Sunday, 15 November 2015

London Film Festival review - Janis: Little Girl Blue

Janis doing what she did best. 
Amy Berg directed one of my favourite documentaries of all time, West of Memphis, which I had the pleasure to see at the LFF a few years ago. So I was very excited to see her new film, a biography of Janis Joplin. 

Unfortunately this is a pretty standard rock documentary, lifted only by the inclusion of Janis’s letters home to her family. This allows Janis to be the narrator, really bringing her alive and showing a side of her that perhaps people would not have seen before. Somehow it is quite strange that this wild child wrote to her square parents in Texas to update them on what she was doing. But I suppose everyone is normal underneath it all.


For fans, or those interested in the period, it is a chance to wallow in her amazing voice and relive her crazy and sad story. For everyone else, it is nothing to write home about (somewhat ironically).  

London Film Festival review - Talvar (Guilty)

Irrfan Khan investigates.
The 2008 murder of Aarushi Talwar, the 14-year-old daughter of two dentists living near Delhi, transfixed India. After seeing this film, which recreates events and examines the incompetence of the investigation, I can see why. It is an extremely strange case.

In the film Aarushi is renamed Shruti. One morning her parents wake up to find her dead in her bed, her throat slit. Immediately the family and police suspect their servant, who is missing. But things aren’t as simple as that. Inspector Ashwin Kumar (Irrfan Khan, giving a strong performance) from the Central Department of Investigation takes over the case from the local police when it becomes clear that they are not up to handling something so high profile and complex (I loved Gajraj Rao as the amazingly bumbling local inspector). But the politics in Kumar’s own department frustrate his every turn.

Director Meghna Gulzar and writer Vishal Bharadwaj did a lot of research to cover all the details of the crime and the investigation, and they use a gritty style to enhance the realism. They decided not to pick a side, but instead show the night of the murder three times throughout the film, letting the different explanations put forward by the police play out. Some of the scenarios are more believable than others, but none completely explains all the evidence. These scenes are, however, some of the most effective parts of the film, which does unfortunately drag a little towards the end when it focuses on the internal politics of the police.  

For those drawn to real life crime stories, this is a genuine mystery that will grip you but unfortunately (for everyone involved) does not offer a satisfactory conclusion. For those interested in India, Talvar paints a picture of a very under-resourced and overloaded criminal justice system, unable to cope with the modern world.  


Saturday, 14 November 2015

London Film Festival review - My Scientology Movie

It all gets a bit meta for Louis in My Scientology Movie
What do you do if you want to make a documentary about people who refuse to speak to you? This was the problem facing Louis Theroux and director John Dower when they started making a film about the Church of Scientology. Their solutions, while creating plenty of interesting moments, unfortunately do not result in a fully satisfying look at the organisation, or the motivations of the people drawn to it.

The first solution was to talk to ex-Scientologists, since practicing ones wouldn't be involved. Most of these now campaign against the Church and its controversial leader David Miscavige. The majority of the film shows Louis getting to know Mark Rathbun, who was Miscavige’s right hand man until 2004.

The second solution is a bit weirder. Louis decides to recreate scenes from the history of Scientology using actors, with Mark directing proceedings based on his recollections. The process of casting the parts is hilarious, and the actor they find to play Miscavige is amazing (he deserves a successful film career, but could have ruined his chances if Scientology still holds any sway in Hollywood). However, I am not convinced that this conceit makes any sense - they aren't really trying to make a film about Scientology, so it's just an excuse to get Mark to talk about his experiences, like some sort of drama therapy.

The filming sessions do get the attention of the Church, though, and unsurprisingly they aren't happy about it. Pretty soon Louis is being followed and filmed himself (a common tactic of Scientology), and this leads to some very bizarre - and of course funny - situations.

Other film makers have successfully made films without access to their subjects, most notably Michael Moore in Roger & Me (where he went on a mission to talk to the head of General Motors, meeting people affected by factory closures along the way). But Michael and Louis have very different styles. Michael always has a message to push through. Louis's documentaries - and I've been a fan of them since Weird Weekends back in the day - are more experiential. He disarms his subjects through his interviews, getting to know them, slowly revealing their inner workings, and never really taking a side. The interviews are everything.  

Unfortunately for My Scientology Movie, Mark Rathbun is not a particularly fascinating interviewee, remaining prickly throughout. Louis never really gets a chance to properly press him on his involvement in the alleged abusive practices at Sea Org, Scientology's elite base. We never even find out when he joined the Church, or how he managed to climb so high in the hierarchy, only that he feels persecuted since leaving.

My Scientology Movie is Louis's first feature-length film, but just isn't his best work. It doesn't get deep enough into the psyche of the interviewees, or tell you enough about Scientology, for my liking. However, that doesn't mean it's bad and it is still definitely worth seeing. Spending a few hours with Louis is always lovely. And Scientology is always good value because of its intense strangeness. 

Tuesday, 20 October 2015

London Film Festival review - The Fear of 13


After two decades on death row, Nick Yarris wrote to the judge dealing with his case and asked to be executed. What makes a man do that? In this mesmerising documentary, Yarris tells his story straight to camera.

His tale is heartbreaking, gripping and inspiring by turns. British director David Sington carefully reveals the details, keeping the audience hooked. The use of subtle and haunting reconstructions adds to the experience, but you can’t help feeling that the bulk of the credit should go to Nick himself. He is an excellent storyteller. His use of language is quite literary and almost floral in places, a side effect of educating himself through books in his cell.  Watching quite a few documentaries about the American justice system in the last few years. I have learnt two things. One, when being interrogated by the cops, don’t say anything except “I want a lawyer”. And two, being on death row is an excellent way to become incredibly eloquent and poetic.

Nick is a deep thinker with a soul open to emotions and experience. Listening to him describing the wonder he felt in the tiniest sounds and scents (which are all he was afforded in solitary confinement) really makes you see the world around you in a new way. He really plays your heartstrings like a harp, telling tales that seem straight out of The Shawshank Redemption but are true. Can you imagine anything better than that?

The Fear of 13 will get a limited UK release on the 10th November, and has been part funded by BBC Storyville so will probably be on TV sometime soon. I really can’t recommend seeing it enough. I’d particularly suggest going to see it at select Vue cinemas on the 11th, to see an exclusive Q&A afterwards. If it’s anything like the Q&A at the showing I went to, it will be worth it.

Monday, 19 October 2015

London Film Festival review - Chronic

Michael Cristofer and Tim Roth share a rare laugh
Oh I do love Tim Roth. And not just because he is Mr Orange (though I went through a rather obsessive Tarantino phase as a teenager, so that is a significant achievement in my eyes). It’s always worth seeing his films because he chooses such interesting projects, and usually gives pretty interesting performances. And Chronic is no exception.

Roth plays David, a nurse caring for the terminally ill in their homes, who seems to be getting a little too involved with his patients. Now, palliative care is not a subject often depicted in film, what with how uncomfortable it makes the viewer feel. Writer/director Michel Franco has really made up for this historic shortage with Chronic. The film is mostly made up of a series of long, static shots of David washing, moving and feeding patients. The voyeuristic feeling is a little disconcerting, but the film really shows how gentle, slow, boring and beautiful caring can be.  

Unlike, say, the recent film Nightcrawler, this is not the study of a creepy loner that perhaps it seems to be at the start. I think the more you find out about David, the less creepy he is. Roth’s understated performance is of course excellent, managing to build a picture of a troubled soul with very little dialogue, and instead mostly through quiet and calm movements. 

One interesting aspect of the film is its setting, or perhaps its lack thereof. While obviously set in Southern California, this very familiar place is made to feel very anonymous. Franco is Mexican, and this could just as easily have been set in Mexico, Britain (Roth keeps his English accent, which oddly no characters comment on) or anywhere else in the world. This film definitely has a very international feel.

Although very slow, Chronic is a mood piece that is, perhaps surprisingly, never boring. The ending did annoy me, though, and just seems so unnecessary. A less eventful ending would have been much more effective than the one we are given, and would have suited the loose, ambiguous nature of the film. This is a pity, as it almost spoils a quietly moving character piece about a topic that is often overlooked. 

London Film Festival review - Nasty Baby

Silva and Wiig contemplate parenthood in Nasty Baby.
Set in the same hipster-ful Brooklyn seen in Girls and the films of Noah Baumbach, Nasty Baby follows artist Freddy (played by writer/director Sebastián Silva) and his boyfriend Mo (Tunde Adebimpe) as they attempt to have a baby with Freddy’s best friend Polly (the wonderful Kristen Wiig in a refreshingly low-key role).

What starts off as a genuinely funny and touching look at characters dealing with life’s disappointments becomes something quite different, as sinister undertones begin to creep in. Although it purports to be a true story, luckily it was just inspired by a few different experiences and thoughts Silva has had. 

The film was part of the “Debate” strand at the festival. I think many people would struggle to find any messages behind Nasty Baby and just write it off as self-consciously weird and clumsy. The Toronto Film Festival apparently refused to show the film unless the ending was changed. I wouldn’t go that far, as though I agree that it was a bit clumsy, I did get something out of the latter part of the film, even though it is so different from the more enjoyable and safer beginning.  I liked the examination here of the darkness that lies within people, and the fragile façade of order that we have in society. 

But when it comes down to it, I’m not clear whether the overall message is that “Some people deserve to live more than others”, or “Some people think they deserve to live more than others”, which are really quite different lines for a film to take. Perhaps Silva is leaving that up to the audience to decide, just to add to our general discomfort. 

Thursday, 15 January 2015

London Film Festival review - The Falling

Florence Pugh and Maisie Williams while away the hours
Out of the hundreds of films in the distressingly massive London Film Festival programme, I chose to see The Falling for four reasons:

  1. It is directed by Carol Morley, who also made the documentary Dreams of a Life, which is so beautiful and poignant and sad that it will haunt you forever and you must see NOW if you haven't already.
  2. It is set at an English girls' school (as was my teenagerhood).
  3. It is set in the 60s (as I wish my teenagerhood had been).
  4. It has Arya Stark in it.


Arya (otherwise known as Maisie Williams) plays Lydia, a slightly moody teenager who has reasons to be moody. Her mother (Maxine Peake) is agoraphobic and hasn't left the house in years. And her older brother has started seeing her best friend, the luminous Abbie (Florence Pugh). The intensity of this friendship has profound consequences for Lydia.

I don't want to say too much about the plot as Morley specifically asked the audience not to after the screening, but this is certainly a very interesting exploration of female friendship at that age, with all of its competing love and jealousy, and of school life. I went to see it with one of my school friends and we agreed that we had never seen a better recreation of what it is like at a girls' school. We particularly enjoyed the "alternative orchestra" the friends ran, which is just the sort of thing that serious and artistic 15-year-olds would do given half a chance.

Williams gets her teeth into this emotional role, and newcomer Pugh is perfectly cast as the clever and charismatic Abbie. She is definitely one to watch. It was also great to see an almost unrecognisable Greta Scacchi as the headmistress. The scenes between her and the other teachers are delightfully well observed.  

While there are flashes of brilliance, the film's dreamy and impressionistic approach to storytelling left me feeling rather cold. Much is left unclear and unsaid, and quite a lot of screen time is devoted to panning shots across the tops of trees. While stark and beautiful - and possibly very meaningful for someone deeper than me - this did tire after a while. 

This unusual film is worth seeing as it is so evocative of a time and a time of life, but unfortunately it didn't quite add up to more than the sum of its parts.