Genre: Fiction/Drama/Romance/Holocaust Novel


CRITIQUE:


So rarely does the sensitive genre of the Holocaust novels approached with such subtle touch, quiet dignity, and tactful imagination. Bernhard Schlink’s much-appraised German fiction, translated into English, THE READER not only represents one of mankind’s darkest affair with hatred and inhumanity, but it also draws philosophical questions about man’s capability to love, hate and seek redemption. It’s not only a Holocaust novel but it also studies the German conscience and the power of forgiveness, all seen through a unique tale of a boy’s love affair with a woman twice his age, stirring issues of coming-of-age, learning lessons in life and the scouring of the human heart and soul. As a love story, it transcends the genre, and makes it all the more a simple yet potent literary force.


It is written in a humble, serene and graceful prose, first evoking childhood imagery, a boy’s discovery of love, lust and companionship with an older woman who works at a tram company, then later, as fate turns its capricious claws, they were both driven by their impulses and misunderstandings, both in themselves and the country they live in. She becomes an Auschwitz camp guard, he becomes a law practitioner – and the next moment they laid eyes was in a court; she being trialled, he as a court apprentice. But what remains is the once little boy who reads literature to her stays in her consciousness.


This is soon to be adapted into the silverscreen, Stephen Daldry (THE HOURS, BILLY ELLIOT) starring Kate Winslet as Frau Schmitz and Ralph Fiennes as Michael Berg. But prior to its visual transformation, the book is enough to create vivid pictures in the mind of a reader: that love knows no boundaries.


VERDICT:

The dignity of THE READER runs along the veins of its tactful prose, and in its blood, in its very core – is a compelling story about love, loss and redemption. After you’ve read it, one would realise its heartbreaking beauty that is deeply profound.



RATING: A

Cast: Freddie Highmore, Mary Louise-Parker, David Strathairn

Director: Mark Waters

Screenplay: Karey Kirkpatrick

Genre: Fantasy/Family

Running time: 1 hr 37 mins



CRITIQUE:


It’s hard to invest in a contemporary fantasy film without any expectation. Every fantasy flick seem to out-streak each other through visceral battles that the more impressive the CGI, the bigger the effects, the greater the budget, the bigger chance to break box office. A recent entry to the arena is THE SPIDERWICK CHRONICLES, an amalgamation of a series of books into one (thank heavens that’s a series less), and it is not ambitious enough to stage any epic battle but stays rooted to basic elements of family foibles. Yet, with its good intentions, it still feels like a derivative of other family, fantasy films despite of its great deal of efforts, as though a blend of JUMANJI and E.T. had been put together, tinged with NARNIA familiarities.


The presence of the fantastical creatures like hobgoblins, faeries, trolls, and griffins could make a seven-year-old wide-eyed and gushing, and this is fundamentally the film’s intent. It’s a kid’s fare film, hence its Nickelodeon home studio. It kicks off with a premise unpromising enough that exploits the talent of David Strathairn as the ever-curious Arthur Spiderwick that only requires him to furrow his brows and literally looking like he’s away with the faeries. Rest assured, the film is saved by Freddie Highmore, this talented young British thesp playing American twins, one a grumpy-schoolboy-turned-hero and another less complex, laid-back pacifist. This is a convincing turn and each character has an imprint.


The movie’s main problem is that it’s all too familiar. At its crux is a story of a family struggling to face the bitter facts of divorce, albeit with pedestrian elements comprising of a renegade son who tries to convince an insensitive sis and a disbelieving mum that he sees magical creatures. Speaking of creatures, think SHREK turned three-dimensional, that’s what you get here as the goblins look cartoonish. It’s never beyond impressive, save for the griffin as perhaps the most realised creature in the film, although it goes HARRY POTTER AND THE PRISONER OF THE AZKABAN on us.


VERDICT:

This fantasy-family flick has moral values to teach but it remains like a Saturday fantasy matinee fare, plainly watchable and passable at the same time.



RATING: B-

Cast: Ryan Gosling, Emily Mortimer, Patricia Clarkson

Director: Craig Gillespie

Screenplay: Nancy Oliver

Genre: Drama/Comedy/Romance/Indie

Running time: 1 hr 46 mins



CRITIQUE:


There’s a material in the concept of LARS AND THE REAL GIRL that could easily border the awkward watching experience. A major character acquires a sex doll from a dodgy website, not just a blow-up plastic doll but real dolls in which can be customised if desired – and if that doesn’t sound prurient, bordering on pornographic, then this might a sort of film your parents wouldn’t want you to see. However, if not for the script’s wonderful and respectable subtlety, the direction’s careful handling and the performances’ warmth, this could have been an inferior film, succinctly judged and easily misunderstood. It is, in fact, a beautiful film with such a complex emotional core.


It tells a tale of a socially-alienated twenty-something man whose greatest dread is to be around with people, much worse being touched. This is Lars (a remarkable performance by Ryan Gosling), and he lives in a tiny house in a town which is seemingly in constant winter. The gloomy grey skies and surroundings perfectly accompany the tone of the film throughout. He shocks his indifferent brother and his caring sister-in-law by bringing home a life-size, fully-functional doll and yet pretends that she’s a missionary on a wheelchair named Bianca. What’s even surprising, Lars’s infallible innocence ignores the doll’s major function and treats her like an illusory person, sleeping in different room and goes to dates with her.


There a lot of funny moments, as Lars introduce his ‘girlfriend’ to the society. And what Patricia Clarkson’s doctor-cum-psychologist advises, everyone should accept the imagination drawn by Lars to help him recover and realise what he’s doing. The film’s main weakness lies on the town’s absence of any bully, who could insult Lars’s actions, making it a stereotypical view of a cleansed society. Nevertheless, this film works its wonders as it lets the audience view it as a symbolism of how society should treat misfits and loners, not totally isolate them but help them instead to be a part of the community. It is through Lars’s acquisition of doll that he learns about the realism of love, as he wakes up in consciousness about the importance of being loved back in return.


The greatest achievement of the film belies on its solid script, assured to not border into exploitation, but focuses more on character development and study of the foibles of human psyches. At the very nature of Lars is lonely man trying to reach out to human compassion, and that’s how exactly Gosling brilliantly embodied the character, as he doesn’t seek your sympathy, but rather your understanding.



VERDICT:

A quiet, dignified and moving film about the healing power of love and human compassion, kudos to this film that picks up an almost-awkward concept and transform it into a winning, sweet and heartwarming piece of gem.



RATING: A-

Cast: Talulah Riley, Gemma Aterton, Rupert Everett, Colin Firth

Director: Oliver Parker

Screenplay: Piers Ashworth

Genre: Comedy/British Film

Running time: 1 hr 38 mins



CRITIQUE:


Here’s Britain’s answer to America’s onslaught of teenage fodder films, a remake of THE BELLES OF ST. TRINIANS, cutting it down short to something easily decipherable to the younger generation of mischief, just plain ST. TRINIANS. A notorious, riotous, calamitous all-girl school that’s supposed to break any rules laid down by any. At first, it sounds like a sorority gangster film, but after you have seen it, you’d wish it was. This is a terribly made film without any scintilla of filmmaking sensibility, coupled with an awfully written script as contrived as it feels wooden and forced. Every shot, every frame feels like an amateur exercise of someone that freshly been drowned in soda while watching a naff Saturday gag show on telly. Even offering a pernickety plot, it’s never funny enough and its gags fall flat.


Talulah Riley seems to be kooky enough to be the lead, but the rest of the gang just plainly serves as part of the moronic backdrop, some blonde-haired-and-blue-eyed babe named Chelsea who’s too blonde for her sake leading her bunch of Posh Tottys, the geeky freaks, and the Emos – all stereotypically designed to fit in the ludicrous fashion cutter. Save for Gemma Aterton, the soon-to-be Bond Girl, as the sultry elite Head Girl, who obviously wanted to inject some sense into the wild and raucous academia-gone-wild atmosphere. All the rest, Lena Headey, Catalina Mundrino, Toby Jones were underused, given what they have to do, which is to appear and look nerdy. Colin Firth’s presence is a welcome addition, and Rupert Everett’s double caper as the Headmistress and Riley’s father is an oftentimes hilarious yet forgettable performance. Lastly, Russell Brand looked like he existed in the film like the way he exists in the real life.


The film’s strength lies of the planning stage before the last act, the stealing of the Girl With The Pearl Earring in the National Gallery (the funniest line in the film probably goes to Chelsea for the Scarlett Johansson mistaken identity gag) – but incessantly, it just falls flat again hard on the cold stone floor by the time it goes Mission Impossible on us. Oh, please.



VERDICT:

Like a fully manufactured product, it’s all shiny and glossy but empty. At least, it’s branded as a comedy that does not refer to other products, yet still absent of any laughable gags.



RATING: C

Cast: Franka Potente, Moritz Bleibtreu

Director: Tom Tykwer

Screenplay: Tom Tykwer

Genre: German Film/Romance/Thriller

Running time: 1 hr 21 mins



CRITIQUE:


By the time you’ve heard the title of this German film, you’re probably familiar of what it’s all about. We get a ladette, an energetically athletic, running in countless of momentous scenes. And no, this is not that sort of romantic comedy where there’s usually the run-to-the-airport-or-bus-station climax. There’s just the running, loads of it – and the twist of it, the heroine runs to save the love of her life.


Told in a very inventive style, director Tom Tykwer offers European aura to this film, accompanied with beating, blaring club-techno soundtrack. Unexpectedly, it works on the scenario. Red-haired Lola has twenty minutes to dash like a racehorse, saving her lover from a would-be disaster after a drug-deal-gone-wrong matter. Along the way, she encounters different hurdles that try to stop her from arriving on time. People looking for a generous script would be quite displeased, but audience who are open-minded enough to bask in this arthouse physical and emotional exercise, then you’re in the right kind of alley. Tykwer could almost turn a blind eye from the strict rules of filmmaking, and instead, he usurps his own twist, as one long action sequence (from Lola scampering at his apartment to leaping across pavements and bumping people, cue Polaroid-snapshot cinematography) is repeated three times to tell three different angles of the story. If you want sense and serenity, douse your lights and off to kip instead.


But at the core of this film is an engaging love story between two consumed people, scared of the incontrovertibility of life and the dooms it offer. Yet despite of this, with Lola’s inspiring determination, she runs for the name of love, along the way discovering about her family, and to whom she really lives for, realising that luck plays a tremendous part in the game of life. As said at the beginning of the film, human beings are the most mysterious creatures, time is their greatest enemy. There’s depth in this, added with adrenaline rush and a strong central performance by Franka Potente.


VERDICT:

A visual exercise of a filmmaking muscle nevertheless invigorating in style, RUN LOLA RUN does what it is ought to do. It’s punked-up, exasperating and surprisingly human.



RATING: B+

Cast: Chiara Mastroianni, Catherine Deneuve, Danielle Dereux

Director: Marjane Satrapi

Screenplay: Marjane Satrapi

Genre: Animated Films/Graphic Novel Adaptation/Drama/French Film

Running time: 1 hr 53 mins



CRITIQUE:


For an animated film, PERSEPOLIS breaks the barriers. In the generation that strives for anthropomorphic animated perfection, cue in Pixar banner, this monochromatic, simply hand drawn ignores the guidebook, draws sarcastic eyebrow-raise to society and keeps its tongue firmly in cheek. This is a testament that life is not about animated splash of dazzle and colours, but sometimes has to be bleak, black-and-white, and nevertheless compelling. You will never see anything quite like this yet, and PERSEPOLIS contrives like a comic-book drawn by an elementary grader but with such innocence and unswerving point-of-view to the world that effortlessly borders into funny and poignant storytelling.


The first half, we journey to Marjane’s world as a child, growing up in extreme situations where a major revolution breaks out in Tehran, Iran and extremists set out to rule with iron fists. That is to say, since when have we seen an animated film so rich with history? The political dilemma unfolds in the eyes of Marjane, a strong-willed, free-spirited tot larking around Iranian streets like a normal child but fuelled by society’s repression of freedom. Perhaps Marjane’s character would go down to cinema history’s most fascinating animated characters. Her witnessing of Iran’s descent to capitalism and extremity is seen with sarcasm, wilful wit and amazing humour: the best is to see Marjane and her gang of bully friends chasing after another kid whose father works for the secret police with a handful of nail weapons. And to call God a “fucking bastard” when she discovers her family is in trouble, after her unflinching devotion.


It flinches slightly on the second half when Marjane’s discovers love in Austria and tries to run amok with her new friends. However, it gathers strength again when the mature Marjane learns the lessons of the real liberty, the freedom to coexist with society, accepting herself for what she really is. It gives us this perennial lesson that where we come from makes us who we really are.



VERDICT:

A deserving triumph of a film. This takes an unabashed, unblinking look into child psychology, cultural prognosis and coming-of-age tale in black-and-white territory with great poignancy. If not for that rat who dreams to cook, this could have easily won an Oscar.



RATING: A

Cast: Sarah Jessica Parker, Cynthia Nixon, Kim Cattrall, Jennifer Hudson

Director: Michael Patrick King

Screenplay: Michael Patrick King

Genre: Romantic Comedy

Running time: 2 hrs 22 mins



CRITIQUE:


Those squeals and shrill cries you hear are from bands of women unfalteringly worshiping the recent girl-squad outing of the feminist quartet – and none of it is from the male species. Surely, the yin of the women’s yang are either figuratively spoonfed by the film or coerced to watch it with their fanatical wives, or perhaps if one is neither, then the best excuse is curiosity: people would wonder on what extent does SEX & THE CITY transform into the cinematic screen. And if you say during a post-film debate “This is utter crap!”, that strange noise you hear is your wife sharpening her knives, or your girlfriend flexing their fingers ready to claw at you with their nails.


Yet this is how SEX & THE CITY treats the male species: fortunately it doesn’t reduce the dignity of men, but somehow men dissolve in the background as weaklings, emotionally incapable, easily manipulated, savage animals. On a remorseful note, oftentimes at the crosshair of sexual desire (not that we’re complaining). After all, this is a women’s film, so men could have a change to shut their gobs about FIGHT CLUB and SCARFACE. If STAR WARS, INDIANA JONES and THE LORD OF THE RINGS are the boys’ orgiastic-cinematic machismo, then SEX & THE CITY is quite possibly the girls’ wet dream, if they ever have one.


As claimed by Sarah Jessica Parker’s matter-of-fact, know-it-all yet capable narration, women in New York revolves around two L’s: Labels and Love. Sadly, perhaps nobody mentioned to Parker that what she was narrating was actually the whole plot of the film. And this felt like a vehicle for fabulous fashion and big-named dresses, to tell a story about four fortysomething female New Yorkers who struggle to pin down relationship under bombastic frocks, or chase marriage on a pair of Manolohs. Parker’s Carrie Bradshaw decides to settle with hubby Mr Big yet outrageously deteriorates; Charlotte squeals about satisfaction that handsomeness in a man is not everything in the world; Miranda wages war with herself and her husband about a prolonged abstinence, and Samantha seeks for pleasure despite of his Beckhamesque Hollywood actor boyfriend in the eyes of a hunky neighbour. In spite of Parker’s best efforts to charm, the kudos really goes to Kim Cattrall’s Samantha, who retains the comic relief in the film, and Jennifer Hudson as Carrie’s assistant, the real charming soul of the entire movie. Even Cynthia Nixon’s Miranda deserves an applaud too, finding the darkest of the characters and conveys it with a heart.


But this is a film that lacks heart, or subtlety. It drenches in the been-there-done-that territory and there’s nothing fresh that’s worth squealing about. SEX & THE CITY should have learned from THE SIMPSONS that what stays in the telly, stays in the telly. The most surprising thing is, as what the title suggests, the film lacks steam and raunch, as it feels forced to uphold emotions over carefree caper that never becomes triumphant. Instead, it stays right there, pedestrian. And those snores you hear are from men, without a doubt. It’s just excruciatingly long and too self-contained.



VERDICT:

This chick-flick-phobia inducing hoopla feels like an episode still, an unnecessary cinematic outing for a band of women who have been around since sitcoms became famous. Gold for women, diamonds for fans, crap for the lads.



RATING: C

Cast: Jack Black, Angelina Jolie, Lucy Liu, Jackie Chan,

Dustin Hoffman

Director: Mark Osborne

Screenplay: Jonathan Aibel

Genre: Animation/Action

Running time: 1 hr 28 mins



CRITIQUE:


After SHREK started stomping his ogre-ness around the Hollywood pond and squeezing the last scintilla of its creative juices, Dreamworks animation since then has been known of pop-culture referencing, cue in retro-music throwback. Surprisingly, the studio’s latest effort KUNG FU PANDA is nary of both. It’s a refreshing zest of storytelling told in a vivid, colourful and artistic palette without wasting any moment to pay homage to anything else other than its plot. That is some achievement for an animated film. However, despite that, the story feels already familiar: an oddball who dreams big and the only way to conquer the odds is to believe in himself. So yes, we’ve heard that before amongst many films, even in animated ones, recently in the form of a rat in the pursuit of cooking.
What’s amenable about KUNG FU FANDA is that, despite of its familiar storyline about dreaming big, the film never dreams to be big, hence, thankfully, it never takes itself so seriously. That point is very much established in Jack Black’s hilarious enthusiasm, and the whole film’s fun, mad and feel-good aura that would light up even the blackest of nights.


This is fundamentally revolving around its title, a panda named Po, whose wet dreams comprise of him being the legendary masterful Dragon Warrior, told in a slap-dash crayon-coloured animation that serves as a fascinating premise. Until we are pulled back into Po’s world, he’s a corpulent lump of nearly-useless and clumsy animal species with no apparent physical skills, let alone kung fu. After the accidental firework caper, he was chosen unwittingly as the Dragon Warrior forced to fend off Tai Lung (Ian McShane), the prodigal son sent to prison.


Visually, it’s a splendid experience filled with lushly created images, and the characters are well-drawn, easily likeable. The Furious Five, a roll-call of impressive names, Tigress (Angelina Jolie), Monkey (Jackie Chan), Crane (David Cross), Viper (Lucy Liu), and Mantis (Seth Rogen) – is a near-genius creation, serving the martial arts animal techniques. And Dustin Hoffman as Master Shifu is a comic creation of a Yoda figure. But what really KUNG FU PANDA manages to deliver is its ferociously mad, eye-popping action scenes, superb action moments you’ll ever see in an animation movie. They’re over-the-top, often ludicrous, but will make you forget it silliness and gives you one solid entertainment worth larking about. The escape of Tai Lung from a fortress is incredibly goofy, and the fight scene between The Furious Five against Tai Lung in the broken bridge is a non-stop knuckle-biting entertainment.



VERDICT:

An oversized panda turned martial arts master is a ludicrous shtick – but save for the zippiest action sequences for an animated film, it kicks, snarls and wins home as a light, lively entertainment for the whole family gang.



RATING: B+

Cast: Jess Weixler, John Hensley

Director: Mitchell Lichtenstein

Screenplay: Mitchell Lichtenstein

Genre: Indie/Horror

Running time: 1 hr 34 mins



CRITIQUE:


Throwing the guidebook of the horror genre right out of the window, flesh in a highly original story, pepper some shocking moments, season some black humour – TEETH is what you get. A surprising twist on the horror category where the damsel in the distress is actually the unbeknownst attacker and the real monsters are actually the victims, and if that doesn’t make sense to you, it is all explained in just two words. Vagina. Dentata.


A concept of intriguing proportions, TEETH tells a tale of a teenage girl who was born with mutations “down under” and discovers the terror both in herself and the horror she causes to hormonally-charged teenage boys. It works as an anti-sex teenage film at the onset, showing scenes of an organisation that advocates for purity. And it moves almost painfully and burningly slow to family issues and losing-your-virginity antics, however, thou shall not fall asleep because as soon as the scene of shock value comes, it is worth the wait. Some scenes might cause major disturbances, most especially to men. The mythical vagina dentata, as explained, comprises of tooth protrusions (imagine the principle of a Venus Flytrap), so when physically enforced, it shuts with a snap. It’s a squidgy, squirmy watching experience, as the concept itself is a vomit-inducing element. That cave-scene is a hilariously black, terrifyingly graphic and masterfully handled moment.


The film’s greatest achievement, meanwhile, lies on the development of its plot. From a mainly confused and misunderstood girl to a determined woman who would cause hell to the lives of many perverted men, it can be easily understood as a cautionary tale for all the male species. If one doesn’t want to be castrated, pay respect to a girl, otherwise, some gushing blood and one male organ less later, regret of promiscuity sinks in. The main heroine/villain is brilliantly played by a confident screen performance by newcomer Jess Weixler, who has the charm of Drew Barrymore, screen command of a young Meryl Streep, and the attitude of an Uma Thurman.


VERDICT:

Funny at one moment, then shocks you in the next. This is one unforgettable, disturbing cautionary tale that gives much deeper sensibilities on the importance of self-acceptance and moral respect.



RATING: B+

It's hard to argue the popularity of Coldplay. The once youthful band that sang about the scientists, who claimed that everything is yellow, and that they could fix you - has dropped their emotionally-drenched repertoire and have gone for something more straightforward, that is with a concept. Slew the tomfoolery of love lost and found along with the jagged adolescent-like image, they put on militia outfits, trashed the former simplicity of their album covers and whacked a Delacroix painting on their new cover. It's obvious, as they call their latest effort with a rather peculiar title, VIVA LA VIDA OR DEATH AND ALL HIS FRIENDS. Yes, they're opting for something revolutionary.