On beauty

 

Francois (Deon Lotz) is a middle aged Afrikaner trapped in middle class domesticity. He runs a timber mill in Bloemfontein and shares a house with his wife and daughter, Anika. His relationships with both women are strained; he sees his daughter as disobedient and rebellious, while his wife is little more than an occasional sparring partner. Her occasional meanderings into throwaway political quips are few and depthless. It could be that Francois’s relationship with the missus is troubled by the possibility of her having an affair, and that he’s not getting along with Anika because she pursues her passions, which is in strong contrast to her father’s forceful stoicism. In this light, it seems as if Francois is the only one who does not get what he wants, and what he wants, is twenty-something Christian (Charlie Keegan).

“Skoonheid” is about the obsessive pursuit of desire as an older man lusts after a younger one. Put differently, “Skoonheid” is about a crisis of desire, of a man so used to the mundane that the younger man’s youthful freedom is so consuming to Francois that it threatens to completely derail him. “Skoonheid” is about looking and waiting; the film’s impressive opening shot in fact establishes the film as Francois’s story because we see what he sees, and sometimes how he sees it as well. The camera pans slowly from right to left and comes to rest on a newly wedded couple receiving words of congratulation from a line of friends and family. Past the happy wedding guests in the background we meet Christian as the camera slowly, patiently zooms in on his face. He is visibly comfortable in his skin and in the situation, where he makes obligatory small talk. His being is far removed from Francois’s, to whom the film cuts once Christian has been established, and it is clear that Francois sees something he desperately wants and cannot have.

Writer-director Oliver Hermanus (“Shirley Adams”) approaches the material with solemnity, knowing that the story should not be rushed, that he is dealing with characters and not plot mechanisms. Often the film is distant and detached, and are we allowed to not only see Christian as Francois sees him, but to also watch Francois watching Christian. In this way, and not through overly manipulative music or dramatic dialogue, are we gradually pulled into the story.

“Skoonheid” is frank about sexuality, and there’s a particularly explicit, brutal scene late in the film. But “Skoonheid” is never indulgent or gratuitous; Hermanus is too sensitive and too intelligent for that. Francois never sees himself as gay; he simply wants to have sex with a man. Because Hermanus knows that style complements character, the sex is not eroticised, but is portrayed simply as fact, as something that must happen.

As a lingering character drama brave enough to tackle notions of repression in a traditional Afrikaner milieu in graphic detail, “Skoonheid” emerges as a mature, challenging drama. For most of its running time, I could see exactly why the film has been surrounded by so much positive buzz since its much publicised premiere at Cannes earlier this year. But then it ends, and it is here that the film lets the viewer down. Throughout, the film relies on a variety of ambiguities – of character, of situation – to add nuance to the story. The film doesn’t pander to its audience.

I understand the purpose and function of ambiguity, and I’m all for open-ended narratives. But after what “Skoonheid” shows us, I couldn’t help but feel that we – and Francois, and Christian – deserve more than what Hermanus leaves us with. I’m not asking for anything sensational or even concrete, just an ending that is as visually and thematically powerful as its opening scene. I was reminded of the ending to “Y Tu Mama Tambien”, where a brief café encounter set the characters straight without over explaining anything. And for all its flaws, “Brokeback Mountain” had an unforgettable final shot that quietly emphasised the tragedy of the story. “Skoonheid” lacks a similar final visual or thematic punch.

This should not deter one from seeing the film. Though it won’t have the box-office take of a “Liefling” or “Jakhalsdans”, it is “Skoonheid” that will remain far longer in the mind.

South African horror has blood, no brains

Justin Head’s South African horror “Night Drive” is a pathetic feature film, a gory and insulting attempt at tension and suspense where capable actors do their best to take the screenplay seriously. In this, they are more successful than we are. Christopher Beasley, Corine du Toit, Greg Melvill-Smith and Brandon Auret star, and while we pretend not to notice that half the South African soapie circuit is in the film (hey, it’s Robert Whitehead!), we cannot miss, or forgive, the ineptitude of the writing. The awfulness of the screenplay is “Night Drive’s” downfall, since the film is technically quite polished even if the camera is sometimes too self-consciously jerky. 

In “Night Drive”, a handful of tourists – the elderly British couple; the yuppie Black couple; the struggling mismatched couple – are taken on a night drive in a South African game reserve. Some poachers have been using the reserve as a hunting ground over the past weeks, and not just because they hunt animals… they hunt humans too, to use their organs in muti (black magic). And muti is stronger when the organs are taken from the victim while he or she is still alive. Muti is a shocking reality in some of the northern provinces of South Africa especially, but the film simply uses it to form part of its genre exercise. The key figure behind these poachers-hunters is the mystical Hyena Man, who feeds human remains to his hyena kin at the start of the film. (Later, the Hyena Man will hear the hyenas calling in the wild, and refer to them as his children – have the filmmakers really not seen at least one version of “Dracula”? If they have, and this is a reference to Stoker’s creation, it is one of the film’s worst moments.)

I am going to discuss the film in more detail now. If you plan on seeing “Night Drive”, stop reading now and ask yourself if you really have the time and will to subject yourself to it. It really is a terrible film.

Spoilers follow.

Cliched and devoid of solid characters, “Night Drive” invites the viewer to take out a horror genre checklist to see how many un-surprising twists the film gives you (not many, and the major revelation is not much of a revelation at all) and also to play the “who dies next?” game. After decades of horror, who would’ve thought that in a South African horror film, the black person still dies first? In fact, it is firstly the black female who has her breast and arm cut off; secondly, seconds later, her black boyfriend has his genitals removed. And what about the elderly couple – do they make it? No. They are built into the story only for some demographic purpose, I guess, before being dispatched of without ceremony. What about handsome and tortured hero Sean (Beasley) and the equally tortured Karen (Du Toit) – do they make it? And is there a bit of a spark between them?

Tortured Sean’s trauma originates from an earlier incident where, in pursuit of a criminal, he shot and killed not only said thug but also a female civilian. The movie revisits this moment a few times. The film is lame enough to, predictably, recreate this moment at the end, when the Hyena Man grabs Karen and threatens to cut her throat, telling Sean to put the gun down. You don’t need me to tell you that Sean does not put the gun down and manages to save Karen. Please note that before Sean comes face to face with the Hyena Man in this final confrontation, he finds his father’s (Greg Melvill-Smith) corpse. He puts his gun down and instead picks up a panga with which to face the poachers who are armed to the teeth with knives, pangas and automatic weapons. Clearly this does not make sense, and to add insult to injury, Sean’s surname… is Darwin.

The film’s other great problem is an ideological one: it detests its female characters, killing almost every single one of them with the exception of Karen, who has apparently survived a previous rape prior to the film’s events only to endure further extreme victimisation and, possibly, a future with an equally psychologically scarred Sean.

Such are the problems that plague the film, including some horrible dialogue:
Karen: “Fuck you!”
Potential poacher and rapist: “Fuck me? No, fuck you!”

There’s even a retread of the classic “there are things worse than death” line, and – oh, come on, they make it too easy.

Conversations with God

How is that I know precisely what “The Tree of Life” is about, yet I cannot bring myself to explain it? I am not simply talking about the plot of the film, but about the thematic density the material presents. That is the wonder of Terrence Malick’s latest film: it covers the broad, the deep, the archetypal and the collective while exploring the intricacies of family life. That a film like “The Tree of Life” gets made at all in a time where marketing often determines a film’s fate and tired romances and adventures clutter the screen, is a miracle. That the film is as momentous as it is, another.

I had reason to doubt Malick. He returned to filmmaking after a long absence with the brilliant “The Thin Red Line” (1998), followed by the self-indulgent huffing and puffing of “The New World” (2002). Then there’s the matter of loaded expectations: “Tree” won the Palm d’Or earlier this year at Cannes, and after all, this is the legendary and reclusive auteur Malick we’re talking about. In the United States, where many patrons walked out of “Tree of Life” frustrated and annoyed (not necessarily waiting for it to finish), some theatre chains put up signs explaining that not all movies are the same.

Then the film happened to me, and surely Malick is a gift to the world.

He is a poet, philosopher, theologian, and one of the best filmmakers around. The film is breath-taking and visionary. “Tree of Life” is the organic successor to “Line”, taking its exploration of consciousness and one’s awareness of oneself in the world to dizzying heights that invoke the personal and the epic. It guides you to revisit and reconsider your life as Malick’s images of being lay a framework not only of his own inward living, but of the possibilities of such living for oneself. The film stars Brad Pitt and Jessica Chastain as the parents of three young boys; she is a caring mother, while he is often hard on his sons, sometimes seeming to want an audience and not so much a family. Sean Penn, whose face gets more expressive with each film he does, co-stars as a pivotal character that has almost no dialogue. All the actors are superb, with the child actors deserving a special mention.

Do not be tempted to reduce this film to a family drama. Malick here revisits his own childhood, conflicts and challenges, but it is far removed from the kind of needy “emotional exorcism” that filmmakers often commit. Malick is both too intelligent and too sensitive and intuitive for that, and the story he tells is visually, thematically and spiritually complex without calling attention to itself. I am always amazed at how Malick manages to suggest perception and subjectivity in his films, especially this one; how incredible is it that he makes another’s thoughts and feelings seem so much like your own?

Here is a film about creation, fathers, mothers, sons, belief and the threat of succumbing to the world, and it is a masterpiece. How often do I have the opportunity to refer to a film as flawless? So often we are willing to settle for less, for movies that barely get the basics right but can’t be bothered with much of anything else. “Tree of Life” sours the taste of those films, their essential futility, with its perfection. It is one of the best films I have ever seen.

Uxbal's world

 

Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu is an accomplished filmmaker following the international acclaim not only for his debut "Amores Perros" but also his Oscar nominated "Babel". Inarritu is one of a few Mexican filmmakers who have managed to cross over into American film with considerable success, much like surrealist storyteller Guillermo del Toro. Whereas Del Toro uses fantasy, symbols and the supernatural to comment on human concerns – consider the unexpected gravitas of Del Toro’s fairy tale "Pan’s Labyrinth" – Inarritu grounds his characters in worlds that are recognisably real, sometimes overwhelmingly so, as if their walls and weight bear down upon the viewer.

Inarritu’s new film "Biutiful"continues and deepens the filmmaker’s thematic interest in the struggles of communication. Starring Javier Bardem in an Oscar nominated performance, "Biutiful" tells the story of Uxbal, a Barcelonian urbanite who manages to keep his family financially afloat through his various illicit dealings which includes the sale of pirated goods. His wife Marambra (Maricel Alvarez) is bipolar and what is left of their relationship is strained at best; he has a far better relationship with his children Ana (Hanaa Bouchaib) and Mateo (Guillermo Estrella). Uxbal’s brother Tito (Eduard Fernandez) is no saint himself, and is yet another adult with whom Uxbal has a troubled and troubling relationship. Uxbal has a gift, though: he can communicate with the recently departed, the dead whose souls have remained for the time being, and relay messages to their loved ones.

All of the above events and relationships are informed by something that only Uxbal himself and the audience know: Uxbal has terminal cancer, and it is only a matter of time before he dies. It is this thought, this imminent threat of not being there to provide for his children, that informs much of his choices and behaviour, as misguided as some of it might be.

For the first time, Inarritu has made a film that focuses almost exclusively on a single protagonist. Unlike his previous efforts, "Biutiful" unfolds in a linear, chronological manner. While this film might be narratively more accessible since we are aligned with the single main character from the start of the film, "Biutiful" remains challenging in its subject matter: we are, after all, asked to follow a dying man on his last rounds. Although "21 Grams" dealt with death and communication in Inarritu’s typical disjointed, fragmented narrative manner and "Babel" explored the impact of (the possibility of) death on various characters, those films were more forgiving than "Biutiful".

For all its exemplary acting and craftsmanship, this film is a singularly draining experience set in a Spanish underbelly where ostensibly good intentions pave the road to hell, and where the exploitation of others –living and dead – form part of daily life. Corrupt policeman, immigrants, sweat shops, poverty: this is Uxbal’s world, and the film’s representation of this world is rings with authenticity. This environment creates men like Uxbal (about whose personal history the film tells us very little) as much as men like Uxbal maintain that environment. Surely the title of the film plays ironically on the content of the film as well as the manner of presentation, as the film is shot in a gritty manner that often forces us into the character’s personal space through close-ups and medium close-ups. (Admittedly, one scene endows the title with a more sentimental meaning for Uxbal.) Inarritu thus forgoes his usual film structure, often referred to as the hypertext film because of how different characters, themes and scenes link up almost unexpectedly, for more traditional storytelling.

At almost two and a half hours, the result is a relentless journey into personal, familial and societal disintegration. Uxbal’s world is physically cluttered and confined, and the film frame is often crammed with objects and people. One scene can be said to offer a very brief visual respite as a flock of birds fly into the frame while Uxbal is on the phone, walking and talking as he makes his way through the city, and he stares after them. Their freedom, etched against an open sky instead of imposing and intrusive grey architecture, serves to underscore the character’s condition, how little agency he has in the life that has shaped him, and how bound he is to the city that will bury him.