gets resolved : Kohler seems to have painted himself into a corner, obviously having to end with something but faced with banality if he gives in to the threat of violence that simmers throughout. Instead, he ends with a visual joke worthy of Kiarostami, preceded by just-right scene with Dyrholm (hero's reply when she says "You're very quiet" both hilarious and touching, though only in context), making for superbly-proportioned film that just seems more impressive the more you think about it. Question #1 : any significance to the casting of professional skateboarder in the lead role? (Hero skates a little, but it doesn't seem very essential.) Question #2 : what's with the pinball machines and 80s music when they go to the club? Is the film set in the 80s? Puzzling.]

THE POWER OF KANGWON PROVINCE (71) (second viewing: 73) (dir., Hong Sang-Soo) Baek Jang-hak, Chun Jae-hyun, Im Sun-young [You know you're watching a Hong Sang-Soo movie when ... (i) the story fades to black about halfway through, to be replaced by a whole different story (or maybe just a mirror-image of the first one) ; (ii) compositions are stark but clothes and props often brightly coloured, the former balancing the latter ; (iii) elegant variations are played throughout on a single theme - in this case the fragility of Life, reflected in mention of random accidents, a cable-car and water in a stream both declared to be "safe", a near-accident when a car almost runs a child over, the scene where the cop climbs out onto the balcony and hangs onto the railings, poised to jump (all he has to do is let go...), plus our hero making his way gingerly up the steep mountain paths ("One step off the path and you're history," notes his friend). It all fits in with Hong's constant theme, which is missed connections and unfulfilled (often sexual) opportunities, the delicate invisible threads separating one possibility from another (it's a world full of what-ifs, fascinated by the endless ramifications of random events) ; not as mysterious here as in DAY A PIG FELL INTO THE WELL, because you can see it's obviously going to connect the dots - since the stories are set in the same place - but it's still satisfying when it does so (to the strains of Lou Reed) and besides it doesn't really, ending in a strange coda suggesting separation and a new loneliness. Hong has a knack for finding mystery in the everyday - a 'dead' scene like our hero handing in his application to the university (all very dull and straightforward) is immediately followed by an odd, beguiling one where he encounters a strange dog in the park, the juxtaposition linking both scenes in irrational but suggestive ways ; fittingly for a film based on an invisible love story - only emerging at the very end, when you suddenly realise it's been there all along - offscreen space plays as vital a role as the tiny sliver we actually see. What a marvellous, meticulous director...]

FLYING WITH ONE WING (14) (dir., Asoka Handagama) Anoma Janadari, Gayani Sudharshani, Mahendra Perera [Took a chance on this Sri Lankan movie because "Cahiers" had a positive review of Handagama's previous film, THIS IS MY MOON, and I wouldn't be too surprised if theory-minded critics found more to like than I did : it's unwatchable - I stayed only so I could write about it and warn people off - but there is an idea there, albeit a very bad one. Clearly unable or unwilling to pay for post-sync sound, Handagama decided to make a post-sync movie without actually matching sound and image : instead, every time someone starts talking we cut away to whoever they're talking to, so that most of the film is reaction shots and people nodding their heads - except at the very end, when our heroine (a woman posing as a man) comes clean about her secret, and we get a (brief, and surprisingly poor) bit of sync sound as if to celebrate her womanhood. Result is incredibly distracting, but might've been given the benefit of the doubt as a brave experiment had the film itself been any good ; instead, the presiding spirit seems to be Ed Wood - actors stilted, action often unintentionally hilarious (my favourite is perhaps the guy who keeps threatening to expose 'his' secret, saying stuff like "Shower with me" and "Come on, let's piss together", though I also liked the doctor who sucks his thumb a lot). Almost works better as a comedy but it does seem to have been seriously intended, with its sober message of Sri Lankan women suffering sexist abuse. What on earth is this film doing at a major festival?]

ROGER DODGER (74) (dir., Dylan Kidd) Campbell Scott, Jesse Eisenberg, Isabella Rossellini, Elizabeth Berkley ["Words are my stock-in-trade," says Roger, and the same might be said of Mr. Kidd, who's clearly a writer (esp. a dialogue-writer) to reckon with ; he also tries hard for visual impact, but perhaps too hard - frame constantly blocked by passing traffic or the backs of heads, camera shaky or elaborately up-close, lighting fuzzy-naturalistic. Worst of all is that he chickens out, 'reforming' Roger in the final stretch (from the brothel scene onwards), ending with a scene (and final shot) that's clever but something of a cop-out : passing off his stunted worldview as a kind of arrested adolescence is a poor excuse - what's fascinating about the character is how consciously he uses his cynicism, blocking out anything 'romantic', justifying himself as more "honest" than those around him (he's a bit like Chuck Tatum in ACE IN THE HOLE, not just reducing the world to the basest of instincts but convinced that anyone who doesn't do likewise is a sucker) ; much of the film's attraction lies in trying to decide whether Roger's attitude is self-deception or in fact the opposite, trying to see things as they really are. He's also witty, brisk and pessimistic, right from the very first scene - his "theory of utility" and its mordant corollary, the imminent obsolescence of men - and the film is magnificently funny, though probably inadequate as a character study : Roger's bad relationship with his father and spate of divorces within the family provide a semi-explanation for his dark view of relationships, but not quite enough to contain (or reduce) him. He's irreducible - a spoiled child, an immature jerk, a Chris Eigeman with (even) sharper teeth, a philosopher, a clear-eyed commentator, a sensitive soul unable to handle rejection, all of the above ; and Campbell Scott is now officially a star.]

WERCKMEISTER HARMONIES (53) (dir., Bela Tarr) Lars Rudolph, Peter Fitz, Hanna Schygulla [Tarr's movies never seem to feature much in the way of meanings and (coherent) ideas, more a case of eye-candy and visual Cool Stuff. This is about a third as long as SATANTANGO, with about a third as much Cool Stuff (though also a third as much aimless wandering about) : there's the hospital scene - not so much the scene itself but the way it ends, the skeletal old man in white light - the arrival of the circus truck (lighting up each house in turn as it trundles down the street), a transfixingly still and silent tracking-shot as we follow heroes down the street in unbroken two-shot for minutes on end (Time itself seems to dissolve), couple of breathtaking images in the town square with foggy light and smoke from the bonfires - that's about it, really. Obviously enough for some people, but pace is sludgy and themes are all over the place, seeming to posit three different states (natural order, artificial order, anarchy) without really distinguishing between the last two. Why does the nihilistic "Prince" speak Russian? (Shouldn't the Soviet years come under 'artificial order', i.e. the martial-law that gets imposed in the end?) How does the Werckmeister analogy fit a case of social breakdown - isn't that a case of trying to regulate an existing natural order? Maybe I just didn't get it...]

SEAFOOD (47) (dir., Zhu Wen) Cheng Taisheng, Jinzi, Ma Liuming [Not bad, but I barely remember it. Strange sense of humour going on, with chopsticks used to remove stray object from suicidal heroine's vagina and nice-guy cop basically turning rapist in order to strengthen her will to live ("Still want to die?" he yells, as if rape were a good thing) ; some crisp visuals, structure unusual but not very rewarding - final section too long to be a coda, too short to be a third act - and this is one of those cases where an abrupt ending seems an affectation. Heroine expressionless, adding possibly unwanted humour to the remark that she can't be serious about suicide because "People determined to kill themselves look like they're already dead" ; dish of what look like baby eels - served in a restaurant, still alive and wriggling in a bowl of water - wins the prize for Most Disgusting Food Seen In Chinese Movie. No doubt missed a lot of stuff, but that's how it goes : some films you just don't make the connection.]

THE UNCERTAINTY PRINCIPLE (44) (dir., Manoel de Oliveira) Leonor Baldaque, Leonor Silveira, Ricardo Trepa, Luis Miguel Cintra [Really enjoyed Oliveira's last two films, but this is another of his arch, enervated (some will say 'limpid') talk-pieces in VALLEY OF ABRAHAM vein ; quite enjoyable when it's being self-consciously stagy, as it is early on with hilariously stilted lines ("My son - the one they call 'The Blue Bull' - said to me...") and two old coots sitting in a static medium-shot giving about 10 minutes of complicated exposition in the guise of friendly conversation - but the second half just runs out of steam, turning into something of an endurance test. Dualities recur - logic vs. passion, the Virgin and the Whore, heroine as both warrior and martyr (like Joan of Arc), or the bit where she tells her one true love she can't marry him because she loves him (are love and marriage mutually exclusive?) ; Uncertainty reigns, the final babies-switched-at-birth revelation merely reinforcing the point that no-one is who they seem. There's certainly a pattern, but hard to discern much point beyond picking up the clues (plus occasional digressions, e.g. on the idiocy of calling blacks "people of colour", which come across as a chatty nonagenarian sharing his pet peeves) - and why is there so much head-room in the compositions? More staginess, no doubt...]

I AM TARANEH, 15 (66) (dir., Rassul Sadr-Ameli) Taraneh Alidousti, Hossein Mahjoub, Mahtab Nasirpour [This is why people go to festivals : worthy, Message-mongering Iranian film with requisite touch of meta-reflexivity (15-year-old "Taraneh" played by 15-year-old Taraneh), seen at 10.30 p.m. out of duty more than anything in a slot where nothing else appealed, turns out to be a delightful surprise - light on its feet and very human, skipping across possible traps. Frequent fades to black, keeping things short and simple, occasional tricks (e.g. separating image and sound when Taraneh first lies to her granny) done without fuss ; best of all is the absence of cheap indicators, taking people as it finds them. Socially-committed do-gooder (a film-maker, no less!), working for women's organisation, turns out to be selfish and callous when push comes to shove - heroine forced to fend for herself, can't rely on do-gooders (her father is the only nice person - and he's in jail) ; unexpected quirky touches, e.g. Taraneh's delinquent friend, and a thoroughly convincing picture of Iran (a country where 70% of the population are under 30) - gathering in coffee shops, listening to the Eagles and the Spice Girls, talking on cellphones, agonising over abortions. Generally very absorbing, though there are loose ends and of course the whole thing never quite sheds a made-for-TV feel ; and Taraneh herself - a Winona Ryder mouse with a Jennifer Beals smile - is adorable.]

THE BEST OF TIMES (58) (dir., Chang Tso-chi) Wing Fan, Gao Meng-jie, Yu Wan-mei [Starts and finishes superbly, even more remarkable given that it starts as one thing (observational realism in languid long takes, reminiscent of mid-80s Hou Hsiao-Hsien) and ends as another (out-and-out dreamlike fantasy). Not always memorable in between, dealing in rather too-familiar elements - gangsters, young men drifting into petty crime, rather fey girl with artistic streak and terminal illness - but raised by the manic energy of goofy Gao Meng-jie, a loose cannon, wannabe-conjuror and general motormouth (he and the girl from MIRROR IMAGE ought to team up in the Larky Taiwanese Teenager stakes), and intriguing snapshot of Taiwan society, gangsterism rampant and the older generation still recalling the war of independence (but mostly drinking and gambling). Much more entertaining than you might expect ; lacks a certain something, though.]

WILD BEES (41) (dir., Bohdan Slama) Zdenek Rauser, Tatiana Vilhelmova, Marek Daniel [LONERS, RETURN OF THE IDIOT, the films of Jiri Menzel and now this : obviously something in the Czech sense of humour that doesn't agree with me (Australian comedy has the same effect) - unattractive mix of kitsch, cruelty and a down-to-earth quality that keeps it from soaring like it should. Theme - hedonism vs. work - recalls Iosselliani, and the father pontificating on "spiritual possibilities" might've been an Iosselliani hero, but he gets short shrift here ("You really are an idiot!"), just as the most eccentric character - the Michael Jackson impersonator with ever-present can of Pepsi - must have his delusions shattered, not even allowed to find refuge in eccentricity. Pride of place goes instead to grannies playing slot-machines, music score full of bells and whistles, crappy village raffle full of crappy prizes (first prize : a basket of fruit) and kitschy plastic mosque that plays the call of a muezzin when you press a button. Not my scene.]

BLUE (45) (dir., Hiroshi Ando) Mikako Ichikawa, Manami Konishi, Asami Imajuku ["Painterly" is an accurate description ; so, unfortunately, is "dull". Carefully composed, setting heroines at all times within the world - exteriors, or else silhouetted against bright window - except for their indoors interlude of intimacy ; dwarfs and stifles its characters, which isn't necessarily a good thing, but at least it's deliberate. Attractive to look at, but not too exciting (lots of rather static duologues) and not always clear either : ends on blue, the colour of the sea and Cézanne's grapes - but is it the colour of their love, or its melancholy aftermath? Nothing in the film quite so intriguing as the information that Mr. Ando was previously a porno-film director.]

LJUBLJANA (49) (dir., Igor Sterk) Grega Zorc, Tjasa Zeleznik, Marca Dorrer [Two words : 71 minutes. Actually, five words : 71 minutes, too many characters. Snapshot of the Slovenian rave scene, but it takes half the movie just to figure out who everyone is, and emotional impact is near-zero ; gives the impression of having been made as a calling-card - no real centre (no compelling reason why it should've been made), lots of cool stuff on the margins. Random images stick in the mind - ostriches mating, schoolkids in bright-orange raincoats crossing the road on a rainy day, old lady pushing a little dog away with her foot - and some shots are truly impressive : 'rave' scenes suitably flashy, slow 360-degree pan round a group of friends (everyone starting to speak as the camera gets to them) must've taken ages, and a shot of our hero from behind a turtle-tank is hilarious (the tank is transparent, so it looks like an ordinary shot - then he's suddenly got turtles swimming around his head). Lively, amoral and mostly forgettable ; look for Mr. Sterk to go far, however.]

HUKKLE (57) (dir., Gyorgy Palfi) Ferenc Bandi, Jozsef Farkas, Mrs. Racz [Dialogue-free perambulation through Hungarian village, looking at this and that ; seems at first like a rather twee pastoralism - ladybirds, grasshoppers, a cat sunning itself, old man sitting by traditional slope-roofed house - but it's not just Nature that gets perused (and celebrated). Machines also studied, even people - man swallows food and we suddenly cut to an X-ray effect, showing his skeleton with the food going down! It's interested in everything, infused either with a scientific spirit - tinkering, taking things apart to find out how they work - or a kind of pantheism (God's eye view of the world, everything reflecting His power), according to taste. Doesn't linger over anything, which is why it works, but it feels somewhat strained even at 75 minutes (might've worked better as a short, perhaps) ; occasional ruptures in the narrative - animals suddenly moving in reverse, or ingenious trick-shot suddenly zooming back from the image and all the way out, till it's deconstructed as a strip of celluloid - keep things fresh but don't seem especially suited to the project (unless it's a case of film itself being taken apart by Palfi's inquiring spirit). Bonus points for cheeky 'balls-to-balls' shot, cutting straight from a game of bowling to a close-up of a pig's testicles. At least it isn't self-important.]

EL BONAERENSE (64) (dir., Pablo Trapero) Jorge Roman, Dario Levy, Mimi Arduh [Notable straight away for its look - ingeniously lit (underexposed?) so things are visible but faces are dark, the blacks very black and dirty yellow light all over ; gradually gets brighter (light, i.e. Power, increasing) as our hero joins the titular police force, but the final shot has his face still dark, still a pawn at the mercy of external forces. Point is that - like the Argentinian people who put up with corrupt cops, perhaps - he trusts his superiors when they say (as they do throughout the film) "Don't worry" and "No problem", and ends up having learned nothing at all (though there's always, as someone points out, "the possibility of evolving") ; similar dynamic to Trapero's CRANE WORLD, none-too-bright hero oppressed and manipulated by the world, but it looks for a while like he's moved beyond that film - lively characters in the middle section, as well as some salty dialogue ("We're the ones who pay your salary!" yells a disgruntled citizen ; "Can we have a raise then?" replies unfazed cop), not to mention the wacko Bonaerense who believes in "celestial beings". Turns out Trapero hasn't really moved on - same old theme and drab, defeated worldview at the end of the day - but still absorbing stuff, well-crafted and visually imaginative. A near-miss.]

10 (53) (dir., Abbas Kiarostami) Mania Akbari, Amin Maher [Disappointing. Thought this was going to be 10 shots - each shot a fixed-camera study of a person, showing us exactly one half of a conversation - and also thought it was going to be 10 encounters with 10 different strangers, all of which sounded intriguingly open-ended and suggestive (leaving characters unseen clearly raises questions of dominance and power-relationships ; never showing the prostitute, e.g., is a statement in itself). Instead, Kiarostami cuts between characters in most of the 10 episodes, and some of the heroine's interlocutors (notably her son) appear in more than one scene, leaving something much more ordinary and no obvious reason why the film should've been made in this strange, semi-rigorous way ; interesting themes in the dialogue, notably the possibility of living without ties or "close bonds", including Family (and implicitly Society or Religion) - "no-one belongs to anyone" is the heroine's credo, but it's easier said than done - as well as concepts of right and wrong, so central to a theocratic society (what makes a "good" woman? why is it "not right" for the kid to watch sexy shows on satellite?), and the idea of the car as arena is itself interesting, a private space in the public eye ; some kudos due for making it clear everyday life in Iran is much like everyday life anywhere else, and not much like THE CIRCLE-type proselytising - but surely we knew this already. Ultimately minor, and surprisingly timid as an experiment ; all very watchable, though.]

STAY HUNGRY (75) (dir., Bob Rafelson, 1976) Jeff Bridges, Sally Field, Arnold Schwarzenegger [Third viewing, first in about 7 years ; thought I'd be disappointed at first, but it won me over all over again. Not exactly subtle but charming, funny, loose, acerbic, downright inspirational. Best advice I'll ever get : "It doesn't matter what you do in Life, as long as you do something - and do it unsparingly."]

IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER (66) (dir., Marco Bellocchio, 1972) Yves Beneyton, Renato Scarpa, Aldo Sassi [Bellocchio's Catholic-seminary movie makes a sharp contrast to THE DEVIL'S PLAYGROUND - not concerned with sex at all, and hardly concerned with religion per se. Takes it for granted that the seminary is a joke, no respect or real discipline, no spirituality - the point is socio-political allegory, religion as opiate, dulling the senses : Catholic church has the power, aiming (at best) to produce simple people with "few but firm beliefs", while intellectuals try to rouse the people (but fall prey to their own secret contempt for them) and Fascism - a call for blunt efficiency - seems ever more tempting, even logical. Robust, wildly funny, sometimes cartoonish (fat people laughing raucously, Fellini-style), with a couple of undeniable highlights - esp. the bizarre morality-play put on by the rebellious students, superbly cut against the smooth, seen-it-all-before priests and terrified younger pupils. More sophisticated IF... with religious angle ; needed a stronger ending, though.]

PREFAB PEOPLE (63) (dir., Bela Tarr, 1982) Judit Pogany, Robert Koltai [Good slice-of-life, shame it doesn't go anywhere ; Tarr's fondness for lengthy song-and-dance interruptions (working-class entertainments, finding solace in music) very much in evidence, almost as powerful as similar scene in DAMNATION. Sympathetic stuff, shot so both husband and wife get more-or-less equal treatment ; quarrel at the swimming-pool very vivid, and of course pool itself is intriguing snapshot of Hungary in the early 80s (ditto for the whole film, really). Nothing new, but well managed ; shame Tarr went all 'poetic' later...]

DONA HERLINDA AND HER SON (56) (dir., Jaime Huberto Hermosillo, 1985) Guadalupe del Toro, Arturo Meza, Marco Antonio Trevino [Sly semi-satire featuring the Mexican mother as Indestructible Force, unfazed even by her son's homosexuality (simply calls him "ambidextrous"!), making this something of a wish-fulfilment fantasy - Hermosillo being himself gay - as well as very pleasant comedy. Kudos for going in the opposite direction than one might expect from its first set-pieces (i.e. question isn't 'how long before Mom finds out?'), but peters out in the second half, and never as sharp as one would like. Incidental pleasures : finding out that 80s Mexicans liked runny ice-cream (served in glasses, like a drink), never watched TV (apparently), and said - probably still say - "mes papas" to mean "my parents". Talk about the patriarchy in action.]

DOUBLE MESSIEURS (43) (dir., Jean-Francois Stévenin, 1986) Jean-Francois Stévenin, Yves Affonso, Carole Bouquet [Erratic, confusing comedy in a restless style, jumping around without rhyme or reason ; hard to discern a plot, but it does have a few decent gags, and the leads make a great double team. Might've worked better had it borne even the slightest resemblance to recognisable human behaviour.]

FISTS IN THE POCKET (57) (dir., Marco Bellocchio, 1965) Lou Castel, Paola Pitagora, Marino Masé [What am I missing? Castel excellent, otherwise a mildly dark tale of family life done without much style - or at least no consistent style - and few themes to chew over (family + religion = Establishment, young hero as rebel - all a little vague). Watchable enough in a shapeless way, but can this really be Bellocchio's most-acclaimed movie ("This must surely be one of the most astonishing directorial debuts in the history of movies" - Pauline Kael)? Don't forget the decadent party scene - a sine qua non of 60s Young Turk cinema.]