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.

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.

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.

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.

Carlos

I can't speak for the shorter cinema cut but the full 5 1/2 hours version (originally made for French TV) is a terrifically engrossing piece of work, with the space to tease out the murky connections between terrorist groups and their state sponsors during the 1970s and 1980s. The starting point, inevitably, is the Middle East but as the centrepiece attack on the Vienna OPEC meeting (the bulk of part 2) indicates, even here all was not as it appeared, and as time progresses high ideals increasingly warp into mercenary acts. The German terrorist "Angie", for instance, leaves the movement in disgust at what he perceives as its anti-Semitism, having a clear distinction in his own mind between that and attacking Zionism - escpecially important considering Germany's history. The political machinations are equally tortuous. The Iranian oil minister might have been one of Carlos' targets in Vienna, but a decade later it's the influence of Iran that wins him sanctuary in Sudan. The Soviets meanwhile ensure that Carlos can establish bases in Eastern Europe after being expelled from the PFLP while funding a plot to assassinate President Sadat (ironically the lengthy period of organizing such a plot ensures it's pre-empted by other militants) Vienna is a neat summation of the complexity at the heart of what appears to be a simple political struggle.
All this is serious stuff, yet Olivier Assayas doesn't neglect the thrills. There are assassination attempts, bombings, hijackings and shoot-outs, staged in a manner that is exciting without being bombastic. In addition there's a streak of wry humour: the failed wrangling of a rocket launcher - twice! - foils an attempted attack on an El-Al aeroplane (though one missile does hit a Yugoslav jet thus giving an unexpected propaganda coup to a Croatian group); 3 Japanese Red Army members are late for an attack on the French Embassy in The Hague because they can't read a map correctly; and the escape plan from Vienna is derailed when Carlos kills a Libyan delegate thus ensuring Gaddafi won't allow the plane to land in Libya which in turn means it can't make it to Iraq ... Contemporary news footage is intercut with the drama for visceral effect.
The linking thread, of course, is Carlos himself, first encountered as an ambitious footsoldier for the PFLP who ultimately antagonizes Wadi Haddad once too often and subsequently tries to set up his own group. Amusingly he demands the complete obediance ostentatiously lacking from his own dealings with superiors. He's also a voracious and charming womaniser who regards himself very highly indeed (see the preening young man naked before the mirror at the start and contrast with the overweight lothario who has liposuction in Sudan) The charisma that makes him eminently watchable (in a tour de force, mulitilingual performance by Edgar Ramirez)nevertheless doesn't disguise his utter ruthlessness: witness for instance the sudden descent into brutal violence when informer Andre and the police gatecrash a gathering of South American exiles in Paris. Yet for all his notoriety and star quality, Carlos lacks the political wiliness of the the new PFLP boss Ali, and finds himself outmanoeuvred, living on his past achievements until justice finally catches up with him.

The Social Network

If further proof was needed that Jesse Eisenberg is an infinitely more interesting and versatile actor than Michael Cera (to whom he is often - unfairly - compared), then just try to imagine the latter playing Mark Zuckerberg. No? Didn't think so. As previously shown in The Squid and the Whale, Eisenberg can summon an unpleasantly abrasive edge to his characters (the audience practically cheers when the long-suffering mother finally slaps him in that film) Likewise, his Zuckerberg makes no play for sympathy. Anything that we do feel for him is very hard won indeed - and usually short-lived.
The opening exchange perfectly sums him up: an obviously intelligent man with non-existent social empathy, even for his (soon-to-be-ex) girlfriend. She is merely the first in a stream of people driven to exasperation by his behaviour. It's rare when one feels sorry for movie lawyers but Zuckerberg's in the deposition scenes comes close, as his client's interventions do nothing to help his case. This is a man who insults his ex online and can't understand why she refuses to talk to him; who thinks nothing of discarding his only real friend in favour of the surface flash and ambition of Sean Parker, a man he regards as a soulmate because both were driven to invent in order to impress a girl (though tellingly Parker clearly couldn't care less about this early love whereas Zuckerberg never quite gets over Erica).
Motivations are left opaque but there are interesting suggestions. Saverin and Zuckerberg are both outsiders, looking longly at the exclusive clubs and the girls the members attract, and yet Zuckerberg appears to harbour a festering jealousy when his friend is accepted into one of the clubs (you could never describe Zuckerberg as a supportive friend; his main aim seems to be to undermine Saverin's confidence). Zuckerberg also wants some form of revenge on Erica but also seems to want her back, and equally important (baring in mind her apparent admiration for the rowing crews) he has a powerful determination to best the Harvard elite who shut out the likes of him. There's actually much fun to be had with the representatives of this elite, the Winklevoss twins. Their attitude about the honour of Harvard gentlemen might be gently mocked but they are mostly portrayed as sympathetically naive.
At the film's heart though is the destruction of the friendship between Zuckerberg and Saverin. It's far easier to warm to Saverin, who's endearingly gauche, and never once suspects that Zuckerberg and Parker are plotting to remove him from the company he founded. Even during the deposition scenes he seems hurt more than angry (his one explosion in Facebook's office involves him disconnecting Zuckerberg from the digital bubble in which he exists) yet the minute changes in his facial expression suggest that Zuckerberg feels the loss too. The break though is irreparable. If this all sounds terribly serious, it's not. David Fincher makes it a thoroughly enjoyable experience (and for CSI afficionados there's a "that's Hodges!" moment), with zinging dialogue, classy performances and a surprising emotional kick. Erica tells Zuckerberg at the beginning that it's not because he's a nerd that women won't like him, but because he's an asshole, and while the film mostly substantiates this view, our final image of the young billionaire is of him isolated at a computer, constantly refreshing Erica's Facebook page in the hope she'll accept him as a "friend", more a pathetic figure than anything else.

Scott Pilgrim vs the World

As a resolute non-gamer, I had been wary about seeing this (much as I adore Edgar Wright). However, despite probably missing numerous references and in-jokes, I loved every single minute of it. Sometimes you just know you're going to adore a film from the very first seconds and Scott Pilgrim had me at the pixellated Universal logo (subtle and clever) It almost goes without saying that there's too much to take in on a single viewing. Really the film needs to be perused on frame-by-frame ultra slo-mo to process all the information flashing across the screen. To say it's a technical tour-de-force doesn't quite describe the sheer virtuosity and imagination on display. But all that would count for nothing if the audience didn't care about the characters, and while Scott and Ramona didn't exactly rock my world (at times both need a damn good slap), the rest of the characters more than win you over. Hands-down winner on the male front is Wallace Wells, Scott's gay room-mate and expert purveyor of cutting wit, while Knives Chau steals the female title as the adorable high-schooler dated (and cheated on) by Scott. Most of the evil-exes are a riot (a running joke is Ramona's correction of Scott's mentioning of "evil ex-boyfriends" - there is a reason) There's Chris Evans' skateboarder/movie star Lucas Lee, who tells Scott he's going for an Oscar this year (hilariously unlikely) and lets his stunt team fight on his behalf; Brandon Routh's peroxide musician Todd Ingram whose veganism confers special powers (cue an amusing appearance by the vegan police); and Jason Schwartzmann's Gideon Graves, music impresario and gleefully hissable chief villain. Throw in a hip and varied soundtrack and you've got something for everyone who loves either films or music.

The Maid

Would anyone *want* to become a maid, and more pertinently, would anyone *want* to remain one? Raquel has worked for the same family for 20 years, bringing up the children and cleaning up after everyone. The family in turn seem genuinely fond of Raquel, throwing a surprise birthday party for her in the opening moments and generally tolerating her passive-aggressive behaviour. Yet it's a profoundly dysfunctional situation. Raquel and the daughter are at loggerheads, the mother refuses to discipline her, and she doggedly defends her position from any interlopers, even ones brought in to help when it becomes clear that she's ill. Raquel's favoured tactic is to lock out any maid foolish enough to step outside, though it also extends to throwing the new kitten over the wall, which has the added bonus of upsetting the daughter. It's blackly comic but also unsettling as it highlight's Raquel's mental disarray. Her whole life revolves around this family (her meagre possessions include 3 teddy bears sadly propped up on her bed, and she can barely talk over the phone to her own mother) and she truly has no life of her own. She's also a bracingly unsympathetic presence. We can understand her predicament but emotionally we side with the victimised maids - Raquel adds an unpleasant layer of xenophobia to her campaign against the Peruvian girl. All of which makes the halting steps towards sociability, courtesy of the ebullient Lucy, rewardingly touching.

The Town

There's nothing new about The Town: the one-last job against the protagonist's better judgement; the professional criminal unit locking horns with the forces of law and order; the volatile wildcard; the redemptive (and destructive) power of love. Echoes of several genre classics ripple throughout but the film never feels derivative. Partly this is because of the strong sense of place (Charlestown in Boston), partly because of the trio of muscular action scenes that grab the viewer's attention 100%. There's a white-knuckle car chase through narrow streets that's far more thrilling than any CGI-enhanced blockbuster (nothing can really beat the joy of *real* vehicles crashing into each other) and the final shootout is a cracker.
Of course there has to be more than mere action to make a film memorable and for the most part the dramatic scenes deliver. We get the contrast between FBI investigation and criminal planning, though there's no Heat-style mutual respect here between MacRay and Frawley. The latter is totally deteremined to put MacRay and his associates behind bars, despite the "Irish omerta" as he calls it as well as the limitations of the justice system (as he puts it, the only way he'll get 24 hour surveillance of the gang is if "one of these idiots converts to Islam") Crime in Charlestown is like a family business, passed down the generations: MacRay's unrepentent father is clearly going to die in jail and Jem's already has; the Florist tells the gang he knew all their fathers. And loyalty means everything. MacRay and Jem are bound by the murder committed (and time served) by the latter to protect his friend. He might be a dangerously unpredictable presence but he's genuinely outraged - and hurt - that MacRay could possibly want to walk away from everything. MacRay's natural instinct for self preservation goes out the window the minute he falls for the one person who could put them in jail (there's a wonderfully tense scene at a cafe when Jem, and his giveaway tattoo, unexpectedly disturbs the lovers) and triggers betrayals both large and small.

Winter's Bone

A measure of the sheer quality of Winter's Bone is that it completely transcends the hillbilly cliches at its heart. The insular Ozark community all seem to be inter-related to varying degrees, and operates according to its own laws (the sheriff and local bounty hunter know this and are suitably cautious) Almost everyone 17 year old Ree contacts as she searches for her missing father is some kind of blood-relation -which doesn't necessarily mean anyone's willing to help her - and she shares the community's inherent distrust of both outsiders and the law. If her father fails to turn up in court, the house and woodland he put up as a bond will be forfeit.
Ree's already taken on the mantle of adult of the family, giving up school to raise her siblings and look after her catatonic mother yet the power of the film hinges on her youth. The interview with a sympathetic army recruitment sergeant neatly illustrates both her naivety and her basic resilience, and the astonishing air of menace that permeates the film only emphasises her vulnerability. It's one of those rare films where you genuinely fear for the safety of the main character, with the womenfolk being just as likely to inflict violence as the men. Even Ree's uncle is an unsettlingly dangerous figure. He looks frail yet can face down a group of much bigger men without even making a real threat. And the landscape itself is an essential part of the film, rather than merely a backdrop. Only such land could produce such faces and such simmering threat.
And yet it's not unremittingly bleak. This is also a world where people gather to create the most beautiful music, and where family feeling occasionally trumps self-preservation. There's never any doubt about the love between Ree and her siblings, but there's also basic kindness hidden in the most unexpected places. If the fate of the father is never really in doubt, it doesn't diminish the tension one jot (though it's never actually a whodunit as such) and the subtle ending manages to be both optimistic and laden with hints of foreboding, of future retribution and tragedy to come.

The Secret In Their Eyes

I was as shocked as anyone (and not a little miffed) when both A Prophet and The White Ribbon were beaten to the Foreign Language Oscar by The Secret In Their Eyes. However, it turns out that the Argentine film is a very fine piece of work. It revolves around 2 time frames - Buenos Aires in 1974 and then 25 years late - and 2 thwarted love stories: Ricardo and Liliana are torn apart by her murder while investigator Benjamin falls for his socially superior boss Irene who is engaged to another man. Existing alongside these personal dilemmas are indications of the dreadful political history of that period, where justice gave way to disappearances and murder.
The chaos of the justice system in the first period is illustrated by the haphazard piles of paperwork covering every available surface in Benjamin and Sandoval's office, as well as the faulty typewriter (fittingly it's the "a" that doesn't work) that gets passed from person to person. More damningly it seems that putting away wrongdoers doesn't rank highly on anyone's agenda: Benjamin gets the Morales case by default due to some inter-departmental horsetrading, though his initial reluctance and irritation is transformed into an obsessive desire to apprehend the killer the minute he sees Liliana's corpse; 2 builders are beaten into confessing at the behest of Benjamin's corrupt rival Romano; Sandoval's drunkenness seemingly has no disciplinary consequences; and worst of all, murder ultimately counts for far less than political usefulness.
The solving of the murder by the midpoint of the film might seem odd for a thriller but it's actually crucial. The disgust of Benjamin and Irene at subsequent events throws into relief the agony that Ricardo must be feeling as he sees his wife's murderer not only free, but a crucial part of the current regime. Intimations of the fate of thousands pepper the second half of the film: Romano briefing 2 thugs about "suspects"; his not-so-veiled threats to the troublesome Benjamin (Irene is from the elite and therefore untouchable, unlike Benjamin); the murder of anyone deemed expendable.
Yet of equal importance is the relationship between Benjamin and Irene, conducted through a symphony of looks. Given the title, eyes really *are* important, as indeed is the act of seeing. It's Benjamin's act of looking through Liliana's photo album that provides the vital clue (and later a photo of himself at Irene's engagement party shows him admiring from afar in a similar manner) and the entire football stadium sequence is built upon the hope of spotting one face among thousands. However, Benjamin can also overlook the obvious. Irene clearly looks at him with an equal expression of longing, no matter how irritated she may be with his behaviour. Likewise it's only with hindsight that Benjamin realizes the full extent of Sandoval's final act, with the turning over of photographs (hiding from view) providing the clue. It's a deeply moving moment, as indeed is Ricardo's vigil at the railway station, hopelessly waiting for the killer to commute into the city for work. The emotional beats in the film are hard-won and all the more powerful for being so.
The framing alternates between close-ups (emphasis on the eyes of course) and longer shots that isolate characters behind objects or barriers, and the canted angles clearly express a world gone awry, but the most virtuoso sequence is without doubt the long, pulsating, single take at the football stadium (as thrilling as that in Children of Men) I wouldn't be surprised if it won the Oscar for that 10 minutes alone. Or maybe it was for the genuinely surprising - and shocking - ending, when Benjamin and the spectator slot the pieces into place at exactly the same moment. You don't see it coming, which in itself is an achievement these days and therefore fully deserving of the highest praise.

The Girl Who Played With Fire

The second part of the Millennium trilogy might be shorter in length than the first, but it contains far more plot and introduces several new characters and consequently feels far less satisfying. Details from The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo expand into vital plot points but bizarrely Lisbeth and Blomkvist spend the entire film apart, conducting parallel investigations into a trio of murders connected to sex trafficking. It probably couldn't be helped and will surely be rectified in the final part but it makes for a curiously structured film. What does continue from the first movie is the basic message that all men are sexual predators and/or murderers (the Swedish TV version of Wallander seems to subscribe to this POV as well) which doesn't say a lot for Swedish males. Again, though, the sex trafficking investigation that sets everything in motion gets left behind although it is clear that the corruption spreads right to the top of the establishment. It's Lisbeth's personal history that moves centre stage which unfortunately gives rise to several borderline-laughable revelations (the nigh-invincible half-brother being especially unfortunate) and ultimately distracts from the very serious issue at the heart of the trilogy so far: violence towards and exploitation of women by men.

The Refuge

It's sometimes difficult to believe that Francois Ozon was once the enfant terrible of French cinema. Gone are the days when he seemingly set out to shock bourgeois sensibilities. Nowadays he's more likely to provide top class roles for French actresses. The Refuge is reminiscent of both Under The Sand and Time to Leave in it's exploration of loss and the grieving process, as well as featuring some finely nuanced performances. Mousse, an addict, not only has to come to terms with her boyfriend Louis' overdose but also her unexpected pregnancy, giving rise to musings about the vagaries of fate (she survived taking the same contaminated heroin), the biological changes to her body (half embarrassed, half in awe), and burgeoning feelings for Louis' gay brother Paul. You sense that it's partly their status as outsiders that draws them together initially (he, it turns out, is adopted) while Mousse is perhaps attracted to Paul because of his familial relationship to Louis. Nothing is ever really clarified but it's all the better for that.
The scenes at the refuge by the sea are suffused with a warmth and colour distinctly lacking in the Parisian scenes. Mousse's life as an addict and icily perfect surroundings of Louis' wealthy family contrast with the relaxed atmosphere of village life, the roomily comfortable house and the tentative friendship that develops. Mousse's physical changes also reflect this. The sallow, lank-haired addict postively blooms during her pregnancy to a picture of vibrant health, but also develops emotionally. It's difficult to imagine the Mousse of the early scenes being able to make such a difficult decision as the women we see at the end.

The Illusionist

It's always a delight to watch a lovingly crafted hand-drawn animation. Miyazaki is obviously the main provider of such cinematic comfort but Sylvain Chomet is no slouch. After the glorious mayhem of Belleville Rendezvous, The Illusionist is an altogether more bittersweet experience. There are still plenty of laugh-out-loud moments (many courtesy of a wonderfully belligerent rabbit) and some terrific sight gags (the screen is so packed with detail it's difficult to know where to look) but the narrative itself is a poignant affair. The magician is a figure left behind by the new age of pop culture. Audiences for the traditional music hall acts dwindle while pop groups attract hordes of screaming fans. While the magician struggles to find work - battling with equipment at a garage or humiliatingly advertising goods in Jenners' window - his fellow guest house residents suffer an even worse decline. The clown is suicidal and the ventriloquist pawns his dummy (unsaleable, last seen going for "free") before descending into alcoholism. The young maid who naively believes in magic and who follows the magician to Edinburgh unwittingly pushes him towards poverty before finding romance with a young neighbour - after being transformed from ugly duckling to elegant swan via Tatischeff's kindness. The great glory of the film though is the animation itself. 1950s Edinburgh is beguilingly brought to life and the cityscape at night is a true thing of beauty. The line isn't as clinical as some digital animation can be and the rough edges make it somehow more engaging. And over it all hangs the spirit (and figure) of the mighty Jacques Tati. The film is based on his original script - with the expected lack of dialogue; the magician has a very Tati-like silhouette; and there's even a snippet of the fabulous Mon Oncle (source of some of the best sight gags in cinema). Not your usual animated film then but one not to be missed.

Rapt

To say Rapt is low-key is putting it mildly. Yes, there's a kidnapping and a very real threat of violence (the first act of the kidnappers is to cut off the victim's finger) but the film is mostly lacking in Hollywood-style action beats. There's the kidnapping itself and a ransom money drop-off but even these are more concerned with the mechanics of the events than providing an adrenaline rush. Even Graff, the victim, becomes an almost secondary figure in the narrative. His plight isn't exactly neglected but in many ways the main interest seems to be the manner in which his personal and professional life completely unravel during his absence. The police investigation and media attention unearths Graff's mistresses and his gambling debts, which in turn causes consternation among the board of his company and furious backtracking from his erstwhile political friends. The kidnappers meanwhile confuse the wealth of the company with Graff's personal wealth when they demand a 50 million ransom. As for Graff himself, the audience doesn't have a chance to know him before the kidnapping so for most of the time he's an ambivalent character, deserving of sympathy merely because of his status as victim. Once he attains freedom he becomes increasingly unsympathetic, appearing to have learned nothing from his ordeal and to value his dog more than his family - who can no longer view him as the same man. The effect is oddly distancing but nevertheless intriguing.

White Material

The setting is an unspecified African country at an unspecified time (it could be any time during the last 30 years) but an all too recognisable brutal civil war is simmering. An air of foreboding permeates the film from the very beginning. We know "The Boxer" is a dead man from the first shots so while the flashback scenes lack tension, they have an unnerving ominous weight. The locals are well aware of the implications of the war and endeavour to remove themselves from the crossfire - as one of Maria's fleeing foremen tells her, the French army helicopter came for *her* family, not her workers. The whites have an opportunity to escape; the locals are to be left to their own devices. Maria's stubborn (arrogant?) refusal to accept the reality of the situation and determination to harvest the coffee crop blinds her to what is actually happening around her, illustrated most vividly by the presence of the wounded Boxer on her property and the child soldiers who wander through her house at will. Her ex-husband might act from venal motives but he at least understands the danger, not that it ultimately does him any good. The violence spreads from the surrounding areas - via the child soldiers and the opposing army - into the very heart of the privileged white home, infecting the occupants with its madness. Cannily the violence itself is kept mostly offscreen and both sides are culpable, although the corruption of the existing regime is also plainly indicated. Both sides commit senseless acts of violence but a key sequence reminds us that the child soldiers are just that: children. The group have raided a pharmacy and killed the staff, and then take a variety of the pills they've stolen. Holed up in Maria's house, several curl up on a bed, hugging soft toys, unaware of the soldiers stealthily making their way through the rooms. The blades slash flesh offscreen but the blood splashes into view. Its restraint makes it all the more shocking. The downfall of Maria's family doesn't have the same impact. After all, for the white colonialists, it's all over. For the native inhabitants the agony continues.