Memories of Underdevelopment

While not as awe-inspiring as the virtuoso brilliance of I Am Cuba, Memories of Underdevelopment does provide a fascinating snapshot of post-Revolutionary Cuba. Technically, it is equally rough around the edges with some ropey sound recording, but these deficiences are more than compensated for by the flair of the film-making. Photos, news footage, newspaper headlines, trips round Hemingway's house, all are woven into the film to provide context and commentary, and it's far from being straightforward propaganda. Sergio is neither a revolutionary or a counter-revolutionary. He might remain while others of his class leave but his main concern seems to be womanizing. Ending at the height of the Missile Crisis, both the fate of the country and of Sergio are open to doubt. He seems ready to finally abandon his country but one suspects he lacks the energy even for that. By contrast, the city around him is alive with activity as the new society prepares to meet the crisis head on. The film might be ambivalent about the Revolution but it certainly doesn't endorse the apathy of the society it replaced.

Hunger

The subject matter is grim (the Maze dirty protest, hunger strikes, brutality) but luckily Steve McQueen hasn't chosen the usual Britfilm default of gritty social realism. Such a film would be truly unwatchable. As it is, the film probably shows far more of the dirty protest than one would ever want to see, and the acts of violence have a visceral impact. There's very little dialogue, apart from one very important sequence, with much of the story told via images. These convery much of the ritual of life inside and outside of the Maze. You only need to see the guard checking under his car, anxiously watched by his wife, to realize the danger that's inherent in merely leaving for work. Similarly, the repeated shots of blooded hands being washed not only suggest violence but also a washing away of sin.
The structure is also daring. Bobby Sands himself doesn't appear until some time into the film. We've spent the early scenes with the prison guard and with a new Republican prisoner, being introduced to everyday life inside the Maze. Once Sands appears the focus becomes more single-minded. The key scene is the lengthy, but rivetting, single take where he discusses the decision to go on hunger strike with a priest. Both consider themselves to be good Catholics and good Republicans but their debate raises vital differences. The priest views the decision as the arrogance of a martyr, while Sands is convinced of his own righteousness. It's possibly the most impressive piece of acting you'll see all year.

Body of Lies

Body of Lies clearly has ambitions to be another Syriana, with all of the latter film's intelligence and resonance. Unfortunately, it's hamstrung by some clunking plot mechanics, especially a romantic subplot that's crowbarred in merely to set up the ending. Ridley Scott's hyperactive visual style is present and correct, sometimes distractingly so. Equally distracting is Russell Crowe's tic of lowering his head and peering over his spectacles. Having said that, he is always a wonderfully watchable actor, even when the performance is dialled right down, as is the case here. The film isn't a complete write-off. Mark Strong is terrific as the head of Jordanian intelligence, faced with never-ending American arrogance and duplicity. The appalling consequences of American machinations are illustrated by the inevitable fate of an innocent Arab architect set up to look like a terrorist leader in order to lure out the main target. It's fitting that the climax revolves around the Jordanians taking a leaf out of the CIA's book - with far more effective results.

Waltz With Bashir

I had assumed that the stupidest piece of behaviour at the cinema this year would be the family that brought a 3 year old to The Dark Knight, but no. That has been surpassed by the morons who brought a baby in to Waltz With Bashir. How? It's an 18 certificate! It might be animation but there's no cute talking animals here, only red-eyed savage dogs and dying horses. The format permits such nightmarish images to coexist alongside more surreal visions and "normal" life in a way that live action - even supplemented by CGI - couldn't. It's not glossy, smooth animation. That would be totally inappropriate. There's a feverish, hallucinatory feel: the repetition of the orange-hued scene of soldiers emerging from the sea; the murkey green of a soldier's reverie; the dislocation of Ari's furlough, his stasis distancing him from the everyday life that surrounds him. No straight documentary would be so effective, no matter how many reenactments were involved. Even towards the end, when animated talking heads begin proliferate, the interspersed memories keep it visually interesting while portraying the Sabra and Shatila massacres in a powerful non-exploitative manner. Nothing however can match the horror of the news footage that finishes the film. Grainy, fuzzy, difficult to decipher sometimes, but with the real victims in all their grief and suffering.

Annie Liebovitz

I'm not a huge fan of Annie Liebovitz. Her images are striking but they mostly leave me cold - and if I never see the pregnant Demi Moore photo again I'll be very happy. The photos in this show date from 1990 onwards and include celebrity shots (a young Brad, that Demi Moore, Daniel Day Lewis looking like he belongs in the 19th century), snaps of family (with some very disconcerting pictures of Susan Sontag's cancer treatment and death) and a handful of landscapes (mostly unimpressive, which takes some doing when you're talking about Monument Valley) The most engaging photos are those of Annie Liebovitz's children, especially young Sarah who's a contender for the cutest baby ever.

The Baader-Meinhof Complex

Wow, two cracking German films in one week. Like The Wave, TBMC is very much concerned with politics. It doesn't make many concessions to those with no knowledge of the period and milieu that produced the RAF. Apart from the main trio of Baader, Meinhof and Ensslin, characters appear and disappear with practically no introduction (often via the images crossed off wanted posters), and the 2nd and 3rd generation members of the RAF cross the screen with bewildering frequency. As Baader tells the police late on, the murders and kidnappings committed to try and free the leadership are being perpetrated by people he's never even met.
What the first half of the film does extremely well is to capture the political climate of the time which convinced many young people that violence was the only option to defeat the forces of oppression. These people, unlike those in The Wave, are intensely aware politically. The previous generation allowed Nazism to rise to power and they can see remnants within the West German state. They also regard American imperialism as another form of oppression of the poor and weak. The cumulative weight of events (a student killed by police during a demonstration; the attempted assassination of a radical student leader; the ongoing war in Vietnam) convince the main characters that there's a real danger of fascism returning. Ironically the actions of the RAF bring about some of the things they feared.
Far from glamourizing terrorism, the films shows the numerous faults of the members of the group. Baader is a racist, misogynist boor; Ensslin and Meinhof turn on each other once they are in jail; the training camp in the Middle East highlights their insensitivity to the customs of others and their willingness to dispose of anyone they feel has betrayed them. The murders, especially by the later generations, are brutal and pointless (Baader himself warns the police that worse will follow) and achieve nothing. The film ends on a suitably grim note as the cycle of violence continues.

The Wave

Yet more proof of the current strength of German cinema, The Wave takes a Californian high school experiment on the dangers of fascism and transposes it to Germany, immediately adding layers of resonance. The intellectual arrogance of Rainer Wenger results in his project week class on autocracy forming themselves into a group called The Wave, complete with uniform (white shirt and jeans) and a rather laughable salute. This basis set-up raises several issues. The class might be fully aware of their country's Nazi past but they ignore the fascist underpinnings of The Wave, even though these tenets have already been stated during the first lesson. Those in positions of authority, be they parents or the school head, support The Wave while it appears to be having a beneficial effect on pupils' behaviour. This in turn indicates the undoubted positives that emerge from the establishment of the group: feelings of comradeship and solidarity in a class formally riven with cliques (although The Wave actually replaces several small cliques with a large one); new friendships (for instance between Sinan and Marco, formally antagonistic team-mates on the water polo team); increased confidence among some of the pupils (Dennis the put-upon theatre director *finally* asserts himself during yet another ramshackle rehearsal) These are the immediate, obvious results which blind people to the darker undertones.
Also interesting is the point at which the handful of dissenters decide it's gone, or is going, too far. Mona baulks at the uniform, while Karo breaks with The Wave after feeling persecuted for wearing a red top instead of white. Marco however only realizes the full repercussions after he's committed an act of violence, and Rainer only when Sinan attacks an opponent during a match, while a fight breaks out after Karo throws anti-Wave fliers into the crowd (clear echoes of Sophie Scholl) The point of Rainer's experiment may have been to demonstrate how easily a nation can drift into fascism, or let it flourish but the class (and Rainer) lose sight of it being a project and it gathers a momentum of it's own. The timeframe may be unrealistically foreshortened and the ending melodramatic, but there's an undeniable power to its conclusion. Fascism = violence and terror.

Let's Talk About The Rain

This is probably best described as a comedy of manners, although it isn't exactly packed with belly-laughs. True, there are a couple of genuinely hilarious moments (note to budding documentarians: don't conduct an interview on a picturesque hillside where sheep are grazing ...) but mostly the humour is very gentle. Michel seems oblivious to his own incompetence as a film-maker. He misses a cracking interview because he hasn't started the camera and manages to drop part of his camera equipment on a baby's head during a baptism (another comic highlight) However, he's never vilified. For all his faults, the film is as generous to him as it is to the other characters, although Florence, the neglected younger sister carrying a lifetime's worth of resentment on her shoulders, verges on the truly irritating. The heart of the film is Karim, Michel's assistant, who proves to be a better filmmaker than his mentor: he possesses a nice line in aggressive interviewing and a knack for hilariously apt montage. As the son of the bourgeois family's (now unpaid) Arab housekeeper, he also seethes with resentment but never lapses into self-pity, unlike Florence. He provides a much needed opposing viewpoint to the smugness surrounding him.

Renaissance Faces

The best thing about going to an exhibition is the element of surprise. Walking around, which painting or artefact will grab your attention? I find that often it's something entirely new to me, maybe even by an artist whose name has never impinged on my consciousness previously. Alongside the expected highlights of this exhibition - Pope Julius II, The Ambassadors - sits the delightful Portrait of Agatha van Schoonhoven by Jan van Scorel. This was clearly painted by a man who loved her. It's very simple, just a smiling woman looking out from under a white headdress, and couldn't be further from the elaborate court paintings done for Philip II elsewhere. It's easy to admire the richly decorated armour and expensive cloths in such portraits but you are always kept at a distance.
Other highlights include a fascinating oil skeptch by Beccafumi which looks like it belongs in the 19th century rather than the 16th with it's loose brushwork. Then there's Ghirlandaio's Old Man and his Grandson with the accompanying deathbed sketch of the man. The deformity of the old man's nose contrasts with the perfect features of the angelic child but what's important is the obvious affection between the two. It makes one smile. For entirely different reasons, so does Arcimboldo's portrait of Rudolph II, formed entirely from flowers, fruit and vegetables. Even today it looks startling amid all the attempts at naturalism, yet the more one looks at it, the more one can see the Emperor's facial features, so it's not out of place at all.

Quantum of Solace

Growing up, the Bond films I saw were travelogues packed with girls, gadgets, evil villains and inappropriate quips whenever a bad guy died. Over time the plots became ever more baroque and improbable, taking second place to the increasing array of gagdets and customised vehicles. No more. Those days are gone. Bond was re-booted in the shadow of Bourne. QofS strongly suggests that from now on, the Bond films will be more closely connected to each other. There are plenty of Quantum operatives glimpsed in this film who may yet reappear in subsequent movies, and the events of Casino Royale are referenced frequently.
The gadgets and quips no longer take centre-stage, though the occasional sarcastic remark remains, and girls no longer appear merely to end up in Bond's bed. In fact, on current form that's a sure way to end up dead. A variation on the fate of Jill Masterson happens to one unlucky character. The villains have also changed. They are no longer megalomaniacs holed up in their elaborate (but eminently destructable) lairs while hell-bent on world domination. These men are out in the world, moving in high circles but all the while minions of the mysterious Quantum. Dominic Greene achieves his nefarious aims via his environmentally-aware company, not that the plot is particularly clear. Like the last Bourne film, QofS moves at such a pace that exposition is left well behind, and when it's there, it's often buried beneath an impenetrable accent or is way down in the mix and difficult to hear. Luckily, you're so gripped by the action that it doesn't really matter. Crunching car/boat/foot chases and fights are all present and correct, without losing the emotional element introduced in Casino Royale. I wouldn't describe QofS as "fun" in the manner of the Connery films, but it's an exciting action film with brains as well as brawn.