Glasgow Film Festival reviews

Glasgow Film Festival 2012 finishes up tomorrow night.  I'll be going to see a few films throughout the course of the day and writing up more reviews for STV.  It's been a busy week for me with work and various other commitments, so I haven't really had time to post the reviews I wrote last week until now.  So, without further ado, here they are:

In Darkness justifies its Oscar nomination at Glasgow Film Festival
Poland's revered filmmaker Agnieszka Holland's Academy Award nominated holocaust film In Darkness is a harrowing look at the blood-stained past with a hidden message of hope.

Sleepless Night does exactly what it says on the tin
Glasgow Film Festival's European Cinema collection is given a raw edge with low-budget action thriller Sleepless Night.

The Kid With a Bike: a poignant tale from simple storytelling masters the Dardennes
The Kid With a Bike offers Glasgow Film Festival a touching drama about the folly of youth and the challenges of fostering.

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel wins over the crowd at Glasgow Film Festival 
The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel is a feel-good British comedy that offers plenty to entertain both the golden oldies and younger film fans.

Time to Spare at Glasgow Film Festival
Glasgow Film Festival balances out its more challenging films with Time to Spare, a sickly-sweet populist comedy.

Black Gold is a rich-looking poor film
Glasgow Film Festival’s Arabian epic Black Gold is visually rich but pretty poor otherwise.

The Descendants (2011): a typically Payne-ful but forgettable flick.

Alexander Payne, best known for his low-key life-crisis films Sideways and About Schmidt, stays in his comfort zone with this film but opts for a slightly more family-friendly style.

The Descendants follows the story of a middle-aged Hawaiian lawyer Matt (George Clooney) whose wife has been knocked into a coma and will eventually die.  As he struggles to bring his somewhat dysfunctional family together to deal with her impending death, he finds out his wife was cheating on him.  The backdrop to this is an on-going legal process in which his wider family are trying to agree on whether to sell a sizeable and beautiful piece of Hawaiian land inherited from royal ancestry.

This film delivers a sentimental human drama whilst avoiding clichés.  The trailer and opening sequence states this as the premise: “my friends think that just because we live in Hawaii, we live in paradise.  Are they insane?  How can they possibly think our families are less screwed-up, our heartaches less painful?” etc.  The picture does seem a little too sugar coated though.  Its saccharine idealism overpowers the raw edge and potency which typifies Payne’s earlier films, such as Election. 

I get the feeling that even though I can relate to the characters on an emotional level, there’s still an irreconcilable gulf between me and the Hawaiian upper-classes on a material level.  I subconsciously dismiss the film as self-contained escapist cinema, making it as forgettable as it is enjoyable.  It's one of those films where you feel like you've really enjoyed the experience, but can't remember much of it afterwards.

It still retains Payne’s unique essence, however.  His originality, off-beat humour, lovably flawed characters, understated action and witty dialogue. The story world is very rich, but delivered in an easily digestible plot.  Seeing the seemingly emotionally inarticulate protagonist deal with the complex social pressures bearing down on him is sometimes hilarious, sometimes heartbreaking, but always entertaining.  While not as cutting as some of his earlier films The Descendants adds another refreshingly frank and plausible feature to Payne’s consistently commendable filmography.

Me on TV!

I decided to take my film reviewing talents to the TV!  I did a vox pop length review of W.E. for a show called Moviejuice and it was broadcast through STV on Friday night.  You can find the video on the STV Player (for another 27 days).  You'll see an extremely nervous me at about 9 minutes in.  The full-length written review is on this blog and offers a slightly more comprehensive overview of the film to say the least!  I was going to review Coriolanus, which I loved, but no-one was doing W.E so the producers got me to rate that instead.  One star!  I just hope Madonna isn't coming after me now...

W.E. (2011): pretty, awful.

There have been a lot of mixed reactions to this film.  There’s a reason for that: it’s both good and bad.  I didn’t enjoy it but - staying away from the obvious tendency to judge this film based solely on the fact it’s Madonna who’s directed/co-wrote it - there are some diamonds in the (very) rough.

The film tries to take two storylines which are set in completely different times and places, and merge them into one film.  One of these plots are really good, the other really bad.  The good one is the story of Edward VIII who abdicated from his place on the throne in order to marry a commoner, Wallis Simpson.  The bad one is the story of an ordinary New York woman who’s in the process of leaving an abusive relationship.  The second story is trashy, melodramatic pulp.  Any relation between these two storylines is contrived and every time it cuts between the two, it feels very awkward, forced, meaningless and confusing.

It’s a real shame, because the story of the Edward VIII is an extremely interesting one.  There’s so much there to write about: his controversial lifestyle, marriage to Wallis Simpson, abdication, relationship with George VI and the rest of the royal family – not to mention his alleged Nazi sympathies and friendship with Adolf Hitler!  As a straight historical drama, this story would be truly riveting and I personally think it deserves a big budget treatment.  It could even do well as a glossy romantic drama or a gritty political drama – or a mixture of both.

I do appreciate that Madge has tried to tell this story (which has been done in film and TV before) from an alternative perspective: through the eyes of Wallis Simpson.  This is a credible idea but the film doesn’t focus enough on it.  Instead, it’s needlessly confused by a boring, ambiguous plot featuring a deluded and emotionally erratic protagonist nobody can relate to.

The film is occasionally historically inaccurate and utterly bizarre in places.  There is a point where a news reporter states that Edward is succeeding King George III, when it is in fact King George V (the former died more than a century before).  There are also several absurdities and moments of sheer bad taste, most notably a scene where Edward and Wallis are popping pills at a party as they dance to the Sex Pistols in the 1930s!  The fact Madonna chose the song 'Pretty Vacant' is probably more fitting than she'll realise.  There is a consistent stream of these absurdities which cause serious detriment to the film’s tone and coherency – as if it wasn’t already hard enough to understand.

There is no conclusion to this film either.  By the end nothing is resolved, everything becomes wholly ambiguous and no explanation is given as to the meaning or core purpose of the film.  Just before the credits role, as the camera pans up from nothingness to yet more nothingness, you’re left thinking “what was the point in all of that?”

Credit where credit’s due though: the film has some nice cinematography.  The fashion and costume design is great too.  It’s visually very good and you can tell there are some people working on this film who know what they’re doing, but it’s all wasted on a rotten script.  The film seems to concentrate on fashion, materialism, aesthetics and stylistic elements more than telling a compelling story.  It’s just superficial.

For me, the bad outweighs the good, and W.E. appears as nothing more than an opportunistic derivative of a sub-plot from the King’s Speech, with potential that would never be realised here.  Madonna’s film is brash and contrived at best, random and pointless at worst.

Coriolanus (2011): violent, engrossing and relevant.

Shakespeare isn’t Shakespeare without Shakespearean language.  It might be difficult to understand exactly what the dialogue is during parts of Coriolanus, but there’s no difficulty following the meaning.  The action, the direction and some powerful performances – most notably from Ralph Fiennes and Vanessa Redgrave – carry the film and more than compensate for the language barriers.  Some people walked out about halfway through but the climactic third act made it well worth the perseverance - especially Redgrave’s moving monologue as the formidable matriarch Volumnia.

Gerard Butler was pretty forgettable in this.  Whether that’s because he isn’t exactly of thespian discipline or because his character isn’t particularly pronounced in this play, is up to you to decide. Perhaps he and Jessica Chastain are nothing more than a bit of totty to sell the film?  Perhaps that’s just a bit cynical.

James Nesbitt added an interesting, somewhat unexpected dynamic to the play with his enigmatic nuances of jest and malice.  Also worth a mention was the little-known Dragan Micanovic who played a minor character, Titus, but delivered a couple of pivotal lines with engrossing presence.

The real star of the show is obviously Shakespeare.  His poetic prose courses through your mind and adds fuel to the fires of his drama.  His characters are bold and consistent, truly agents of their own destinies.  The subject matter resonates with political allegory and the film’s release is timely and relevant.  The play set in a present day context highlights the tribal social system which still dominates our affairs.  The story also works to express the futility of war.

Fiennes has done well to translate Coriolanus from the stage to the screen and he hasn’t stretched it too far so as to alienate it from the original text.  Stylistically, the film is quite gritty.  The focus is mostly on the actors, their eyes, their expressions and their delivering of lines, but there are a few purely cinematic moments (fight scenes in particular) which justify the adaptation to the screen.  There are a couple of truly violent moments in the film which blast the cobwebs off the old play and hook the modern, desensitized audience into the story.

Coriolanus is a tense and violent political wartime thriller which makes Shakespeare not only accessible but utterly captivating.  A credible directorial debut from one of the industry’s finest working actors.

Rango (2011): forgivably formulaic fun with lizards and guns

Rango was very entertaining.  There were a few belly-laugh moments for me, which is what I was hoping for.  The action and romance plots intertwined in a classic but original way and there was more than enough quirky style to keep things fresh.

There were a few moments of adult humour (the prostate joke comes to mind) handled cleverly enough so as to coast easily over the kids’ heads and keep the adults sniggering away - as is somewhat conventional for this kind of animated feature nowadays.  I’m not sure when this clever duality of adult and childish humour originated, but it’s certainly very prominent in contemporary films like Rango, Toy Story, Monsters Versus Aliens, etc.  It’s a feature that always drives me to animated films and something which I think will come to define this type of film.  I’m not entirely convinced this feature is even exclusive to animation, rather it’s just somehow more noticeable.

Rango was a lot like Monsters Inc., I immediately thought.  There were a few similarities and in this sense it seems formulaic.  The mayor character was quite like the company owner in Monsters: a bureaucratic fatcat who conserves a corrupt system for the apparent good of the people.  They’ve both also got slimy, formidable henchmen: in Rango it’s Rattlesnake Jake, in Monsters it’s Randall the chameleon-like lizard monster.  The plot is similar in that it follows a story of the feeble yet heroic protagonists’ efforts to uncover a conspiracy and save the day thus.

Cinematically, the film also pays tribute to film history.  It appears  obviously reminiscent of Western genre greats like John Ford, Howard Hawks, Clint Eastwood and Sergio Leone.  Not to mention the tip of the cap to Fear and Loathing.

This breed of animated features endeavours to appeal to a mixture of demographics, not just age but cultures and nationalities (Shrek and Disney-Pixar’s upcoming Brave bring the world a little slice of Scottish culture, for example).   Films like these seem to adopt a formulaic approach in order to ensure global and trans-demographic popular success.   Often very classical and accessible, Rango is testament to the fact that films like this can be both somewhat formulaic and highly original and stylised.  Altogether entertaining, well-designed care-free cinema.

The Tree of Life (2011): prophetic, symbolic and magnificent.

The Tree of Life starts something like a fragmented family drama.  It soon moves onto an incredible sequence which is almost like an abstract portrayal of the history of the universe, narrowing down to a history of the Earth.  Malick takes all the many patterns of life and existence– from microbiotic organisms to interstellar structures – and creates the most majestic collage. (I couldn’t help being reminded of that sequence at the end of Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey.)

The film evolves to focus on the story of Jack, son of a God-fearing American couple.  It follows his journey from birth through childhood as he grows to makes sense of the world and struggles with his complicated adolescent emotions.  The main plot follows Jack and his family, but the film remains universally relatable as it encompasses truly vast themes: life, death, love, hate, childhood, adulthood, parenthood, god, religion, nature, man, gender, sexuality, guilt, fear, shame, happiness, forgiveness, sacrifice…the list goes on.

Nearer the end it becomes highly symbolic, most notably repeating representations of doorways, passageways, bridges, circles, planets, suns, stars, waves, water, trees, hands, the sky and other loaded imagery which will inspire a complex of interpretations.

Ultimately, The Tree of Life is wholly philosophical and its messages are prophetic, discursive and intuitive.  The juxtaposition of the greatest and smallest pieces of the universe gives the human drama a context that is humbling to say the least.  Malick incredibly manages to underline the relative insignificance of man, whilst presenting an emotive human story.  Malick has created an avant-garde masterpiece with mainstream appeal.

Drive (2011): Tarantino would be proud

Nicolas Winding Refn has obviously been influenced a lot by Tarantino.  I think this not just because of the intermittent scenes of graphic violence, but because of the use of a widescreen aspect ratio, the long shots, a mostly still frame and slow cutting.  This visual stillness and the introverted calm of Ryan Gosling’s character provide a disquieting sobriety which balances out the occasional bit of mutilation.  Drive handles some of the most disturbing portrayals of cold-blooded murder in cinematic history with undeniably cool style.  I was immediately reminded of Pulp Fiction and Resevoir Dogs mostly; but the film could be paying tribute to any one of Tarantino’s twisted takes on gangster drama.

An 80s-esque electro soundtrack mixed with the neon-pink titles and cityscapes make this film cry out to be sat next to Tarantino’s filmography as well as classic gangster dramas like Scarface.  Like Tony Montana, Gosling’s driver starts the film as a nobody.  Unlike Pacino’s egomaniacal anti-hero, however, Drive’s protagonist remains a nobody.  The main song in the soundtrack, A Real Hero by College, sums up the driver’s story as it plays over an unsurprisingly down ending with the lyrics “you’ve proved to be a real human being and a real hero” repeating over and over.

Gosling, along with Bryan Cranston, Albert Brooks and Ron Perlman provide captivating characters to drive along a fairly minimal plot.  As much happens off-screen as it does on-screen in this film and that really allows the audience to invest their own imagination into the film to fill in the gaps; making for a more rewarding viewing experience, in my opinion.  A very solid effort by director Winding Refn, Drive is an intriguing, minimalist crime drama that is satisfyingly sure of its genre and cinematic influences.

The Artist (2011): the beginning of an era.

I love the simplicity of early cinema and how it gives you a glimpse of history in glorious 4:3.  In the Lumière Brothers and Georges Méliès films circa 1895, you see people who existed more than a century ago moving about before your very eyes.  The celluloid is scratched and flickers erratically between the black and white images of ghost-like figures as they go about their daily business or present a fantastical play.  Early narrative cinema of the 1910s and 20s has a simple modesty as filmmakers experimented to create storytelling conventions in the medium of cinema – many of which are still used today.  Any cinephile has a romantic attachment to the silent era, because that’s where it all came from.  There’s no wonder why director Michel Hazanavicius chose to create homage to cinema in his 2011 monochrome silent The Artist.  As he says in January’s Sight & Sound: “The real star of the story is Hollywood.”

The film is set in 1920s Hollywood at the peak of the silent era.  It follows the decline of a star and the birth of another as the young studio system copes with the advent of sound on film.  The transition from ‘movies’ to ‘talkies’ meant silent star George Valentin is left in the dust as the young, vibrant Peppy Miller makes herself heard in the world of showbiz.

Sound is obviously one of the most important aspects of The Artist.  This isn’t strictly a silent film, but a tribute to silent films.  The soundtrack includes expressive music to simulate the musicians which would accompany a film in 1920’s theatre houses.  Hazanavicius plays with the audience in the opening scene however, by blurring the lines between diegetic and non-diegetic sound.  He further plays with the idea much later in the film with a dream-sequence in which Valentin can suddenly hear crystal clear diegetic sound, yet his voice remains mute.  These little gags are weaved into the film’s subject matter and give the whole thing a great sense of cohesion – a telling sign of a fully conceived film.

The audience, I think, is also crucial to this film’s delivery.  The film is very aware of the audience and always cuts to shots of audiences as if to emphasize this.  Hazanavicius is always very aware of what the audience knows and doesn’t know.  The director realises that modern audiences may well know a lot about silent era cinema.  The film is packed with references to classics like Citizen Kane and 7^th Heaven; filmmakers like German expressionist F.W Murnau and Hollywood classic Frank Borzage; and stars like Janet Gaynor and Douglas Fairbanks.  The Artist is also heavy with classical cinematic conventions, for instance the simple use of rain as an expression of sadness.  These conventions used as heavily today would seem ridiculous and clichéd, but within the context of the silent-era style, modern audiences are filled with a sense of fond reminiscence.

The Artist is not trying to be an authentic silent film, but instead wishes to present a novel but respectful nod to the silent era of Classical Hollywood. It is full of references and reads like Hazanavicius' love letter to an era of filmmaking which he - and we - are indebted to. In a time when films like Avatar are attempting to revolutionise cinema by making IMAX 3D the next coming of sound, I'm surprised The Artist was even made. But I'm glad it was. To me it serves as a much-needed look back at the essential beginnings of the art form. Already receiving considerable popular success, The Artist could herald the beginning of an era when mainstream filmmakers and audiences alike become more aware and influenced by the origins of cinema. Apart from all that, The Artist also stands alone as an altogether sad, funny, compelling and entertaining film.

The Notebook (2004): writing the textbook for the romance genre.

Well, I did it.  I took my masculinity to the next level.  I watched The Notebook.  And I liked it.

Many of my female friends have cited it as ‘the film they’ve cried the most at’ over the years.  Some of my more honest male friends have said the same, only in fewer words.  Something like “really sad”, usually.

It is really sad, because it was designed to be.  Every aspect of the film was designed to tug on your heartstrings at strategic points in the story.  It’s this formulaic nature that is the film’s most crowning achievement.

The story follows a very classical design, what scriptwriting guru Robert McKee calls the “Archplot”.  It features causal and linear change, a closed ending, external conflicts and protagonists who actively pursue their destinies.  The Notebook is undeniably of the romance genre and has exactly what you would expect from the genre: boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love, boy loses girl and so on.  The picturesque cinematography and dreamy orchestration immediately scream at the audience: “this is a conventional romantic drama”.  The casting directors have chosen conventionally attractive male and female leads: the gorgeous Rachel McAdams and Ryan Gosling.   The overall design is cohesive, coherent and pleasing.

Despite all of these very apparent and deliberate generic traits, enjoyment of the film is not hindered in the slightest.  In fact this conventionality is the very trait that makes the film so enjoyable.

It’s all about balance: too much generic traits and the film is plagued by cliché and contrivance; not enough conventionality and the film becomes too incoherent to be enjoyable.  The Notebook strikes these balances perfectly in all aspects of the film.  It is expressionistic at times, naturalistic at others.  Its glowing romanticism avoids saccharinity by measured moments of dramatic realism.  Its sadness is balanced by a sense of simple optimism.  The soundtrack is overtly emotive, but used selectively.

As well as all of these technical elements, the story also does well to avoid laborious mediocrity in a genre notorious for it.  For example, one aspect of the story is that Allie’s parents are opposed to her relationship with Noah.  Just as you think “that’s all a bit Romeo and Juliet”, the mother character is given a new dimension as a complex subplot is revealed, her motivations change and everything feels more real than an archetypal Shakespearean romance.  The Notebook consistently sits on the sweet spot in the tension between generic and unique.

When a film can be described as generic yet original, that’s when it can be described as a textbook example of its genre.  This is Hollywood filmmaking at its finest: when films are designed to provoke a certain kind of reaction and achieve this goal with devastating accuracy, whilst remaining effortlessly enjoyable.

Rating:

Take Shelter (2011): exploiting generic permutation for thrills

Take Shelter is all about the actors.

Michael Shannon, who I know most prominently from HBO’s tremendous drama series Boardwalk Empire, provides a fascinating portrayal of the main character, Curtis.  An experienced actor, Shannon normally fills supporting roles, however Take Shelter proves he can provide a captivating lead performance at feature length too.  Shannon is particularly suited to antagonistic characters so his place as the thwarted hero in Take Shelter makes an interesting addition to his profile.  I suspect, however, there’s a likelihood he’ll be forever typecast as the villain following his performance as General Zod in the upcoming Superman film Man of Steel.

Curtis is a simple and honest man, living and working in a small Midwestern town with his beautiful wife (Jessica Chastain) and deaf daughter.  Curtis embodies the characteristics of the all-American man: pride, confidence, rationality and the alpha-male, breadwinning instinct to protect his family and their happiness.  Shannon effectively portrays this character, who could almost be clichéd were it not for Shannon’s ability to subtly develop him into something more complex as his mental stability deteriorates throughout the film.  Curtis is never over-acted by Shannon and remains engrossing and delightfully plausible for the most part.  However, there is one badly written scene at the end of the second act which seemed like needless dramatic sensation and didn’t suit the character at all.  Not really Shannon’s fault and, in fact, he and Chastain did well on a couple of occasions to try to understate any particularly overtly dramatic moments in the script – most notably the closing scene, of which more later.

Jessica Chastain provides a dynamic performance as Curtis’ wife, Samantha, a loving, compassionate and god-fearing homemaker.  As with Curtis, she starts the film as a character who is almost too idealistic and is also somewhat marginalized.  As the plot thickens, though, her emotional depth is revealed and she becomes engaging and surprising.  This character is particularly attractive in that she demonstrates an uncompromising loyalty to her husband in the face of an adversity that was instigated by her husband.  In an age when the definition of the word marriage is, frankly, anyone’s guess, Samantha’s persevering trust is an undeniably charming characteristic and makes a refreshing change to a majority of the heroines of modern cinema.

Despite the fact that the film won the Critics Week Grand Prize at Cannes, among other awards and rightfully received acclaim, I think there are a number of criticisms to be made.  The film is dry at times, in my opinion, probably because it suffers from a kind of auteur syndrome.  It was both written and directed by Jeff Nichols alone and so is necessarily restricted to his creative vision.  As a result of this, the film can occasionally feel hollow.  Any character outwith the main three are shallow and one-dimensional.  It’s apparent that all minor characters are written to fill a specific narrative purpose, rather than exist as part of an organic story.  Whenever any of the minor characters are given any kind of idiosyncrasies, it comes across as decoration to their character and is painfully contrived.   There are a number of unexplained ambiguities, too, for example the fact that Curtis’ daughter apparently has the ability to sense the storm that plagues Curtis’ existence.  It isn’t just the characters that lack an extra dimension, but the story too: there is a distinct lack of subtext and subplot, giving the film a stifled air of artifice.

Nichols has perhaps over-simplified minor characters and plot lines for a purpose though.  One of the film’s most redeeming features is that it travels between genres, fluidly and enjoyably.  The film is quite a straight character drama, in the first instance, but progresses into borrowing heavily from psychological thriller and, more interestingly, apocalyptic horror.  There are hints of zombies, supernatural disturbance and divine retribution, but you are never sure if they are instances of Curtis’ own personal psychosis, or if they represent something more real and impending.  This aspect of the film is gripping and you never suspect when Nichols switches the flick from sober drama to paranormal thriller.  For this overall design and the merging of genres to work, Nichols has minimized plot and character complexity - perhaps sacrificed them.

Clearly expert in exploiting the conventions of various genres, it seems Nichols has merely borrowed the quiet style of arthouse character drama only to provide a stark and terrifying contrast to his unexpected moments of horror.  I don’t object to mixing genres, unless it’s to purely facilitate momentary sensationalism or to pull a veil of plausibility over viewers’ eyes to then present them with a ridiculously far-fetched conclusion.

The ending gives the entire film a new meaning, but at the expense of inflicting serious detriment to plausibility, suspension of disbelief and, subsequently, appreciation of the whole film.  As enjoyable as the performances are, the blending of genres and the technical elements of the film, Nichols writes quite thinly and has a tendency for sensationalism that is somewhat contradictory to the films otherwise naturalistic feel.  Jeff Nichols can write a film as a whole, but it seems he needs to work on making his minor characters more real and his stories more multidimensional.  Either that, or fully realise his desire for sensationalism and step away from the more delicate realm of arthouse-esque character drama.

Rating:

Jack Goes Boating (2010)

Yesterday was the UK release date for Philip Seymour Hoffman's first directorial effort Jack Goes Boating.  So I popped into my local independent cinema to give it a watch (£4 a ticket on a Friday afternoon, why not?).  It got me thinking and that got me writing.  Here's what I thought.

Right from the start the world is beautified by that simplistic aesthetic so typical of independent cinema.  The framing is mostly quite tight and the visual palette is consistently minimalist, leaving room for the audience to concentrate on the complex characters and themes of the film.  Perhaps the visual aspect of the film was necessarily rendered minimalist due to budget constraints, or maybe as an effort to unashamedly embrace the indie ‘look’ – either way it looks great and, more importantly, allows for a sense of clarity which is a perfect atmosphere in which to propagate some of the big ideas that the film explores.  And the film discusses one of the biggest issues: love.  It does so modestly, almost unintentionally, though, concentrating more on character development than making any grand philosophical statements.

The film achieves so much through the undeniable human charm of its four central characters.  Philip Seymour Hoffman is the incredibly enigmatic protagonist, Jack.  He’s quiet, socially-awkward and lacks common sense but is occasionally profound and deeply emotional.  Clyde (John Oritz) is his friend, work mate and mentor.  Clyde and his long term girlfriend Lucy (Daphne Rubin-Vega) are trying to set Jack up with Lucy’s colleague Connie (Amy Ryan).

Clyde’s own relationship is falling apart, however.  The cracks are beginning to show under the strains of previous affairs and Clyde soldiers on, insisting that it’s just one of the natural burdens of being in a long-term relationship.  Clyde tries to teach Jack about love as he struggles with his own jealousy and insecurity and Lucy struggles with her lust and infidelity.  Ironically, it turns out Jack is the one with the best approach to love and life: untainted simplicity and an enduring optimism (or “good vibe” as Jack would say quietly growing his dreadlocks as he listens to reggae on his Walkman).  The last shot of the film effectively sums up Clyde’s realisation of this irony as he stands jaded and alone, watching Jack and Connie walk off in the simple happiness of each other’s company.  There are several of these poignant moments in the film that are loaded with dramatic meaning and subtext even though the scene is almost void of any dialogue – reminding the audience that the story was originally conceived for the stage by writer Robert Glaudini.

One of the most interesting and prevalent themes in the film is perception.  It discusses the way we see things and the way things actually are.  Again, the choice of characters is absolutely astounding as it allows for a well-illustrated exploration of this theme.  The film makes a stark contrast between Jack and Connie’s simple optimism (not naïve ignorance) and Clyde and Lucy’s defeatist, cynical realism/pessimism.  The film favours Jack’s integrity in his slow and wary but ultimately positive outlook compared to Clyde’s self-deprecating acceptance of a sub-standard relationship.  This theme of perception is manifested as a visual metaphor throughout the film: Clyde tells Jack to picture success in his head in order to achieve it when he’s teaching him to swim.  Jack starts to use this visualization technique in other enterprises (learning to cook for Connie, for example), but Clyde fails to heed his own advice, constantly swimming against the current of his own denial.  The use of this visual metaphor is a nice touch by first time director Hoffman: it isn’t overstated and nicely concretes the idea of perception within the viewer’s mind.

In criticism, the film verges on the side of cliché fairly often.  There are some overly contrived lines, most notably when Jack’s evening with Connie doesn’t go to plan, he smashes up the apartment, locks himself in the bathroom and Clyde reassures him: “we can get by this…everything is ruined but we can get by this.”  This one line pretty much sums up the whole point of the film: coming to terms with the tension between enduring dysfunctional relationships and fruitlessly chasing an unobtainable ideal.  I’d imagine that kind of melodramatic, on-the-nose dialogue would work perfectly in the theatre, but it doesn’t translate well onto film.  Some things are better left unsaid.

When Fleet Foxes’ White Winter Hymnal started playing it occurred to me that the producers were trying very hard to stick to textbook indie style (which isn’t really surprising considering it’s the same guys who made Little Miss Sunshine and The Savages).  The soundtrack seemed to be doing little more than borrowing a sense of style rather than adding significant meaning and, at times, the music was either redundant or jarring.

Amy Ryan’s is one of the weaker performances in the film, in my opinion, making Connie no more than a female counterpart of the lead at times and cartoonish at others.  I think the character is good though - perhaps Ryan would’ve done her justice if the producers had focussed more of the film’s attention on Connie.

The film takes a look at the nature of love in modern relationships by comparing its starkly contrasted characters and their perception of love.  There are a couple of moments in the film that verge uncomfortably close to the cliché and contrived, but not enough to detract from the overall value of the film.  The film contains some truth and insights that will resonate amongst many of the audience members.

Overall, a well-crafted and relatable film that allows audiences to invest in its superb characters and reflect on its meanings.  At 89 minutes it’s easy to digest and easy to enjoy.  It’s a visually pleasing piece of textbook independent cinema that Philip Seymour Hoffman should be proud to call his directorial debut.

Rating: