Category Archives: Film

if cornelia agatha is snubbed at the festival film indonesia (ffi) for best actress category, i should question the ability of the event’s juries in determining good acting quality.

surely she does act and not to the extent of inhabiting the role yet, at least she has not reached the level of being her “regi” character by still maintaining her shampoo-advertisement hair while playing a highly drug-addicted junkie, but at the scope of acting as junkie, cornelia agatha does give a convincing portrayal in such a controlled manner that we are taken to believe the emotional availability she has as an actress in delivering the assigned duty very well. it is not much then that during her appearance in one of late-nite talk shows where she promoted her film, the host praised her by stating, “this is one of the closest portrayals of a junkie ever portrayed on a big screen.”
i can’t agree more, although it might be nicer if only the director would dwell more on scenes where she desperately longs for her drugs and convinces her dealer to forge the expenses. if only the director would like to spend some time watching leonardo di caprio in basketball diaries, then the same chilling effect can be reached through cornelia’s embodiment to her character.

luckily, cornelia gets an equally good companion who manages to bring out their own best in every scene done together. playing in a more subtle manner, sausan excels in otherwise limited range of acting ability, yet the nature of her character allows her to show minimum effort to maximum result, and giving us no other option but to emphatize with her role here. i guess a nod for supporting actress will not be too much to give as a token of recognition.

however, the praises might stop at this point since cornelia and sausan are the only two elements in making this depressive film bearable and worth watching. i can’t help but having a strong suspicion that they take their own initiative to act well for their own sake, without any necessary guidance from the director who might be busy arranging other elements to be put up nicely on the big screen, to some disappointing result. this might be repetitive, but a stereotype of how one gets involved in a hell-ride of drug taking is too often to be presented, and i was surprised to see this still comes out eventhough the writer of the novel in which the film is based on is invited on board to pen the script. either that, or the limited duration time hinders a deeper character development that would do good this film.

other than that, i am not going to comment on how i wish to see more of shanty in her relaxed presence here, or how i long for more lenient censor cut that abruptly butchers some of cornelia’s scenes, but the bottomline remains to the fact that you might see this film to see a good school of acting, and set aside trivial errors as usually appear in any indonesian films.

once in a while, comes a film worth every single piece of bad comment on the film’s lack of good quality. the redundancy you may notice on the previous sentence is intended to create similar effect to the film.

if they think that indonesian film audience still has not gotten enough dose of brainless teen-flick, think again. the situation has reached the effect of feeding-the-beast, in which the audience soon need to be rushed for treatment of OD-ed by flood of nihilistic love story, whereas producers soon have to endure circle effect of being forced to start all over again in creating a new trend.

nevermind the story, you’ve read or seen it dozens of times before. in fact, spoilers are highly needed to decipher many unbalanced shots not supposedly presented on a big screen as they fit much better on a small screen. what we need to know is why the film seems to lack of direction.

a good director will not have scenes like a girl playing basketball in between three cars circling her moves, or a zoom-in to a packet of tissue, or some 30-second half-lit room where the character utters one single unimportant word.

a good director will think of more coherent logic to make a proper ending. modern literary audience who has consumed contemporary works of arts will not be satisfied with deus-ex-machina concept as it will only show the director’s lack of vision and rushing to finish the story as soon as possible.
(if i see rudy soedjarwo laughing about the latter, i can only pity him since ‘tentang dia’ suffers from the same problem.)

now it is time for indonesian film producers to consider which films they need to show to the press, and which ones are not. after all, how do you expect to comment on this response from one of the reporters upon watching this film:

“oh, the film is awfully fun, i had a good time. seriously! you’d no idea how fun it could be to find many, and i mean many, scenes to bash throughout the entire film!”

it happened.

Such a sensitive issue like racial slurs, when brought up to the artistic form of visual dimension whereby the words and acts dealing with the issue can be seen and examined with our perfunctory senses, may tend to be banal if being given an inconsiderable treatment that shies away from presenting reality.

Thankfully, the banality in this film is in fact the strongest point that makes the film compelling to watch. In a rare occasion of successful ensemble of too many good actors pulling out dramatic punches at their best, Paul Haggis manages to unite them in one strong story of a life in everyday LA, seemingly a town full of racism to inhale as a daily staple.

In the recent times of politeness in tackling the issue, any forms of accusations in the manner of cursing and swearing are easily uttered to one another, at some point taken as jokes, yet most of the time, it has emerged to become some kind of state of mind. The hidden anger and the confusion of misunderstandings beguile these people in living their life blanketed under the cover of assumption and preconceived notions, resulting of exclusivity among their own races.

Life may turn laughing at us or with us, but like the life itself, Crash pulls out an eventful day of any city on the earth where we are taken to realize, how we may never be able to understand the difference. Acknowledging the variety may be one small step to begin.

There are over-paranoid white upper class couple, black detective and his Latino partner, a Hispanic low class family, a struggling Arabic enterpreneurs trying to make a living in this chaotic city filled with compromises and consequences of every racial thoughts that translate to their action. The juxtaposition of these characters’ actions may leave you shocked on how looks can be deceiving. Appearances can not be taken for their face-values, especially not in the time of gun-culture when anyone at any given time may shield themselves by pointing guns at any other human beings for any reason under the name of protection.

It may be a fictional place to see, yet the facial expressions of these people tell anguishes some of us have to bear everyday. Others may put it as “c’est la vie”, but to me, Crash shows that in a place where angels flock in, the paradise is far ahead to reach.

Love him. Hate him. Adore him. Dismiss him. Indifferent? Neutral?

The two latter words have never arisen to surface when we start talking about this dream-maker who goes by the name of Steven Spielberg. At least, not until we watch his latest work, War of the Worlds.

The reason for those first words is quite clear: those who praise him tend to faithfully worship him regardless of his misfires on Amistad or The Lost World for example, whereas for those who bash him out will suppress their feelings on marvel works a la The Color Purple or Raiders of the Lost Ark. Hardly we think “it’s good, but …” or “it should’ve been this or that, then it’ll be good or bad” since Spielberg presents his work as representation of his own dream, his own fantasy world he longs to exist in reality. Not quite an auteur though, but there is a certain visual element on each of his work, often superbly crafted that will leave us feeling mesmerized. The bleak look of World War II is captured convincingly through the lens of Janusz Kaminski in Schindler’s List, the swinging 60’s has never looked any brighter in Catch Me If You Can, and the marriage of high-technology concept and futuristic look reaches its highest point in Minority Report. Regardless my disliking towards the latter film, the look itself is enough to keep me glued to the seat and getting overblown by his magic. This is something lacking on his second collaboration with perfectly miscast Tom Cruise here.

Or at least inconsistencies keep occurring throughout the film. I jumped off my seat while reeling the glowing looks surrounding Miranda Otto and David Alan Basche, suggesting the dreamy-like surrounding in the scene. A good five-to-ten seconds there, only to be ruined with the monotonous grayish coloring throughout early scenes, with certain gap of stillness in-between the scenes. Call me being unknowledgeable on examining Spielberg’s films but I can’t help scratching my head over things you least expect from a Spielberg film. Not to mention other kind of inconsistencies in logicality of the story that will leave smiles on the faces of trivia and goofs spotter out there, and failure to bring out the best in Tim Robbins and surprisingly annoying Dakota Fanning.

Does he want a breakthrough? Artificial Intelligence does better than that. It may be a tribute to Stanley Kubrick, but Spielberg does inject his personal touch that makes the film adorable despite its semi-controversial subject. Spielberg’s films stand for his own testament on how to amuse audience in genres crossing over one another, that we often think no other directors can make or re-create Spielberg’s films. Sadly, when I set my eyes to the big screen in Lido Theatre watching Tom Cruise trying too hard to act appropriately to his character, I can’t help wondering that this film should have been directed by someone else, to make it better.

The moment of revelation? Morgan Freeman’s majestic voice over.

Next time we catch a film on a cinema, be sure not to arrive late to *properly* notice the opening credits of the film. There may be a hint shown during the opening credit that will give us a little clue on how the film we are about to watch is going to turn out. It does not mean to set a certain expectations or whatsoever, yet the attention will serve as some kind of guidance on how to watch the film in a certain fashion. Especially if the film has a drop of governmental influence.

When I saw the words of “Israeli Film Fund” at the beginning of the film, I had no objections whether this film has to be politically correct. After all, it does not take powerful political injection to make Kingdom of Heaven behaves like a lion on sedative medication. Or the recently released In My Father’s Den still manages to generate a good buzz on its emotionally appealing plot twists, without anyone ever remember that the film is funded by New Zealand authorities to boost the country’s film development.

Hidden agendas are hard to escape. By any means, film makers will feel reluctant to go extremes in being arrogant as they have this amount of accommodativeness. The government institutions help them financing the film, the filmmakers will try their best, or do a little sacrifice in accommodating messages or laws or any form of apprehensive information to be inserted to the film. Yet when they integrate to the tight-lined structure of the film, they succeed to disappear and pave the way of total enjoyment in watching a film on a big screen. At least, the subtlety of such placement will not make us raging over 2-second show-off a la Tisot watch in Angelina Jolie’s wrist.

What’s wrong with Walk on Water then?

To me, nothing.
But a fellow film enthusiast point out how the film was made to look like a PA-commercial of Israeli and Germany tourism promotion. The panoramic views of Israeli like we’ve never seen in any primetime news before may enhance this opinion, which IMHO is something acceptable to do since, going back to my point above, the film is funded by government and it serves the storyline. Consider the summary below.

Eyal, an Israeli spy agent, on the heels of despair after his wife committed suicide, is given a mission to murder an ex-criminal of war in Germany. To get in touch with the family member, he pretends to be a tourist guide who will accompany the convicted’s grandson, Axel, in his holiday trip to Israel to visit his sister. What starts off as a pure business relationship blossoms to become a close friendhsip, eventhough Axel’s outgoing personality clashes with Eyal’s introvertness, not to mention Axel’s homosexuality which frights Eyal’s orthodox value at first. As Axel finishes the holiday, and the mission drags to uncertainties, the agency decides to send Eyal to Germany to finish the mission.
The two buddies meet again, and Eyal succeeds in getting an invitation the Axel’s family gathering where the secrets of more than five-decade year old are revealed.

Interchanging scenes that shift between two countries greatly different from one another allow Eytan Fox helming the film in such a way to suggest the film being ripped off directly from pictorial books. Together with the cinematographer Tobias Hochstein, they present the two countries as an ideal place to live in. From the houses with communal atmosphere in Israeli suburban area where they look peaceful, to the bright lights of Frankfurt, they put distinctive quality to each set that eventually do not merely serve as backdrop, but rather, in accordance with each personality traits that the character posses.

Well, to expand further on the latter statement may take up our whole patience here as I can feel that you start to get tiresome reading this blurting, but what I can assure you is that it may be tempting to classify the characters into stereotype or classification of being Arian and Jewish as what our pre-conceived notion might bring. After all, the two good-looking lead actors carry physical qualities of their own race in the first place.
Yet, in this political-charged drama, we may not see many mind-challenging twist. Everything is told in a clean slate narrative manner, flows on a chronological order of time without any dizzying flashback scenes as they are promptly inserted in the dialogues. But to see an enjoyable drama with nuanced performances from the actors in a big screen is surely one pleasant way to spend a Saturday evening.

Not to mention that it will make us feeling like taking a walk in a breezy sea of Israel.

Forget everything we know about the man in a bat suit, aka Bruce Wayne.

Do we know him by a certain curve of lips? Do we know him by haunting eyes? Do we know him by his physical strength? Do we know him by showing off his nipples on the suit?

Set aside whatever pre-conceived knowledge we had gathered before on how Batman should be presented in a film format. Throw away our ruined imagination on the richest superhero of all, thanks-but-no-thanks to dizzying and too-colorful style spilled by Joel Schumacher.

This is the beginning of how a man can become a superhuman, and his own being is a choice of conscience, not simply fated. In this aptly-titled prequel, Christopher Nolan cleverly drops any hints how Bruce Wayne is destined to be what he wants people know him to be. This smart director, although having to sacrifice his signatural style stamped on his earlier works, lays bare Wayne’s struggle before triumphing and conquering his biggest obstacle in life: fear.

So much emphasis is put on the subject of fear itself that for slightly more than half of the duration is dedicated to showing Wayne’s past not often exposed in many previous renditions of his alter ego. Initially a child living on his paranoia over many things as a result of his parents’ death that he witnesses himself, he grows up being a juvenile searching for his own faith while constantly trapped in his own freight. This long journey ends in some secluded area in Far East where he gets trained to assassinate the injustice in the world, without even knowing that injustice has many multifaceted appearances that can be deceiving.

Thus, slowly but surely, a hero is born. For the first time.

At this point of time, we get to know the circle of life that Bruce Wayne has to go through and complete before he dons himself in a bat suit. Painful, hurtful and never an easy feat, all these elements give the film a serious and heavyweight look. However, the result does justice on how a film based on comic gets a dramatic treatment on the right dose. After all, being a superhero does not mean having to be fantastically living in fantasy. The real world he lives in is the world of those multilayered crimes where one crime may kill another, and his good act may not be perceived as a good deed by his own conflicted being.

The journey does not stop here, for we just get to see the birth.

And thus, this is how Batman Begins.

“At the end, you can only think of the beginning.“

Such a simple line uttered by John Smith (Brad Pitt) to her wife, Jane Smith (Angelina Jolie) in one of the car-chase scenes in Mr. & Mrs. Smith, which is plainly uttered in a regular manner as what Pitt usually does, turns out to be some slipped subtlety we might wonder here.

Is this really the end of Hollywood glamorous era?

Never before in recent releases a film is capitalized on the glitz presence of its leading actors who are portrayed as what and how their images are projected off-screen.
Never before in recent releases that a film charms its audience for the sake of the actors who do not act to be on their own easily.
The latter point might bring the fact that, as hesitant as it might be, never before in recent releases that a film is perfectly cast.

Yet, if we look back at the old Hollywood days when scriptswriters are masters and directors are kings in putting their signatural marks on witty and smart scripts, this kind of practice had been done in the early years of the century.
People flocked to see Cary Grant doing the best impersonation of himself, to be seduced by Marilyn Monroe in whatever film she was in, and this topic will not complete without mentioning the legendary pairings of Katharine Hepburn-Spencer Tracy and Lauren Bacall-Humphrey Bogart. A consummate thespian on their own, when they were paired, audience saw the chemistry between each couple as the result of what their projected images off-screen were: Hepburn, a strong willed lady to be charmed by Tracy’s gentleness and patience, and Bacall as a debonaire, mysterious lady to be melt by Bogart’s rough-yet-tender sensitive old guy.

It might be way early to place Pitt and Jolie alongside the legends, but judging from their banterings and unspeakable ease of performing to and for each other, we can’t help but smiling all through the entire duration of 110 minutes without even at once bothering about illogical plots. This is a well packaged summer blockbuster film: explosive action, gorgeous cast that even looks larger-than-life thanks to nicely done shot that seem to make both of them being ripped off from any glossy fashion magazine, and the wits spoken convincingly as if we really see Pitt and Jolie have been performing together for a number of times.

To think that the whole film relies on its own star presence is surely a reminiscence of the good glorious old Hollywood days, which leads us thinking how star powers these days are being set aside, making a way for mindless CGI effects. The film might not be the best for its own genre, but to keep the treatment from dying completely, it is sure an applaudable effort.

If you think the reason why I made this posting is related to the revelation on the mysterious identity of Watergate-whistle-blower, then I’m afraid to say that you get it wrong this time. Check the history book again, and you’ll find out how Mr. Felt got his infamous nickname.

As infamous as the source itself, which brought the porn film scene to be recognized as a new promising industry.

Our parents or our elder relatives might not be able to recall Deep Throat when it was released back in 1972, but at least they came across the phenomenon of how sex became something that lured people to go to the movies.
Mainstream film industry reached its ultimate exposure towards sexual permissiveness, when what had been considered as taboo topic suddenly being shown on the big screens where people could just drop by at any given time to spend a good two-hour journey exploring their sexual voyeurism. And to sit in darkness has never been that good.

More than three decades later, when sex had become scarce in films these days, Fenton Bailey and Randy Barbato brought back this sexual journey of porn industry in its heyday of 1970s in one of the most polite documentaries on sex ever, Inside Deep Throat. I guess I have to mention the word ‘polite’, considering that the initial film was X-rated and the documentary in discussion here managed to get an R-rating.
You go figure out yourself what has been missing.

Even then, the documentary serves like a comprehensive study of how porn industry arose in Hollywood in the 70s, and played a part in cultural revolution that defined 70s as sexual awakening era in the US. Porn has never been looked this noble and respected, I may say, thanks to the crips understanding of Bailey and Barbato who often depicted 1970s cultural hype in their previous works like the harrowing The Eyes of Tammy Faye.

Surely a 90-minute duration will not quench the thirst to even get a deeper peek towards porn industry, yet the film has done more than enough to make us noticed to not neglect the existence of this love-it-or-loathe-it alternative entertainment. Some scenes might be overwhelming if you are not used to watch porn flicks (oh c’mon, internet is just right on your side!), yet there are times when you just scratch in your heads, amused by the comments from the makers of this film.

Well, truth is always stranger than fiction, if you wish to settle for fictionalized story on porn industry, go rent Boogie Nights.

But then, no other fictional feature films can match to become the most profitable film of all time, like Deep Throat.

Joko Anwar knows a thing or two about films, and for sure, he’s having a good time in it.

Why? Because to him, a film has to please himself, which eventually will lead to pleasing the audience.

Indeed, the joy was infectious in his directorial debut here, a film that enhances his liking and expertise about the film study itself. Yet, the premise seems fresh, for the film differs itself from any other film-about-film in terms of the angle it chooses to base the story on. This time, Joko cleverly avoids the usual overused story of film-making process and its chaotic madness surrounding it. Instead, Joko dares to narrate his film from one side we often overlook in our cinema-going experience: a film roll carrier.

We may cheer for the refreshing take on how rare the blue collar story being brought up to be the center of attention in a world often associated with glitz and glamour, yet the question that prevails is whether the presence of the film roll carrier has its own distinction to make this film different from any other films.

There can be no definite answer for the query as we follow the film and immediately be charmed by some strong premise of eye catching opening scenes and a few comical early scenes. The story then follows the adventure of Joni (played by the surprisingly beefy Nicholas Saputra), who works as the film roll carrier and on one eventful day, his bag containing the film roll is stolen. Strange and illogical as it may seem, this is the playful time of Joko in disobeying the rule of chronological order of time, instead filling the screen with larger-than-life experiences of Joni in meeting up with some distinguishable characters who often pose threats to steal the spotlight from the main character, Joni, himself.

But really, who cares?

Nicholas, who seems to be at ease playing the title role here, looks enjoying a good time to be surrounded by great number of more talented cast. If those actors have to be reduced to be having mediocre presence, then this has got to be something worth sacrificing in order to keep up the light atmosphere of the film. Particularly Rachel Maryam, one of the better actors in Indonesian film scene who is not given a chance to develop her character to be either likeable or be a villain. Instead, her presence suggests that this film has many disposable statures that provided being removed, the film would still go on well.

All in all, the key to enjoy the film is to set aside the deafening soundtrack (something that Joko still needs to work on more), and to furthest extent, save the cynicism of endless debate on how an Indonesian film should be, Joko gives us something worth noting:

When was the last time we had a good, genuine laugh in cinema watching a film made in Indonesia by Indonesians?

When something considered as ‘unusual’ is brought up, and that ‘unusuality’ strikes our attention, we may forget the flaws it may bring.

I can’t help comparing the film above to this particular documentary film called Capturing the Friedmans, although upon first impression, you may ask:

“How can you compare a gay-themed drama to a raw documentary on pedophilia?”

Without any doubt the two films differ greatly from one another in terms of content, but if we look carefully towards the latter, we will see how the documentary has been unbelievably polished and carefully staged to soften otherwise disturbing theme on one particular sexual behavior. There is no a clear stand on the film maker’s point of view which may prompt the audience to be sided with certain perspective, the disturbing theme is presented as a matter-of-fact manner, with a little touch-up on dramatic movements.

Such a fashion also propels Arisan to stardom of popularity among its niche market, and now, the similar path is also followed by Summer Storm.

Definitely made to please its own intended audience, the film relies heavily on visual presence of its actors who manage to force us in our seat until the credit rolls out. Apart from that, the story of coming-out-as-gay-trapped-in-a-straight-man-world slids nicely like a taste of lollipop melting in our mouth, without leaving any impression or remembrance.

Yet, like the sweet lollipop who enthralls us with its eye-catching colorful wrap, so does the film in turning itself into one predictable set-up. A guy falls in love with his fellow teammate who wants to embark on a sexual encounter with his girlfriend, and the whole journey of sexual discovery seems to be disposable at any given time by the gorgeous parade of good looking Caucasian actors basking under the sun during the summer season.

And when the summer ends, characters have transformed themselves to be more contented individuals, the life-changing problems are left behind easily as mere dust in the wind, we finish watching one watchable film, we can only wonder:

an ordinary theme presented differently, or an unusual story brought up plainly?

What a waste to the latter.

The question is:
How not to fall in love with this film?

From its spellbinding story that solely focuses on the subject of romance itself, we are taken to the world of Hiroshima in 1950s, fresh from its still-open wound due to the unapologetic bombing.
Such a captivating backdrop would deem unthinkable by any conventional norms of making a regular love story, and in fact, it only suits for the making of documentary on world-peace.

This is when Alain Resnais does his playful duty at its best.

Transforming a work of art that was initially conceived as a documentary and turning it into a fictional narrative drama would be a no easy feat. The gritty look of real life is hard to justify to match the aloof look of drama, yet, as magic as the film itself, the two are juxtaposed nicely so as to give the romance theme a stronger, more harsh look, yet it is still based on the lovelorn story of unrequited relationship.

Subtle and demanding our full attention, the film follows the story of a French actress who embarks on a brief affair with a Japanese architect during filming of her latest film in Hiroshima. Both are happily married with their own spouses, yet as the time draws near for the woman’s flight to return to her native land, the lovebirds have to face that one question clouding over their heads: who’s to stay and who’s to leave?

After the anonymosity of name and time, never before such a simple, one word answer, would be so captivating.

Why do we love this film?

Because “… you have such an abundance desire to love“.

… you won’t be able to enjoy and accept the film wholeheartedly.

Put the mild controversy on historical content aside, Ridley Scott gives us an important lesson: how to make a satisfying epic?

Simply by making the epic as something to enrich the mind, without forgetting to create a crisp cinematography look that will enthrall us to our seats. And by enriching the mind, the epic needs to tackle something as sensitive as religious matters and handle the subject in such a way that it tries to please a wide range of people.

The result will inescapably be something considered as ‘politically-correct’, but for once, in the midst of big-bang epic that dwells on glorifying gory scenes, Kingdom of Heaven leaves us believing, once again, that peace is as sacred as religion itself. An overrated theme as it may be, but peacefulness, according to Scott, goes beyond understandings of religions.

And this is what the film manages to capture.

Yet, perhaps Orlando Bloom‘s blundered performance that fails to carry the film on his shoulder may disrupt the intensity of the film, and we choose to rely on the strong ensemble of supporting cast. Set aside this unfortunate fact, then Scott’s bait for Oscar next year may be considered as one of his under-appreciated works, following the trail of Matchstick Men and others.

For once, being polite seems to be a distance in the increasingly brainless crowd.

fatigue.
tired.
exhausted.
bloated, in a certain way.

some common symptoms occur when a journey has been completed, and if it is film-related, then there’ll be no better cure than basking ourselves in watching any films which are not part of a film festival.

as much as rejuvenation is needed, i cannot help noting that there are quite a number of ‘smaller’ scale film-festivals around at the moment, exactly entailing siffest.
i know that getting a slot time for exhibiting films under an umbrella of a film festival is quite a challenging task here in singapore, for the insufficient number of cinema screens available to accomodate such events.
but then, dear organizers, if you really wanted your intended niche-market audience to attend the festivals, then give us a little time to catch our breath. it doesn’t take long to settle ourselves, a mere week or two will do.

and isn’t it time to indulge in summer blockbusters?

coming soon! meanwhile, i settled myself with the following selections below, which may not be a total redemption of self-fulfillment, instead, some of them turn out to be a burder. let’s see …

on tentang dia:

i can’t believe that my intelligence was insulted. enough said.

on the interpreter:

if it’s meant to be an old-fashioned, mild hollywood political thriller, then it serves its purpose well. although to achieve that particular intention, sydney pollack certainly wasted a lot of resources, particularly the set itself.

on forgotten silver (from new zealand film festival):

i wish i had not known earlier about the surprise of the film! peter jackson is one lunatic film-maker who always has fun in making all of his films.

on two cars, one night (from new zealand film festival):

the almost-impossibly gorgeous black-and-white cinematography done in quick-cut editing does the film’s Academy Award nomination more than a justice. its 11-minute duration seems to short for, ahem, a short film worth repeated viewings.

on in my father’s den (from new zealand film festival):

what started as seemingly a promo-material for ‘visit new zealand campaign’ or the likes of it, thanks to the country’s breathtaking scenery perfectly captured in the film, turned out to be a powerful drama with smart plot twists that makes the audience glued to the seat until the credit ends.
a nuanced film with a right dose of emotional punches shown in the actors’ performances, the film carried us deeper into examining a family’s life that leaves us thinking, this is not just another dsyfunctional families as shown in any other films.

the only one that is worth watching for the past week.

(Siffest will definitely return for its 19th year, and beyond!)

And with Tropical Malady, I heartily close another chapter of the annual film-fest pilgrimage.

Surely I wish for a bang to end my journey with, not with a bewilderment and puzzlement over watching a gay-themed flick turning into a fable where real animals do talk like human beings (and couldn’t stop thinking how one part of the film is actually going to be a waste).

But then, not every journey is a fulfilling one, or a displeasant one.

It is best to think that once a journey is completed, then we feel rich with another added experience, and like it or not, some knowledge.

Over films.
Over life.
Over people.

And over the fact that …

I just need to go abroad this time to properly enjoy a film festival!

😉

(Siffest, when it comes towards its end, pretty much has nothing left to offer. Good ones are shown in the beginning, so unless you’ve got yourself a ticket to watch the Closing Film, it’s very seldom the joy will spark in the last 2-3 days.)

But worry not, the socializing process still continues.

I once wrote here on how Shaw Towers building comes to live during the Film Fest, resulting in a good business for the shops and stalls scattered around there.
When it comes to food stalls, of course this translates to getting hard time finding a seat to have our meals, for most of them are taken by festival-goers who decide to grab a bite before or after screenings.

Such a thing really tested our patience, until we manage to get a seat, be seated and begin talking to a stranger sitting in front of you whom you can be assured that she has her meal there because she’s about to catch a screening.

We don’t even have to mention our names, occupation or other silly and unnecessary details for what bonds us together is the same passion towards basking ourselves in a festive glory.
Raving and cursing about the same object of affection has never been fruitful, if you do it with other people who share this same liking.

But then, I do not have anyone to share my disappointment towards Bow Barracks Forever, an ambitious project that works like a mediocre public-service announcement.

Dwelling on the story about diminishing traces of Anglo-Indian heritage in Calcutta, the film revolves around the stories of supposedly several different characters leading different kinds of lives.
Why only ‘supposedly’?
Because what we see is the same harsh life that do not unite the characters, but distract them to be on their own … film?!
That’s more like it.

Surely Anjay Dutt has put an effort in executing the story, turning it into a film, directing or composing the ensemble cast, but does it show enough heart? Hardly. The film only manages to scratch the surface of a deep topic on minority lives, distancing us from getting to the core of the problem. It may only be noted as being different from other typical Bollywood films, but then, we’ve seen quite a number of that in the annual Indian Film Festival.

The barracks may be something worth fighting for, but not on films.