Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale

Don't be mislead by that word in the title. This is as far from Hollywood yuletide schmaltz as one could wish (and that's a *very* long way) Nor is this Santa Claus anything like the jovial old fellow dressed in red who is inescapable at this time of year (although if you find him rather creepy anyway, you'll raise a smile). The starting point is the Santa of legend, a scary creature given to throwing bad children into boiling cauldrons. In the mythic past the Sami people trapped him and buried him under what is now a mountain. Of course, in the present day someone is trying to dig him out. Bad idea. (Clearly they never saw The Thing). It's not quite a horror film - in fact it's a feature-length prequel to 2 short films. Black humour coexists alongside an ominous tone (the new rules and regulations issued to the workmen at the dig; the reindeer carcasses strewn across the snow; the "dolls" left in the place of children) Nor are the elves anything like the green-clad little helpers of our jolly old chap. A nice bit of wrong-footing leads everyone to believe that the elderly man caught in the wolf pit is actually the released Santa. He's certainly feral but honestly, did we *really* think he was capable of wreaking such havoc?
What lifts the film out of being merely a clever concept is the gruff bond between Rauno and his son Pietari. The setting might be beautiful but there's no mistaking it's a hard life, with little room for sentiment. The slaughter of the reindeer means ruin for the village ($85,000 lost we're repeatedly told) and the threadbare Christmas tree propped up in the corner of Rauno's house along with the ragged hole in his jumper tell you everything you need to know about the family's poverty. Likewise, the (presumably) deceased mother is evoked via the baking of gingerbread - and a less successful roast - and the toy that Pietari carries everywhere like a beloved pet. Yet despite his inability to verbally express his affection, it's there in Rauno's protective instincts.
I suppose the one disappointment is that we don't get to see what's actually been dug out of the mountain, though the horns that protrude through the block of ice are suitably impressive, and it does finally tell us why a hair dryer and all those radiators were stolen. All in all, wonderfully bonkers.

Thomas Lawrence

One of the delights of this exhibition is the opportunities it provides to work out how some of the effects are achieved: the portrait of Elizabeth Farren for instance features a shimmering gown, courtesy of thickly applied brushstrokes of white paint. So simple, yet so effective. Not that the clothing dominates, impressive though it is. His drawings provide ample illustration of Lawrence's skills and the faces are what you most remember. Selina Meade and Rosamund Croker are impossibly beautiful, though not forbiddingly so, while the elderly Mary Digges shows how adept Lawrence was at portraying age. Likewise the oil sketch of Wilberforce is full of character, while the painting of Pius IV is a worthy descendant of Raphael's Julius II. Perhaps most charming of all are the portraits of children, whether on their own like the famous one of Charles William Lambton, or in groups. There's a real warmth to many of these that is singularly lacking in many other artistocratic portraits of the period.

The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets' Nest

The final part of the Millennium trilogy is a vast improvement on the previous one, even if it does require the viewer to have near-perfect recall of events and characters encountered so far (I literally had no memory of one person frequently mentioned) Our spiky, resourceful heroine is also in subdued mode for most of the film as she first recovers from the near fatal injuries sustained at the end of part 2, and then as she is put on trial for murder (her silence means her opponents underestimate her) However, this does throw into relief those rare moments when she permits herself a smile, the meanings of which are numerous (compare the one upon heraing of her father's death to that with which she greets an illicit pizza delivery) Like part 2, this film keeps Mikael and Lisbeth apart for most of the running time, although the plot strands are inextricably entwined, and avoids any romantic resolution. Another intriguing oddity is the sight of elderly spymasters carrying out the nefarious activities necessary to protect a decades-old conspiracy (one dies of a heart attack after an assassination while another needs weekly dialysis). Not that their frailty makes them any less deadly. The main gripe is the reappearance of the indestructible half-brother, though at least this time he's kept to the margins though he still feels like a renegade character from a 1970s Bond film.

Salvator Rosa

If ever an artist fit the description of Romantic, it's Salvator Rosa. His paintings might date from the 17th century but they would have fit perfectly into the later artistic movement. One painting in particular brought John Martin to mind, while the witches' sabbaths inevitably conjure up Goya. In addition there are bandits and hermits, usually set amid wild landscapes (again, the Romantics would have swooned) and sometimes cocooned in such darkness that it's difficult to distinguish details (this may or may not be intentional ...) Yet the brushwork is vibrant, the vision singular and the overall impression one of strange beauty.

Venice: Canaletto and His Rivals

Canaletto is an artist that I find is easy to admire but difficult to love. Yes, there's the undoubted technical skill on display (not to mention an insane attention to detail) but the overall effect often feels cold, especially in the later paintings which feel increasingly lifeless. Mind you, even these rather static figures are still miles ahead of the ones that populate the paintings of his rivals. Whereas Canaletto's people seem to inhabit the urban spaces, those in other works look like they are part of a tableau (these were usually painted by other artists in any case) Canaletto is head and shoulders above most of the others, although Marieschi's view of the courtyard of the Doge's Palace is terrific, with it's dramatic contrast of light and shade, and Bellotto clearly inherited some of his uncle's talent. However, it's Guardi who steals the show with his more impressionistic approach and muted palette. It's a breath of fresh air after the hyperdetailed onslaught of the previous rooms.

The Kids Are All Right

"I wish you *were* gay. You'd be more sensitive" an exasperated Jules says to her son Laser at one point during The Kids Are All Right (in the circumstances this is hugely ironic considering what Jules herself has been up to) An earlier misunderstanding had resulted in one of those cringeworthy "do you have anything to tell us" scenes. And yes, Laser did - but not what Jules and Nic (or the moms as daughter Joni calls them) suspected. In fact, it's something that turns out to be far more disruptive: the appearance of the children's sperm-donor father Paul, a laid back, organic gardener/restauranteur. Initially appalled, the moms decide to meet him too, which, with hindsight, is a *big* mistake. Paul and Jules immediately bond, and he offers her a job designing his garden, which in turn leads to a completely unexpected sexual relationship. Nic, the odd one out with her lack of enthusiasm for this unlooked-for masculine presence, ups the wine intake (not good for anyone's peace of mind) In fact, Nic has more in common with Paul than she thinks, as is revealed by an impromptu rendition of Joni Mitchell at a dinner party (cue fondly embarrassed kids yet again) Actually one thing all 3 adults share is a perceptive dislike for Laser's best friend Clay, which indicates that the parental instinct is in full working order all round. Alas, that moment of connection over Joni M is immediately destroyed when Nic finds evidence of Jules' infidelity. Yet this is a resilient, if unconventional, family and the fractures don't ultimately break them apart. Laser, ever the sensitive one, is pleased they're not going to split up - pause - "you're too old" ...
The great strength of the film (apart from some fabulously barbed dialogue) is that you could swap the lesbian couple for a straight couple and it would still work perfectly. The whole point is NOT the characters' sexuality, but the relationships within the family unit. Hardworking, sensible Nic and hippyish Jules are reflected in their children, respectively bright Joni and bemused Laser. The kids react to their moms just like any teenagers (exasperation, embarrassment, outright irritation) while the moms have to come to terms with the imminent departure of their babies. An interloper makes one of the couple feel desirable once more, while festering resentments surface on all sides just as in any long-term relationship (and Nic and Jules have been together longer than many "normal" marriages) Not that Paul is merely the villain of the piece. He's as blindsided as Jules by this sudden passion and he's actually delighted to discover he's a father. More to the point, it forces him to grow up. He's genuinely despairing when it seems the children have turned against him, yet Joni's small act of taking his hat with her to university implies that all is not lost. It's a reflection of the generous spirit of the film as a whole.

My Afternoons With Margueritte

This is a Sunday-afternoon type of film: pleasant and undemanding, though with a refreshing belief in the empowering nature of reading and a tart undercurrent about the deleterous effects of a childhood deprived of love. To all intents and purposes, it's a meeting of opposites - the bear-like Germain (Depardieu larger than ever) and the bird-like Margueritte. Germain hangs out at the local cafe with his mates, sells the produce from his garden and enjoys a relationship with bus driver Anette. He is also regarded by almost everybody as being a bit thick. Margueritte is 95, used to work for WHO and delights in literature. In the park, she reads excerpts to Germain who gradually responds to this new intellectual stimulus. In many ways, she is the enthusiastic teacher so singularly lacking from his own childhood (the one we see in flashback takes great delight in humilating the boy as he stumbles over words) Childless herself, she shows more interest in Germain than his own mother appears to do. The middle-aged man is treated with as much disdain by his elderly mother now as when he was a child. He has more meaningful conversations with his cat than with her. If this was a Hollywood film, there would be a tearful reconciliation between parent and child. Here they remain estranged emotionally (though living in close proximity) for life. It's only after his mother's death that we get an indication of the genuine maternal love that lay deeply buried, though the vast majority of Germain's life has been blighted by her cold, unfeeling behaviour (the more cynical might regard this as a mere plot machination to set up the subsequent happy ending) His mates, meanwhile, aren't sure what to make of the new Germain. They preferred the old version, one suspects because it guaranteed there was someone lower than them in the social pecking order. They will still be frittering away their time in the cafe whereas Germain will be residing in the midst of a newly established, supportive family unit.

Treasures from Budapest

The first sight that greets the visitor to the Royal Academy's main galleries is a massive altarpiece dedicated to St. Andrew. In addition to the central panel of the martyrdom and the wings, there is a painted limewood statue on the saint and an elaborate canopy towering above. It's a smashing indication of the unexpected delights within the Hungarian national collection. All the big names of European art are present and correct (Raphael's Esterhazy Madonna might be the star attraction) as well as those anonymous artists who created the likes of that altarpiece. There's a particularly impressive collection of Old Master drawings, built up by Nikolaus II Esterhazy, which are typically stunning in terms of both closely-observed detail and vibrant swirling line. Elsewhere my personal favourites includes a dramatic Ribera Martydom of St Andrew, with the saint's body glowing through the engulfing darkness and a typically cheering portrait by Hals, full of bold brush strokes. Cuyp's painting of cows in a river with a huge expanse of sky behind was rather endearing and Jan Breughel the Elder's painting of the animals waiting to enter the Ark was full of lovely touches (I especially liked the pair of cats up a tree, apparently sizing up the birds as a potential meal) The big surprise though waited in the final room: Sandor Ziffer's Landscape with a Fence, a banal title disguising a wonderful burst of colour. A vibrant red mounrain towers over a landscape painted in jewel-like colours. Noone would ever describe it as naturalistic but it's almost too sumptuous for words.