emilyelizabeth1283

Every shot in Terry Gilliam's The Zero Theorem is filled with allusion, metaphor and expressions of a bizarre vision of the near future that strikes as a colorful blend of Bladerunner (1982), The Fifth Element (1997) and Idiocracy (2006). It is a testament of our times that many recent movies seem to focus on the current track of society's soul with mainstream films ranging from Her (2013) The Hunger Games (2012) and Cloud Atlas (2012) to the not-so-mainstream I Origins (2013) and Snowpiercer (2013). This film rests comfortably in the list of most mind-blowing visual storytelling paired with deliberate prophetic discourse of recent memory.

Christoph Waltz plays Qohen Leth. He is an "entity" cruncher for a big corporation called "Mancom" who has a habit for referring to himself in the plural as "we" and "ourselves." The beginning shot sets up the story, telling the viewer much more about the film and its themes than any dialogue or montage could have done.

Qohen sits naked in front of the massive monitor of his computer depicting an active black hole, which is directed by something like a video game console controller. He resides in an empty church, the remnants of a spiritual existence are scattered about like untouched ruins from centuries before. Qohen hears the phone ring and eagerly picks up the receiver each time before dejectedly replacing it as the sound of an automated voice rambles. He stands up to mutter to himself, "another day…another day." This is only the beginning, though the feeling is that an entire story has been told already... http://funkyforestfirstcontact.wordpress.com

This documentary is so powerful to me. I had never been introduced to this type of art before and made me realize how important it is to have an open mind when your goal in life is to discover, learn and connect. For example, one of the landmark pieces Marina is known for is where she sits in front of someone for an incredibly long time, day after day, for weeks, months. I looked at this and was struck with thoughts dominated by puzzlement and judgement. It was weird and silly to me, until I let myself think about it. Think about where the artist is coming from. I thought about my own situation where looking people in the eyes is incredibly difficult and the idea of coming to a space where this woman is sitting, taking a seat in front her, then meeting her eyes became profound. It also made it clear to me that sometimes in order to appreciate something so radically different from what a person is used to or familiar with, the time in a person's life, what has come before, and what a person is tuned in to all become so vital in the outcome of whether the person listens, or immediately dismisses. I was able to let myself make a connection with what it is Marina is trying to do with her art and it came alive for me, all at once. The documentary itself is beautifully done, you can tell it was a production made with love and devotion to its subject. It goes into Marina's history in performance art through interviews and old footage, and is framed by the massive preparations for a show held at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. One of my new favorite documentaries. http://funkyforestfirstcontact.wordpress.com/

The One I Love (2014), written by Justin Lader and directed by Charlie McDowell, brings something new to the table involving relationship dissection, and ironically echoes another movie I've recently written about in the I Just Saw… section, Coherence (2013). Both deal with characters in rocky relationships who are forced to make bold moves when confronted with themselves, in a quite literal sense.

Time passes and people change. But it is a complex move. Not everything about a person changes, or at the same pace, and that which you think has changed can sometimes hit you in the face with the truth that it hasn't changed in the slightest. Sometimes the memory of who we were years ago haunts us, in good ways and in bad. At some point we long for some aspect of ourselves lost, and at others we try to hide all memory or our former selves forever. But this is all written with only the subjective experience in mind. When you throw in the precarious balance of two people in a relationship, the reality of past and present become all the more dramatic, especially when the reality looks different to each half a couple.

The One I Love takes this dance to a new level and gives it a twist. After deciding to take a little holiday together to try and recapture the fire in their relationship, Sophie and Ethan, (played by Elisabeth Moss and Mark Duplass), literally become two pairs as each of them faces an exact copy of their lovers, but whom oddly seem to encompass most of the good and nearly none of the "flawed" aspects of each character. The result is a brutal reminder of the changes one goes through guided by the choices one makes along the way. When Sophie starts falling in love (back in love?) with Ethan's double, he becomes jealous of…himself! It is a fascinating and inventive look at a relationship like I've never seen before.

The opening of the film views like a documentary, filled with subtle humorous lines so dry that they could almost make it past were it not for their honesty. The movie is filled with static shots that concern themselves only with capturing the moving present, but as this effect makes sense in the beginning, the effect moves the movie further and further into the surreal realm as the minutes go by. It is a smooth, clever transition, intersecting the point at which a million questions rise up in the viewer's mind about what the heck is happening in that house. The focus moves cleverly from a typical relationship drama to something more as the plot moves toward the supernatural, but this happens without ever losing the viewer to that supernatural aspect; by the time weird stuff starts to happen we are invested in the characters and rooting for their relationship.

When the couple first realize that somehow their doubles have been conjured, only appearing when the original is out of the room, they get freaked out and start to run away. It is Sophie's insistence that this little adventure could be just what they need to get their relationship back on track that convinces them to return and explore the phenomenon a bit further.

They come up with some ground rules before engaging in taking turns with their respective spouse's duplicate: They will not have sex with them, and they will be completely honest about their experiences. They agree. But things don't go exactly as planned.

The observations I made here and throughout the rest of the movie ranged from the very simple to incredibly involved. One of the most intriguing aspects of the characterizations is that neither of them looks at their duplicate as an impetus to become better people and recapture the positive things they may have lost over the years since the two first met. Instead, they each give in to jealousy and insecurity for which each of them dearly pays in their own ways. And I feel that it is this twist that puts the movie more along the line of romantic comedy…and nothing more complicated. If the two were to dive in to the observation of themselves with more awareness perhaps the movie would have broached such thought-territory as expressed in films like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004). As it stands, though, I enjoyed the movie very much and it is one of the most creative and clever story lines I've seen in a while. http://funkyforestfirstcontact.wordpress.com/

For me this movie, written and directed by Mike Cahill, was all about actor Michael Pitt. The premise of the story and the characters were fascinating, but I feel like the dialogue and explication for the science driving partners Ian (Pitt) and Karen, played by Brit Marling, could have gone more in depth. There are some interesting recurring shots, like the arc shots which follow Ian's gaze as he discovers the eyes that will impact his life so profoundly. In the first shot, the eyes are reflected in the windows of the bus Ian has just gotten off of. Upon seeing the reflection the arc follows his turn-around to arrive at the giant billboard advertising a French perfume under the eyes. And the second, which mimics the first, I won't tell you about because it would give away too much.

The movie centers around Ian, a scientist, who meets a mysterious woman at a party. Their connection is made not so much with words, but with looks, gestures. Ian studies eyes and seeks to find a scientific explanation for the complexity of the eye, that which many defend as proof of a spiritual world, or higher power. He asks the woman if he can take a picture of her eyes. He is captivated by them, and they stick in his mind long after she has gone.

One of the most beautiful scenes in the movie is the re-connection of these two at random. There are no words involved. She moves. He moves. They communicate in a unique way that seems otherworldly, their relationship's strength is built upon this serendipitous magic that seems to flow between them. Their only issue stems from her strong belief in a spiritual world. He is a staunch scientist in the vein of facts and data. He believes only in "proof." "Why are you trying so hard to disprove god?" asks his lover, Sofi, played elegantly by Astrid Berges-Frisbey. He responds that the question is irrelevant, who has ever "proved" there is a god to be dis-proved? In a climactic scene between the two, he attacks this aspect of her specifically, accusing her of being a child, living in a dream world.

Michael Pitt demonstrates a natural coolness, exudes it even, in every line and movement. Especially in the intimate scenes with Sofi, subtle facial expressions and hand gestures remind me a lot of James Spader, whose unique body language has never waned. Pitt has an interesting face anyway, but the way he is able to bring his character to life by a look and movement of an eyebrow is a rare thing that is always a wonderful discovery with an actor I'm just coming to be familiar with.

I first watched Michael Pitt as Mason Verger in Hannibal. The body language caught my eye and he instantly became one of the most interesting characters in the show. His style contributed in a creepy, weird way that is very effective as the mad playboy Verger, but this style is also recognizable in the sly, boyish presentation of Ian. His embarrassed laugh and tone of voice fit his character, but also identify him as the unique and not-easily-forgotten performer whose style pervades any role.

When Sofi is lost once more, Ian finds comfort in the friendship of like-minded lab partner Karen, and soon a discovery is made that will change their lives forever. Someone living halfway across the world apparently has the same iris pattern as Sofi, something that is supposed to be impossible. With encouragement from Karen, Ian flies to India to investigate this discovery. If the two women are connected somehow, it would mean opening the possibility of spiritual existence, of human connection that goes beyond the physical and mortal realm.

The movie unfolds in a well-paced and interesting manner. I was so interested in premise and storyline throughout, but I did not feel the movie delivered fully on the profound observations presented. I wanted to know more about the scientists' motivation, why was he so stubborn in his ideas? What is Sofi's background and why is she spiritual? I wanted to see more of the goings-on in the lab. The jumps made towards the latter half of the movie seemed rushed and strained my ability to suspend disbelief.

Ultimately the movie satisfied me in large part due to both Michael Pitt and Brit Marling's performances. It was the subtle, beautiful aspects of the shooting that made the movie something special. The shaky cam coupled with the performance by the young lovers Pitt and Berges-Frisbey gave the movie a level of realness that is hard to reach, especially at the pace at which the relationship evolves. The ending is appropriate and sweetly terse, augmented with a bit of Radiohead to round everything up, leaving ultimate resolutions with the viewer to ponder for a few seconds through an unhurried dissolve.

Liam Neeson plays Michael, a writer. His eyes are curiously and deceptively filled with feeling and warmth even as his character plays out as a "sociopath" who has trouble feeling anything genuine toward other people. Yet, he is obsessed with the creation of emotion, as if the suspension of love in mid-air between two people is his home and friend. His mind is similarly disembodied. He feels need for love, especially when he is deprived of his lover's presence, but the actual presence of that body works to quickly diffuse the passion that is powerful in theory but thrives on it's staying in that theoretical strata. Michael has found a way, through his writing, to cope with this absurd existence. He finds the answer to his addiction in the creation of fiction using people in real life. He lets life naturally play out around him, provoking into being both the subtle and blatant forms of passion, romanticism, divine emotion and drama, then filters these experiences onto paper, choosing only the best parts, and throwing away the rest. Including any irrelevant parts of himself. In this way, he chooses to live his own life in a half-existence, desperately clinging to the divinity of love while denying the bitter absence of his ability to express it genuinely. 'Genuinely' is the key word here. Surely delivering hundreds of white roses to the bedroom of his lover Anna, (played by Olivia Wilde), is beyond romantic. But for Michael it is an act of intellect, not passion. It is a tool used to evoke the necessary catalyst, letting life display action, and funneling the magic into his own words.

Anna is a woman and entity that is completely unique in relation to anyone else in the movie and expresses a shade of mentality that I've never seen in a film so clearly. Within the life spans of each character prior to the timeline of the film is a catastrophic event involving either children or themselves as children. This is a line of storytelling that is evenly and thoroughly paved, on which it is typically easy to carry an audience. Because of such and such event in one's childhood, this character turned out to be this and this. The audience willingly nods to almost any such explanation that follows this logic; the more messed up, the more believable. Anna's case certainly gives her some degree of excusability in this story, though that concept is for another time and another debate. Incredibly, this event, though strong and controversial, does not outshine the vivid expression of her mentality through her actions prior to the unveiling of this childhood/adulthood disaster. She is blunt, cold and incredibly sadistic when it comes to attacking Michael. She is spontaneous, child-like and in considerable anguish. She is excited by the same game that Michael is, and this is what holds them together through the poisonous collisions with the sterility of every-day life. There game is fun, sexy. The fact that in their spontaneous role-play they are acutely aware of the other's true mentality builds a mutual sexual excitement; they can't wait to see how the story will turn out this time, whether it leaves Anna naked in the hallway of a hotel, or hundreds of flowers left in her empty room. The plain of existence could go on exponentially from here in satisfaction for Michael, but for Anna there is a step further down that makes her existence with Michael inhospitable. She is aware and ashamed of her acidic behavior towards Michael, and she has settled into a resolution of consistent punishment for those actions; at least she is trying very hard to. Michael makes this wish impossible in his equally consistent forgiveness for the sake of not losing his muse. As a result, Anna is catapulted into despair as she does not receive the intake of pain and rebuke she expects, resolute that she in no way deserves forgiveness or love; both of which she has long since destroyed within herself. Confronted with a room full of roses, she is helpless to respond in any way other than crawling, slowly and humbly, back to her indestructible lover...

http://funkyforestfirstcontact.wordpress.com/

One of the best things about a Jim Jarmusch film is the distinct attention to the auditory experience, and in Only Lovers Left Alive the soundtrack (written and performed by Jim Jarmusch's own SQURL in collaboration with Jozef Van Wissem) is presented with as much consideration as any slow pan or close-up shot. Just as Forest Whitaker is escorted by the chill beats of RZA in Ghost Dog, the Adam (Tom Hiddleston) and Eve (Tilda Swinton) of Only Lovers Left Alive are brought to life (as much as they can be) by distinct sounds. The act of viewing and listening in scenes like the opening sequence emit such a power that seems effortless, and moreso, even timeless. As if we as viewers are just arriving after all the main action, the effects of which linger on in the resonance of high octave percussion in Tangier with Eve and in the loud, melancholy reverb of guitars behind Adam. Adam and Eve have been around for a very long time. They've seen the rise and fall of man so many times and in so many ways that it's become old hat, but there is a difference in how each of them has been able to handle it. Adam is caught in a cycle of depression at how man seems to continue spiraling downward, taking the purity of the earth down with it. Eve: "How can you have lived for so long, and still not get it?" What Eve "gets" sets her firmly within the realm of the upper chakras, an understanding of life and a wisdom which she has cultivated for centuries. She lives life in the moment making the horror of eternal life all but disappear. She is forever in all time and has found comfort in omnipresence. Some comic relief is offered in the form of Mia Wasikowska's character Ava and her interaction with Adam's good "zombie" (non-vampire) friend Ian (Anton Yelchin). I love that Adam calls people zombies, illustrating his perspective of humans being the real monsters. But it also highlights the fact that vampires have been able to exist for millennia without being found, their existence kept strictly to folklore. The last time I saw Mia was in a wonderfully creepy film called Stoker (2013) in which she played a very drab, sullen young girl who slowly discovers herself in very dark ways. It was quite a delightful surprise when I saw her bouncing into Adam's apartment onto the couch as Eve's promiscuous, bored and daring younger sister. We are let in on the fact that Ava has found trouble before, and perhaps it is time to mix it up again with some more mischief. The last two things I'd like to comment on is the effect of the two main locations chosen for the film, Detroit and Tangier, and Adam's stunning re-affirmation of life in a performance by real-life Lebanese artist Yasmine Hamden. The stark contrast between Adam's chosen hideaway and Eve's sanctuary in Tangier is startling and works in mystical ways, just like the music, to add color to each character. One of the most poignant moments in the film occurs after Eve rejoins Adam and he takes her on a drive around the city. They stop at the place of an old theater in ruins. Hints of a glorious past barely show through the dirt in the ruins of architecture and deteriorating frescoes. The ground-space is taken by junked cars and trash. Still, as Eve declares, when the southern areas fall, Detroit will flourish. After all, "there is water here." When man has exhausted his pursuit of self-deceptive height defined by power, accumulation and dominance, he will be forced to fall back to his basic nature, the one which burns the meaninglessness of cold hard cash for the inescapable necessity of cold water. While Adam exists in the perpetual darkness of Detroit, Eve seems to have found an incredible oasis in Tangier, the streets and architecture glow in and out of the off-white stone buildings. Eventually Adam is convinced to return with her, where he discovers something fresh. He is reinvigorated. And this helps them regain the strength to do what they have to do to survive, what is in their natures. This experience is Yasmine, performing in the open air of a quiet Tangier night. The people gathered around her are captivated, but also seem on the verge of a peaceful sleep, like a child being sung to before bed. This film resonates with me as it touches on one of the most basic pursuits of human beings, that of connection that is threefold; connection with other human beings, (or those "like" us), with existence, and with the scientific knowledge and discovery of that existence. But instead of trying to answer tough questions, the film rather focuses on the practical application of living without knowing them. Like Camus writes about the absurdity of life and the necessity of being a rebel against the endlessness of uncertainty, and like the Buddhist virtues of finding wholeness in emptiness, the film makes a statement about human life and how what we do with it is so unnecessarily influenced by the constant knowledge that we have a finite amount of time. Perhaps if we imagined life as timeless and boundless like Adam and Eve, we could learn the importance of recognizing that each moment is not only precious, but all that exists, and that what we choose to do with what is. now. becomes the substance of what we end up obsessing over only when it has become out of reach, or worse, never realized.

Cate Blanchett's performance in Blue Jasmine cut me open for a few days. The pit of my stomach grew heavy throughout the film and I simultaneously felt the weight and brilliance of her character, Jasmine. I love it when a character is able to tear me apart and pull from opposite ends. While I recognized Jasmine's destructive influence, I also felt sorry for her situation and hoped that she could somehow pull herself out of it, even if it was to go back to the superficial pampering that seems to be the only way of life she can handle. I think that even now there is hope for her, were she to confront her demons.

Jasmine believes she can take a class on computers to take an online class in interior design and then become successful again. But wait, she can't afford that. What an incredibly foreign concept. I felt the fear in her eyes when she realized she was going to have to get a real job to pay for the things she thinks are a feasible future. Even though the thought makes her almost physically ill, she tries the secretary gig, struggles, and fails. Perhaps it's not entirely her fault though. The fact that she glows like pure gold in the moonlight everywhere she goes makes it hard for other people to interact with her like a normal person.

She is lost in that dream world, where she looks the part but lacks the people crowding around to look at her. So she imagines them, creates them, in the middle of the street, in the park, on the sidewalk, where the only crowds around are the ones giving her strange looks.

More than any of this, I experienced something so rare for me and so powerful. The pain and fear in Jasmine's character came straight through to me through Blanchett's performance and seemed to muster up the type of personal experiences and memories that most people would rather hide in their unconscious for the rest of their lives. I could recall the scariest moments in my life. A mixture of dread and fear of inadequacy, and above all that someone else would see. Or the fights early on in my relationship when I was breathing and crying so hard; there was something like a weight above me or a wall in front of me that nothing I could do would break through. The body exhausts itself, and if you don't want to get lost in the darkness you better find something to believe in or hope for.

The effects of the film come across in far more non-verbal ways than verbal. But I do love the lines in which Jasmine rambles on about wanting to do something "substantial." Secretary or office work would not be "substantial" enough. The tragedy of her situation comes through directly in her complete misconstruing of the meaning of that word. I can feel and see what it means to her, and by contrast how the substance and quality of life has come through for her sister Ginger (Sally Hawkins). Ginger, having narrowly survived the influence of her sister to get lost in the non-existence of Jasmine's definition of "substantiality" when it comes to men, returns to herself and the happiness that she almost threw away, and in a powerful scene, a raggedy but still radiant Jasmine walks out of her sister's apartment for good as Ginger and her fiancé Chili (Bobby Cannovale) giggle like happy children in the background.

Finally, on a bench in the park sits a random woman. Jasmine wanders over to her and sits down, chatting away about her life as if she were waiting for the concierge after a lavish dinner and night out with her wealth of "substantial" friends. But as her wrecked ex-husband Hal (Alec Baldwin) advises, you must share what you have with others that are less fortunate...I would hope that in any situation like this these "less fortunate" people would promptly give it right back. http://funkyforestfirstcontact.wordpress.com/

The Book Thief is a beautifully poignant film that honestly caught me off guard. I'd seen the preview and the poster for the film for weeks and my initial reaction was that this is kind of a light-hearted (to the extent that this is possible in a movie about World War II) story from the point of view of a little girl with whom both children and adults could identify and who would unsurprisingly triumph in the end of whatever struggles she may face. Then I began watching it, and within the first few moments I realized you can't judge a book by its cover, and I'm glad I decided to watch this movie. What I didn't know until reading a bit about the film was that it is based on a book by Markus Zusack (and adapted for the screen by Michael Petroni.) I did not expect to become as emotionally connected with the character Liesel (played by Sophie Nelisse) as I did, and I think a lot of that had to do with the unbelievably endearing performance of Geoffrey Rush as Liesel's "Papa." There is a narrator, he is death. The film instantly became something much bigger than what I'd anticipated, and I no longer had the feeling that a happy ending was guaranteed. What struck me throughout was the fact that although the brilliance of the film direction by Brian Percival and beauty of the film score by John Williams could quickly manifest itself if you focus on it, for the majority of the film these aspects were nearly invisible, creating for the characters a foundation from which they become very strong and enthralling as the story progresses. The incredibly mature and effective acting of Nelisse and Nico Liersch (Rudy) make them as interesting to follow as any pair of star-crossed lovers in a romantic drama. The setting itself, the narrow roads of the village and Heaven Street, bring the viewer to feel very much on the "inside." The camera view rarely peaks above the height of the houses sitting so closely together, creating the feeling that we are unable to escape, just like Liesel, but more than that, we can feel the pressures of being watched constantly inside of a cage. On the flip side of this, I also felt like I was embodying the narrator, death, watching the story unfold and feeling that at any moment all death had to do was reach out and touch someone at any time, completing their part in this story.

In the end, after Liesel has experienced more than her share of both joy and tragedy, the final words from the narrator lead us to a clearing where there is no greater answer than what was stated in the beginning. No matter how strong our character is or the height of spirit we achieve, death eventually comes to us, and many times before a person is ready. The positive twist offered to us in this story is that those achievements can indeed affect even a force as cold and foreboding as death itself, giving him pause, before continuing with his duties, as he must do. http://funkyforestfirstcontact.wordpress.com/

The somber palette of color is the first thing that strikes me about the film. It is dirty, dark, and slow-moving. But despite its pace, the story never drags, the motion seems continuously relevant throughout and its weight matched by the stone-silent gaze and acting by Mads Mikkelson. Every scene holds this weight, every shot where the camera doesn't bother moving and prefers to stare stoically back at the threatening landscape that seems to come straight from Norse mythology.

As if to highlight the central element of violence, the only splashes of color we see until the arrival into the new world is that of red. Blood splattering up from a mutilated body or from the several shots of One-Eye's face alongside clouds of crimson shades. Mads Mikkelson has one of the most interesting faces I've ever seen and indeed in this film where his line count comes to precisely zero, it is all within that face that we place as viewers the strength and horrifying vitality of the character. Even with no lines and minus an eye, Mikkelson exudes a haunting and haunted aspect that is convincing, allowing us to buy his presence as a power beyond words. We buy him as an overarching presence, we wait and listen until the very end, knowing that he holds knowledge of the prophecy to end all doubts and answer our questions. We do this and are not slighted in the end when even this void becomes gloriously filled without a single word, even if we don't understand it fully. At least me anyway. I didn't understand everything until I started thinking about the effects the film had on me personally. I believe that a movie like this can be just as engrossing for someone like me with very little knowledge of Norse mythology or history as for someone who does have that knowledge.

One-Eye is the central focus from beginning to end for me. Though very well portrayed by the actors, most of the other characters were taken in and processed as pieces of the puzzle for figuring out the great warrior, his motivation, his plan. He harbors intense and seemingly inexhaustible rage that destroys anything that comes up against it, but he is also a protector and allows a boy to lend himself to the warrior's care. The boy, somehow trusting his instincts that One-Eye will not kill him despite the fact that he has known almost nothing but bloodshed his whole life, seems to embody some of the intelligence that is lacking in his fellow clansmen. This intelligence allows him to be able to communicate with One-Eye and to communicate for him to the Christians they meet later on.

I've read many varying interpretations of what's happening in the film, what the symbolism is behind every scene, and who One-Eye is supposed to represent. The most prevalent and obvious one is that One-Eye "is" Odin. There are also many parallels to be drawn between One-Eye and Jesus Christ, most blatantly portrayed in his giving his life at the end of the movie in a chapter titled "Sacrifice."

All of this reading was really interesting, I even did a little research into what "Valhalla" is according to myth and learned a bit about the realms to which fallen warriors are said to be taken after battle, half going with Odin to Valhalla and the other going with Freyja to Folkvangr. I also read about the meaning of "Ragnarok" as well as the versification of the event through the poetic Edda. It is a cataclysmic event, the "Twilight of the Gods" propelled by war, natural disaster, and death. With a couple of years of study perhaps I could approach understanding on the topic, but I'm more immediately interested in what has piqued my interest in the subject in the first place.

The young boy, (played by Maarten Stevenson), is perhaps the newly formed consciousness, freshly awakened to the fact that he has a choice in his life. He has followed a strong figure and witnessed the downfall of people, brought down by the weight of their beliefs for which they easily give up their lives. Now who is he going to be? Who or what will he choose to follow, and die for?

I also like to think of the film as a fight between belief in fate or destiny and the chaos theory. What do we really have control of? Is control just a comforting illusion? Why do we go on if our fate is already written for us? What do we do that defines us as brave, heroic, and why exactly is that distinction worth it?

Adele, (Adele Exarchopoulos), has her mouth hanging open a lot. When she is eating, she talks with her mouth full, her hair in the most incalculable mess I've ever seen. She is in high school, but she could also be a third grader in the park, looking at all the strange people around, sometimes catching her hair with a bit of her peanut butter sandwich. Everything about her exudes youth, inexperience, and curiosity. So a dissonant moment occurs when we first see her exploring herself on her own sexually. But instead of imagining the boy she's just made out with for the first time, she thinks of the girl with blue hair she saw walking around with another girl. She knows she is missing something, and when she catches a glance of the girl again, she decides to not let her go this time. An inevitable meeting occurs. And this is where I fall in love with Emma, (Lea Seydoux).

She is cool, confident, experienced, artistic, sensitive, and is drawn toward Adele, drawing her in and listening. She wants to guide her, protect her, answer her questions. What is it that she is attracted to in Adele? It is hard for me to buy it at first, but Adele seems to represent purity, innocence, she is different from all the people that normally swarm around Emma. It is also interesting to take into account the fact that Emma is an artist. She's hungry for success, she wants attention and respect, and here she has an inquisitive and sincerely interested follower. This is attractive.

Adele discovers satisfaction and happiness, but even as her relationship with Emma grows we watch her float shyly through this new reality she's broken in to. She doesn't feel comfortable outside the protection of Emma's embrace and we see it get increasingly hard for her. Adele feels insecure as she struggles to fit in to the art world about which she knows nothing, while watching Emma's friendly and beautiful friends carry on as they've done for years. The thing I love here is that despite her discomfort Adele continues to fight and try her best. She does everything she can to hide her feelings and put on a brave face for Emma's circle. But it soon makes her feel isolated, to be an onlooker and to pretend; the very things she'd run away from in the beginning of the film with her first brief relationship. And her reaction to this feeling shows us that she is still learning about consequences, the most valuable and difficult ones still to come.

In one of Emma and Adele's first conversations, they discuss Sartre and his writing about how "existence precedes essence" and how it is the choices we make and the actions we take that define who we are. We are not born with the values we learn to cherish, we construct them from the experience of living, based on what we embrace and what we reject. Adele is young and impulsive, she follows her desire and is unwilling to settle for something that does not satisfy her. But she ultimately fails to see the value in investment, in understanding that what may be attractive in the moment is not enough to sustain her for life. She was lucky enough to find someone who could potentially sustain her for life, but because she needed a band-aid she let her sexual desires take control, releasing her mind from responsibility. We watch the experience of that pain wash over her as she is kicked out of Emma's place, her face and hair a complete mess. The camera's dedication to close-up shots of faces keeps us constantly in tune to the ebb and flow of emotions.

Adele struggles to get through her daily life and her job teaching young kids. She eventually gets to meet Emma at a restaurant and once again we see the emotional loss coming to the surface as she does everything she can to try and get Emma back. But Emma is such an amazing character to me. She works as a foil for Adele's character, a distinct contrast as an adult who deeply cares for Adele, but can not wait around for Adele to mature into the partner she needs. She was betrayed and this, despite the sexual attraction she still has for Adele, is something she can concretely process in her mind and refuse to excuse as someone who respects both herself and Adele. She is so strong, and tender at the same time. She knows what she wants in her life, and has constructed herself into the person she wants to be, just like their Sartre conversation, her essence is defined by her life as an artist, as a lover, but also as someone who uses her mind and power of reasoning to avoid the same mistakes that have led to Adele's pain, and may happen again and again before Adele finishes her own transformation.

The first Bjork song that made me cry was "Mutual Core" from her 2011 album Biophilia. I wasn't familiar with her until a few years ago. The oddities I found in her music swept me into a strange state while the sudden power of her voice in the high range shattered all barriers that could have made the oddities relevant. She is unlike anything I've heard before.

Bjork's character, Selma Jezkova, works in a factory and lives with her young son. She is slowly going blind and she tries very hard to hide it until the inevitable blindness takes hold. She is obsessed with musicals and loves to sing and dance.

Someone very close to me always talks about how they live from event to event; looking forward to the next big thing helps them get through the boring nothingness of the day-to-day. These "events" can be things as simple as going out to dinner with friends, or a birthday party, or a vacation. If the event is a month or two, or even several months away, they still seem to be able to use that as a tool for escaping and speeding through the days in between. This strikes me as a little tragic. This method of speeding through life, and the more you build up the excitement for this upcoming event, the more crushing it feels when the night draws to a close and you must go back to work the next day. Selma Jezkova would reject this mindset in a heart beat, I think. Despite Selma's being deprived of the colloquial "windows to the soul," the viewer can still see the aura of positivity, energy, and strength throughout the character's fight. Without her eyesight, she is hyper-sensitive to sound, but what's evocative to me is that she is even more sensitive to the lack of sound, to silence. In these moments, she takes advantage of the creative light inside her to transform her own reality, turning her increasingly challenging factory work into a stage for a big song and dance number. This happens at work, at the moment when the single potential love interest in her life Jeff, (Peter Stormare), discovers her blindness, and in a few more, much darker occurrences later on.

To be conscious of life's rhythms, to learn to make music where there seems to be only darkness, these are just a few of the themes I personally took away from this film. One of the most poignant lines in the movie include when Selma talks about how she used to "cheat" the ending of a musical by leaving right after the second to last number. This way the musical never ends. I thought about being in a crowded lot for a show and my husband urging us to leave right before the last song to miss the crowds. I was really against the idea. In my mind we'd paid money to see the whole show, why would we skip what could potentially be the best part? To me, it was a way of cutting through the natural progression of an ending in order to try and escape from the pain of an ending that comes without your permission, or despite anything you would do to stop it from happening. Even through the course of her tragic crime towards the end of the film, Selma gets through by transforming her world into that of a musical, where loose ends tie up neatly and everything makes sense, where all is forgiven and forgotten. But this method of trying desperately to maintain her strength eventually comes crashing down, as though all of those endings she'd cheated in her life have come back to get her all at once. Bjork's performance throughout the ending of the film had me balling my eyes out. Her character was created and portrayed so solidly that every ounce of my being as a viewer struggled through those last scenes, waiting for a miracle.

But then something happened that is just as incredible as if she'd been rescued by an angel in a chariot from heaven. In her last moments, Selma begins singing, fleeing the scene of her execution in a sense, her death interrupting her mid-song. The text at the end of the film exposes the words that were cut off: "They say it's the last song. They don't know us, you see. It's only the last song if we let it be." The morbid image of a curtain falling across the point where Selma left this world, like the ending of a musical, provokes the very silence which Selma had been so frightened of just a few minutes before, while a silent, motionless few in the audience stare, as if rapt in the memory of what they'd just been witness to. I wonder, where is the line that separates "mind over matter" and escapism? At what point does thinking positively towards a goal slip into disconnect between thought and action? I think that Selma's character demonstrates the strength of a spirit so passionate that it can't lie down and die quietly, even when every possibility of escape is closed off. I think that at the point where all hope is lost for her body, Selma is pushed to free her mind, elevating it above the body in that instant to escape the fear of death. Her body has failed her, first in losing her eyesight, and then in the panicked moments that push her into murder. She ultimately rejects the body and preserves to the very end the joy in her heart and mind, like an ember that slowly succumbs to the darkness. http://funkyforestfirstcontact.wordpress.com/

Zachary Heinzerling's documentary is crafted as masterfully as any art film I've seen. The subjects–two Japanese-American artists who work in New York City, Ushio and Noriko Shinohara. Accented by telling moments and minutes of silence, thought, and reminiscences, the film exposes one of the truly beautiful and mystifying characteristics of the Japanese language. So much is exposed in so very few words, but those words are accompanied by expressions of emotion and 'understood' acknowledgments that seem unfinished or cut off to someone who does not speak Japanese. As an appropriate demonstration of the expression of these two lives and the communication they've shared, the film is framed by live creation of art by the two artists. Ushio creates "action painting" by hitting a canvas with sponges attached to boxing gloves, and Noriko composes a story in drawings creating the character "Cutie" based on her own life, but with elements that are only realized in Noriko's fantasies.

One of the most striking things about this film is the fact that it captures moments that seem unbearably awkward to me but are received matter-of-factly by Ushio and Noriko in turn. There is a sense of pride present in Ushio, which he expresses unabashedly at times in the film, but there are also incredibly humbling moments of relinquishing that pride that delivered by an American artist may come off as tongue-in-cheek, but delivered by Ushio is completely straightforward and blanched. His situation is what it is, there is no reason to try to disguise it. Their ceiling is leaking and they may not be able to pay rent this month. Shikata ga nai, "It can't be helped." The two of them were brought together by the connection and agreement they shared when considering their art to be the absolute priority of their lives. This focus unfortunately caused a deterioration in other parts of their life together, particularly when Noriko has a child. The life of these struggling artists seems to have been punctuated by long periods of distraction. Because in reality, especially trying to live in New York City, art cannot always be the 24/7 preoccupation you want it to be, there is an alternative mindset that may take the place of despair, one that colors the world with the colors similar to the artist's palate, keeping the shelf prepped and continuously in view no matter what else is going on. Noriko and Ushio have long ago determined to live their lives the way they alone see their lives. One of full of color and life, necessary sadness and equally necessary resilience. I don't think that their perspectives lack recognition of the regrets they carry with them, as their discussion of their son's alcoholism similar to his father's demonstrates. The film utilizes close-ups of Noriko in particular to highlight the presence of pain, but it does not run rampant in her mind, knocking over tables. Instead it seems like a silent observer, taking in the reality around it without trying to escape in any way.

The varied and abrupt cuts throughout the film create a patchwork that for me makes the film seem like I am looking through a photo album instead of following a narrative, and I like this. It's like walking through an art gallery where many different themes and impressions are introduced and it is up to the viewer to take in what he or she will and to assign relevance where it lies in each mind.

I'd followed the stories in the news and used the timelines and animations on the New York Times website to put events in order and try to understand what was happening in Egypt, but documentary film making in the last several years has presented itself as an invaluable opportunity for human connection where newsprint, blogging and television news broadcasts fall short. These are the faces of the people involved with the revolutionary movement in Egypt. The faces that you can watch, second by second, as the emotion in their faces evolve from shock, to understanding, to rage, to determination. In place of a pretty girl whose makeup and hair has just been done, reading off of a sheet of paper, perhaps tripping over the pronunciation of some words, you have Ahmed, Magdy, Khalid, Dina, and Ramy running or standing resolute in Tahrir Square as first Mubarek, then the military regime, then Muslim Brotherhood supporters try to crush, depress, or manipulate the cause of the Egyptian people gathered there.

It is such a vital, clarifying experience to put faces to the numbers, names, and body count reports and to see the people of Egypt as their struggle was documented, to understand that their world does not disappear after the two hour film is finished and the credits roll. That world is not far away. It is here. We are all living here. It is inaccurate to think of a group of individuals in a movement, or a political or religious group and negate the fact that the individual precedes the group as an existence. Even in a group or country that staunchly identifies itself as a group and not as individuals. Each conscious mind is brought up being taught this value and this belief, but no mind is above self-actualization and self-awareness that recognizes that your love, your interests, your source of empowerment and inspiration are unique to you and are realized at different times in each lifetime. This conflict is shown most clearly in Magdy, a member of the Muslim Brotherhood, which supports his family and his way of life and has done for decades, who also sympathizes with the words of his friend Ahmed, a revolutionary, who calls out the Brotherhood for making deals with the military to assume power. What may have taken a man 60 years to internalize may take another man just 10 or 20. Our minds are unique, but that doesn't mean we aren't connected, that we aren't capable of empathy and recognizing that despite our differences we come from the same place. Billions of light refractions that are all part of the same light. When a large amount of these refractions come together to form one shaft of light another realization is illuminated in the history of human evolution. A new way to live, an actualization of a possibility. These innumerable possibilities coexist, but nothing changes until we decide to focus our light on them, to open our eyes and move from observer to arbiter... http://funkyforestfirstcontact.wordpress.com

I wish I could pinpoint exactly what it is that makes a cornfield boring one day but then can make it exquisite and beautiful the next. Your mindset I guess.

When I came out of the theater after seeing Nebraska, an older couple behind me made a comment to the effect of, "that's how people really are out there idn't it? Not talking to each other..." The tone of his voice observant, maybe a little defeatist, but I also heard appreciation for the source from which came the observation.

Nebraska is shot in black and white and features many landscape shots depicting scenes which look very familiar to me in a lot of ways. Growing up surrounded by cornfields in Indiana, I remember drives where the endless rows of yellow, sometimes dead brown, were reminders of the fact that I couldn't go out and see the world just yet. But at other times, like the drive home from South Carolina after having lived away from family and friends for a year, I had rolled down the window to experience through every sense possible the reality of those cornfields marking the fact that I'd come home. I felt a similar kind of nostalgia mixed with confusion as I watched this movie. Some moments were depressing, others very much uplifting. There is a balance kept up by the shooting back and forth of moments that seem drab then pleasant, understated then blatant. The frustrations and sentiments between the family of Bruce Dern's character, Woody Grant, are similarly kept in balance by a back and forth between feeling infuriated at the old man's stupidity and an intense love and pity for the goal he won't realize.

The film quickly merges into a larger metaphor for the relentless march of life that can seem to offer us absolutely nothing in return for our effort and creativity; an answer back as silent and empty as the black and white film that captures the graveyard (and, what I assume is a cleverly spotted gravestone with the name "Payne" in large lettering.) Woody's son David (played by Will Forte) believes he is graciously giving his father one last adventure, "a reason to live." But what he doesn't realize yet is that he is serving the same purpose for himself as well. David needs to be accommodating, to help someone out, because he doesn't understand why he seems to be the only one content with his simple, mediocre life. His girlfriend is restless and just wants something to happen, anything to happen. He is constantly trying to reign in his father and calm his mother as she rants about her dope of a husband. It makes sense then that David is the one to see with the most clarity what this ultimately pointless trip would offer his father, and to ultimately contribute to the realization of his father's fantasies.

I can't help viewing this film without the thoroughly pondered-on perspective that highlights themes from other books and movies I've read and seen dealing with the human "absurdity" that reaches out toward a life and reality that will not reach back, the human need for "movement" as the answer and to know that "man is an end in himself," (quotes Albert Camus and Ayn Rand.) This film is a beautiful fulfillment, in whatever small measure, of that human hunger, put at rest for a while as Woody finally makes the impression he's always dreamed he would, an impression of the man hiding deep within himself unable to emerge without the help of someone close to him, to confirm that he is loved and his life has meant something to someone. funkyforestfirstcontact.wordpress.com

If nothing else will hook you to see this movie, go for the explosion between Jennifer Lawrence and Christian Bale's characters. That fight is one of the most intense, real interactions I've seen in a movie for a long time.

A lot of things pleasantly surprised me in this film. A 70's era con artist with atrocious comb-over of Brooklyn origin is not a persona I could imagine for Mr. Bale. But from the first scenes where he speaks I buy him immediately. The incredible twists and turns the story takes illuminates toward the end that the focus and narrator of the movie is somehow the most innocent and straightforward of all the characters introduced after the initial self-introduction that lets you know he is aware that he is conning people and that he is justified in doing so. He sees himself as doing what he's gotta do, and in fact, he has a big heart when it comes to his family. He feels obligated to stay with his wife and kid, despite the torture put upon him by a needy, whiny, do-nothing wife. But the characters are complex, taking twists and turns almost as layered as the plot itself. And this delivers, I believe, the intended effect of forcing you to take a step back in all the confusion to see the chaos and meaninglessness of each characters' self deception. It is a truly brilliant screenplay by Eric Singer and David O. Russell.

The impression the viewer receives at the outset paints Irving Rosenfeld (Christian Bale) as the lead of the amoral, self-serving action slowly sucking in others, beginning with the beautiful Sydney Prosser (Amy Adams). He will be the brains of the operation, perhaps, it makes the most sense. But then there is a fascinating delineation of plot that now involves cop Richie DiMaso (Bradley Cooper), Mayor Carmine Polito (Jeremy Renner), Sydney Prosser (Amy Adams), and Irving's own wife Rosalyn (Jennifer Lawrence.) Irving is no longer the ringleader. Perhaps the most tragic and hopelessly self-motivated character in the whole deal is the civil servant DiMaso, whose "good intentions" slowly reveal themselves for what they really are. He is so desperate to make a name for himself that he is willing to create criminals in order to take the praise for catching them, let alone his incredibly moving emotional frustrations that alleviate themselves through intermittent eruptions in the film, fueled at the foundation by a maddening emptiness and lack of self identity. What may have painted itself as a steamy romantic affair between DiMaso and one of the leading ladies quickly turns into a sickening and violently desperate grasp for an end that neither party has the foresight to see crashing to the ground before they've even started. Every single character is so incredibly rich, I'd like to take a look at each one briefly...

http://funkyforestfirstcontact.wordpress.com/

Blackfish, a documentary directed by Gabriella Cowperthwaite, is an eye-opening look at the killer whale, our history of capturing them from the wild for Sealand and later SeaWorld, and why this is a mistake. I actually watched this film twice in a row yesterday, and I think that what I gleamed most from this message is a lesson on social behavior. The most moving testimonies from interviewees who are mostly former trainers expounded on how they didn't see how they were doing anything wrong. Indeed, if you went to any zoo or SeaWorld while Tilikum was performing it is not easy to see past the way people are behaving socially to see the problem. Looking back, it is common sense that if you believe wild animals have any value whatsoever (I understand some people don't) then there is something wrong with capturing a bunch of them from their natural surroundings and placing them in a pool, keeping a 4,000 pound animal in a 20 by 30 foot box for two thirds of their life, ripping mothers from their young, and watching them get violent with each other and then with trainers...is just stupid and unethical. But all those smiling faces at the amusement park and the indoctrination of trainers telling them they are doing good for the animals obscures what seems so obvious. But I also think it is important to look at the implications of the film for humans as well. The killer whale is incredibly intelligent and studies done by neuroscientists confirm that their brains have an additional segment connected to the part that controls emotion. They have an emotional dimension and capacity that we can't even understand, like a monkey doesn't understand problem solving past simple puzzles for a reward. The film cites footage of mass strandings where the whales refuse to let one of their own die alone, instead they all stay with him....the same for getting caught in hunters' nets. Their communication is so individually varied and unique that you have to call it language, and when a mother is separated from her child, she sits alone, shaking and screaming....I don't know how you can interpret that as a the reaction of a dumb, unaware animal. But we as humans are also social creatures. You distort nature and the natural way of living, as we've done a fabulous job of, then we too start to rip each other apart, (when whales do it it's called "raking") and become frustrated, angry, and sad. But sure enough the government tells us they are doing things "for our good" and with all the smiling faces in the largest amusement park in the world, what may be uncovered with a little research and education is indeed obscured.

funkyforestfirstcontact.wordpress.com

If Sarah Polley were to make a career change, I would say she'd make an excellent teacher. And I don't mean she has a list of moral or artistic views for which her films are a vehicle, I mean Sarah Polley's projects reflect a pure distillation of a theme or emotion to focus on, and she somehow destroys all barriers between that message and the viewers. Whether you have a relative with Alzheimer's or not, by the end of Away from Her, you've learned about and connected the synapses in your brain to recognize that there are worse things, more painful things, in life that can separate two people than physical distance. So much of Polley's camera time is dedicated to faces and empty spaces. She lets a moment linger so that if you didn't feel it immediately from actual familiarity with the situation, you certainly get it after a few moments of watching Gordon Pinsent's face playing the part of Grant Anderson, husband to wife Fiona (Julie Christie) who begins to notice the worsening signs of Alzheimer's.

The thing I love most about Polley's films is that in all three we are asked to look at the perception and stigma of infidelity from a completely different angle. This is most explicit and evocatively accomplished in Polley's second film, Take this Waltz starring Seth Rogen (Lou), Michelle Williams (Margot), and Luke Kirby (Daniel). Besides a great and nostalgic soundtrack, beginning with "Green Mountain State" (Corrina Rose and the Rusty Horse Band), the film introduces us to two of the central characters in much the same way as many Hollywood modern chic flick romance films, except that the dialogue and humor, to me personally, feel so un-fabricated and real-world hilarious. (I especially love the exchange between Margot and Daniel about drinking milk on a plane.) It is so reflective of a natural human reaction, to laugh at one's self in an awkward but fun situation, with no other reaction available to you, unless you are actually uninterested in carrying on the interaction...which is not the case here, and it carries effortlessly to the viewer. After we are done laughing with them and the hilarity of the coincidences that have brought them together, we have a beautiful slow-motion shot taken from the front as the two walk off of the plane into the terminal next to each other. The shot is long, the music is beautiful, signifying the birth of something unintentional but powerful. Polley lets you experience these moments right along with them. We are brought so close, it is intoxicating. Everyone can recall the moments of excitement after meeting someone and uncovering the sparks that lead your mind to wander like a little kid. Here's the interesting part: Daniel is not Margot's husband. We haven't even met her husband Lou yet. Instead, we are forced to make an emotional connection with Daniel. This beginning framework of the story makes for a wonderful emotional roller coaster ride that ends up slapping you across the face with reality and an ocean of gray where there was once a neat grid of black and white, and the complexity of emotion, attachment, and love.

There is an exaggeration of childishness in Michelle Williams' character, but I appreciate the statement and illustration of the character through it. There are many wonderful moments that are meant to be reflective in an exaggerated light, sometimes this is the only way we see what's happening clearly. Near the end we get to the point of the film, conveyed to us through Sarah Silverman, who plays Margot's friend Geraldine, "Life has a gap in it. It just does...You don't go crazy trying to fill it like some lunatic." (Incidentally this quote when I heard it in the film reminded me so much of the film Little Children with Kate Winslet and Patrick Wilson, who are tempted to give up their responsibilities for the whims of an intense love affair)...

funkyforestfirstcontact.wordpress.com

Life is cyclical, filled with both blatant and subtle cycles that become manifest as we choose to see them. There are simple ones, simple in that even a young child has a grasp on it: day and night, sleeping and waking, one behavior being rewarded, a different one is punished, strategies for getting around it, others that never work, etc. As we grow older, the more intricate ones appear, like bars of a cage that had not been visible while you were too busy thinking about other things. Then something strange happens apart from the natural cycles of life. We start to create, fabricate, cycles within our lives, sometimes strengthening the bars that hold us to the natural laws of this world, then shrinking the cage to a point where we are also bound to cycles that are only self-destructive.

In Carlos Reygadas' Post Tenebras Lux, I saw a beautiful, powerful exploration of the side of cycles that is usually in the dark, the downturn. The point briefly after the fact, when the party is over, and you're looking around the room at the empty beer bottles and stains on the carpet, nearly everyone has left and there is nowhere for the mind to go except the next day, breaking subtly through the window. You wince at the thought of going to work, or running an errand, things that didn't exist eight hours before. A palpable heaviness is in the air as life empties itself, waiting patiently and uncaringly for your to start filling it again. Aside from this theme, the images themselves were incredibly nostalgic and original, I was hooked from the strange beginning scene.

A little girl is roaming around a field in the sunshine, cows and dogs run all over the place around her. She is laughing and giggling, smiling. But we overstay our welcome as eventually the sun goes down, but we are still with her, in the field, in the darkness. She's not laughing anymore. Someone made a mistake. The scenes of dusk behind various environmental backgrounds is insanely beautiful, and the distorted edges of the film throughout give it an added dimension of dreaminess, as we are taken freely back and forth through time.

The wealthy couple, Natalie (Nathalia Acevedo) and Juan (Adolfo Jimenez Castro), are developed and revealed to us through various scenes, attempts at breaking the ritual cycle, with which they've grown bored. These range from parties to sex, but none of it hides the problems that cause them to fight, the same ones over and over gain. the overwhelming beauty that surrounds them doesn't seem to mean anything anymore, while the viewer is given gifts of extended shots on such beauty.

Another character the film follows is that of "El Siete," a nickname we learn as we are inside an AAA meeting in which members divulge their vices and struggles in trust. El Siete has had many things go wrong in his past, alcohol, drugs, stealing. These men seem to be making an honest attempt at breaking the self-destructive cycles in their lives. Juan comes along with El Siete, but feels that his problem, addiction to online pornography, is minor compared to everyone else's. The hope of these men's redemption is tragically shattered when El Siete ends up shooting Juan as he tries to get away with some stolen goods from Juan's house when it is left untended by another friend, El Jarro--he seems to be unable to escape what many might call an "evil" nature. Is this the meaning of the thin red glowing devil that walks through the house, one at the beginning of the film and once again near the end? Is evil predetermined, a will owned like property by this evil presence? I'm not sure, it is still open to me, but what a cool effect to watch.

Juan quotes Tolstoy's War and Peace in a scene where everyone is arguing the best Russian writers: "Pierre felt for the first time, that strange, yet pleasant feeling as he suddenly understood that wealth, power, life… everything that men fight for and defend so eagerly, are worth no more than the pleasure one feels when they abandon you." There is certainly a pervasive sense of all comes to nothing in the end throughout the film, but it is the quiet, contemplative beauty that the film accentuates which acts as an arbiter of each cycle's birth, reminding us to forget worrying about it.

The power of suggestion in this film along with the dream-eery pacing and editing brought me into the mind of Gilderoy, (Toby Jones), very quickly. I felt the timidity and reluctance in his every move and there were several moments of teeth-clenching and abhorrence to things that were only real in my own mind evoked by the sounds and shots that may have been nowhere near literally, but in all other ways gave the viewer's mind frighteningly free range. The movie itself is beautiful to watch even as it gradually becomes more menacing as the moral characters of the people Gilderoy is surrounded by reveal more and worse as time goes on. The film leads up step by step to a psychically shocking end that forces me to wonder what the hell happened to Gilderoy, as he snaps and transforms into a figure that would not be out of place within the film he's been hired to work on. I've never seen a film that more vividly illustrates the power of sound and the relevance on imagination when it comes to making decisions as to whether to depict explicitly or just suggestively.

I took a class in college that focused on women and violence in film. One of the debates that inevitably came up was whether or not it is the "duty," just as the director in the film, Santini (Antonio Mancini) puts it, for the creator of a film to depict something as horrifying as rape and murder honestly in order to "tell the truth" to the viewer, or if this just feeds the problem when sickos watch a movie like 1978′s I Spit on Your Grave to see the graphic rape scenes. It is still a difficult question, but I also have to consider that people are completely desensitized at this point, and that the true horrors of the act probably don't come through. It is still "fake," and no level of violence seems like a surprise anymore, even in the goriest films today.

I had a thought a long time ago as I drove by the scene of a car accident. I noticed people slowing down to look at what was going on. They wanted to see what had happened it is exciting? Contrast this with the emotion we feel when something like that happens in a movie to fake characters. We can cry in the theater for these characters, but in real life it seems to be more of a spectacle than anything. A curiosity, especially as stories unfold in the news on TV. A few hours later at work we talk about it in shock and surprise, but we also sort of enjoy the momentary sharing of awe when something happens that is out of the ordinary. Empathy, it makes sense, is stronger the closer we are to a disaster, at least as far as I've seen. So what is it in a film that brings the tragedy at the furthest distance possible, imaginary, straight into our hearts? For Gilderoy, the film is too close for comfort and he tries to get away. But then he is told about professionalism. "You do what you're told .don't ask questions." It is the way of things for tragedies to occur. Our choice is to accept or go insane from the silence that answers when we ask, "why?" funkyforestfirstcontact.wordpress.com

Without a doubt, the major implement of effect for me in this movie is the film score. The images and sounds are so symbiotic the film feels like more of a ballet at times than a narrative work. What is impressive to me is that Shane Carruth directed, acted in and indeed wrote the beautiful score. A true "auteur" if any creator can be called one. I want to earnestly say that if the viewer were staring at a barren field for two hours listening to this score, he would be convinced the whole way that something big is just about to happen. This feeling is pervasive throughout nearly the whole film. You are given pieces of information through images and the storyline isn't so cryptic that the viewer is at any point clueless as to what has happened. Therefore, the majority of the attention is placed on the reaction, the emotional effect and disturbances. Instead of hitting you square with the shocking details, the film instead lets the viewer's mind simmer within the reality that neither character can escape from, like the pervasive and relentlessly edgy music. It is so clever to me that the music is simultaneously mellow and tense. Like someone learning gradually to accept a horrible occurrence in their life that they can do nothing about.

The main characters, Kris (Amy Seimetz) and Jeff (Shane Carruth), are inflicted with pain of loss in a major way. Afterwards, they find each other, without any memory of what had happened to them. Slowly the experience nestled in their subconscious moves to the surface, like the plant chemical used to poison them floating through the water from the piglet's guts towards the end of the movie. In the end, Kris finds some measure of solace when she discovers the home of the man who has done this to her and Jeff and kills him. Later the two find the pigs that have become forcibly connected to each of the victims of "The Sampler" (Andrew Sensenig) and the Thief (Thiago Martins), which is a very long list. The Sampler seems almost unaware of what he is doing to his victims, until finally one of them, Kris, joins her eyes with his. The Sampler's eyes look away immediately, dance back and forth as if confused, then in a parallel set of shots walks in the same sluggish way as his victims across the floor of an empty, colorless building (a pig-sty) then leans against a wall (the barn) before sliding down it to the floor, clutching his heart (the gunshot and shooter only visible in the muddy pig-sty shots). Why is this scene shot to show the same event happening in two places? Is only one physical, the other mental? And why? For me, what's pivotal here is the exchange between Kris and the Sampler that happens in an instant through their eyes.

How easy it is to be guided by instinct or curiosity, like animals. Having exhausted all other conclusions, we continue on autopilot until such times that we are forced out of it when we collide with someone else, another consciousness, that we are shocked to find is wandering through and treading the same waters. In the realization you wonder, what are the hurtful things I may have done while I was asleep? At the place where some choose autopilot others choose full speed ahead, only to wake up one day surrounded by empty accomplishment when one of the nameless crowd crosses their path and their eyes meet…their faces, their bodies, their minds are the same. The only difference is that one has stepped over the other for a clearer view, and failed.

Love is also explored in an incredibly beautiful way in this film. There is no romance, only survival, and an indefatigable connection that binds two people together because of what they share. The same thing is illustrated in the end, when the victims of the Sampler take over the care of the pigs. A beautiful movie and a powerful statement that is open enough for each one of us to find power in common with ourselves.

funkyforestfirstcontact.wordpress.com

The overarching concept for me during this viewing was that of optical illusions. There are several moments in the film where my eyes literally lost focus for a moment or blended into the surroundings of the Lone Man, which distorted the actual image of him in my mind. An example is when he walks into an elevator, the rich blues and reds causing him to disappear and leave behind an aura as the doors close. The material of his suit itself is enough to make it a real effort to digest the intermittent clashing and submerging into the streets, signs, buildings and lighting. The odd shapes of the scenery and staircases, specifically, force you into the life of paintings similar to the ones the Lone Man visits at the museum in Spain. The film's musical interludes as the backdrop of the Lone Man's walking/traveling also take the viewer out of the immediate space of the film, almost putting the conscious mind to sleep for a moment, letting the subconscious meditate on the odd stimulations the brain is receiving. Certain films I've seen since my first viewing of this one came to my mind during which I had similar reactions. The presence of repetition and longer than expected scenes of music married to movement in Bela Tarr's The Turin Horse, and, more of a visual statement, Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life, both offer a portal and give permission to peer through an infinitely widened camera lens that captures not just individual subjects of a film's story, but the absorption of a single consciousness past the "arbitrary reality" into the intersecting mental resting place that everyone visits, at least once in their lives. It is in these places where the eyes wander off the screen and the mind escapes for a little while, un-chaperoned and unseeing, until the next scene break calls you back and you wonder what you were just given by this film as an old man walks the space of ten yards from his home to the horse barn. I wonder if this experience isn't equivalent to chanting mantras or meditating on a koan. However one describes it, it is beautiful.

At some point in life, hopefully sooner rather than later, a person comes to a crossroads and either decides he is going to continue walking down the well trodden path that "everyone else" is walking or suddenly veer to the left into dark, uncharted territory. This first path is easier, the lines and rules which are generally excepted as not just guideposts of truth but eventually truth, in and of itself, are frequent and heavily supported. The Lone Man has chosen the latter, the road less traveled. This choice offers revelations that are both scary and exhilarating, the experiences and guideposts are taken into the self, consumed, as the Lone Man literally does in the film, and he continues on to the next one. Each discovery is guided by a hunger that comes into existence without explanation. But it is very strong, and, once the Lone Man has awoken to its presence, unavoidable and irrevocable. The food that this presence devours is found in art, in physical pleasure, in music, etc. but they are not indulged much here, as the Lone Man has moved past this point with the knowledge that these things do not themselves hold any answers, even though he may not even be searching for one.

My understanding of Alfred Camus' concept of the "absurd" is the awakening of the mind to the conflict between this kind of hunger and the inevitability of dying without it having ever been satisfied. But, as in Camus' essay "The Myth of Sisyphus," this film embodies a certain truth that is stumbled upon at some point in the journey and that is the essential necessity of movement, whether it be pushing the same rock up the same hill again and again for all eternity or walking from one place to another to another eating crumbs for the rest of one's life. The only satisfaction, the only answer, is simply to continue. Or if you're Ayn Rand, productivity as movement--"man is an end in himself."

Now I zoom way out and look at the overall context and story as it relates to the ending. A young man develops his mind and passion and becomes a conscious person. It is inevitable, then, to look around at society and start comparing yourself to it. Is this woman who talks about Hitchcock and old movies (Tilda Swinton) just a superficial self-obsessed student borrowing from others and those before in order to adorn herself and convince people that she is original and a free-thinker? Perhaps the only one she is fooling is herself? Perhaps he is thinking about the fact that he can absorb himself into a piece of art but also retain himself and keep an objective distance from it while people like the "bohemians" seem to find their solace in becoming the art they admire, losing the responsibility of themselves? Inevitably, his vision becomes sharp enough to become aware and curious about the broader system in which he is having these meditations. Who is in control? Why doesn't anyone care? I care. I'm going to do something about it...

I could go on and on from here I guess but I'll let you take it from here. Peter Joseph's Zeitgeist, Wall Street, Charles Ferguson's Inside Job, blah, blah, blah...what time does X Factor come on tonight?

http://funkyforestfirstcontact.wordpress.com/

When I went to the theater to watch the first Hunger Games movie, I wasn't sure what to expect. I think I was in the mindset similar to the one I was in when I went to see Twilight. I was in college and I went with a friend on opening night, standing in line forever with a bunch of teenage girls dressed in team Jacob or team Edward T-shirts with matching purses. I'd tried reading the books but couldn't finish the first one, yet I was drawn to the core of the story, like so many others. To have a desire, but unable to satisfy it, you circle round the object, follow it, smell it, fantasize about it, always burdened with the knowledge that if you were to give in to that desire you would destroy it. Throw in some sexy actors and shimmering diamond effects and you have created an army of loyal team Edward-ites. It was an entertaining movie, and infinitely more interesting than the books.

I was in a similar situation with The Hunger Games. I'd read the first two books, enjoyed the first, lost interest in the second, and didn't even finish the third. But the core of the story was intoxicating, and also very familiar as I'd already been a long time fan of Kinji Fukasaku's Battle Royale from the year 2000. I was not prepared, however, for the emotional roller coaster I experienced.

Like Jude Law's character in The Holiday, I am "a weeper." I am moved to tears all the time listening to music and watching movies, and of course I love it. But I was taken aback when I watched the scene from the first Hunger Games movie when Katniss mourns over the dead body of Prim on the battle field. She adorns Prim with flowers and there is a cut to Prim's district where the people watch in horror at the death of this child...and then I began to seriously sob. I can honestly say that I have never had this reaction watching a movie before. I've cried streams of tears before, but I suddenly found myself in this theater putting serious effort into controlling myself from sobbing out loud. And another thing...I wasn't the only one! I could hear a few other girls in the theater, one a couple of rows back and another sitting near the front row. All of us in an awkward state of remorse, embarrassment, and all of us, I think, surprised at being in that position. It haunted me for days afterward as I thought very hard about what it was, exactly, that affected me so. Obviously the subject matter of the film itself was very moving, but after seeing Catching Fire, and experiencing nearly the same thing as Katniss delivers an impromptu speech in front of Prim's family and a mass of people from her district, I realized that the effect was prompted by two very important things. Things that any drama strives for, and which I believe coalesced to full capacity with these films.

For years the districts of this earth have followed along the lines of what is expected according to a system in which they've had no say, with no one even daring to stand up to it. The epic event of Katniss Everdeen showing her emotion through placing flowers and crying over Prim's body is at once an action of defiance, and also the shouldering of the entire country's silent rage and overwhelming guilt finally brought to the fore. It is the weight of not just one person but of thousands who come together in a span of a few minutes as something is stirred and awakened inside them. It is a giant tsunami of a realization that crashes through the sheen and illusion of stability and leaves in its wake the dead body of an innocent child. Like Sonmi 451 in Cloud Atlas as she awakens and witnesses the lie that hides the destruction of her own kind behind a promise of new life, or the discovery of the zombie-like underground workers by the privileged Gustav Fröhlich in Fritz Lang's Metropolis, the weight of a thousand heavy hearts is more than enough to move the viewer to tears. Katniss is a representative in those moments of a thousand hearts and minds which move instantly through love, sadness, then pure rage.

Moving past these scenes, the films hold countless moments of breath-taking visual shots that achieve incredible effect because they are built up to, like the pulsing and building of chords in a song that prepares you for the explosion of chorus. These moments are paced well with the key points of the story itself and each one creates a statement of purpose which is strengthened and built upon by the previous one. There is a balance of intimate scenes with large, sweeping shots which serves to orient the viewer and give perspective that allows the viewer to both identify with the mind of a single protagonist and also to ride the awesome shows of spectacle. Throw in an engaging triangle of love that begets friction and jealousy and you have one hell of a fun movie.

http://funkyforestfirstcontact.wordpress.com/

There are so many interesting things going on in this film, and several of them surprised me. I loved Ayake (played by Isuzu Yamada) and the voices of the women in general. I couldn't help but contrast Ayake's headstrong will and fierceness to Yasujiro Ozu's Noriko in Tokyo Story (played by Setsuko Hara). Noriko was the perfect picture of traditional grace and dedication in a Japanese woman and she fit in perfectly with Ozu's straight lines and symmetrical framing. Ayake, on the other hand, is shadowed by an almost conspiratorial camera which cleverly spies on the fore and background simultaneously, and creeps behind walls and curtains to follow the characters and listen in on their conversations, amplifying the sense of daring and defiance of Ayake's character. The inventiveness of so many varying shots stole my attention more than anything else, though I also appreciated the quick and steady pacing of the story as it unfolded, predominantly led by Ayake.

http://funkyforestfirstcontact.wordpress.com/i-just-saw/