À l'origine d'un cri

Tackling difficult subject matter in a sober fashion, Robin Aubert's À l'origine d'un cri skilfully examines masculinity through the intergenerational lens of a blunt family.

A road trip is required after a husband (Michel Barrette) walks out on his family following the death of his second wife. His whereabouts are sought by his father (Jean Lapointe) and son (Patrick Hivon). Relations between the three are strained.

The two fathers seek control through the means of condescending commentaries sarcastically delivered at the expense of whomever they address, while the son's pent up anger is indirectly unleashed again and again. Trying to develop his own voice while being consistently ridiculed by his two most cherished male role models has left some scars, as has being sexually abused by a babysitter as a child, his parent's divorce, and his constant drinking. Things haven't been easy for his father or grandfather either as their breakdowns and observations relate.

But they still always find a way to deal.

If you've ever known what it's like to consistently encounter sarcastic witticisms concerning the majority of what you do you'll likely find the conversations within À l'origine d'un cri heart warming, challenging, hilarious, and sly, tempestuously orchestrating a particularized masculine discourse while harmonizing its voices with quotidian cacophonies. It synthetically compartmentalizes the destructively productive realities governing specific son-father-grandfather relationships, agilely using comedy to lighten the tension without infantalizing the catharsis.

Love briefly disseminates its revitalizing aura when it eventually arises, the excessive byproduct of their strict and penetrating criticisms.

The Light Thief

As Krygyzstan adjusts to post-Soviet realities and workers continue to enjoy their lives even though basic food items are difficult to come by, one person of the people continues to function as a link between the haves and have nots, risking his prestigious position to faithfully restore the light. A courageous film from director Aktan Abdykalykov, The Light Thief presents an impoverished rural town struggling to maintain its identity as political currents redefine the ways in which its country is managed. The mayor who fought for the rights of his people is dead and those seeking to obtain their land have replaced him with a naive relative whose loyalty is individualistic and up for sale. Those with capital are willing to potentially finance experimental projects but strict respect must first be paid to their patriarchal order. Svet-Ake (Aktan Abdykalykov) holds his ideals close to heart and isn't willing to sacrifice them. If a family can no longer pay their electric bill, he reconnects their system to keep them attached to the grid. When offered the opportunity to establish a wind farm, he discusses his plans in a state of respectful disbelief. But its creation is necessitated upon the retooling of his ethical code, a personal transformation he is unable to make.

Old World meets New World in The Light Thief's subtly turbulent narrative. Capital is required to refurbish but the only source of its generation is the only asset the people have left. The outlets for negotiations and collaborations are destabilized as technological advances role in. The voice established by the working class is in danger of being silenced.

Boldly championing the dignity of the people while sharply pointing out what's at stake if that dignity is sacrificed, The Light Thief accentuates what it means to take risks as a matter of principle. Focusing to much overt attention on Svet-Ake and not enough on developing minor characters, it still slyly highlights the ingenuity of the town's impoverished youth while suggesting that that ingenuity is threatened.

2 frogs dans l'ouest

Leaving behind her structured life in Montréal, Marie Deschamps (Mirianne Brulé) travels to Whistler in pursuit of adventure and the acquisition of the English language. Things don't progress smoothly in the beginning until the angelic Jean-François Laforest (Dany Papineau) steps in to save the day. With a job and a place to stay, Marie's transition steadfastly accelerates and good previously unimagined times present themselves. But the predetermined all encompassing capitalist master narrative is still seductively ready to pounce, just as bohemian alternatives become all the more tantalizing.

Dany Papineau's 2 frogs dans l'ouest salutes the pursuit of non-traditional lifestyles while highlighting corresponding difficulties as well as those associated with learning a new language. The scene where Marie attempts to order something to eat in English near the beginning of her journey reminded me of similar personal outings in Québec, where you can't help but feel prostrate due to the fact that you can't communicate or don't understand the simple linguistic distinctions that you need to be able to comprehend in order to function, although the percentage of Québecors who speak English is much higher than that of English Canadians who speak French, a fact that many English Canadians should take into consideration. Sport is central to 2 frogs dans l'ouest's vision and the cathartic affects of activities such as snowboarding play a central metaphoric role. Is living in a beautiful place like Whistler or Canmore in order to pursue the artistic life while consistently engaging in exhilarating activities amidst the continuous inspirational presence of breathtaking scenery a good decision?

Yes, yes it is, although I suppose everyone can't live in such places, only the committed few.

Some of the coming of age reflections in 2 frogs dans l'ouest are a little tough to take at times. Papineau develops a lot of sympathy for Marie's father (Germain Houde) who made many sacrifices so that she could go to school as well. But he also didn't make those sacrifices so that she would give up her dreams.

And she doesn't.

Shoot the Piano Player

Sacrifices which destroy the prosperity they engender. Dreams for the future challenged by the threats of the past. Petty jealousies destabilizing the security of the present. A struggling artist trying his best to avoid loving and being loved. François Truffaut's Shoot the Piano Player presents Charlie Kohler (Charles Aznavour) as he makes his living playing the piano in a Parisian bar. Waitress Léna (Marie Dubois) has fallen in love with him and seeks to resurrect his dematerialized fame. Initially content to continue practising his honky-tonk, the power of love reinvigorates his pursuit of something classical. But brothers and gangsters and reflections and passions stand in his way as he psychologically rediscovers the life he once flourishingly possessed.

Shoot the Piano Player's cultivated underground jovially analyzes universal materialistic themes such as marriage and commodity acquisition, deviously situating Truffaut's observations in scenes traditionally used to establish a predetermined variety of character and mood. The resultant character and mood he establishes is therefore composed of startling insights extracted from various experiential outcomes whose histories convivially salute the unexpected. The scene where the thugs discuss their material goods with Fido (Richard Kanayan) after kidnapping him is first rate. Minor characters are given room to breathe, Raoul Coutard's cinematography illustrates the compact social nature of a bustling metropolis, and dreams synthesize with desires to produce a productive yet troubled practical theoretical posture. Its mainstream narrative is full of stipulated thoughts concerning art, careers, and gender relations, stipulated thoughts whose content is romanticized by their underground foil.

Charlie just wants to play the piano. Other people problematize his plans. Léna reminds him of the concerts he could still be performing. His community reminds him that other people still desire Léna.

Paul

One of the most comfortable science-fiction comedies I've seen, Greg Mottola's Paul introduces several distracting characters whose down home urbanized savvy fuels a quaint campy road trip. This road trip includes science fiction writer Clive Gollings (Nick Frost), his best friend Graeme Willy (Simon Pegg), a devoted Christian (Kristen Wiig), and a pot smoking trash talking fun lovin' alien named Paul (voiced by Seth Rogan). Paul has escaped from the military facility which held him prisoner for decades and used his advanced knowledge to drive various technological/pop cultural/industrial/. . . economies.

He seeks to return home.

Clive and Graeme have arrived in America from Britain to attend Comic-Con and then travel the midwest. They accidentally meet Paul on the side of a highway one evening and agree to help him reach his destination. In hot pursuit are Agent Zoil (Jason Bateman) and his reluctant sidekicks Haggard (Bill Hader) and O'Reilly (Joe Lo Truglio), intent on recapturing Paul so that the government can cut out his brain.

And reclaim their weed.

Every scene in Paul is well written, fun, and entertaining (written by Nick Frost and Simon Pegg). The humour isn't the most cerebral but it takes a lot of brains to be able to successfully write and sustain so many catchy one-liners, skilfully using repetition to recapture laughs throughout. There are many hilarious shots of characters standing there with bewildered quizzical looks on their faces, and including Moses Buggs (John Caroll Lynch) in those near the end was priceless. Knowing that the road trip will not likely be threateningly interrupted produces feelings of comfort, although you would think the military would be searching for Paul in greater numbers (this would have ruined the film however!). Paul structurally references myriad science-fiction classics and it's fun trying to unravel them all (I did not catch them all). Watching Graeme and Ruth Buggs (Wiig) exchange romantic observations works well. Frustration, Frost and Pegg are experts in comedically timing moments of productive frustration.

Are humans smart enough to have come up with all of the technological advances of the last 100 years on their own or have aliens been sharing their related knowledge with them? Paul's answer to this question is "no, they are not, aliens have been sharing their knowledge, period."

Arthur

Not sure what to make of Jason Winer's Arthur. Apart from a commercial they ran on the Comedy Network for a couple of weeks, I'm completely unfamiliar with Russell Brand so this was my first encounter with his work. He's made a bold career move in Arthur, overtly suggesting that he is the inheritor of Dudley Moore's legacy, a move that must be followed up by an exceptional performance to be even remotely legitimized. I haven't seen many Dudley Moore films but I remember he was revered enough to be positively and negatively criticized in the mainstream media for a lengthy period while I was growing up, meaning that he likely has supportive and passionate fans remaining. Will they see Brand's reworking of Arthur as an homage to a great comedian by an up and coming artist who respects his entourage, or as an assault on a solidified characterization already firmly canonized within specific pop cultural histories/theorizations?

They're probably not concerned with either of these possibilities as they have better things to do.

But I don't, so I'm mentioning them in an indirect salute to the phenomenon of potential.

I thought Arthur lacked depth and the story simply recycled basic romantic class conscious true love narratives to produce another feel good romantic-comedy without innovating within corresponding traditions. Difficult subjects like arranged marriage, social barriers, child rearing, and corporate management are introduced and brought to the forefront, but Arthur's happy-go-lucky carefree nature euphemizes the constructive discourses delegated by their presence. At the same time, Brand's portrayal of Arthur is enlivening and revitalizing, cheerfully demanding that attention be paid. He's obviously multi-talented and the depth he instills in Arthur's character is striking. Helen Mirren is not to be bested, however, and she delivers a multi-talented characterization of her own, exemplified by the way in which she states the word "chimpanzee." The writers also provide her character with one of the most sublime of pastimes/interests which was sincerely appreciated by this commentator.

I suppose films whose performers subvert the greater cultural evaluations their director is trying to make by destabilizing them by displaying their talents function as prominent symbols of capitalist individuality. And Arthur is the product of successful capitalists who have amassed an enormous fortune, so, Arthur's form is working hand in hand with its content on one level anyways.

Bears.

Thieves' Highway

Can sheer will and determination enable an idealistic man's pursuit of justice in the underground world of fruit and vegetable exchange, or will they leave him distraught, broke and bedridden? Jules Dassin's Thieves' Highway examines this question and anxiously offers an unexpected solution. Nick Garcos (Richard Conte) returns home after years of working and saving his hard earned cash. Only to discover that his father (Morris Carnovsky) no longer has working legs after an accident coordinated by a crooked produce distributor (Lee J. Cobb as Mike Figlia). This upsets Garcos who immediately sets out to avenge his dad by cutting a deal with a shifty trucker named Ed Kinney (Millard Mitchell). Ed knows the whereabouts of an overflowing apple orchard whose gold and delicious bounty is ready for sale. The two strike up an agreement and purchase a truckload of apples each bound for sale to the aforementioned crook. But along the way, Ed's weathered universal slows his pace and young Nick must learn to negotiate deals with hardened thugs who don't believe in fair play.

On his own.

Not sure if Thieves' Highway is a film-noir or not but some of the classic tropes are in place. Anxiety exists although it's perforated with moments of happiness and peaceful calm. The majority of the film's action takes place in the underground but this underground isn't predominantly destitute. Some members of the police force are honourable, there's a lack of jazz music, the straight-and-narrow fiancé (Barbara Lawrence) turns out to be the femme fatale, and the femme fatale (Valentina Cortese) has a definitive change of heart. Does she only have this change of heart because Garcos represents the second generation of an immigrant family, integrated and successful, and is Dassin saying that only film-noir heroes from ethnic backgrounds can save the troubled femme fatale?

There's a lot going on behind and in-between the scenes in Thieves' Highway and some of the logic's somewhat bizarre. I suppose there's a plot, an internal relationship between the different components maintaining the plot's structure, an external relationship between the plot's structure and established film noir conventions, and another external relationship between the director's interpretation of these conventions (what he's trying to say by employing them in this or that fashion) and the ways in which he uses them to reflect his culture. Things often don't make sense. Check. People like to believe in the integrity of the law. Bingo. A strong constitution will achieve results eventually. Strike. Things can work out between a man and a woman. Cheerio.

Unless Dassin is noiring film-noir by turning its conventions upside down to deconstruct its pretensions and shine a light through its constructive darkness, Thieves' Highway doesn't strike me as making a good fit with the definition I was taught to consider to be ridiculous years ago. Perhaps it's just a comedic film-noir where everything works out in the end. Perhaps it's about role-playing.

Opening Night

While knowledge and treaties, expectations and caricatures haunt her, as horrible people transmit their perspectives nonchalantly, striking yet stark, cutting yet insignificant, Myrtle Gordon (Gena Rowlands) prepares for Opening Night and artistically assails its cultural predisposition. A young fan is dead, struck by a car after having sought her attention. A brilliant role threatens her fluidity and unwittingly seeks to sequester her career. Friends offer advice which she refuses to indulge, instead choosing to transform its venom into a seductive performance, on her own terms. Is John Cassavetes a misogynist? He certainly presents how abrasive powerful men can be and how hard it must be for women to have to navigate a culture saturated with paternal misgivings, as they're expressed benevolently as if they represent some sort of divine goodwill, as if they reflect a woman's best interests. The psychological abuse Myrtle suffers directly presents the subtleties of a misogynistic discourse, thereby courting a misogynistic qualifier for the film. But it seemed to me as if Cassavetes was using misogyny to point out how trapped many women feel while championing a strong heroine who stoically and creatively endures and counters its virulence nevertheless, thereby realistically accepting its cultural and political prominence and productively demonstrating the herculean effort required to combat it. He's not playing softball and taking a walk through Central Park, he's presenting difficult and controversial material in order to capture the essence of a pervasive dark cultural tenant from which progress can be made (by those who accept his diagnosis and want to do something about it).

It's really quite ingenious.

Opening Night's a powerful film that doesn't bombard you with its thesis; rather, it modestly presents an artist struggling to maintain control of her craft while suffering a midlife crisis. The politics of performance and the relationship between strict adaptions of written material and inspired improvisations are dramatized within, and Myrtle's predicament (that of the successful female actress trying to preserve her identity in an industry dominated by masculine ideals) reflects that presented by several prominent Canadian journalists in regards to the feminine voice's place in 21st Century film. Rowlands's performance is strong enough to dig deep down into your psyche and propel you to feel what she feels, think what she thinks, as you desperately prepare to deliver the performance of a lifetime. On par with A Woman Under the Influence and stronger than Husbands and Faces, Opening Night delivers a play within a heroine within a film within a vision which courageously exposes a deep rooted cultural miscue.