Years before he was persona non grata at the Cannes Film Festival, I discovered the films of Danish “bad boy” Lars von Trier at the old Cinematheque Ontario. So it’s fitting that the folks behind the Cinematheque are bringing a mini-retrospective of his work to their new digs at the TIFF Bell Lightbox. Beginning tonight and running through November 19, six of von Trier’s earlier films will be shown as a sort of appetizer for his latest, Melancholia, which opens on Friday November 18.

Still from Melancholia (2011)

Though I’m disappointed with the omissions, both obvious (no Antichrist?) and not-so-obvious (The Kingdom would have been perfect running over a few nights, and Epidemic seems not to be shown much), I’m most excited to revisit the (literally) dark early films that were my introduction to his work. The Element of Crime (1984) is a sort of police procedural, with a protagonist who practically goes mad trying to track down a serial killer in a post-apocalyptic and dreamlike environment that just might be the inside of his own head. And Europa (1991), the very first of von Trier’s films I saw, which follows a naive young American working as a porter on a very strange train in post-World War 2 Germany. Both films are dripping with style, evocative images, and dark, dreamlike plots.

Still from The Element of Crime (1984)

I’d also like to finally see The Idiots and Dogville, both of which seemed reliably provocative when I saw clips during Adam Nayman’s excellent class earlier this year at the Jewish Canadian Cultural Centre.

Still from Europa (1991)

Here are the details for the schedule. Don’t forget that in addition to the retrospective, you can see Melancholia beginning Friday November 18.

• Breaking the Waves (1996) — Wednesday November 9, 6:30pm
• The Element of Crime (1984) — Friday November 11, 6:30pm
• Europa (1991) — Saturday November 12, 8:00pm and Thursday November 17, 9:15pm
• Dogville (2003) — Wednesday November 16, 6:30pm
• Dancer in the Dark (2000) — Friday November 18, 6:00pm
• The Idiots (1998) — Saturday November 19, 8:00pm

As always, tickets are available online.

Post from: Toronto Screen Shots

Waiting for the End of the World: Lars von Trier Retrospective at TIFF Bell Lightbox

The Last Gladiators (Director: Alex Gibney): Filmmaker Alex Gibney is clearly a very busy man. The Last Gladiators, in which he examines the world of National Hockey League pugilists, focussing in on the story of former Montreal Canadiens enforcer Chris “Knuckles” Nilan, is his tenth feature film since 2005, an unusually prolific output for a documentarian. And you can add in a couple of shorter segments he contributed to some other collaborative documentary projects during that period. Gibney has a track record for matching the quantity with quality, as his latest film proves, even if it’s a departure from the kind of politically-charged topics he’s best known for, such as the downfall of politicians (Client 9: The Rise and Fall of Eliot Spitzer and Casino Jack and the United States of Money), corporate malfeasance (Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room), and American military torture (Taxi to the Dark Side, which won an Oscar in 2008 for best documentary feature). But as a lifelong hockey fan, Gibney, an American, saw rich source material in examining the subculture of one of the most controversial aspect of Canada’s game, with Nilan’s own intriguing story providing about 75% of the film’s content.

Retiring in 1992 after being plagued by injuries (he’s undergone 26 surgeries), Nilan’s most notable achievements from his 13 year NHL career are more than 3,000 penalty minutes, a Stanley Cup win with the Canadiens in 1986, and a selection to Team USA for the 1987 Canada Cup series. After being drafted by Montreal, he played nine seasons for them before being traded to the New York Rangers and eventually his hometown Boston Bruins, before ending his career back with Montreal. Nilan’s pride and love for the Canadiens still runs deep and it seems as if he never got over the devastation of being traded away from them. His troubled post-NHL history, which proves to be the most substantive part of the film, could make Nilan the poster child for pro athletes who struggle with their post-playing lives. A toxic combination of substance abuse (alcohol, prescription painkillers, and heroin), employment problems (Nilan hated the insurance job he worked at), and legal troubles (including a 2009 arrest for shoplifting) destroyed his relationship with his wife and child and nearly killed him. Nilan, who has a very dark and intense side, may be a rough-around-the-edges character, but he’s still a likeable one. Part of his appeal is his blunt honesty, openness, and a willingness to take full responsibility for his failings. Interviews with his father who, like his son, projects a hard-ass demeanour and speaks with that always-fascinating thick Boston accent, add real emotional depth to the film, as the senior Nilan holds little back in conveying the profound heartache and shame he felt (and still feels) over his son’s struggles.

The non-Nilan portions of the film find Gibney tracing the evolution of the enforcer’s role in the game from its mid-70s heyday with the Philadelphia Flyers’ “Broad Street Bullies” through to its greatly diminished need in the current game. Numerous interviews with the most prominent fighters over the past couple of decades provide insight into the enforcer mindset, with players like Marty McSorley, Tony Twist, Donald Brashear, and the late Bob Probert weighing in (Probert’s interviews, conducted shortly before his death, are sad to watch). The scenes with Brashear are sad for a different reason, as we see the former fan favourite playing in D-list hockey league games and still itching to drop his gloves.

The Last Gladiators is a timely piece in light of the recent deaths of three NHL enforcers that called into question the possible link between their occupations and its negative residual effects on their lives. Nilan, who I heard give an interview on Toronto’s Prime Time Sports radio show the week before The Last Gladiators’ TIFF premiere, discounted the connection. Nilan’s stance apparently escaped the attention of TV’s Hockey Night in Canada neanderthal Don Cherry, who criticized him and two other former fighters (also without basis) on the telecast for supporting the supposed theory.

Gibney, who began filming a general portrait of hockey fighters, chose wisely in deciding to make Nilan the central subject. The Last Gladiators is consistently gripping and only misfires when the director chooses some disappointingly obvious music on the soundtrack (Steppenwolf’s “Born To Be Wild”) or engages in unnecessary scene re-enactments to advance his narrative, dragging the documentary into cheesy E! True Hollywood Story territory. Being a hockey fan isn’t even a necessary component in appreciating the film, as I haven’t given a toss about the NHL since the inept Toronto Maple Leafs killed my love for the game in the mid-90s.

Post from: Toronto Screen Shots

The Last Gladiators

From the Sky Down (Director: Davis Guggenheim): When asked to choose the best two albums in U2’s catalogue, most fans and music critics will pick 1987’s The Joshua Tree and 1991’s Achtung Baby. That the band’s strongest work is on albums that sound so radically different from one another is, even two decades later, fairly astounding, and points emphatically to the group’s renowned disdain for creative passivity. As frontman Bono has famously said, Achtung Baby was “the sound of four men cutting down The Joshua Tree”, as U2 struggled to cope with superstardom and needed to “go away and dream it all up again.” That hard-fought musical and personal journey for the band forms the foundation of From the Sky Down, directed by Davis Guggenheim (best known for An Inconvenient Truth and Waiting for Superman). Guggenheim, who had previously directed U2 guitarist The Edge in his underseen 2008 film It Might Get Loud, was approached by the band to put together some sort of visual document to tie in with the upcoming 20th anniversary reissue of Achtung Baby.

From the Sky Down takes a surprisingly brief glimpse at the band’s overall history and I was also somewhat taken aback by the complete absence of any mention of what they might have up their sleeve for the future. No, the focus here is almost entirely on the late 80s-early 90s era of the group, a refreshing approach from a rock documentary format that traditionally only offers a quickly moving biographical summary, with little allowance for a truly in-depth examination of particular periods or albums. Perhaps the band was inspired by The Promise: The Making of Darkness on the Edge of Town, another high profile doc that deconstructed the making of a classic album from their friend and peer, Bruce Springsteen. From the Sky Down features extensive one-on-one interviews with each member of the band (they’re rounded out by drummer Larry Mullen Jr. and bassist Adam Clayton) that provide a comprehensive revisiting of a period that began just after the band’s explosion in popularity with the release of The Joshua Tree, through to the beginning of their landmark Zoo TV Tour in 1992. Not surprisingly, the interviews with the sharp-witted Bono are the most revelatory and entertaining. Special attention is paid to 1988’s Rattle and Hum, the much-derided and misunderstood documentary (with a companion album) that chronicled U2’s burgeoning interest in American roots music. Personally, I’m a huge fan of the film, but the band admits their message was misinterpreted and only reinforced many people’s opinion of the Irish quartet as self-important and insufferable personalities. Guggenheim makes good use of some previously unseen Rattle and Hum outtakes, including one that shows an irate Bono ripping on some incompetent stage workers.

Achtung Baby’s difficult recording sessions form the heart of the film, with additional perspective provided by the album’s producers (Daniel Lanois and Brian Eno), engineer (Flood), and longtime photographer (Anton Corbijn). Guggenheim reconvenes the group at Berlin’s Hansa Studios, where recording began, but where little results were produced due to creative friction and roadblocks. Bono and The Edge wanted to take U2’s sound in a more electronic, experimental direction, with which Mullen Jr. and Clayton couldn’t come to terms. The occasional animation sequences that Guggenheim employs (accompanied by band member voiceovers taken from their interviews) are used to best effect here, with one sequence showing metaphorical walls being erected between the four bandmates. The visual takes on even more symbolic meaning, considering they were in the city during the fall of the Berlin Wall. The band digs out and reflects on old demos, and talks about their songwriting process, which frequently features Bono using gibberish (dubbed “Bongolese”) in place of unwritten lyrics. Two songs get the most attention: “Mysterious Ways” and “One.” The former, originally titled “Sick Puppy,” helped the band turn a corner from their creative difficulties and eventually led to the creation of “One,” which sprang from an idea used in the original bridge in “Mysterious Ways.” The two tracks were the only ones from the album that were completed in Berlin, with the rest finished back home in Dublin.

Guggenheim’s decision to bookend the film with scenes from the group’s much-hyped appearance at this past summer’s Glastonbury Festival is only moderately effective, but he captures some great footage of the band rehearsing various Achtung Baby songs in preparation for the big gig (one of the filming locations is Winnipeg’s Burton Cummings Theatre, during a tour stop in the city this past spring). The standouts include a rough run-through of “Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses,” which really jumped out of the speakers of the Ryerson Theatre’s sound system, and a rare solo vocal performance from The Edge of the album’s haunting closing song, “Love Is Blindness.” U2 has always been a band that has been quite protective of their creative process, and judging by the looseness and candour demonstrated by the band as we see them revisit old songs and experiment with arrangements (we see Bono yelling out upcoming chord changes to the rest of the group), it’s clear that Guggenheim was able to cultivate an intimate level of trust with his subjects.

Shot over the course of six months earlier this year and completed just a week before its world premiere last month at TIFF, Guggenheim’s documentary digs deep down into the inner workings of a band at a pivotal and tumultuous phase in their career. My only complaint about From the Sky Down would be that the director doesn’t quite dig deep enough when it comes to looking at the whole of Achtung Baby, an album that Bono says in the film “is the reason we’re still here now.” An inordinate amount of attention is paid to the creation of “Mysterious Ways” and “One” (which are important songs, to be sure), while other notable tracks such as “The Fly,” “Even Better Than the Real Thing,” “Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses,” and “Until the End of the World” are included only as performances or over the soundtrack, with little or no detail or insight into their origins. One of the album’s best songs, “Ultraviolet (Light My Way),” isn’t mentioned at all, nor can I recall even hearing a snippet of it in the film. Despite this relatively minor negative, From the Sky Down is loaded with positives that make it essential viewing for any U2 fan.

Post from: Toronto Screen Shots

From the Sky Down

Comic-Con Episode Four: A Fan’s Hope (Director: Morgan Spurlock): Considering the treasure trove of weirdness and fascinating material that a massive event like San Diego’s annual Comic-Con offers up, it’s surprising the convention hasn’t received the feature-length documentary treatment until now. Director Morgan Spurlock’s Comic-Con Episode IV: A Fan’s Hope revolves around the 2010 convention, exploring the evolution of Comic-Con from its origin as an event for hardcore comic book enthusiasts to one that now relegates the actual comic book aspect to the background, with much more of an emphasis put on general pop culture content such as movies, TV, books, toys, and video games. Along with some of the film’s high profile producers (Joss Whedon, Harry Knowles, and the unfailingly cheerful Stan Lee), numerous other celebs and artists like Frank Miller, Matt Groening, Seth Rogen, Kevin Smith, and Kenneth Branagh weigh in with their take on the convention. The documentary had a companion coffee table book released in July and is Spurlock’s second feature this year after The Greatest Movie Ever Sold.

Incorporated into the probing of the convention’s history and relevance are the individual stories of a handful of Comic-Con attendees. There’s the two amateur comic book artists looking for their big break into the business, who are willing to endure harsh criticism of their portfolios from professionals and the sting of rejection. Then there’s the couple who met at the previous year’s convention, with the boyfriend hilariously attempting to break free from the clingy grip of his girlfriend in order to pick up the engagement ring (Lord Of The Rings themed, naturally) he’ll present to her when he proposes during the convention panel featuring Kevin Smith. Chuck, the crusty owner of America’s largest comics retailer, Mile High Comics, struggles with a decision to sell one of his ultra-rare issues to pay off some debts and generally frets about how his sales at the convention are going. Another man seeks the Holy Grail of toys for his collection, a limited edition figure of Marvel Comics’ Galactus character. Finally, there’s Holly, an aspiring costume designer for whom a two minute appearance on stage at the Comic-Con masquerade event is the biggest moment of the year. She and a small group of friends dress up as characters from the Mass Effect video game.

Clearly, with so many examples of arrested development from these folks, there’s plenty of opportunity for ridicule here. I mean, what’s not to laugh at in a scenario involving a grown married man who pursues a toy with unwavering conviction? Laughing at, and not with, these people is an inevitable by-product of such fanatical behaviour, but the viewer also can’t help but develop some level of respect for the passion and focus the characters demonstrate toward their obsessions, despite the pummelling their individual levels of cool take. As a hardcore fan of U2 and Bruce Springsteen who has, on a number of occasions, spent anywhere from twelve to sixteen hours at a time waiting in general admission lineups at their concerts and gotten puzzled looks from most people when I tell them about it, let me just say that on some level, I can relate to these Comic-Con eccentrics.

Despite the interesting subject matter, Spurlock’s documentary feels flat and just never achieves liftoff. He juggles a lot of different storylines, but many of them lead to unfulfilling conclusions and to an uneven movie overall. I’ve seen nearly all of his previous film and television work and thoroughly enjoyed every one, and Spurlock, like fellow documentarians Michael Moore and Nick Broomfield, has always taken an active onscreen and narrative role in his projects. Here, the charismatic filmmaker barely appears in the film and provides no narration. Perhaps there’s a connection, perhaps not.

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Comic-Con Episode Four: A Fan’s Hope

Your Sister’s Sister (Director: Lynn Shelton): “Lynn Shelton”. Get used to hearing the name of the Seattle-based writer/director/producer/actor, because if her newest work is any indication, she’s got a very bright filmmaking career ahead of her. Her fourth feature and the follow-up to 2009’s acclaimed Humpday, Your Sister’s Sister is one of the smartest, most engaging relationship dramas (laced with charming humour) I’ve ever seen. Yes, it’s that good.

The story doesn’t exactly jump off the page, perhaps reading as the type of standard chick flick material that audiences have seen over and over again, with a subdued tone and pace that some viewers might find challenging. The magic in the film lies with the honesty and naturalism that Shelton derives from her characters and their interplay, delivered by equally outstanding performances from the three leads, who improvised about 75% of their words. Emily Blunt plays Iris, the best friend of Jack (played by Mark Duplass) and the former girlfriend of Jack’s brother, who died roughly a year before the movie begins. Jack, who’s unemployed, just can’t seem to get out of his mourning funk, so Iris encourages him (practically forces him, actually) to spend some time at her father’s cabin on an island in Puget Sound. Jack takes her up on the offer and, upon arriving at the remote cabin, finds a houseguest already there. That would be Hannah, Iris’ sister (played by Rosemary DeWitt), who is also seeking a little solitude to clear her head after just ending a seven year long lesbian relationship. Mix a bottle of tequila with some bad judgement and the pair end up having awkward sex. The following day, Iris unexpectedly shows up, thus setting in motion the complex triangular dynamic that forms the core of the film.

Blunt, DeWitt, and Duplass have an immediate, winning chemistry with each other and they’d better. Aside from its first fifteen or so minutes, the film almost exclusively features just the three actors on screen and most of that time is spent within the four cabin walls, which gives the film a very intimate theatrical feel. DeWitt and Blunt, in particular, find a familiarity and comfort with one another that successfully sells us on their sisterhood, despite the curious fact that Iris has an English accent and Hannah an American one. I loved that Shelton holds off on revealing the reason for the accent discrepancy until well into the film, as the puzzling detail just kind of hangs there in an intriguing and only mildly nagging way. It might seem like an odd creative choice on Shelton’s part, but it actually stems from the fact that Rachel Weisz, a Brit, was originally supposed to play Hannah before pulling out at the last minute. DeWitt, usually one of the best things in anything I’ve ever seen her in (especially her work on Showtime’s United States of Tara), deserves even more credit for her performance, considering the lack of preparation she had before jumping into the movie’s lean twelve day shooting schedule. Along with Shelton’s work, another major revelation for me was Duplass, who I’d previously never heard of. He proves more than capable of handling the movie’s demanding dramatic material, while also demonstrating a real flair for its comedic requirements via his goofy charm. And it turns out that like his director, Duplass also writes, directs, and produces films with his brother, Jay. Their latest movie, Jeff, Who Lives At Home, premiered at this year’s TIFF.

The film’s soundtrack deserves special mention. Composed by Vince Smith (who handled all aspects of sound recording and design on this production), it meshes nicely with Shelton’s visuals featuring the scenic Pacific Northwest, and his score plays a key role during an extended montage sequence at the end of the movie that has next to no dialogue. The sequence is a bit of a gamble on Shelton’s part, but it’s nicely put together and doesn’t sap the film’s momentum as the story comes to its conclusion.

Your Sister’s Sister was picked up for distribution at TIFF by IFC Films for a summer 2012 release. Hopefully, a movie this quiet and clever can find an audience amidst the clatter of the studio tentpole offerings. Those who do discover it will be treated to a film that wasn’t just the best thing I saw at the festival, but the best film I’ve seen this year.

Post from: Toronto Screen Shots

Your Sister’s Sister