Out of Focus

The 48th New York Film Festival arrives in magnificently Social fashion

When I decided to return to this blog and make a serious effort to regularly and consistently post primarily reviews and commentary about film, television and theater, I also told myself I would approach this endeavor with a new writing process. Too often during the original Out of Focus days, quantity and speed took precedence over quality. Watching primarily from the sidelines over the past couple years, nothing has become more apparent than the predilection—particularly in film circles—that "first" has become more important than "good" to a whole lotta people.

I don't refer only to "first" with coverage of actual news or information, even though I am amused by much of the "Breaking News" arriving from any number of outlets a full 24 hours after it "broke." I'm even more troubled, though, when I get the "Breaking News" reviews, especially from the major trades. I'm not sure that a "Breaking News" alert came from The Hollywood Reporter for their review of Marmaduke, but it might as well have. And it certainly isn't just major trades or news outlets. For some reason, someone's opinion in the form of criticism has taken on the role of "the scoop"! That seems silly to me, but apparently, for many writers and sites, being the first to dislike something is as important as being the first to like it. When a film has 100% score on Rotten Tomatoes, apparently nothing is more important than being the first instigator of the backlash. Or, if there's some formal element or argument that nobody else seems to have noticed—valid or not—writers eagerly stake their claims. It also seems to me that almost universally in these cases, the discourse suffers, but not as much as the writing.

I'm not trying to change anyone else's purpose or methods, and obviously, sometimes rush deadlines exist and can't be helped; nor am I specifically calling-out other critics and writers, but I vowed to myself to use a different, slower, more contemplative process in an effort to improve myself and my own writing. I admire plenty of writers who certainly work faster with better results than do I. But for me, for now, at least in this space, I've chosen to generally make a different choice.

So with that longer-than-anticipated prologue in mind, this somewhat quickly dashed-off missive qualifies as an outlier. For one thing, I'm writing and posting on the same day. (One of my "new rules": Always sleep on a piece and edit with fresh eyes the next day.) Neither a full review nor adequate preview, I felt uncomfortable leaving the Walter Reade Theater today after one of the odder double-features in history without acknowledging that tonight marks the opening of the 48th New York Film Festival, and what a New York Film Festival it looks to be. Sadly, so far I haven't been able to attend as many press screenings as I had hoped, and I've missed several films that I truly looked forward to seeing, most notably, Olivier Assayas's Carlos, Hong Sang-soo's latest Oki's Movie and the special event selection Cameraman: The Life and Work of Jack Cardiff.

But what I have seen so far has, for the most part, been excellent. The "Masterworks" sidebar of Fernando de Fuentes' Mexican Revolution Trilogy (which plays at the Walter Reade on Sept. 29-30) is both entertaining and fascinating due not only to the three stories told, but also because of how the three films illustrate the speedy development of Mexican cinema in the 1930s over just four years, mimicking certain Hollywood trends.

I'm also a sucker for Martin Scorsese's essay films A Personal Journey with Martin Scorsese Through American Movies and (especially) Il Mio Viaggio in Italia, the latter being a wonderful survey focusing on the history Italian cinema, particularly the Neorealism movement. A Letter to Elia—a 60-minute paean to Elia Kazan—may be far shorter than either A Personal Journal or Il Mio Viaggio, but it's also quite possibly the most personal and emotional film Scorsese has ever made, and at least for me, both a wonderful educational experience and joy to watch. Seeing it back-to-back with Kazan's America, America (featured heavily in the documentary) on Monday should be an event well-worth attending.

I've also seen Apichatpong Weerasethakul's excellent Cannes winner Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives (playing this weekend), and Abbas Kiarostami's stunning and brilliant Certified Copy (playing Oct. 1 and 3), a film I saw on Tuesday, can't stop thinking about and love more every day.

The only disappointment for me so far has been LENNONYC. "Lennon in America" would have been a better title for the resulting film, an unnecessarily-long, nearly-two-hour, meandering and unfocused documentary about John Lennon's post-Beatles years living with (and without) Yoko in the U.S. A great film hides underneath, because the pieces—archive footage, new interviews, fabulous stories—all are individually wonderful, but they come together into an unsatisfying whole.

And then we reach today, featuring NYFF's opening night selection of David Fincher's The Social Network—a/k/a "That Facebook Movie"—followed by the latest from Jean-Luc Godard, Film Socialisme. I'm nowhere near ready to say anything about the Godard, nor will I ever find myself vociferously arguing for or against it.

Fincher's film, on the other hand, definitely deserves many of the hosannas coming its way. I'm not actually sure what I had expected, nor had I read any reviews of the movie ahead of time; headlines and miscellaneous tweets comprised all the buzz to hit my ears (or eyes). If anything, my wariness of most-things-Aaron Sorkin gave me pause. (I have issues with how all his characters generally sound exactly alike.) But for me, the "Sorkinese" (as Fincher called it during one of the better post-screening press conferences I've attended) not only worked but generally disappeared, or at the very least, became overshadowed by the interpersonal dynamics between all these individual characters so well-played by this talented cast.

The Social Network both in its quality and relevance constitutes one of the better (if not the best?) NYFF opening night films in recent memory. I'll write more about The Social Network before its general release next week, but for now, congratulations to the Film Society of Lincoln Center, and here's wishing you a phenomenal opening night.

NY FILM FESTIVAL: THE HOST -- MUCH MORE THAN JUST A MONSTER MOVIE

(This post began as a continuation of the previous one, hence the oh-so-eloquent flow, or rather, the reference to something not included in this same entry.)

It shouldn’t actually come as much of a surprise that the best film so far critiquing the current state of the world and particularly our country’s involvement in the Middle East has nothing to do with Iraq, Iran, Lebanon, Syria, Israel or the Palestinians and is not directed by some American left-wing liberal. In fact, part of the reason that The Host (which screened last weekend and Magnolia Pictures will distribute some time later this year) is such a good analysis of this international state of affairs is because while not being subtle in the least, the film's story and soul focuses not on some larger incident but rather on the experiences and reactions of one family at the heart of it all.

In this way, The Host is quite similar to Pan's Labyrinth. In addition to creating an emotional and humanistic tale at the center of a politically themed argument, Bong Joon-ho's film also places a young girl at the center, in a hero's role, trying to fight tremendous forces that are actually beyond her or anyone's control. But shared on an even deeper and more thematic level is this statement of not blindly following authority, of thoughtfulness, of questioning everything, even those things that scare us, particularly in the form of a government.

The Host begins in a South Korean lab where an American military scientist orders his Korean assistant to pour a ridiculously large amount of toxic chemicals down the drain in the sink simply because the bottles are dusty. The assistant argues that this drain leads to the Han River, a major tributary running through the center of Seoul, but his boss doesn't care, and down the drain the bottles go. Two years later, a couple locals fishing in the Han see a small creature unlike any fish they've ever seen. They catch it, but when it scares them, it escapes. Four years later, we meet the Park family – patriach and food kiosk owner Hie-bong (Byeon Hie-bong), his lazy, slacker son Gang-du (Song Kang-ho), and Gang-du's smart, older-than-her-years daughter Hyun-seo (Ko A-sung). While people are enjoying a sunny Seoul day outside, the Parks watch Gang-du's sister Nam-joo (Bae Doo-na) compete on TV – she's a champion archer. The pleasant day is interrupted, however, when people start to eye something weird hanging from a bridge and then diving into the water. This something winds up being a mutated monster which can also hop up on land, swatting people around and eating them at will. When Gang-du carelessly loses his daughter in the chaos, he sees that the monster has capture her, and with the help of his family -- which also includes college graduate and alcoholic Nam-il (Park Hae-il) – he's determined to get her back.

NY FILM FESTIVAL: PAN'S LABYRINTH -- MAGICAL REALISM MIXED WITH RATIONAL FANTASY FOR A MAGNIFICENT CONCOCTION AND ONE OF THE BEST FILMS OF THE YEAR

(This post began as a continuation of the previous one, hence the oh-so-eloquent flow, or rather, the reference to something not included in this same entry.)

Even as difficult as it is for me to say that I liked or disliked Inland Empire, it is quite simple for me to shout hosannas expressing my immense love for and awe in both Korean director Bong Joon-ho's phenomenal The Host and Guillermo del Toro's post-Spanish Civil War fantasy fable Pan's Labyrinth, which screens this Sunday evening as the NYFF's closing night film and Picturehouse will release in theaters on Dec. 29. Del Toro is best known to American audiences as the man behind Hellboy and Blade II. I didn't love either of those, but at least they helped me forget the god-awful Mimic. None of those films, however, prepared me for his much smaller but more emotional and interesting The Devil's Backbone, which I only finally saw recently. And yet, none of his work at all has come close to the major achievement of Pan's Labyrinth.

Told through the eyes of 11 year old Ofelia (Ivana Baquero), del Toro's film puts a gleam in the eye while touching the soul. Although the story takes place against the backdrop of a very specific period of history -- near the end of World War II as Spanish revolutionaries continue to try to fight against Franco's fascist regime even though the Spanish Civil War "officially" ended five years earlier -- the themes themselves are universal. Innocence and thoughtful disobedience are the subjects with which del Toro concerns himself and us, and he does so by taking us into a world (or multiple worlds, in fact) that are simultaneously enchanting and horrific, exciting and monstrous. Not unlike Lynch's fluid shiftings of realities, Pan's Labyrinth presents us with a real world and a fantastic one only seen and experienced by Ofelia. As the story continues, these two realms begin to intersect more and more, but even when they converge completely for Ofelia in the end, they still remain separate for the rest of us.

NY FILM FESTIVAL: INLAND EMPIRE -- THIS IS YOUR BRAIN ON DAVID LYNCH

I still don't believe I can write much about David Lynch's Inland Empire, a nearly three-hour long smorgasbord of image and sound that to the linear-minded will prove completely incomprehensible. Any semblance of conventional storytelling or character development has been thrown not just out the window, but from the 90th story of a really tall building, bouncing off the street before being run over by a truck, dragged to the river, flung into the water, getting caught on some sort of mutated toxic life form before being ripped apart by an even larger sea monster. And yet, as Lynch delves deeper into his recent thematic exploration of shifting realities and uncertain identities, all housed within the metaphorical image of infinite reflection represented by his repeated settings of films within films within "normal" life within films, the "wha????" experienced from watching Inland Empire is far less one of confusion than fascination. Layered on top of these ideas he's been exploring as far back as in Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me and continuing through Lost Highway and Mulholland Drive, Inland Empire turns Lynch's eye inward, playing even more with these shifts while also specifically exploring and referencing the journey Lynch himself has taken to arrive at this point in his career. More than any other film that comes to mind in recent history, Inland Empire deserves and requires multiple viewings before any true and valid opinion regarding its artistry, form and content can even begin to be explored. A rush to call Inward Empire either a masterpiece or a disaster is quite impossible, regardless of the enjoyment or suffering one experiences during a first viewing. Its lengthy run time is both a blessing and a curse. I am one of the most time-sensitive film viewers I know, and yet I've seen plenty of 100 minute films that felt much longer than Lynch's near three hours. The run time is necessary: Lynch needs to keep his audience captive for this extended period to even begin the process of letting his work seep in; but on the other hand, when bombarded with so much information over such a long period of time, is it even possible to accept and retain it all?

I hope I have the chance to see Inland Empire again, maybe more than once. As of last week's screenings, there was still not a distributor for the film, however during a press conference when asked if the film had distribution, Lynch responded, "Technically, no." Since then I've read it would be Magnolia Pictures and then that it wouldn't be Magnolia but rather Lynch would distribute it on its own. But if anybody out there is currently working on a Cinema Studies Ph.D and needs a dissertation project that could probably sell as a book deal, I'd get going on rewatching the entire Lynch canon and settling in for multiple viewings of Inland Empire. Now there's a book I'd pre-order.

PLAYING CATCH-UP WITH NYFF: THREE FILMS THAT EXEMPLIFY THE ART AND "MAKING" IN FILMMAKING

(This post began as one entry containing three reviews, but as each section became longer, I decided to split it up into separate posts. So let's just call this the introduction, shall we?)

As the New York Film Festival pulls into its final weekend, it becomes a good time for both anticipation and reflection. More reviews and recaps will be coming in the next few days -- I've had some difficulty finding time to write recently -- but my overall impressions have been quite positive for this year's collection of films. Not too many disappointments but several titles which proved to be surprises (at least to me) and far better than expected. In fact, I would be surprised if somewhere between three and five of my Best of 2006 titles did not come out of movies seen at the 44th New York Film Festival.

The best thing about several of this year's selections, however, has been the representation of not just film as entertainment or art but rather filmmaking as craft. With all the complaints many have had regarding the inclusion of some titles and exclusion of others, three films in particular have a lot in common in what may be the most important area possible: they are examples of consummate filmmaking. Two of them -- The Host and Closing Night selection Pan's Labyrinth -- are more high concept entertainment than anything you'll ever see from Hollywood: near perfection in storytelling, use of every visual and audible aspect of cinema, thematic representation, building on film history and political statements that may not be subtle but won't drop anvils on your skull neither.

The third film is the most difficult to discuss, one that, like its filmmaker, has already been heavily debated. In fact, I can't really write anything like a straightforward review of David Lynch's Inland Empire. I didn't like it; I didn't dislike it; and I'm anything but indifferent. I have nothing to say and much to say, all simultaneously, and in its own way, that statement itself might be the perfect review of this film. Even so, here are some more expansive thoughts, albeit, not necessarily a review nor a critique.

(For more: Inland Empire; Pan's Labyrinth; The Host)

THE WEEKEND AHEAD: MUST-SEE DEPARTED, LIFE EXPERIENCE WITH 49 UP AND MORE NEW YORK FILM FESTIVAL

More detailed reviews will be coming later today and this weekend, but in the limited amount of time I have before another day of multiple press screenings, I couldn't let this weekend arrive without taking note of the multitude of riches available to filmgoers this weekend.

The major release today is the latest film from Martin Scorsese. I've never made any secret of my near worship of the man I consider to be the greatest living and working American director, but I've also tried to be honest about his most recent work. His last truly magnificent film came well-over a decade ago with Goodfellas. I found both The Aviator and Gangs of New York to be perfectly fine films, maybe even pictures that would have won a lesser filmmaker an Oscar (like, say, if they had been the first film from someone like, I don't know, Kevin Costner?), but as Scorsese films they were very middle-of-the-road, and maybe not even that good.

The Departed, however, is a breathtaking and startling return to greatness. Not that Scorsese ever left, but with this film, he's back doing everything he's done before, but with a twist. It's definitely his best film since Goodfellas, and it ranks up there among (or at least, right behind) the top tier of his work overall. I will have lots more to say on this soon.

Meanwhile, last night at the New York Film Festival, the seventh and latest film in Michael Apted's "Up Series", 49 Up. Apted has been reuniting with the same group of subjects for the past 42 years, documenting their lives. You don't need to have seen any of the previous films to get a lot out of 49 Up -- the nature of the work is to juxtapose the lives of the subjects now with where they have been over the years, so clips appear from each of the previous films. 49 Up is magnificent and fascinating, the best film in the series and a truly remarkable continuation (if not potential conclusion, should that unfortunately turn out to be the case) to the entire series. After its screening last night, it opens for a run today at the IFC Center. Just go.

And finally, this weekend, aside from marking the midway point of the New York Film Festival happens to contain screenings of films that are certainly among the best playing at this year's Lincoln Center soiree. Sure, there's Volver, the latest from the great Almodovar, but in reality, that film is not one of the highlights. Rather, two films from different parts of Southeast Asia highlight the weekend. They have little in common other than the fact that they are potentially the two best movies at this year's entire event. Thai filmmaker Apichatpong Weerasethakul's meditative and beautiful Syndromes of a Century plays tomorrow night for one screening only at 6:15 PM.

The other not-to-be-missed selection is The Host from South Korea's Bong Joon-ho. The Host is one of the most creative, intelligent and political films you'll see all year. It's also a family drama and ... a monster movie. It is a remarkable work from an extremely talented filmmaker. Magnolia Pictures will be releasing the film in theaters this year, but The Host is one to rush out to see, so if you have a chance (and a ticket) to get to Lincoln Center this weekend, you should. (The Host is also screening at the now-running Mill Valley and Chicago Film Festivals.)

Offside and Paprika are also worth seeing, although the latter will certainly be an acquired taste, but the latest from French master Alain Resnais, Private Fears in Public Places is a mediocre and maudlin relationship drama that has more working against it than in its favor.

Little Children (my review here) also opens nationwide today, but with all these other choices available, Todd Field's new film really seems like the smallest child of the lot.

More to come today and this weekend ...

NY FILM FESTIVAL: LITTLE CHILDREN -- PROVING THAT AN UNSUCCESSFUL ADAPTATION CAN STILL BE A MILDLY SUCCESSFUL FILM

If you pick-up the St. Martin's Griffin edition of Tom Perrotta's novel "Little Children", you'll find that the very last page contains a "Reading Group Guide." The very first suggested discussion topic reads as follows:

Is Little Children an appropriate or deceptive title for this novel? Can you think of the different ways the phrase is employed within the book? To which characters does it best apply? In the end, is the title simply descriptive, or does it work on multiple levels?"

The page contains seven other topics or sets of questions relating to other elements of the stories and characters Perrotta (who also wrote the novel upon which Alexander Payne's great film Election) created and wove together in entertaining, dramatic, humorous and thoughtful fashion in his book. Upon reflection, it seems that when Perrotta got together with filmmaker Todd Field to adapt his book into a screenplay (the novelist shares screenwriting credit), the tow of them forgot to move beyond that one topic. In some ways, this isn't a terrible problem: the resulting film -- which premiered recently at the Toronto Film Festival, played the 44th New York Film Festival this past weekend, and opens nationwide on Friday -- is a fantastic example of decent filmmaking. A story somewhat well-told, thoroughly identifiable (at least for certain age groups and segments of the population) and, on the surface at least, competently made. But once one gets beyond the appealing cast, the straightforward plot elements and the easy answers to that first discussion topic, the flaws begin to appear, and if one goes a step further to actually examine the source material, it's not hard to see how, as a literary adaptation, Little Children, this film, is just short of a total failure, done in by an apparent misunderstanding of the necessary synchronizing of story and character without making one subservient to the other.

NY FILM FESTIVAL: THE QUEEN -- FREARS, MIRREN AND CO. TURN THE POTENTIALLY TEDIOUS INTO THE VIRTUALLY MAJESTIC

I'm actually not so sure why I'm so surprised to have walked out of The Queen singing its praises. Certainly Helen Mirren qualifies as someone who could mesmerize while reading the proverbial phone book; I've long been a fan of Stephen Frears; and looking back, the opening night selections for the New York Film Festival have been pretty fantastic since the turn of the century. Regardless of whether they have all deserved "opening night" status, there hasn't been a bad film in that slot since Woody thought his lechery looked better under the guise of Kenneth Branagh in Celebrity, and that was way back in 1998.

Then again, Frears strongest work was many years ago -- The Grifters was 1990, and Dangerous Liaisons two years before -- and although I loved High Fidelity, even that was way back in 2000. In the what-have-you-done-for-me-lately file, the only proof we have here in the states are the underwhelming Dirty Pretty Things and the flat-out blah Mrs. Henderson Presents, a film saved solely by its central performance from Judi Dench. So why expect a better experience from a film that also looks to be held together solely by a tremendous actress, and this time with a story focusing on the British monarchy's reaction to the death of Princess Diana? I mean, I burnt out on Diana coverage years ago, so who needs two hours of examination now?

And yet, here I sit, still fascinated by what may not be the best movie of the year nor even the best selection in the festival, but is certainly one of the best put-together films I've seen in quite a while. A tremendous script by Peter Morgan executed exquisitely by Frears featuring an entire ensemble of actors who bring the most private of public characters to life, and at the very center of it all is Mirren who has certainly laid down the Oscar gauntlet this year. I'm not the first to say that, nor will I be the last. For most actresses, such a performance would be considered "career-defining." For Mirren, we expect such mastery, and yet the realization she creates on screen with her Queen Elizabeth is something almost beyond description. To call her mesmerizing doesn't do her justice just as the most fascinating examples of her greatness come at two points in the film during which she says nothing: while stranded in the mountains on her country estate waiting for a servant to come pick-up her and her damaged vehicle, and during a brief moment after giving a televised speech expressing to the world the royal family's own sadness and sympathy (for and with the public) over Diana's death. The latter moment is quite brief, but stayed with me long after the film was over. The Queen is forced to give this speech, one she does not want to nor thinks she should have to, but is made to recognize is necessary. The speech is not dishonest, but it also does not exactly represent the true feelings of the Royals, and once its over, Mirren manages to express every belief and emotion coursing through this very proud woman with just a look. Staring directly into the camera, not saying a word and with extreme subtlety and little movement, Mirren summarizes the entire film in one single moment, and it's breathtaking.

AHEM ... DIFFICULTIES ABOUND, BUT HERE WE ARE

We suffered some technical difficulties this weekend, of an actual technical nature and a personal one. No, I'm not even 100% sure what that means, but never mind. Usually 12 movies in four days don't burn me out. Even while trying to stay up-to-date with a whole new television season and a DiVo with not enough storage capacity. (Please Time Warner. Isn't it time for a box with more than 35 hours? Hell, TiVo sells one with 180!) So once again I'm playing catch-up, but by the end of the week, I hope to be playing with a clean slate, and whatever I didn't get to, oh well. So here we go ....

NO TIME TO SLEEP, WHO HAS TIME TO WRITE? (A MINI-NYFF PREVIEW)

Exhaustion has set-in, and I haven't even started the actual job yet. The past week-and-a-half have been filled with New York Film Festival press screenings. Four on Monday, four on Tuesday and two today, plus another screening this evening. Thankfully, things start to ease up tomorrow, and I'm planning to start the waterfall/diarrhea (take your pick) of words and opinions.

I would like to note that it seems as if many of the films are already sold out, but a few that you should not miss and seem to still be available would certainly include Korean filmmaker Hong Sang-soo's wonderful Woman on the Beach, the Iranian Offside and the latest from Thai writer-director Apichatpong Weerasethakul, Syndromes and a Century. Additionally, there are two films which I suppose would best be described old-but-new, both of which should not be missed: Lino Bracka's 1976 Filipino drama Mafiaso. The latter film screens one time only at Noon this Saturday (although you can expect a release at Film Forum early next year). It's from the late Italian director Alberto Lattuada, and as much as I am loving several of this year's selections (the ones listed previously as well as Marie Antoinette and The Queen), the 40-plus-year-old Mafioso just might be my favorite.

Lack of mention here does not mean I haven't liked some highly-anticipated films. I still have roughly half of the program to see. However, along with the endorsements listed above, I will just easily suggest skipping two incomprehensible and thoroughly dull titles: August Days and The Go Master; and although it has its heart and message in the right places and does a few things very well, African filmmaker Abderrahmane Sissako's Bakamo is simply too straightforward in its peachiness while lacking enough drama to remain interesting.

Much more to come in the days ahead ...