L'Appat (The Bait, Bertrand Tavernier 1995)

Horrifying events take on an irreverent, cheeky look as three adolescents rummage through their victim's house and commit murder one second and fight over the remote control the next.

While based on true events that took place in Paris in 1984, Bertrand Tavernier's L'Appat is not meant to be a documentary. Rather, it feels like a small-scale noir infused with disorder and accidents. As much as the three adolescents are bent on breaking into their victims' homes, people with power and money whose contact Nathalie systematically organises in her address book, they are never able to device a more-than-makeshift plan. Often Nathalie, the bait, forgets to leave the door to the victim's apartment open for her accomplices; they cannot cope with more advanced security systems and Nathalie's usual way of abandoning a break-in plan at the last minute is by making an excuse to buy Cools cigarettes. Twice they come close to accomplishing their goal, only to discover that their victims' wealth falls far below their estimation. The adolescents grab what they can, and struggle to kill the victims off--hitting one with a heavy object on the skull, stabbing one with a letter opener.

One of the earliest sequences shows Nathalie complaining that Eric and Bruno have been watching Scarface for the "twentieth time". Whether this establishes the fact that Eric and Bruno have violent inclinations is irrelevant, but their immersion in thriller material complements to a certain extent their lack of remorse over their crime. Nathalie does show a trace of uncertainty and confides in her friend Patricia her knowledge (albeit not seeing it directly) that the two have taken lives in their last outings.

The police interrogates Nathalie, who up to the final second makes up stories along the way to hide her involvement. She finally gives up the truth, implicating however Eric and Bruno and rejecting having played a part in the murders. Her coy question at the police officer, "Will I be released before Christmas? Because I need to visit my father" ends the film on an unsettling note especially because Nathalie seems so uncannily innocent. Here Tavernier maximises the sense of teenage abandon and disregard, which he previously highlights by juxtaposing the murders (which take place behind closed doors) with Nathalie blocking out the victims' screams by listening to rock music on her walkman. As the camera focuses on Nathalie and her waiting for her companions to complete the job, it effectively turns its head away from the murder, reflecting Nathalie's attitude of disaffection. While L'Appat goes the full length capturing the adolescents' daily life as well as their crimes, it does not directly condemn them; yet its apparent lack of moral lesson and even giddy, slightly romanticising depiction of the threesome is exactly key to the compelling portrayal of dangerously carefree adolescent attitude and the darkness that actually lies in their yet immature souls.

Sam Mendes speaks to Ali Jafar

Playing with fire--gladly

He never said, "too bad they didn't get it in the United States". For Sam Mendes, the British expatriate in Hollywood with already two widely-circulated American movies in his bag, his affair with Uncle Sam is strictly business. There is no whining, no blaming. Mendes came to the United States with a "European objectivity" to fashion movies that mirror the American experience, and he knew, from the outset, that not all Americans will be comfortable with what they see--not least because in some ways, they regard him as an outsider.

"Over there they think, 'we've put up with him talking about American suburbia, we've put up with him doing a gangster movie, do we really have to put up with him doing a war movie about the Middle East, as well?'" Mendes, in his humorous, casual and confident manner, eased into his chair as we met in London to talk about his latest work. A rueful smile found its way into his face. "In Europe they understood Jarhead. They understand it comes from the tradition of absurdist movies that deal with the futility of war, and has more in common with Beckett, Sartre and Buñuel. In the United States, it's like talking about a different movie." Some American viewers criticise Jarhead for failing to be like an Oliver Stone movie. Mendes' spasms of chuckles, not in the least condescending, showed however that this is a man who knows what he is up against, especially when he makes an adventurous foray into war movie territory, teases the genre and unnerves his audience.

Jarhead is a no-combat movie that does not glorify war or applaud the men who go to war. Drawing on the memoir of the same name by U.S. Marine Anthony Swofford, Mendes disobeys all the laws of American movies and produces a matter-of-fact First Gulf War testimony shorn of explosions but rife with endless waiting, uncertainty and disappointment, all true aspects of war that have frequently eluded the public's imagination. The sense of unease culminates in the final realisation that fundamentally, preparation for war amounts to nothing and justifies nothing. In the face of the current Second Gulf War, this is something the highly-strung Americans do not want to hear.

"I was very aware I was playing with fire." Mendes' self-assurance and clarity of purpose emphasised that Jarhead's message has always been provocative from the outset. "Here, men are being trained and pumped up for the ultimate state-of-the-art war, but are eventually denied it. When war does emerge, it runs ahead of them and they become its witnesses, its victims." The troopers "walked in and didn't have any of those things"--the mythic figure of Saddam Hussein, his stock of biochemical weaponry and immense army, and the huge casualties that the troops thought would await them. The irony remains pronounced, up to the very end--where troopers are convinced they will never have to return--and is multiplied by what the country is to do fifteen years later.

Jarhead shows a bleak situation and sends a grim message to audiences, who now need to confront war's futility and reassess the image of the "heroes" who become involved in an enterprise that eventually adds up to so little. "This is not a movie that can be used to pump up marines," Mendes declared plainly. With the lack of gunfire and explosions, audiences will be hard-pressed to revel in an adrenaline-charged experience. Instead they are to realise it is horrendous to want to become involved the first place. "There's a much more frightening question than asking why politicians want to go to war at a particular time. It's, what can you possibly get out of becoming a soldier and fighting in a war?"

Mendes takes the topic of war seriously. Jarhead makes allusions to other war movies and, in particular, shows the Marines watching clips from Apocalypse Now, whose original editor Walter Murch is also editor here. Mendes knows comparisons to the movies he draws on, like Full Metal Jacket among others, are inevitable, and points to how movie images contribute to the public's imagination of history in general. "Vietnam, for us, is not really Vietnam or documentaries about Vietnam. It's Coppala's Vietnam, Kubrick's Vietnam, Oliver Stones' Vietnam, Cimino's Vietnam. All you really have is movies. Even more so with World War II. Saving Private Ryan is World War II for a generation of young men." What Jarhead also has in common with the war movies it is compared with, is its function in raising questions, in provoking controversy.

Mendes' earlier American Beauty and Road to Perdition are constructed around predetermined storyboards, but with Jarhead, abandoning storyboard control and working with a new cinematographer, Roger Deakins (Conrad Hall was cinematographer for his previous movies), Mendes has taken a step in the improvisatory direction to fashion something more "organic and fluid". His mise-en-scène is however still down to earth. "It's like working with a play here. I told Roger, don't worry about the CGI." To a certain extent, this explains the sober, serious undertone of Jarhead, and its self-defined "not-a-crowd-pleaser" character.

Like the directors he admires--Roman Polanski, Milos Forman, Ang Lee--Mendes has come to terms with his relationship with the United States and deals confidently with American subject matters. Musing about his previous experience working in theatre and learning to adapt to the public eye, Mendes' expression revealed he is up for more: not only to match the public's demands, but to surprise and to challenge the public. Just like American Beauty bares the dark sides of American suburbia, Jarhead, possibly the first postmodern war movie, is an unsettling, unequivocal testimony to the present-day anxiety and even fatuity that characterise the 21st century American experience. I am convinced that Mendes' future output will continue to be, in significant ways, self-consciously reflective of the truth--regardless whether the very subjects of its critique will get it.

The Drummer (Kenneth Bi, Hong Kong/Taiwan/Germany, 2008)

The somewhat different Hong Kong-Taiwanese gangster film

In terms of festival circuit performance, The Drummer has done quite well: it has been nominated for prizes at the Golden Horse Film Festival and Hong Kong Film Awards, and is even the first film from Hong Kong and Taiwan to be selected for competition at Sundance.

And in terms of substance, The Drummer does an equally good job. Director Kenneth Bi starts off by using Hong Kong gangster genre film elements. Sid (Jaycee Chan), the reckless drummer son of Kwan (award-winning Tony Leung), a local gang leader, gets into trouble after sleeping with the wife of rival gang boss Ma (Kenneth Tsang). Ma demands compensation; Kwan covers for Sid and sends him into exile in Taiwan. With quick-paced editing, facial close-ups and a fiery performance from Tony Leung as the loving but strict and rather overbearing gangster father, an underlying violence comparable to that which characterises gangster pieces by Bi's contemporary, Johnny To (like Mad Detective, Exiled), is created.

But Kenneth Bi innovatively interjects the gangster backdrop with a surprising, peaceful middle section that borrows from musicals (minus the glib songs and dance) and stage performances, like Riverdance. Here, the actual Zen drummers of Taiwan's renowned U-Theatre drum group play themselves living and practicing in seclusion on a mountain in Taiwan. Sid encounters them on his exile, and after completing some prerequisite chores, he becomes a member and later a transformed person. Sam Koa on camera carefully captures the impressive drum numbers, and Kenneth Bi even gets philosophical about the relationship between man and music.

The film does end like a gangster film: Sid returns to Hong Kong with U-Theatre to tour, but is confronted with the sudden murder of his father, plotted by his own right-hand man, Ah Chiu (Roy Cheung). But because the director injects the formula with a creative twist, maintains a humorous touch and uses a band of able actors and actresses, he has created something that is different--and constantly entertaining.

Liverpool (Lisandro Alonso, Argentina, 2008)

Liverpool will have started before one knows it, and will have been over sooner than one thinks. Some may linger in the theatre like several viewers did tonight at Babylon Berlin, but their wish to look for something (more) to happen will not be met.

Employing stationary camera for character study, and wide-shots as well as panning shots for the Tierra del Fuego exteriors, this kind of controlled perspective from Liverpool's creators underscores the austere winter environment, which functions as the backdrop of the sailor Farrel's search for his long estranged mother in his hometown. His homeward journey leads him to discover that his mother is ill and cannot recognise him, and without staying longer, he departs to return to the cargo ship on which he works, and leaves his sister behind with money and a key-chain that reads "Liverpool".

The film's overall slow and largely stoic style bears resemblance to Tsai Ming-liang's capsules of the world's seemingly alienated individuals, and the tension it contains and withholds from the viewers is equally curious. To start with, the tension in this particular film is a result of a lack thereof, underscored by a matter-of-fact and down-to-earth mise-en-scene. The journey is not depicted in a poignant manner, the man's apparent loneliness is not taken as a contentious topic, and no huge drama is spun out of the fact that the mother no longer recognises his son. By means of a sensitive control over pacing and the sense of time, the narrative fuses itself with the natural environment, develops itself and does not end where it starts (i.e. where Farrel's character is built-up). After Farrel leaves, the camera shifts its focus to show the father and sister at work in the fields, and ends in an elliptical manner with a shot focusing on her hands and the key-chain against the sun-light. This shot recalls faintly Shunji Iwai's cinematography (in All About Lily Chou-chou) and even some of Gus Van Sant's camera (in Paranoid Park in particular) to conclude the ultimately simple tale that appears uneventful, as if it is a chance observation of nature and what happens there. The apparent plainness, achieved by precise execution, is what constitutes its poetry.

The Dinner Party (Paul Watson, England, 1997)

British documentary filmmaker Paul Watson's provocative The Dinner Party aims to show what the "people's point of view on politics" is on the eve of the British general election in 1997. An undeniably attention-grabbing film, it is nonetheless weak in terms of content, and actually not very intelligent.

Conceived as an invitation to a group of East Anglia conservatives to "speak their mind on politics on TV", this polemical work draws from both experiential documentary and reality television. The scene is set to put the participants at ease, and to conduce them to share their most personal--perhaps never before revealed--political views before the public's gaze. Surrounded by top-quality silverware, high-class cuisine and food service and observed by the panning, but apparently non-intervening camera, the eight individuals candidly reveal frequently adamant, even rude, attitudes: anti-immigration sentiments, the revival of capital punishment, or a rejection of equal income distribution…the list goes on. The film includes separate black & white vignettes, where each individual is interviewed. These are mixed up with the main dinner-table thread, to fashion a kinetically edited documentary charged with energetic dialogue and unashamed bias, and tailored for controversy.

With such a style, there is little question that this documentary will achieve what it wants-- to provoke its viewers. Exploiting the immediacy of the screen, it tantalises them with its exclusive insider point-of-view on what are apparently some people's "true opinions". These blatant opinions, which theoretically may be otherwise unheard, certainly pique the viewers' curiosity.

But while the film retains the viewers' attention without fail, it does not go far enough to actually engage their mindsThe film aims for emotional impact and is less interested in prompting the viewers to consider and question the issues that are raised. There is no hint as to what ramifications such overt conservative attitudes would have over society in general, or over the outcomes of the upcoming general election in particular. Furthermore, there is insufficient background information from the emotional participants to support their opinions. While it is certainly likely that people form political opinions based on emotions as much as on actual knowledge and awareness, the fact that these very participants remain nameless and mysterious, and have vaguely defined personalities as if they were fictional personae, undermines the credibility and weight of their views. This effectively reduces the acrid declarations, such as "homosexuality is a freak of nature", to gossip, which possibly has little relevance to real conservative views. How seriously can one take the statements that are being made? As it becomes questionable whether the documentary shows the "truth", its persuasive powers weaken, and soon it may even stop making much sense.

So it turns out that what starts off as a clever and daring idea only ultimately culminates in largely insincere and superficial hyperbole. Ironically, to witness this daredevil attempt gradually mutate into something rather dumb is exactly the reason why The Dinner Party is worth watching.

Le Silence de Lorna (Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne, Belgium, 2008)

Lorna's Silence
Le Silence de Lorna, Belgium/France/Italy, 2008
Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne

A new feature by Belgium's famed Dardenne brothers and at once restrained and anxious, The Silence of Lorna is an unsettling cinematic feast that leaves the viewers with much food for thought.

Young Albanian Lorna wishes to settle down in Belgium and is the film's main focus. The first sequence starts off the drama immediately and shows Lorna at a bank depositing money into her account, and then conversing with two different persons on the phone. Every minute gesture and sound counts, but the Dardennes are keen to create suspense by not giving viewers any information: there is no explanation why Lorna seems so nervous as she goes about her daily life, or why she avoids Claudy, the junkie who stays in her apartment but sleeps in the living room and seems to lead a separate life. Only gradually does it transpire that Lorna is married to Claudy in a fake marriage for the purpose of gaining Belgian citizenship. It is all part of the local syndicate's plan, which under the leadership of Fabio will put an end soon to this marriage, so that Lorna can marry again to a Russian willing to pay large sums to get into Belgium. These sums will contribute to what Lorna needs for the snack shop she plans to open with boyfriend Sokol.

Shot with the Dardennes' signature hand-held camera (in this case comparatively more static than in The Son or The Child), the drama unfolds in a gripping manner. Fabio plans to murder Claudy, so that the deal with the Russian can be closed soon. Lorna feels uneasy about this proposition and hits herself on the limbs and head, in the hopes that procedures for a divorce can be expedited. The divorce is approved, and Claudy realises Lorna has no more use for him and resorts to drugs again after having only become clean recently. In what would be the next scene (it is purposefully not revealed to the viewers), the syndicate deliberately causes Claudy to overdose and die. In the film's ensuing second half, Lorna appears to struggle with her conscience. The syndicate proceeds with the marriage plan with the Russian, which however eventually falls apart when Lorna believes and claims she is pregnant with Claudy's child (Lorna and Claudy do have sex once, but in reality Lorna is not pregnant). The reasons why Lorna is having such hallucinations are left unclear, but the fact that she no longer acts rationally makes her a burden for the syndicate. She therefore has to be sent back to Albania. On the trip, she attacks the syndicate errand-boy who is driving, runs into the forest and takes refuge in an empty hut for the night. As she makes a fire and curls up to sleep, she comforts and whispers to the unborn in her womb, "I will not let you die, as I let Claudy die."

For some viewers, this final utterance may well be the most important point of this tense but touching film. It may refer to the culmination of a person's guilt, as he hurts somebody else for his self-interests and is unable to remedy the damages in time; the redemption of shame in the final moment of love; and the catharsis provided by hope for the future. Because the impacting delivery of this line effectively closes the film, it may also come to define its gist, and mark the work as a portrayal of a person in times of desperation, conflicting loyalties and pain, rather than a direct statement on the issues of migration, European citizenship, or organised crimes.

But while there is no question to the Dardennes' superior artistry, is their product that which the above emotional readings make it seem-- apolitical, transcendental, sentimentally humanist? Viewers who revisit the film will very likely realise that there is more than what meets the eye.

One key aspect that may have escaped one's attention the first time is the film's necessarily political character, hidden behind the character-centred drama. Indeed, the citizenship trade is in and of itself a political topic, and every depiction of how the characters are affected by it is essentially an oblique political comment. The Dardennes make no pretence about the consequences that come with the criminal business: Lorna plays a substantial role in somebody else's murder and struggles with her conscience; Fabio and Sokol turn their back on Lorna when she starts behaving irrationally and causes the syndicate to lose money; Claudy dies as a direct result of the crime. Furthermore, the directors give the reality of these criminal undertakings material form by unequivocally showing the explicit involvement of money and the ubiquity of violence. In indirect and direct ways, the viewers are always invited to ponder upon the politics of crime. In fact, the narrative's political urgency is just as important as its affecting poignancy.

Another aspect that deserves attention and is worthy of debate, is how the Dardennes maintain a controlled distance from their characters and their fates. As much as they are politically conscious and aware how the criminal system damages individual lives, they do not make excuses for those who choose to be involved in it. At the same time that they do not judge their characters, they do not necessarily show them any sympathy or become complicit in their crimes. The film's ending scene is misleadingly tranquil, as it shows Lorna at peace, the fact that its meaning is ambiguous and does not actually resolve Lorna's situation undercuts the transcendental aura. The pessimistic undertow, already evident throughout, continues to hold sway till the very end. So in a way, the manner in which Dardennes conclude their work may be bleaker and more depressing than ideal, and their view of the human condition more pragmatic than sentimental. The directors certainly leave enough room for a variety of interpretations--this is unquestionably why the film's plot is intriguing, and where part of the overall charm lies.

The Silence of Lorna shows two intelligent directors at work, as demanding on themselves as they are on an intelligent audience, who will need to continue unwrapping the film to appreciate its multifarious complexity.

Zuzu Angel (Sergio Rezende, 2006, Brazil)

Zuzu Angel (Zuleika Angel Jones) was a Brazilian fashion designer who resided in Rio de Janeiro during the 1970s dictatorship and whose son Stuart (nicknamed Paolo by his fellow friends and "revolutionaries"), a student and socialist, joined the opposition, was taken, tortured and eventually killed by the military intelligence operations DOI-CODI. The film Zuzu Angel is based on the true story of the mother going lengths to investigate the reality behind her son's death, moving closer and closer to the truth and at the end was assassinated by members of the military regime in 1976.

A political film based on the personality of Zuzu Angel and set against the backdrop of the 1970s dictatorship, this film is a refreshing look at history, particularly significant amid the ghetto violence and gangster elements that figure in what have come to define a major part of current Brazilian cinema, especially in its overseas reception. The film's narrative is straight-forward and unequivocally sympathetic to Zuzu Angel and Stuart Angel Jones, and contemptuous towards the military dictatorship. Early on the officers at the prison are portrayed as uncooperative and lazy and refuse to find out where Stuart is imprisoned. As Zuzu Angel visits the other prisons of the air force and the navy, the officers show no sympathy and are more interested in inducing Zuzu to admit Stuart's communistic tendencies. It is one woman, occasionally supported by her lawyer, against the omnipresent dictatorship that betrays its brutality and violence through the secret intelligence agents.

Mid-way through the film one may have wished that it provides more information concerning the extent of the dictatorship and how its oppression has played out on the general population. Stuart and his girlfriend Sonia are essentially the only characters who characterize the opposition, and their ideological or physical involvement in the movement is only momentarily commented upon and never gains enough weight to flesh out the period's history beyond Zuzu Angel's personal tragedy. But it is important to remember that the film is about Zuzu Angel as an individual, and that the narrative's occasionally one-sided perspective does not hurt its otherwise acute but controlled political undertone. The titular theme is handled with balance, continuity and clarity; the emotions of a mother who is not glorified for a false sense of idealism or courage, but driven by the anger of losing her son, are depicted with sensitivity and delivered effectively by Patrícia Pillar. As she strives to uncover the truth, getting even the United States and Amnesty International involved, she places herself in a dangerous position and gradually and unintentionally steps into the shoes of a revolutionary. Her efforts symbolize the opposition and the reality of oppression. That she finally cannot escape the fatal grasp of the military regime and is assassinated, is the fact that heightens the film's emotional poignancy and political immediacy.