Two Figures by a Piano by Aldrin Calimlim The Piano (1993) D: Jane Campion S: Holly Hunter, Harvey Keitel, Sam Neill, Anna Paquin In my review of Jane Campion’s 2009 film, Bright Star, I commended the renowned director for her attention to detail, which was so astute as to remind me of Joe Wright’s demonstration of his own in 2007’s Atonement. Bright Star was the first film of Campion’s that I saw, impressing me with her peerless sensibilities, with her visual and aural lyricism that is by turns wistful and rhapsodic. Unbeknownst to me, a good many of the filmmaking flourishes and strokes that Campion employed in the movie had long been established, by way of her Academy- and Cannes-feted 1993 film, The Piano. In The Piano, Holly Hunter plays a mute pianist, Anna Paquin plays her daughter, Sam Neill plays her new husband, and Harvey Keitel plays her downfall as well as her release. The Piano is a rare film in that any attempt at a plot synopsis can be made just as easily as for any other film but will prove futile as soon as it’s done. For of what use is a summary if in its brevity it contains none of the emotions, the introspections, the nuances, and the peculiarities that are essential rather than accidental to the film’s being? Then again, will there ever be a device other than the film itself that can contain them? I am aware that the idea of uniqueness has no levels, that one thing cannot be more unique than another, that if it were, it would affirm the other’s own uniqueness and, as a result, both would cease to be unique. I am aware of this, but I shall say to the contrary, regardless of Messrs. Strunk and White’s advice, in sincere appreciation of Campion’s magnum opus: The Piano is the most unique work of art I’ve ever seen, felt, or heard. While Bright Star reminded me of Atonement the film, The Piano evoked memories of Atonement the novel, in which author Ian McEwan expounds on the aspirations of one of his characters, a writer:  “It was thought, perception, sensations that interested her, the conscious mind as a river through time, and how to represent its onward roll, as well as all the tributaries that would swell it, and the obstacles that would divert it. If only she could reproduce the clear light of a summer’s morning, the sensations of a child standing at a window, the curve and dip of a swallow’s flight over a pool of water.” McEwan, beyond the boundaries of his novel, could very well have been referring to Campion the filmmaker, the only difference being the realization of the “if only,” through her flair for zooming in on thoughts and out of actions, and for visualizing the dichotomy between silence and sound.    Concluding the passage, McEwan opines,  “To enter a mind and show it at work, or being worked on, and to do this within a symmetrical design—this would be an artistic triumph.” Precisely what Campion did with The Piano.

Two Figures by a Piano
by Aldrin Calimlim

The Piano (1993)
D: Jane Campion
S: Holly Hunter, Harvey Keitel, Sam Neill, Anna Paquin

In my review of Jane Campion’s 2009 film, Bright Star, I commended the renowned director for her attention to detail, which was so astute as to remind me of Joe Wright’s demonstration of his own in 2007’s Atonement. Bright Star was the first film of Campion’s that I saw, impressing me with her peerless sensibilities, with her visual and aural lyricism that is by turns wistful and rhapsodic. Unbeknownst to me, a good many of the filmmaking flourishes and strokes that Campion employed in the movie had long been established, by way of her Academy- and Cannes-feted 1993 film, The Piano.

In The Piano, Holly Hunter plays a mute pianist, Anna Paquin plays her daughter, Sam Neill plays her new husband, and Harvey Keitel plays her downfall as well as her release. The Piano is a rare film in that any attempt at a plot synopsis can be made just as easily as for any other film but will prove futile as soon as it’s done. For of what use is a summary if in its brevity it contains none of the emotions, the introspections, the nuances, and the peculiarities that are essential rather than accidental to the film’s being? Then again, will there ever be a device other than the film itself that can contain them?

I am aware that the idea of uniqueness has no levels, that one thing cannot be more unique than another, that if it were, it would affirm the other’s own uniqueness and, as a result, both would cease to be unique. I am aware of this, but I shall say to the contrary, regardless of Messrs. Strunk and White’s advice, in sincere appreciation of Campion’s magnum opus: The Piano is the most unique work of art I’ve ever seen, felt, or heard.

While Bright Star reminded me of Atonement the film, The Piano evoked memories of Atonement the novel, in which author Ian McEwan expounds on the aspirations of one of his characters, a writer: 

“It was thought, perception, sensations that interested her, the conscious mind as a river through time, and how to represent its onward roll, as well as all the tributaries that would swell it, and the obstacles that would divert it. If only she could reproduce the clear light of a summer’s morning, the sensations of a child standing at a window, the curve and dip of a swallow’s flight over a pool of water.”

McEwan, beyond the boundaries of his novel, could very well have been referring to Campion the filmmaker, the only difference being the realization of the “if only,” through her flair for zooming in on thoughts and out of actions, and for visualizing the dichotomy between silence and sound.   

Concluding the passage, McEwan opines, 

“To enter a mind and show it at work, or being worked on, and to do this within a symmetrical design—this would be an artistic triumph.”

Precisely what Campion did with The Piano.

15
This isn’t Paris. This is Hell. by Carina Santos 2 Days in Paris (2007) D: Julie Delpy S: Julie Delpy, Adam Goldberg, Daniel Brühl It is almost impossible to separate the thought of 2 Days in Paris from thoughts of Before Sunrise and Before Sunset. For one thing, they have a few things in common. Here is a brief list: Julie Delpy I told you it was brief. After noting the similarities, those being Julie Delpy, and, tangentially, the entire situation (French woman and American man, in love and in Europe), those two notoriously romantic Richard Linklater films and 2 Days in Paris begin to move away from each other in extreme ways. While it’s probably unfair to review a film by mostly comparing it with similar films, the common ground that these three share, and how they move away from each other, are so stark and so vivid, one can’t possibly ignore how they converge and diverge. Linklater made people fall in love with Before Sunrise/Sunset. Delpy does the opposite. She shows us a sort of jarring, behind-the-scenes look at how messy and complicated and excruciatingly irritating some adult relationships turn out to be. Jack1 and Marion are no Jesse and Celine, and Delpy makes it clear in the first scene, when they disembark from a romantic trip to Venice that turns out to be not quite so. What follows is a series of scenes describing Jack’s neuroses, insecurities, and hang-ups, and Marion’s reconsideration of their relationship. At some point in the film, it begins to feel like a live-action rendition of Murphy’s Law. It’s about time, in this review, to say it: Julie Delpy is a powerhouse. In this context, it is The Ultimate Truth. Scan the film’s Wikipedia page and the sidebar credits pretty much all belong to her: director, producer, writer, narrator, actress, musician, editor. The movie has Delpy’s fingerprints all over and it shows. And, it is welcome. Her quick, comedic banter with Jack is a testament to her infamous “ad-libbing” in the Before movies and it showcases her wit and humor. Her dialogue is intelligent, without the pretentiousness, and holds a sophisticated humor. Her characters are fleshed out, especially the leads, Jack and Marion, both of whom come with believable baggage of their own. The situation that Delpy sets up is not exactly ideal or even pleasant, but it’s real. 2 Days in Paris is definitely not the perfect movie—the mostly lukewarm reviews can attest to that—but it’s original, and fresh and to a certain extent, speaks and reaches out to the viewers in a very real, tangible sense. The way Marion talks about love and loneliness, leading up to the ending, is very true and very relevant to how modern-day love stories have evolved in the 21st century. Delpy has a voice and a vision, a little foreign from the films with which she is most associated, and she uses 2 Days in Paris as the vehicle to deliver them. This film is wrought with so much Julie Delpy2 that it can’t help but do just that. In any case, the world is definitely listening to her. ———1Jack is played by Adam Goldberg, in perfect precision. It’s almost too perfect a performance, it scares me a little bit, but I’m too distracted by how good he plays the part that I’m tricked into a mode that falls under ‘not-really-caring.’2My friend Marvin and I talked about this film, and he said that what he liked about it was how real it was. Incidentally, he also likes to classify movies as “feminine movies” and “masculine movies,” which he claims is an idea that comes from a Neil Gaiman essay, which I have, incidentally, found here. Anyway, Marvin says that 2 Days in Paris is definitely feminine.

This isn’t Paris. This is Hell.
by Carina Santos

2 Days in Paris (2007)
D: Julie Delpy
S: Julie Delpy, Adam Goldberg, Daniel Brühl

It is almost impossible to separate the thought of 2 Days in Paris from thoughts of Before Sunrise and Before Sunset. For one thing, they have a few things in common. Here is a brief list:

  • Julie Delpy

I told you it was brief.

After noting the similarities, those being Julie Delpy, and, tangentially, the entire situation (French woman and American man, in love and in Europe), those two notoriously romantic Richard Linklater films and 2 Days in Paris begin to move away from each other in extreme ways. While it’s probably unfair to review a film by mostly comparing it with similar films, the common ground that these three share, and how they move away from each other, are so stark and so vivid, one can’t possibly ignore how they converge and diverge.

Linklater made people fall in love with Before Sunrise/Sunset. Delpy does the opposite. She shows us a sort of jarring, behind-the-scenes look at how messy and complicated and excruciatingly irritating some adult relationships turn out to be. Jack1 and Marion are no Jesse and Celine, and Delpy makes it clear in the first scene, when they disembark from a romantic trip to Venice that turns out to be not quite so. What follows is a series of scenes describing Jack’s neuroses, insecurities, and hang-ups, and Marion’s reconsideration of their relationship. At some point in the film, it begins to feel like a live-action rendition of Murphy’s Law.

It’s about time, in this review, to say it: Julie Delpy is a powerhouse. In this context, it is The Ultimate Truth. Scan the film’s Wikipedia page and the sidebar credits pretty much all belong to her: director, producer, writer, narrator, actress, musician, editor. The movie has Delpy’s fingerprints all over and it shows. And, it is welcome.

Her quick, comedic banter with Jack is a testament to her infamous “ad-libbing” in the Before movies and it showcases her wit and humor. Her dialogue is intelligent, without the pretentiousness, and holds a sophisticated humor. Her characters are fleshed out, especially the leads, Jack and Marion, both of whom come with believable baggage of their own. The situation that Delpy sets up is not exactly ideal or even pleasant, but it’s real. 2 Days in Paris is definitely not the perfect movie—the mostly lukewarm reviews can attest to that—but it’s original, and fresh and to a certain extent, speaks and reaches out to the viewers in a very real, tangible sense. The way Marion talks about love and loneliness, leading up to the ending, is very true and very relevant to how modern-day love stories have evolved in the 21st century.

Delpy has a voice and a vision, a little foreign from the films with which she is most associated, and she uses 2 Days in Paris as the vehicle to deliver them. This film is wrought with so much Julie Delpy2 that it can’t help but do just that. In any case, the world is definitely listening to her.


———
1Jack is played by Adam Goldberg, in perfect precision. It’s almost too perfect a performance, it scares me a little bit, but I’m too distracted by how good he plays the part that I’m tricked into a mode that falls under ‘not-really-caring.’
2My friend Marvin and I talked about this film, and he said that what he liked about it was how real it was. Incidentally, he also likes to classify movies as “feminine movies” and “masculine movies,” which he claims is an idea that comes from a Neil Gaiman essay, which I have, incidentally, found here. Anyway, Marvin says that 2 Days in Paris is definitely feminine.

29
The Talented Miss Paley by Aldrin Calimlim Sita Sings the Blues (2009) D: Nina Paley S: Annette Hanshaw, Reena Shah, Debargo Sanyal American filmmaker Nina Paley is enjoying a happy life with her husband when Reality suddenly pays them a visit and comes knock-knock-knockin’ on the door of their San Francisco apartment, offering the latter a job in India. He accepts with little hesitation and leaves his wife behind, both of them believing he’ll be back home in no time. Several months later, she receives an e-mail. “It’s over,” he says. Desperate and lonely, she cries. But only for a while. A woman of dignity, she later musters enough courage to confront Reality and say, “Fuck. I’m better than this. I should be moving on with my life. Now why don’t I just seek consolation in reading about a similarly fated character named Sita in an ancient Indian epic called the Ramayana, then making a semi-autobiographical, multi-styled, and largely anachronistic but otherwise intelligent animated musical film based on her episode? And why don’t I throw in 1920s jazz icon Annette Hanshaw as her singing voice for good measure, since a bunch of her songs happen to fit into scenes from Sita’s story quite perfectly? Oh, never mind that I don’t have the money to pay for the licenses to use her songs. I’ll figure something out. I know I will. As a filmmaker of protean prowess, I believe I can do this. Now where did I put that stupid Wacom pen?” Written, directed, produced, animated, designed, edited, and “everything else, unless otherwise specified,” by Paley, the resultant film, Sita Sings the Blues, is no less than a profound testament to the artistic, intellectual, and emotional capacity of a singular woman, whose journey of escape from passivity towards self-affirmation was made possible by a beautiful Indian princess and her equally beautiful borrowed voice that sings of one of the few important things we ought to realize but seldom do: a woman’s worth. It is also, in a sense, an intimation, reminding us that hell still hath no fury like a woman scorned and that revenge is a dish best served with vector graphics, shadow puppets, brush paintings, squiggly lines, and all that jazz. — Sita Sings the Blues is an audience-funded film licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 United States License. You can watch or download it here for free.

The Talented Miss Paley
by Aldrin Calimlim

Sita Sings the Blues (2009)
D: Nina Paley
S: Annette Hanshaw, Reena Shah, Debargo Sanyal

American filmmaker Nina Paley is enjoying a happy life with her husband when Reality suddenly pays them a visit and comes knock-knock-knockin’ on the door of their San Francisco apartment, offering the latter a job in India. He accepts with little hesitation and leaves his wife behind, both of them believing he’ll be back home in no time. Several months later, she receives an e-mail. “It’s over,” he says. Desperate and lonely, she cries. But only for a while.

A woman of dignity, she later musters enough courage to confront Reality and say, “Fuck. I’m better than this. I should be moving on with my life. Now why don’t I just seek consolation in reading about a similarly fated character named Sita in an ancient Indian epic called the Ramayana, then making a semi-autobiographical, multi-styled, and largely anachronistic but otherwise intelligent animated musical film based on her episode? And why don’t I throw in 1920s jazz icon Annette Hanshaw as her singing voice for good measure, since a bunch of her songs happen to fit into scenes from Sita’s story quite perfectly? Oh, never mind that I don’t have the money to pay for the licenses to use her songs. I’ll figure something out. I know I will. As a filmmaker of protean prowess, I believe I can do this. Now where did I put that stupid Wacom pen?”

Written, directed, produced, animated, designed, edited, and “everything else, unless otherwise specified,” by Paley, the resultant film, Sita Sings the Blues, is no less than a profound testament to the artistic, intellectual, and emotional capacity of a singular woman, whose journey of escape from passivity towards self-affirmation was made possible by a beautiful Indian princess and her equally beautiful borrowed voice that sings of one of the few important things we ought to realize but seldom do: a woman’s worth. It is also, in a sense, an intimation, reminding us that hell still hath no fury like a woman scorned and that revenge is a dish best served with vector graphics, shadow puppets, brush paintings, squiggly lines, and all that jazz.

—
Sita Sings the Blues is an audience-funded film licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 United States License. You can watch or download it here for free.

10
We’re Gonna Party Like It’s 1999 by Francis Cabal Strange Days (1995) D: Kathryn Bigelow S: Ralph Fiennes, Angela Bassett, Juliette Lewis, Tom Sizemore What do you remember most about the 90s? Me, I remember the paranoia especially in the latter part of the 90s what with all the hoopla surrounding the “Y2K Bug.” Of course, it was all just speculation. The clock struck twelve, and nothing happened. Strange Days is a sci-fi film made by Kathryn Bigelow in 1995 and is set in a fictional, cyberpunk LA circa 1999. A world where people believe that the world is indeed going to end, a world where LA is a police state, where hip-hop stars are activists, and where people get off on the memories of others. A world not unlike our own, except for the “people getting off on the memories of others” part. Lenny Nero is an ex-cop and now a peddler of these “memories,” events recorded on diskette form and sold to the highest bidder. Think of them as privatized YouTube clips, experiences sold to the odd businessman who wants to experience the thrill of being chased by the cops or to the cripple who wants to experience the sensation of running on the beach again. Business is going great, except one of his friends gets in trouble with the cops. Of course, Lenny gets involved, and that’s where the trouble starts. His friend turns up dead, and Lenny is given the tape showing how she was murdered. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Political intrigue, double crosses, femme fatales, this is film noir in cyberpunk clothing. The screenplay by Bigelow and her then-husband James Cameron is pretty tight. While the twist can be seen from a mile away, the depiction of the characters and the story itself keeps you entertained the whole time. This film is a bit more slick and polished compared to Near Dark, and proves that by this time, Kathryn Bigelow was already coming into her own as a brilliant director. Ralph Fiennes does a good job playing Lenny Nero, a very unlikely hero. He’s a con man, sweet-talker, and a glorified drug dealer who always needs his friend Mace (played by Angela “How Stella Got Her Groove Back” Basset) to bail him out of tough situations. He’s surrounded by an all-star supporting cast that includes Juliette Lewis as the singer/femme fatale Faith, Tom Sizemore as his best friend Max, and Vincent D’Onofrio and William Fichtner as two cops in the middle of a political conspiracy involving Jeriko One (think of him as a mix between 2pac Shakur, Martin Luther King, and Rodney King).  Many people tend to forget that even before Kathryn Bigelow won awards for her work in The Hurt Locker she was already considered one of the most brilliant genre filmmakers of our time. And for those who are curious about Bigelow’s foray into genre films, Point Break, Near Dark, and Strange Days are perfect places to start.  

We’re Gonna Party Like It’s 1999 
by Francis Cabal

Strange Days (1995)
D: Kathryn Bigelow
S: Ralph Fiennes, Angela Bassett, Juliette Lewis, Tom Sizemore

What do you remember most about the 90s? Me, I remember the paranoia especially in the latter part of the 90s what with all the hoopla surrounding the “Y2K Bug.” Of course, it was all just speculation. The clock struck twelve, and nothing happened.

Strange Days is a sci-fi film made by Kathryn Bigelow in 1995 and is set in a fictional, cyberpunk LA circa 1999. A world where people believe that the world is indeed going to end, a world where LA is a police state, where hip-hop stars are activists, and where people get off on the memories of others. A world not unlike our own, except for the “people getting off on the memories of others” part.

Lenny Nero is an ex-cop and now a peddler of these “memories,” events recorded on diskette form and sold to the highest bidder. Think of them as privatized YouTube clips, experiences sold to the odd businessman who wants to experience the thrill of being chased by the cops or to the cripple who wants to experience the sensation of running on the beach again. Business is going great, except one of his friends gets in trouble with the cops. Of course, Lenny gets involved, and that’s where the trouble starts. His friend turns up dead, and Lenny is given the tape showing how she was murdered. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Political intrigue, double crosses, femme fatales, this is film noir in cyberpunk clothing.

The screenplay by Bigelow and her then-husband James Cameron is pretty tight. While the twist can be seen from a mile away, the depiction of the characters and the story itself keeps you entertained the whole time. This film is a bit more slick and polished compared to Near Dark, and proves that by this time, Kathryn Bigelow was already coming into her own as a brilliant director.

Ralph Fiennes does a good job playing Lenny Nero, a very unlikely hero. He’s a con man, sweet-talker, and a glorified drug dealer who always needs his friend Mace (played by Angela “How Stella Got Her Groove Back” Basset) to bail him out of tough situations. He’s surrounded by an all-star supporting cast that includes Juliette Lewis as the singer/femme fatale Faith, Tom Sizemore as his best friend Max, and Vincent D’Onofrio and William Fichtner as two cops in the middle of a political conspiracy involving Jeriko One (think of him as a mix between 2pac Shakur, Martin Luther King, and Rodney King). 

Many people tend to forget that even before Kathryn Bigelow won awards for her work in The Hurt Locker she was already considered one of the most brilliant genre filmmakers of our time. And for those who are curious about Bigelow’s foray into genre films, Point Break, Near Dark, and Strange Days are perfect places to start.  

6
Baby, You’re So Tight by Shinji Manlangit Masikip Sa Dibdib: Ang Tunay na Buhay ni Boobita Rose (Tight in the Chest: The True Story of Boobita Rose), 2004  D. Joyce Bernal S. Rufa Mae Quinto, Gina Pareno, John Lapuz (and a shitload of showbiz celebrities) Since it’s Women’s Month here at Pelikula Tumblr, and it’s my return from a long-ass hiatus, I’m going to keep my promise and talk more about boobs. Masikip sa Dibdib: Ang Tunay na Buhay ni Boobita Rose is the third in Joyce Bernal’s Booba Trilogy, and while it’s not as sexy as 2001’s Booba nor as special effects-ridden as 2002’s Super B it certainly is the biggest boob in the bunch (pun intended). Boobita Rose (Rufa Mae Quinto) is a working girl who’s trying to take care of her crazy family. How crazy? Well, his older brother Bogs is a crack addict and is keen on cracking every single Viva Hot Babe’s ass, her mother Lupe (Gina Pareno) doesn’t work and has a boyfriend 20 years her junior, her sister Brigitte (Sunshine Dizon) is an alcoholic lesbian, and her grandfather (Tita Swarding) is a chronic smoker. Boobita only relies on his little brother Boogie (Phythos Kyriacou) for decent talks and advices. The film is just about Boobita’s hardships and struggles with the usual song-and-dance number. At best, Masikip sa Dibdib can be described as a noontime show and a soap opera mash-up. A number of Viva Records talents appear during Boobita’s hardest moments (that’s what she said) which at first seems weird but ends up as totally hilarious moments—especially when you’re stoned. Bernal sticks with her usual non sequitur quips and outrageous turn of events—the ending itself is mindfuckery at its best (along with the longest freeze frame in Philippine cinema). Although the laughter comes in bits and pieces (Boobita’s family nosebleeds every time they hear someone speaking in English, John Lapuz and Gina Pareno in a drug sequence, Ely Buendia joins four different female singers singing four different songs) as a whole it’s the weirdest comedy ever. It was mostly panned by local critics and didn’t earn as well as the previous Booba films but Masikip sa Dibdib is a definite cult classic that everyone should see—especially when they’re stoned.

Baby, You’re So Tight
by Shinji Manlangit

Masikip Sa Dibdib: Ang Tunay na Buhay ni Boobita Rose (Tight in the Chest: The True Story of Boobita Rose), 2004 
D. Joyce Bernal
S. Rufa Mae Quinto, Gina Pareno, John Lapuz (and a shitload of showbiz celebrities)

Since it’s Women’s Month here at Pelikula Tumblr, and it’s my return from a long-ass hiatus, I’m going to keep my promise and talk more about boobs. Masikip sa Dibdib: Ang Tunay na Buhay ni Boobita Rose is the third in Joyce Bernal’s Booba Trilogy, and while it’s not as sexy as 2001’s Booba nor as special effects-ridden as 2002’s Super B it certainly is the biggest boob in the bunch (pun intended).

Boobita Rose (Rufa Mae Quinto) is a working girl who’s trying to take care of her crazy family. How crazy? Well, his older brother Bogs is a crack addict and is keen on cracking every single Viva Hot Babe’s ass, her mother Lupe (Gina Pareno) doesn’t work and has a boyfriend 20 years her junior, her sister Brigitte (Sunshine Dizon) is an alcoholic lesbian, and her grandfather (Tita Swarding) is a chronic smoker. Boobita only relies on his little brother Boogie (Phythos Kyriacou) for decent talks and advices.

The film is just about Boobita’s hardships and struggles with the usual song-and-dance number. At best, Masikip sa Dibdib can be described as a noontime show and a soap opera mash-up. A number of Viva Records talents appear during Boobita’s hardest moments (that’s what she said) which at first seems weird but ends up as totally hilarious moments—especially when you’re stoned.

Bernal sticks with her usual non sequitur quips and outrageous turn of events—the ending itself is mindfuckery at its best (along with the longest freeze frame in Philippine cinema). Although the laughter comes in bits and pieces (Boobita’s family nosebleeds every time they hear someone speaking in English, John Lapuz and Gina Pareno in a drug sequence, Ely Buendia joins four different female singers singing four different songs) as a whole it’s the weirdest comedy ever. It was mostly panned by local critics and didn’t earn as well as the previous Booba films but Masikip sa Dibdib is a definite cult classic that everyone should see—especially when they’re stoned.

102

© 2009-2010 Pelikula Tumblr · Powered by Tumblr, Inc. · Theme by Kenna Marcelo