adolescence

Deep End

by James McNally on November 2, 2011

in DVD

Deep End
BFI Flipside released Deep End in a combo DVD/Blu-ray package in the UK on July 18, 2011. The region-free package is avail­able from Amazon.co.uk.

Deep End (Director: Jerzy Skolimowski): Somewhat con­demned to art­house obscurity after its 1970 release, Skolimowski’s first film in English (prior to this he was best-known as the co-writer, with Roman Polanski, of Knife in the Water) is a fas­cin­ating time cap­sule of a period between the hope and energy of the 1960s and the rather more dark decade to come. A stylish exer­cise from a dir­ector who has at various times in his life worked as a poet and painter, its nar­rative of adoles­cent obses­sion ends up being far more visu­ally impressive than psy­cho­lo­gic­ally convincing.

Fifteen-year-old Mike (John Moulder-Brown) drops out of school and takes a job as an attendant at a slightly seedy public bath­house in London. Almost imme­di­ately he is smitten by his spunky and street­wise col­league. Flame-haired Susan (Jane Asher) is in her early 20s and engaged, but not in any par­tic­ular hurry to get to the altar. In fact, she’s car­rying on an affair with one of Mike’s former teachers, a mar­ried man who gropes and man­handles his female stu­dents at will.

Mike is imme­di­ately jealous of both of the other men, and car­ries out childish acts of sab­otage when he’s not stomping off in a sulk. Susan’s beha­viour doesn’t help, since her flir­ta­tion often has a cruel edge. She seems to enjoy drawing him close and then pushing him away. Meanwhile, at the baths, she instructs Mike to accept tips from the female cus­tomers for any “extra ser­vices” he can provide. We’re never quite sure that she isn’t doing the same for the men, and when, during a sur­real night in Soho, Mike seems to learn that his crush might also be working as a stripper, it pushes him closer and closer to the edge of accept­able beha­viour. It’s a line that we know is def­in­itely going to be crossed by the end.

BFI’s res­tor­a­tion of the film is remark­able, and since most of the film’s appeal is visual, it makes for a stun­ning present­a­tion, espe­cially on Blu-ray. Also enlight­ening is a feature-length (74 minutes) doc­u­mentary on the making of the film, with input from Skolimowski, Asher, Moulder-Brown and many others. There’s also a short film star­ring Asher exploring obses­sion from a female per­spective, as well as another short doc­u­mentary about scenes which weren’t included in the film. Finally, a sub­stan­tial booklet is included with essays from David Thompson, Yvonne Tasker and Skolimowski expert Ewa Mazierska.

While I appre­ci­ated the film’s daring visuals and the theme of adoles­cent sexual obses­sion, I found the script weak and the per­form­ances uneven. In a few places (par­tic­u­larly one scene with former blonde bomb­shell Diana Dors), the film played like a classic British sex farce in the manner of the Carry On films, making its third act turn into darker ter­ritory some­what jar­ring. But the leads are beau­tiful to look at, as is London (even though much of the film was actu­ally shot in Munich!) and the soundtrack (with songs by Cat Stevens and Can) evokes a time and place that per­fectly suits our protagonist’s tragic loss of innocence.

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She Monkeys (Apflickorna)

She Monkeys (Apflickorna) (Director: Lisa Aschan): We are intro­duced to Emma just as she is joining an eques­trian gym­nastics team. Even though she’s the new girl, it’s clear she’s just as com­pet­itive and strong as Cassandra, the team’s unspoken leader. It doesn’t take long for a powerful mix­ture of com­pet­it­ive­ness and sexual attrac­tion to bring the two young women together, and for the rest of the film, we’re never sure if the sparks are going to throw them into a pas­sionate love affair or drive them apart as hated rivals.

At home, Emma lives with her father and her young sister Sara. It’s sig­ni­ficant that there is no mother in the home, because Emma has clearly filled the female power vacuum there. Young Sara is keenly aware of her own power­less­ness and begins acting out in an effort to change that. After being humi­li­ated at the swim­ming pool for not wearing a top, her acting out becomes overtly sexual. Her clumsy sexual advances on her much older cousin Sebastian are creepy and endearing at the same time.

She Monkeys (Apflickorna)

Meanwhile, Emma and Cassandra are falling in love. When Emma flirts with a boy, Cassandra humi­li­ates him, and strangely, Emma joins in. But when Cassandra tries to take their rela­tion­ship too far, Emma hes­it­ates. Cassandra has sparked a sexual awakening (and a dreaded loss of con­trol) in her that she never wanted. Her con­flicted feel­ings only intensify when, des­pite her strength and bal­ance, she fails to make the team. The line between love and hate can be pretty thin, and a des­perate act of jeal­ousy leads to an ambiguous conclusion.

I loved the fact that the male char­ac­ters in the film are all at the mercy of these powerful women, but that the women are unsure of how to use their power. The young actors playing Emma (Mathilda Paradeiser) and Cassandra (Linda Molin) are both good, but it’s Isabella Lindquist as Sara who is a standout, holding up her important sub­plot ably as a child clutching at the power of her sexu­ality far too early.

The bal­ance of power, between who is in con­trol and who is being con­trolled, shifts so often and so subtly that this is a film that will require repeated view­ings to tease out all the layers. Overall, She Monkeys is a nuanced exam­in­a­tion of female power and a fine fea­ture debut.

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When We Were Boys

When We Were Boys (Director: Sarah Goodman): I was a big fan of Sarah Goodman’s first film Army of One (review) which premiered at Hot Docs in 2004 and so when I saw she had another film at Hot Docs, I was eager to see it. Unfortunately, it’s taken me sev­eral weeks longer than anti­cip­ated to finally sit down and watch it.

When We Were Boys is a vérité por­trait of a private boys’ school here in Toronto, and it par­tic­u­larly focuses on the friend­ship between two boys. Noah is sens­itive and polite, a good stu­dent and a standout in the choir. Colin is louder, more ram­bunc­tious, able to charm his teachers into let­ting him get away with things. We pick up the story in Grade 8, with the boys razzing each other while playing video­games. As Goodman’s camera fol­lows them over the next year, we become immersed in the barely-controlled chaos that is school. Despite the boys’ priv­ilege, they are just as ener­getic and rest­less as any other kids at that age. Many of them try to manip­u­late and charm their teachers, which although it hap­pens else­where, seems par­tic­u­larly men­acing given that within ten years, most of these kids will make more money than their teachers ever will. It’s hard to determine whether their sense of enti­tle­ment is just part of their gen­er­a­tion or whether it has any­thing to do with their fam­ilies’ wealth. Goodman begins the film with a long shot of the pro­ces­sion of expensive cars that drop their sons off each morning, and it very clearly makes the point that these boys are spe­cial. Their teachers drive the point home repeatedly as well, that they have great respons­ib­il­ities to go with their priv­ilege, but of course the mes­sage is lost on 13-year-old boys.

As the film fol­lows the boys into Grade 9, some of the minor char­ac­ters drop into the back­ground even fur­ther as it becomes apparent that Noah is being ostra­cized for some reason. It’s never clear exactly why he’s no longer pop­ular, although it could have some­thing to do with the fact that other stu­dents seem to think his family is wealthier than the rest of them. Noah takes it stoic­ally, but some of the shots of him sit­ting alone at lunch or walking home are heart­breaking. His rejec­tion by Colin is espe­cially painful to watch.

But then sud­denly, the film skips another year into the future, and Noah and Colin are back in Noah’s base­ment playing video­games together. Noah tent­at­ively asks Colin what happened, but doesn’t get an answer. That’s sort of the pos­i­tion the viewer is put in, as well. Goodman has beau­ti­fully cap­tured the energy and shifting alle­gi­ances of boys at this age, but there’s very little sense of the boys’ inner lives. By picking boys rather than girls, she’s staked out par­tic­u­larly dif­fi­cult ter­rain. Boys hardly talk to anyone about what’s going on in their heads at this age, never mind doc­u­mentary film­makers. So all we can see is their out­ward beha­viour, which is guarded and superficial.

The end result is that the viewer is left to pro­ject his own remem­brances of adoles­cence onto the boys. The soundtrack almost encour­ages this, helping the film feel nos­talgic even as events are hap­pening. Ultimately, though, that didn’t feel sat­is­fying to me. Noah seems like a very inter­esting char­acter, and there is one scene where he talks some­what freely to his barber about the expect­a­tions being put on him, but for me that was almost a tease. I sup­pose that wanting to know things the boys them­selves may not know is put­ting unreal­istic expect­a­tions on the film, but I can’t deny that I am still left wanting some­thing more.

Official site of the film

7/10(7/10)

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Prom Night in Mississippi

Prom Night in Mississippi (Director: Paul Saltzman): It’s hard to believe, but on April 19, 2008, Charleston High School in Mississippi held its first integ­rated senior prom. Mississippi integ­rated its public schools in 1970 but in Charleston, they were still holding sep­arate proms for black stu­dents and white students.

Actor Morgan Freeman lives in Charleston. He always thought that it was ridicu­lous that this kind of segreg­a­tion still existed in America. In 1997 he offered to pay for an integ­rated prom of black and white Charleston High School stu­dents. The school turned him down. Director Paul Saltzman approached Morgan Freeman in 2007 and asked him if he was willing to try again. Freeman agreed, the school accepted his offer and Saltzman cap­tured the events leading up to this his­toric occasion.

The inter­esting thing is that all of the stu­dents wanted an integ­rated prom. White and black stu­dents shared the same classrooms so it made sense that they should have a prom with their fellow stu­dents and friends.

The par­ents of some of the white stu­dents were against a “mixed” prom and insisted on con­tinuing the tra­di­tion of having a “white prom.” It turns out that the private “white prom” was kind of “vanilla” and boring. Many of the white stu­dents ended up attending the integ­rated prom and enjoyed them­selves more.

It’s dif­fi­cult to under­stand why racism is still so strong in pockets of the American South to this day. The film exam­ines the tra­di­tion of segreg­a­tion in Charleston and finds that the stu­dents don’t really care about race, but their par­ents do. Many of the white stu­dents know their par­ents are racist but they want to keep them happy, so they just do what they’re told.

I find it amusing that it took a Canadian film­maker from Oakville, Ontario and an Academy Award-winning actor to bring about pos­itive change in the Deep South. The story sounds incred­ible and it is but the dir­ector never finds the ten­sion or drama that could have made Prom Night in Mississippi an incred­ible film.

6/10(6/10)

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C'est pas moi, je le jure! (It's Not Me, I Swear!)

C’est pas moi, je le jure! (It’s Not Me, I Swear!) (Director: Philippe Falardeau): Originally screened at TIFF in 2008, this bit­ter­sweet film from Québec returned as part of the Canada’s Top Ten screening series at Cinematheque Ontario this weekend, and I’m so glad I caught up with it.

Based on the mem­oirs of Bruno Hébert, C’est pas moi, je le jure! is the story of the troubled Doré family in 1968 Québec, told from the very unique per­spective of ten-year-old Léon, a liar, vandal and thief who will do just about any­thing to keep his bat­tling par­ents from split­ting up. When we first meet Léon, he’s hanging from a tree, and we’re unsure if this is the result of a mis­ad­ven­ture or a sui­cide attempt. Much of the rest of the film details the trouble he gets into, and those two pos­sib­il­ities remain in our minds. Clearly his “acting out” is a cry for atten­tion, and he admits as much when he explains that a strategically-lit fire always stops his par­ents from fighting, and even brings the family together as they struggle to put it out. Despite this example, it’s dif­fi­cult to convey just how skil­fully the film blends humour and heartache, but the mix­ture is a large part of the film’s appeal.

When he fails to stop his mother from run­ning off to Greece, Léon’s beha­viour becomes even more des­perate. He bonds with Léa, a girl from a sim­il­arly broken family, and they hatch a plan to steal money and buy plane tickets to Greece. Falardeau keeps this material from becoming too grim or too melo­dra­matic by not dwelling for too long on the characters’s feel­ings. Léon doesn’t mope, he acts, and even though the epis­odic nature of the film res­ulted in a few false end­ings, I was happy to keep fol­lowing along to see what Léon was going to do next.

He can go from smashing up a neighbour’s house while they’re on vaca­tion to sit­ting down and playing Schubert on their harp­si­chord. He behaves ter­ribly, but then feels remorse. He’s a boy trying to deal with an adult world, and without the coping mech­an­isms of his older brother Jérôme, he just lashes out without thinking. The per­form­ance of Antoine L’Écuyer is simply aston­ishing. He’s like a young Jean-Paul Belmondo, a gang­ster with a twinkle in his eye. The film itself reminded me of The 400 Blows, another chron­icle of a troubled child­hood that still sparkled with inno­cence. Supporting L’Écuyer’s incred­ible per­form­ance, Falardeau’s dir­ec­tion com­bines the nos­talgic set­ting, some swooping cine­ma­to­graphy, and the warm music of Patrick Watson to evoke a time and mood where the trans­ition between child­hood and some­thing else felt scary and exhil­ar­ating all at once.

Official web site of the film (English version)

9/10(9/10)

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