Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives

Probably the oddest film I've seen this year, Uncle Boonmee is paradoxically one of its director's more straightforward narratives. A dying man receives visits not only from flesh and blood family but also from spirits of those long gone. It's a simple story but it doesn't give any indication of the strange beauty of the film. The living barely bat an eyelid at these visitors from another realm. Instead they all gather around the table, catching up on events. Boonmee's dead wife materialises gradually and looks just as she did when she died. His son, who vanished some time after her death, is covered in fur, with glowing red eyes. It turns out he mated with a Monkey Ghost and has found happiness in this new form. Elsewhere a bizarre digression features a princess' erotic encounter with a talking catfish (it really shouldn't work but against all odds, it does) Like the opening sequence of an errant water buffalo, are we meant to interpret this as one of Boonmee's past lives, or is it something else entirely? Part of the joy of the film is that it's left up to use to decide. The boundary between worlds is as fluid as the narrative structure. There's no denying it's a slow film but for every longeur, there's a haunting image to take away with you: those glowing red eyes watching from deep in the forest, or the final journey of Boonmee, descending through a deep cavern, passing stalagtites, cave paintings and small pale fishes in a spring. By the time the group reach a stunning glittering cave, it feels like they've gone back through time, reaching the centre of the universe.

Of Gods And Men

"You'll outlive us all" Brother Luc tells the frail, elderly Amedee after a medical examination. In one of the numerous ironies peppering the film, he's ultimately proved correct. Although based on the true story of the murder of French monks in Algeria, that event itself is only related by an end title. The bulk of the film focusses on the daily lives of the monks and their harmonious interaction with the local villagers. The monastery provides a clinic, the monks sell honey at the market and they attend local festivities. There appears to be a mere handful of Christians who attend service so clearly conversion isn't a priority. The village elders express bewilderment and despair at the atrocities committed by militants in this unnamed country (the only act of violence we witness is the abrupt, brutal attack on a group of Croatian workmen, left with the throats slit) and the local government offers military protection to the monastery. It's really at the point that the film starts to reveal where its interest truly resides. Brother Christian refuses, only to later be rebuked by some of the other monks for making a decision that effects them all without consultation. The issue becomes: do the monks leave or do they remain? The national government wants the group to depart but the villagers want them to remain. As for the militants, the leader may or may not be protecting the monks after their encounter on Christmas Eve. The monks themselves are divided on the subject, and each must wrestle with his own conscience. Yet as Christian points out, they have all already given up their lives to God and it becomes clear that - despite family back in France - these men actually have no other life. There's no attempt at backstory though snatches appear here and there. Why should there be - that life is no longer important. The film homes in on their faces as they deliberate their individual fate, never more so than in the "Last Supper" sequence (another irony: the visiting monk from the diocese, who brings the supplies, will be in the wrong place, at the wrong time) It's not that they are portrayed as saints. No, it's clear they are very human, with all the quirks that involves: pride, doubt, fear, and yet they are also compassionate, intellectually curious, moderate. They have no wish to be martyrs but nor can they leave. That's the tragedy.

The American

Pleasingly downbeat and 3/4 a very good film indeed, The American is torpedoed by one of those male fantasy subplots where the protagonist falls in love with a beautiful prostitute (OK, this may be the fault of the book but it's not mitigated by the filming) It's like a DTV erotic drama has taken a wrong turn and ended up in the middle of an existential thriller. Hitman Jack is ruthless, taciturn and increasingly suspicious, bordering on paranoid (quite rightly it turns out) He's a stone-cold killer who is in turn hunted - for reasons unknown to the viewer - by "the Swedes". He's frequently isolated within the frame and Anton Corbijn is particularly good at evoking the threat lurking within open spaces. There's an air of foreboding throughout and we instinctively know that redemption will not be forthcoming. Not with those hard eyes, that grimly set mouth. Even that annoying romantic subplot has one benefit: in the final sequence George Clooney gets to convey Jack's growing sense of despairing desperation as he attempts to reach Clara. It's a terrific piece of acting: a man who knows he's doomed, realizing the future is slipping out of his grasp yet refusing to give up.

Monsters

This is not for you if you're expecting an Independence Day-style special effects extravaganza. For a start Monsters was made on a fraction of the budget of the average Hollywood blockbuster - though it makes that into a huge virtue. Rather than a cast of thousands who end up mere cannon fodder, this is basically a two-hander, and a road movie of sorts that is actually a love story at heart, set within a sci-fi framework. The emphasis is on character rather than spectacle, as cynical journalist reluctantly leads the boss's daughter to safety through the Infected Zone of Mexico. Expectations are subverted: it's the poor little rich girl who can speak Spanish (Andrew relies on her translating skills) and who empathises with the locals (the elusive prize for the journalist is a photo of a dead child) Their backstories get gradually sketched in and the development of the relationship doesn't feel forced.
In a similar manner, that title isn't all that it seems. Your interpretation of it changes over the course of the film. The creatures (never "monsters") can be incredibly destructive and chillingly deadly (see the night vision opening and the aftermath of the forest encounter) but as one of the locals comments, if you don't bother them, they don't bother you. Difficult to believe when the landscape is littered with the evidence of their power (vehicles of all kinds and sizes thrown into trees or dumped into the water) and yet proved to be completely accurate when Sam and Andrew watch entranced as two huge bioluminescent creatures entwine in a strangely beautiful mating ritual (the same description could be used to describe the glowing egg sacs on the trees) The creatures pay no heed to the two humans and leave without causing any damage to the truck stop. This isn't an invasion, it's the result of an accident - courtesy of NASA - but like in District 9, the two species can't peacefully co-exist, at least in the minds of the humans. Or to be more accurate, in the minds of the military and those north of the border. The local populace simply carry on with their daily lives, knowing the creatures' annual mating season requires extra caution. The Americans in contrast launch bombing raids on the Infected Zone and build a huge wall at the border - and just like District 9, you don't have to dig too far for allegorical readings. Yet the military are clearly fighting a losing battle, and the wall simply can't keep out the creatures. It's a war that can't be won although the Americans don't seem to have realized that yet. You suspect they never will.

Gauguin

I'll never be a fan of Gauguin (everything about the man brings out the latent feminist in me) but if nothing else, this exhibition has given me a new appreciation of his use of colour. There's a particular shade of orange that can stop you in your tracks and a soft mauve that almost begs to be touched. The landscapes are by far the most arresting part of the paintings, and the juxtaposition of colours - especially in the South Seas works -produce a vibrant effect. Looking at these exotic images you do indeed feel a million miles away from Europe.