paperbackboy

Much has been written about the role of the environment in this film. Rarely can natural (and outwardly naturalistic) settings have been so crucial to the action and ambiance of a movie. Manhattan springs to mind as another work in which the setting functions almost a key character (bet you didn't expect to see a comparison with Woody Allen in this review).

The director forces the audience to see something explicitly religious (and in the case of the guy, Christ-like) in the two leads, by depicting overt religious symbolism in their actions and gestures. There is nothing simplistic in this portrayal, however: the characters' actions are always underpinned by a faint whiff of shamanism, nature-worship or even downright satanism, bringing a delicious - and potentially controversial - complexity to the film.

The action appears to take place outside the modern world, or at the very least parallel with it (I referred to the "medieval" atmosphere evoked by Dumont's work in another review, and Hors Satan is a little like that too). In this strange parallel world, the police, for example, don't act as expected - in fact, nobody acts as expected. Despite the slow pace, however, I never got the feeling that the story was not moving forward (and I'm baffled by the failure of one reviewer to identify any storyline at all).

Much of the tension lies in the audience's fear - of what the characters will do to one another and to the landscape, of what the consequences of their actions may or may not be, and of what the movie's ultimate outcome will be. It is this elemental drama that drives the film forward - in a slow-burn movie in which death accounts for an amazingly high proportion of the "action" that actually does take place, life and death are in the balance in an extremely immediate and terrifying way. The central Christ-like character can be violent, and his actions incomprehensible, perhaps reminding us that Christ was himself capable of unexpected violence (for example when throwing the money-lenders out of the temple). Although of course the director also leads us towards a view of the lead character as a Satanic figure, particularly in one almost unwatchably horrible scene.

Perhaps the central achievement of this film - by an apparently atheist director, remember - is to have created a powerful drama with a complex Christ-like figure who reflects the mysticality and profound unknowability and yet the intangible magnetism of the original biblical Christ, while incorporating elements of the satanic into the character too. A difficult comparison for Christians to swallow, though.

When choosing to adapt this film, why would you throw away many of the gifts (easy wins, five-yard tap-ins, call them what you will) that Waugh's novel offers the film-maker? The dialogue sparkles on the page, and the set pieces come thick and fast, but the film misses much of the good stuff out, particularly early on in the action, or simply botches it. Waugh's characters also offer plenty of scope for effective adaptation to the screen, but the film makes a rather mushy attempt at most of the character portrayals too, despite the efforts of a strong cast.

Waugh's biting humour is dulled and debased from the start, reaching almost "Carry on"-like levels of simplicity. Paul is spuriously turned into a birdwatcher for about four seconds at the start of the action for the purpose of making smutty hints at a sex comedy that the film doesn't deliver (see also the publicity posters). The potential for sexual transgression that shimmers under the surface of Waugh's writing is also botched; the film spells it out rather demurely (this was the 1960s, when censorship was still very strict), while aiming desperately for superficial titillation.

There are so many simply baffling choices in terms of character and action that it's hard to know where to start. That's not to say a film can't be successful if it doesn't stick close to the source - of course it can, but it has to add something new or interesting or unusual, or stand on its own two feet as a piece of art. This extraordinary effort does none of these things.

The film is almost rescued by some of the settings (but not the ludicrous prison, with its gurning, overacting warders), by the luminous Genevieve Page, and by the occasional neat touch. But surely it's time for somebody like Stephen Fry to show (again) how a Waugh adaptation should be done? A film to watch for Waugh completists only,I'm afraid. Just shield your eyes from the worst of the butchery.

This splendid film simply blew away my initial concerns about it being a simplistic take on immigration and authority. The timeless and beautifully fluid settings (which make the action feel like it's taking place variously in wartime, the 1950s and the present day) combine with terse, slightly stylized performances and a pared-to-the-bone script to give this ostensibly simple, lightweight story a broader significance that exceeds all expectations.

The movie yields fresh depths and delights at every turn: the decor and colour palette (that make all of the sets, including a hospital, a café, a local street scene and the Le Havre quayside, look achingly beautiful); the lingering shots framing everyday objects and scenes; the nosey neighbours that effortlessly recall wartime collaborators; the conflicted cop; the rather gratuitous rock song; the beauty of older people and their love for each other; the relationships between young and old... the list goes on and on. Not to mention the oblique way that wider themes such as alienation, family, religion, charity, hope, love, belonging and nationality are also addressed. And it all seems so effortless. Just wow. I nearly gave it a nine, and I've literally never given a film a 9. I'm off to find more films by this director.

This excellent film, like the novel, has a challengingly "modern", existential feel, with themes that bring it closer to the ideas of Camus and Sartre than many of Mauriac's other works.

Thérèse isn't really sure why she acts in the way she does, but her character, thanks largely to Tautou's performance, is so complex and nuanced that, far from leading to "confusion", as another reviewer has suggested, it simply seems real. Perhaps too "real" to be hugely dramatic, but real enough to be compelling and fascinating.

Gilles Lellouche plays husband Bernard to perfection, too, with just the right amount of odious materialism and hypocrisy, combined with a tinge of genuine sympathy. He genuinely can't comprehend his wife and her actions, and responds in the way that he thinks best.

The movie is beautifully and atmospherically shot - the best compliment I can pay is that it looks just how I imagined it when I read the book. Plus it made me want to read the novel again, because it reminded me just how powerful and "modern" a work it is.

Despite the film's length, there are no "longueurs" (boring bits), and the plot feels surprisingly tight given the lack of action.

So watch this film, enjoy the "look", and be surprised and challenged by the characters and their motivations, and by just how modern Mauriac's ideas were, way back in the 1920s. Definitely recommended.

This tightly written gem manages to pack a powerful emotional punch, while avoiding clichés and "cheap shots" - no easy task in a film that examines the emotions of 11/12-year-old schoolchildren and their teachers.

The acting is for the most part charmingly low-key, and the action minimal, leaving the viewer wanting more, right up to the calmly controlled yet emotional ending (no spoilers here!).

The movie also raises some interesting (and highly topical) issues about physical contact with children in the classroom or at summer camp (hugging, patting on the back, applying sunscreen, wiping a bloody nose, etc.). While one minor character expresses the popular viewpoint, the film contains several key scenes designed to let viewers make up their own minds.

Highly recommended - I rarely give anything 8 out of 10!

It's clear from other reviews that more or less everybody is agreed about the director's rather tricksy film-making and the lack of conventional narrative drive. It's just a question of whether you think these things make for a good film or a bad film.

For me, the good outweighs the bad: the deliberately non-emotional characterization, slow pace, and powerful use of landscape push viewers out of their comfort zone, and force us to confront some pretty basic realities about life and war.

It's the parallels - not the contrasts - between home life and the war that are most interesting. On many occasions, the film seems to have a deliberately timeless, ahistorical feel, so that the characters feel tremendously elemental (the word medieval springs to mind too) in their behaviours and concerns. Despite a slight lack of coherence (not necessarily in the plot, more in the overall conception), we do genuinely somehow care for the characters - quite an achievement given the overall tone of the movie.

The use of Flanders as the setting and title reinforces this sense of historical continuity, of war recurring down through the ages - not for nothing is the region known as "the cockpit of Europe". And by the way, a big chunk of historical Flanders is now in France (the French-plated cars, with "59" indicating the North department which includes most of French Flanders, are a giveaway). French Flanders is by definition not in Belgium, as one reviewer has suggested. However, one of the female characters (Barbe's friend) appears to have a strong Flemish (i.e. Dutch-speaking) accent - a nice touch, and not entirely implausible in this border region, where a few people still speak Flemish on the French side of the border (visit Hondschoote, and you'll see what I mean).

This film should make everybody rethink their approach to war, and the impact of sending young men (and women, although not in this film) from more or less every generation off to fight and die (remember that Flanders was scarred by war twice in a lifetime in the 20th century). Not necessarily a particularly easy watch on the face of it, but a powerful and worthwhile one.

According to various different DVD/video sleeve notes I have seen over the years, Umberto's dog is called Flaik or Flike (both pronounced to rhyme with the English word "like" - as in "I like that").

This appears to be borne out by the pronunciation heard in the original dialogue.

Great film, bordering on the sentimental at times, hence only 8, but still extremely powerful, and at times simply beautiful.

The theme of alienation so crucial to this film would have felt achingly immediate for film-goers in 1950's Italy. It is a testament to the power and timelessness of the film that this theme still seems relevant to us today. Not all neo-realist films have weathered so well - but then "Umberto D." reflects the mature period of the genre.

An attractive and unsettling film about how we act when placed in unfamiliar situations, and how relationships can creep up on us in spite of ourselves.

The characters are cleverly handled - the female lead, comedian/actress Irène, is touring Northern France with her one-woman show, in which she plays a hideously masked widow with a horrible secret. The show is ironically titled "A dirty business: sex and crime". Yet she appears comfortable in this role, and has a settled family life, evidenced in her cellphone conversations.

The male lead, on the other hand, despite his uncertain role in the conventional socio-economic matrix (he is frequently described as a "drifter" in many reviews), also challenges the viewer's easy assumptions by displaying strong moral, artistic and cultural roots. It is he who challenges himself by joining in Irène's show, and who ultimately displays the stronger moral sensibilities. He also has a sympathetic circle of friends, and a happy social life, which contrasts sharply with Irène's lonely hotel nights.

These complex characters retain our sympathy throughout, while continuing to unsettle us. Each of us, in our lives, whether we are like Irène or Dries, is only a choice (whether good or bad) away from entering a strange and possibly wonderful, possibly damaging relationship.

The quirky, alienating sets (including a steelworks and a Flemish giant-maker's workshop) and geographical location (straddling the Franco-Belgian border, where Flemish and French cultures overlap) add to the film's interest, and give it a powerful sense of place. Dries himself is a native Flemish (Dutch) speaker, and the return to his adoptive parents' house, which provides a brief (unsubtitled) plunge into the Dutch language, is bewildering for both the viewer as well as Irène (although the actress playing the character is herself half-Flemish).

Ultimately, the film is both sad and uplifting, and challenges our assumptions about the way we value individuals on the basis of their roles in society.

(Some spoilers below) This film is about illusions, and how everybody - individuals, governments, performers, religions, actors, prostitutes, film directors - exploits them for their own ends. Some do so in ways which are harmful to others. Some, like Cabiria, harm themselves.

Fellini's examination of illusion draws on a rich tradition, particularly in European theatre (the dominance of "seeming" over "being", illusion and deception over honesty, goes right back to Hamlet and beyond).

The film is structured around a series of expositions of illusion, involving a bogus lover, a famous actor, a pilgrimage, a variety show, and, finally, to close the circle...a bogus lover again. Add in the fact that the central character is a prostitute...I think you're starting to get the picture.

So if all is illusion, why watch the film? Because the central purveyor (and, more importantly, victim) of illusion (the prostitute Cabiria) is a convincingly-portrayed, complex character who exhibits a tough, life-affirming drive to take on the world (in the best Camusian, post-war existentialist sense). It is this that makes the film such an exhilarating experience. Millions of people in Italy and all over Europe in the 1940's and 1950's had to live in a world which had utterly collapsed. In this world, one did what one could to get by, and religion, love, sensual pleasure, and, of course, the cinema, offered only brief respite from the everyday realities.

The classic neo-realist edge-of-city building-site sets add the requisite touch of alienation and barrenness to the action. But this is not the kind of hardline neo-realist tract satirized by Nichetti in "The Icicle Thief". Fellini's natural sense of cinema as fantasy enables the viewer to feel good at the end of a film where no conventional feelgood factor is offered. And surely that's an achievement in itself.

This film is powerfully rooted in a particular time and place (1950s France - specifically Cherbourg, during the Algerian War). At the same time, however, the director addresses universal themes of love, absence, opportunity and regret.

The glimpses of Cherbourg are tantalizing, and somehow achingly beautiful for anyone who has ever spent any time there, and the color palette is simply stunning.

Catherine Deneuve looks stunning too (she never looked quite like this again - even in the second half of the film she has already changed). The simple plot is carried along, at least in the first half, by the convincing nature of the relationship between Deneuve's character and her mechanic boyfriend.

The film is slightly spoiled, however, by the rather disjointed plot in the second half, and the lack of variation in some of the sung dialogue (in fact there are no spoken words in the entire movie). However, it is worth watching for the look alone. The best music comes in the scene at the railway station, which somehow manages to feel emotionally authentic despite being so stylized.

So watch the movie if you can. There is no other like it.