Declaration of War…against whom?

Declaration of War (La Guerre est déclarée, France, 2011)

Directed by Valérie Donzelli

Declaration of War is the story of a young couple facing any parent’s worst nightmare: a very, very sick child.  The film opens in the “present”; there is a young boy of about six or seven with his mother.  The film then reverts to flashbacks, briefly covers the romance of Romeo and Juliette; the ill-fated lovers meet at a party, run around Paris happily, and give birth to Adam.  Adam is slow to walk, quick to vomit, and begins to show a slight facial asymmetry.  For awhile, the film dances around the possibility of Adam’s sickness:  are Romeo and Juliette just worrying too much, as new parents, or is there something wrong with their son?

Eventually we find out that indeed, he is very, very sick.  Hospital visits, meetings with doctors, anxious waiting periods during surgeries and recoveries – the film covers it all.  Adam is eventually moved, more permanently, to a children’s cancer ward and the lives of his parents come to a complete stop – nearly.

But it is not a story of suspense.  The frame story, set up at the beginning of the film, already told us that Adam survives.  There is tension, but not as much as the title of the film might lead one to believe.  Tension arises between Romeo and Juliette, between their extended families and themselves, but is it really a declaration of war?  The parents are somewhat immature but tackle their challenges together and, for the most part, without disagreement; extended family members pipe up every now and then with a difference of opinion but are quickly shut down with Romeo and Juliette’s clear and logical arguments about strategy and survival.  They make military-like statements in this regard, but a declaration of war?  Against whom?  I’m not sure.

The story is a true story; director, writer, and actress Valerie Donzelli and her co-star, Jérémie Elkaïm, experienced this hardship together with their son, Gabriel, who was diagnosed with cancer as an infant. The fact that it is not just a true story, but a reality lived by the creative forces behind the film, make it difficult for me to judge the film.  OK, that’s not true.  I have some problems with the film, but it feels odd to lodge the complaints against the movie knowing how personal it was for the filmmakers.

I feel like a failure of New Criticism in doing so, but perhaps it is the nature of my complaints that causes some discomfort in lodging them.  For instance, I find the film terribly uneven.  The film is not what one might expect judging from the plot.  It is not a simple, sad family drama.  There is a musical number; there are numerous party scenes.  It is very cliche to say this, but it is very French in that way; I don’t think that an American film about a sick child could include some of these scenes.  But even from a more technical standpoint, the film is uneven; the beginning of the film has a very “video game” feel to it, with choppy editing and screeching sounds; this is replaced later in the film with pure melodrama (the scenes where the extended family is informed that Adam has a brain tumor is probably the most out of place) and then more typical, quiet scenes in hospitals and waiting rooms.

I also wonder, too, about the selection of names.  Romeo, Juliette, Adam…such weighty names.  It seems strange to take a personal, true story and then add in Romeo and Juliette; I hate to say “trite”, but truly, why impress literary baggage onto a story that has enough sadness?  Is it merely to include this element of fate?  At one point, Juliette meets an old friend in the street and she tells her that her son has cancer.  ”How did it happen?  What is the explanation?” her friend demands.  ”There is none.” Juliette insists.  ”It just did.”

Declaration of War was the French submission of the Academy Awards this year.  Check out the trailer here: http://www.imdb.com/video/imdb/vi1350409753/

Blood in the Mobile, a Documentary by Michael Moore, I mean, Frank Piasecki Poulsen

Oh, Michael Moore.  When shall the documentary field recover from your influence?  I am very uncomfortable with the kind of guerilla, “director in every frame” documentary style that Michael Moore popularized.  Blood in the Mobile, a documentary by Danish director Frank Piasecki Poulsen, fits this bill exactly.

Blood in the Mobile raises an important issue:  where do the pieces that make up our electronics come from?  Poulsen focuses only on coltan, a metal that goes into our cell phones, iPads, computers, and other electronics.  His film is concerned with cell phones; he goes so far as to call the mobile phone the blood diamond of the 21st century.  Why is that?  Because coltan is mined in the Eastern Congo; it is one of the “conflict minerals” that warlords and militias fight over; that citizens mine in terrible conditions, haul on their backs for miles and miles at risk of being attacked, and are paid almost nothing for.

It’s an important issue to talk about.  But Poulsen’s way of going about broaching the issue is shameful. In typical Michael Moore style, the documentary is all about him.  He frames his investigation as being concerned about “his” cell phone and he goes after only “his” cell phone company, Nokia.  Why Nokia? Nokia is actually one of the good guys as far as social responsibility goes.  But it’s “his” service company, so the film attacks only the Finnish corporation.

And that’s how the film begins.  We begin in the corporate world; Poulsen walks around a Nokia conference demanding answers.  Frustrated with the businessmen and women’s sensible refusal to answer his heated questions spontaneously and on-camera, Poulsen jumps on a plane to the Congo, where he will see what the mines are all about.

This is the most interesting part of the film; however, in a way, it’s the least important.  Poulsen, in true Scandinavian fashion, wastes so much time on bureaucracy.  I can imagine the overwhelming amount of red tape one must deal with in any documentary; does so much of it really need to be on film?  Poulsen hangs out in various parts of the Congro, hitching rides with U.N. officials, being told how dangerous the situation is, and getting drunk with locals to excise information from them in a more comfortable fashion. As he gets closer to the mines, the situation is too dangerous; no one will take him there.  Ensue more bureaucracy.  Finally he rides on a plane that somehow belongs to the mines; it transports the coltan from the mine to the next mysterious location in the supply chain that Poulsen ignores.  I will return to this point later.  I would also like to point out that the pilots are white; this point is skipped over and ignored in the film, but I would have loved to know more about these men implicated in the whole scheme.

Poulsen makes the treacherous hike through the jungle to make it to the mine itself.  There are lots of shots of Poulsen sweating, struggling, and soaking up the spotlight of the camera.  The young boy, an former employee in the mine, who leads back is given very little screen time.  It is all about Poulsen.  He is allowed into the mines, camera and all; we witness the kind of treacherous conditions in which these people work; we see how young the workers are.

This should have been the point of the film:  bearing witness to the horrors of the mines, seeing the “conflict” that these “conflict minerals” create.  But it’s not.  Poulsen is quickly back on a plane to the great white north; there is an hour left of Poulsen dealing with corporate bureaucracy.

Seriously.  For the next hour, Poulsen berates Nokia employees of various degrees of importance on their failure to stop what’s going on in the Congo.  He meets with a couple of NGO members who are fighting to force electronic companies to certify their metals; they want, essentially, a “fair trade” logo to feature on cell phones that do not utilize any conflict minerals.  But most of the hour is just Poulsen yelling at Nokia employees.

It is this kind of aggressive filmmaking that I cannot stand.  I also cannot stand his brand of social activism.  One employee tries to explain to him that Nokia does not deal directly with the mines in the Congo; there is a very long supply chain in between the two.  She also tries to explain that Nokia could not act alone; there must be an industry-wide stance against using conflict minerals.  Poulsen fails to listen to any points made by the corporation.  Instead, he insults them for wanting to make money.  Literally.  After living in Scandinavia for 3 years, I can say that this villification of profits might be a more effective message in that part of the world.  But in the rest of the western world, I don’t think that berating a company for wanting to make money is an effective way to convince an audience that this is a problem that they should care about.

Audiences today are bombarded with activist messages.  Buy fair trade coffee; buy organic coffee.  What is the difference?  How do you not only make them listen, but convince them to take action?  This is where Poulsen truly fails.  He makes no mention of how someone in the audience, moved by the film, can help.  He ends the film pessimistically and then that is that.  The film’s official website offers a bit more direction in terms of taking action; you can check out some related NGOs here:  http://bloodinthemobile.org/take-action/  Poulsen spends most of the time blaming Nokia for not doing enough.  He never even talks about the role of the corrupt Congolese government and the violent warring groups in these conflict minerals.  He also acts the white savior, ignoring the realities of the lives of the Congolese.  What would happen to these poor people if the mines were completely shut down?  More importantly, what do they want?  He visits them, but never asks them this important question.  They continue to be silenced, their voices ignored in favor of this aggressive, Michael Moore style documentarian.

JUST SAY NO TO NOSTALGIA – THE MAD MEN REBOOT

Alright, so it’s not a reboot.  We haven’t jumped back in time; we haven’t started over.  Or have we?  After a long, strange hiatus, Mad Men returned last night with it’s Season 5 opener.  3.5 million viewers tuned in, giving AMC it’s largest audience…ever.

We jump right in; there’s not a lot of backstory.  It’s Memorial Day, 1966.  Skirts are much shorter; furniture is much brighter.  The art decoration and the costumes scream, “LOOK, IT’S THE LATE 60S!”  I have to say, I found this very jarring and annoying.  OK, time has passed since last season.  OK, these are New Yorkers, living on the cusp of change in society and culture…  On the other hand, would an advertising agency run by WWII vets and still on the brink of bankruptcy really have such modern and hip furniture?

The point isn’t about furniture.  It’s about nostalgia.  Mad Men is a great television show because of excellent writing, fascinating characters, and high production values.  But what I really appreciate about it is that it is not nostalgic about the 1960s.  Peggy and Joan are paid less than their male counterparts, in spite of the law requiring otherwise.  The black janitors lose their jobs when Kinsey and the other white copywriters raid Peggy’s locker.  The show does not present the 1960s as some mythical Valhalla of free love, great music, and open minds.  Pan Am, which had a great idea and a strong desire to mimic Mad Men, fell into this trap of romanticizing women in the workplace and the 60s in general.  Mad Men avoids nostalgia, shows the darker sides of the times; in refusing to apologize for sexism and racism, I think the show forces us to examine these elements in our contemporary world.

Or at least it did.  Nostalgia trickled in at the end of season 4, and I’m afraid it will infiltrate season 5.  In the final episode of season 4, Megan and her college friend come into Don’s hotel room.  Sally asks, “Where are you going?” and Megan answers, “The Whiskey A Go Go”, as if the eleven year old New Yorker is familiar with the LA club scene.  It’s a useless line; it’s only point is to elicit nostalgia. Is there where season 5 is going?  The over the top costumes and art direction hints at it.  The more overt dealing with racism and the Civil Rights movement could push it in that direction too.  Mad Men has always dealt with race, but it’s been in a subtle, striking way.  I fear that this entire season is going to be like the opening scene of last night’s episode (Y&R play a stupid prank on the black protestors on the sidewalks below their office.)  The protestors come into the lobby to complain, and one woman utters what is probably the worst line in the show’s history: “And they say we are the savages…”  C’mon, Mad Men.  Another version of The Help is the last thing we need.  Forget the nostalgia. Forget the sanitization.  I doubt the show can last two more seasons if it really heads down this path.

Aggression and Subtlety in A Separation

I love the first scene in A Separation.  We watch the scene from a first-person perspective as the two protagonists argue their case for and against divorce to a judge.  We are the judge – immediately.  Simin wants a divorce not because her husband is cruel, disloyal, or abusive; no, she wants a divorce because she wants to leave the country and take her daughter with her.  Nader feels he must stay because his father is very ill and cannot take care of himself.

I love this scene.  The first person perspective is a bit jarring, at least for an opening.  But I love how aggressive the scene is.  We are immediately placed in a tense argument, in a tough situation that, despite our position, is difficult to judge.  Now, perhaps with out current political state, we more apt to side with Simin – get out while you can! – but that’s not the point.

In fact, the political landscape of Iran is not the point at all.  I believed it would play a bigger role in the film; I believed that “to leave or not to leave, that is the question” would dominate the film.  There is even a very definite deadline created from the first scene – there are only 40 days left until their visas, their permission to leave the country, expire.  Ask David Bordwell; this is a key element of Hollywood filmmaking.  But of course this is not a Hollywood film and this is not your typical story.  The movie isn’t really about leaving or staying.  It’s about class, ethnicity, religion, law, honesty, ethics, and family – above all, about family.  For a movie called, A Separation, it is really about two tightly bound families, families who would do almost anything to stay together.

The aggressive element, introduced from the first moments of the film, continues throughout.  There is a lot of heated argument.  There are heated arguments turned physical violence.  There are threats of greater violence, accusations of murder, multiple arrests.  What truly impressed me about this film, however, is how it is both aggressive on the surface (namely, the dialogue) and yet so subtle at the same time.  The acting is incredible in this respect.  I loved the subtle way that Razieh, the hired-help-turned-supposed-victim-of-violence would wrap her chadar more tightly around her when she would begin to beg and invoke religion.  I loved the stoic silence of Termeh, Simin and Nader’s daughter, as she is forced to choose between her own ideas of morality and her love for her family.  This tenuous relationship between aggression and subtetly was perfectly balanced in this film.

A Separation reminded me, in some ways, of a great film I saw a few years ago at Berlinale: Kawasaki’s Rose.  If you can get your hands on it – I wish I could! – I can’t recommend it enough.  But until the Czech film finds an American distributer, go see A Separation.  

Californication, Season 4…5…oh, who can even tell anymore

What season of Californication are we at now?  4?  5?  I wasn’t even going to watch this season, but I came down with the flu and ran out of options on my OnDemand.

As with many Showtime shows, Californication started off with a great first season.  It was witty, it was edgy.  It had a bit of substance.  And then, like Weeds before it, it quickly crashed and burned.  Now I can’t even remember what season we are at – let’s see, there was the season where Hank and Karen get back together, Hank can’t commit, and then they break up.  Oh and then there was the next season, where he courts her, they get back together, he can’t commit and messes up again.

This cycle does not a television show make.  The first season of the show was about New York v. Los Angeles, about novel writing v. screenwriting, about parenthood v. single life.  Now it’s about one thing: sex.  No, two.  Sex and booze.  I think that anyone who writes could tell you that Hank Moody is a terrible representation of a writer.  Everyone in Hollywood is just dying for him to write their screenplay, and yet he never actually works.  Then, in the midnight hour, he works for two minutes and a masterpiece emerges.

That’s beside the point.  This isn’t about the verisimilitude of Californication.  It’s about the fact that the entire show depends on this cycle of get together, break up, get together, break up between Hank and Karen.  Why can’t the writers figure out how to move plots and storylines forward with the two characters together or apart?  Instead, the entire plot is this cycle – with a lot of gratuitious sex and nudity thrown in.  This doesn’t bother me usually but it is just so completely pointless in this show.  Sex and nudity are used to cover up for the lack of substance and storyline in this show.  What happens to Showtime shows after their first successful seasons?

Hugo and Digital Projection – oh, the irony!

With the Oscars only days away, I finally went to see Martin Scorsese’s Hugo.  Hugo has 11 nominations, and yet every time I try to discuss it with friends, they respond with, “What movie?”  Hugo’s aesthetics are beautiful, as is the story.  There is a great cast, and Asa Butterfield’s facial expressions alone outshine the Best Actor nominees.  (Side rant: seriously, what is with the best actor category this year?  A cardboard cutout would have done better than George Clooney in The Descendants.  Young actors – Asa Butterfield, Thomas Horn of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close outshined their elders this year, and yet were totally ignored.  /rant)

I was still in Europe in the fall and early winter, I can’t judge what kind of marketing took place then.  I know that there hasn’t been much since I’ve been home; the only time I seem to see Hugo anywhere is in the innumerable for your consideration ads in my daily Variety magazines.

I think this alone highlights the nature of the film.  It is a film for film lovers.  I haven’t read the book its based on and I don’t know how similar the film and the original text are.  But Martin Scorsese’s love of film is well-documented, and cinephilia erupts, springs forth from the screen during the film.  Is it a movie for kids?  Sure.  But more than anything, it’s a movie for cineastes.  Hugo’s sad story is certainly a focal point of the film, but even he forgets his own woes of homelessness and hunger when he learns the heartbreaking story about Georges Méliès.   One of the medium’s most important creation myths takes center stage, superseding the more formulaic or generic storylines, such as that of the orphan-hating, limping station officer.

What was most upsetting to me was the fact that I watched this beautiful movie, this amazing retelling of Méliès’ story, via digital projection.  The theater I visited offered only the 2-D version and it was publicly announced on the website as “digital projection”.  Martin Scorsese advocates for the preservation of film, and yet here I was, watching the projection of a film from a hard drive.  How ironic!  Even more so than when I watched The Artist a few weeks ago, sat through the credits, and saw the “Start Menu” appear on screen.  Only later did I find out that the entire theater had switched to digital projection and felt no need to advertise the change.

My friend had no idea.  ”We don’t have to go then, if it will upset you,” he said, as we debated seeing Hugo or not.  After a long rant about the evils of digital projection, I finally shut up and told him that we should go anyway, since theaters that screen films in 35 mm are becoming more and more rare.  In Nashville, the Belcourt Theater is the only theater to still use 35 mm projection.  In Athens, even a place like Cine, another great theater, are starting to use both forms.  Support your local independent theater!  It may be the only way to keep traditional projection alive.

À bientôt, Downton Abbey!

As with many television shows, I jumped on the Downton Abbey bandwagon a bit late.  My excuse this time is that I was living in Sweden when this craze took over.  I came home from Sweden and Downton Abbey was everywhere – my magazines, my Facebook newsfeed.  I decided last week I should finally check it out.

How quickly did I catch up?  It’s almost embarrassing to admit.  A nightly dose of insomnia helped to accelerate the process.  Needless to say, I was ready for the American airing of the finale last night of PBS.  And now that it’s all said and done, well, what is there to say about the series?  Does it really live up to all the hype?

Storytelling on television has certain advantages over film narratives.  You have the luxury of time, so story lines can move more slowly, characters can be more developed, relationships can change more frequently.  Theoretically at least.  In reality, most television episodes follow a certain formula, further edified by the popularity of procedural dramas like C.S.I.

But television narratives, I think, are much more difficult.  In a movie, we generally only have to wait two hours for love interests to get together and then that’s it.  On TV, it takes at least a season.  And after that, how do you keep viewers watching?  The point is, I understand the need for sexual tension and for keeping love interests apart – in this case, Matthew Crawley and Lady Mary.  The entire second season seemed like such a waste in some ways, and I think the need to keep the characters apart highlights the weaknesses of the show.  The challenges created by World War I should have been enough to keep viewer interest even if the couple were engaged.  The Lavinia storyline was asinine, and Matthew’s protestations at the end how Lavinia’s death meant that he and Mary could never be together produced nothing more than eye-rolls here.

I find the passage of time on the show to be confusing.  We start in 1912 and we end in 1920.  Of course, watching the episodes in quick succession certainly affects how I perceive the passage of time.  But really, almost eight years pass during two short seasons?  I mean, how old are these women?  Unmarried (and disinherited) aristocratic women carrying on this long without a husband?  Aren’t they long past spinsterhood?

The Onion published a great article a few weeks ago, citing watching an episode of Downton Abbey as equivalent to reading a book.  Satire or not, there is this aura of intellectualism about the show.  The series is great entertainment and engrossing period melodrama, but if you think too much about it, it really begins to fall apart.