Conversations With My Gardener

With it's luminous rural setting, emphasis on male friendship and concentration on the good things in life, this all feels very French. Most of the film is indeed a series of conversations, not simply with the gardener of the title, but usually just between 2 characters. However, it never feels dull or stagey, partly because of the terrific acting (Daniel Auteuil is as wonderful as ever) The lack of plot isn't a problem either, with the emphasis on character. A childhood friendship is resurrected despite huge differences in class and life experience, and as the replanted kitchen garden flourishes, so does this relationship. The painter gradually becomes a more caring, considerate person (as is usually the case when city folk visit the country) This could be appallingly sentimental but the emphasis on the gardener's working class roots and his experiences working for the railway keep it grounded in the real world. Then there's the inherent sadness of the second half as it becomes clear the gardener is gravely ill, but even this can't keep him away from his beloved garden. Whereas the middle class painter was able to follow his dream rather than go into the family business (unlike his own father), the gardener never had that option. He joined the railway, which ultimately provided friendship and love (he met his wife at a work dance) although it might also be the source of his illness. The painter eventually paints the things that fill his friend's life with happiness, producing a noticeably more direct, vivid art. A cliche perhaps but a touching end to a thoroughly enjoyable film.

The Silence of Lorna

There's far more plot in this film than is usual for the Dardenne brothers, and it's not necessarily a good thing. The first half concentrates on the (soon-to-be-ended) marriage of convenience between Albanian Lorna and junkie Claudy. The plan is for her to get Belgian citizenship, and then subsequently remarry a Russian, who in turn will become a citizen. Simple. Until, that is, Claudy decides to clean up and the gang decide an overdose is quicker than waiting for a divorce. Lorna's disdain for Claudy turns into an urge to save his life, and maybe even genuine affection. The second half revolves around the fallout from these events. Lorna's guilt expresses itself via a phantom pregnancy which she steadfastly believes is real despite all evidence to the contrary. Running throughout is the continuous exchange of money - in shops, banks, between Lorna and her boyfriend, Lorna and the gang and Lorna and Claudy (he gives her his money in an attempt to stay clean) At the beginning it represents her desire to own a business, but by the end it's of far less importance than the phantom baby. It's clearly supposed to signal her redemption but actually feels far sadder. The loss of her dreams and a descent into a self-imposed delusion.

Rivals

If Rivals was an American film, there would be a clearly-laid out narrative arc, enlivened by frequent action sequences and with perfunctory love interest. Being French, it's actually more of a character piece, that rambles across time and space. The complex relationship between Gabriel (the elder, criminal brother) and Francois (the younger brother, who's a policeman) is the main focus but the film also pays attention to the details of frictional family life, petty crime, and how love can change a person. The film is set in the 1970 and looks of that era. It's dingy and colourless, with grainy, handheld camerawork and sequences divided by slow fades to black. The low key approach suits the meandering story. There may be car chases, robberies and murders but they happen in a matter-of-fact manner. Just one more incident in the lives of the brothers. The father adores his elder son, while the younger seethes with a mix of brotherly love, indignation and outright anger as Gabriel appears to slip back into his old ways. For a change, the female characters are no mere afterthoughts. The sister, girlfriends, ex-wives are fleshed out, and a pleasing amount of attention is paid to their emotional reactions. The ending itself, while actually clearly signposted, still comes as a shock, which is entirely in keeping with the restrained approach of the rest of the film.

Slumdog Millionaire

A new film by Danny Boyle is always a cause for celebration. Alongside Michael Winterbottom, he's Britain's best and most adventurous director. He might not be as prolific as his compatriot (let's face it, who is?), but Danny Boyle shares his determination to be diverse. For that alone, both should be treasured. Black comedy, fantasy, fairytale, horror, sci-fi: Boyle can do them all. After the headspinning sci-fi and awesome beauty of Sunshine, he now turns to the vibrancy and chaos of Mumbai. For once it doesn't feel like a Third World backdrop to the adventures of privileged Westerners. The focus is firmly on Mumbai and its inhabitants. It might be a fairytale but it doesn't shy away from poverty and violence.
The film is structured via Jamal's interrogation by the police, his backstory interweaving with events in the present, form and content inextricably intertwined. It's inconceivable that a mere "slumdog" could possibly be one question away from winning 20 million rupees (although the opening titles wittily point to both the game show setting and the role of destiny) It does require a certain suspension of disbelief as each flashback to Jamal's past provides the key to the next answer. It could all feel horribly contrived but the backstory is so enthralling that it isn't.
Boyle is never heavy-handed in his portrayal of the slums (they are very useful labyrinths for dodging irate policeman, where noone, including dozing mutts, bats an eyelid at a chase) or poverty (the children come up with ingenious money-making schemes and are indefatigably energetic) We might be shown the Taj Mahal but only as another opportunity for the brothers to get some cash, this time from gullible tourists.
While a lot of this is very funny indeed, there are also a ripe selection of villains. The host of the TV show is a smarmy, patronising narcissist, jealous of losing the limelight for a single second. A seemingly benign philanthropist is in reality a vicious modern-day Fagin, perfectly willing to blind small children with good singing voices as they earn more money. Jamal's older brother is worldly and selfish, prepared to do just about anything to make money, even commit murder. The "bad" brother maybe but there's always the sense that he might be able to redeem himself, whereas his gangster boss is brutal, heartless and totally ruthless. He might rule the slum but he's long since lost his soul. At it's heart though, the film is a love story. Jamal never stops loving Latika, no matter how long he's parted from her or how desperate the situation appears. Even his appearance on the show is motivated by his need to be seen by her once more. Ultimately, the money he could win is less important than knowing that she's safe. If you think this sounds like it's going to be heratwarming, you're correct. And it finishes on a gloriously grin-inducing Bollywood riff. Like I said, only Danny Boyle ...

Milk

I'd become rather fond of Gus Van Sant's recent dreamy, non-lineae style. It worked a treat on Elephant and Last Days. Milk, however, sees a return to a more mainstream approach which, in terms of tempting audiences to see a film about a gay activist, makes commercial sense. Not that it's Hollywood-bland biopic. It's framed by Harvey Milk recording his testament in the event of an assassination (shown very early to be presient) and there is plentiful use of contemporary footage, news reports and photographs. This helps tremedously in establishing the milieu of 1970s San Francisco, and the Castro Street district in particular. It also puts the onus in recreating a similar authenticity in the dramatic sequences. Thus the first half is prey to "chronology by hairstyle", which proves to be rather distracting. The 1970s truly was the decade bypassed by taste. Emile Hirsch has the misfortune to combien a mop of curly hair with alarmingly oversized and unflattering pair of glasses.
By it's very nature (covering a period of 8 years) the film is episodic - another riot averted! another failed political campaign! - and it takes a while to sort out who's who among the minor characters. Once Milk achieves office and encounters Josh Brolin's Dan White however things really click into place. In some ways it's difficult to believe all this happened a mere 30 years ago, especially the concerted campaign to deprive not just gay teachers but also *anyone* who supported them, of their jobs. It does remind one of the continuing influence of the religious right and their involvement in the political life of the country. Likewise, the emphasis might be on preserving the civil rights of gay people but it also resonates strongly with the current whittling away of civil rights by one means or another. In some ways, these echoes are Milk's most impressive achievement.

Dean Spanley

A film based on the idea that an early 20th century dean is the reincarnation of a dog ought to collapse under it's own whimsy. It's one thing for a character to talk about a past life but when that life is not human but canine all kind of potential trouble lies ahead. That Dean Spanley doesn't come across as completely frivolous and silly is due to the early scenes, which combine comedy with a deep-rooted sense of melancholy, and the presence of the sceptical colonial, Wrather. Old Fisk might be the archetypal cantankerous old man (with an imperiously disdainful delivery courtesy of Peter O'Toole) who takes delight in tripping small children but there are hints of slight cracks in that rock-hard facade. His disparaging remarks about souls and whether they transmigrate clearly have a subtext relating to his own losses. This is a man who has apparently never mourned his son, killed in the Boer War, and his wife, who died of grief after the former's death, and who invariably refers to his surviving son Young Fisk, thus keeping him at both an emotional and a physical (Thursday visits only) distance. In fact Old Fisk seems to regret the disappearance of a childhood pooch, Wag, more than any human loss. A contrast is provided by his housekeeper who occasionally talks to the chair in which her late husband sat as a way of coping with his absence. Yes, it is all very contrived, and suspension of disbelief is absolutely vital - guess which dog has been reincarnated as the dean - but it's also surprisingly moving with the underlying themes of loss, grief and mourning. It's also frequently hilarious, and there's a lovely suggestion that the wide-boy colonial might himself be the reincarnation of the adventurous mongrel with whom Wag met his fate.

Changeling

As one would expect from a Clint Eastwood film, Changeling is solidly directed, with good performances and well-observed period detail. It does however sometimes feel like 2 different films edited together, even though both strands are inextricably entwined. The story of Christine Collins herself provides ample material: a single mother, a missing child, involvement with a corrupt police department and a spell in a psychiatric ward. Meanwhile the other strand follows the terrible events uncovered on an isolated farm by a cop who thinks he's merely dealing with a juvenile deportation. Both stories are gripping in their different ways but once the film starts cutting between them, one begins to detract from the other.
What does come across loud and clear is the astonishingly patronising attitude towards women by those in positions of authority. The LAPD bank on Christine being dismissed as merely a hysterical woman when she insists that the returned boy isn't her son. Even physical impossibilities are glossed over by "experts", implying she's too stupid to understand, and when she refuses to conform and be the invisible little woman, she is made to disappear (it turns out that unco-operative women are systematically condemned as being mentally ill and locked up until they decide to conform) Corruption within the LAPD is rife, even extending to an intention to ignore accusations of murder. Purely in formal terms, the audience knows the two strands must be connected. As the horror on the farm is uncovered, we realize Christine has yet to experience the worst. The ending itself is intensely bittersweet. She might smile and say she's now got hope, but the expression on the cop's face says the opposite. In some ways, hope is the worst thing that could happen. There will be no closure for her.