canada

Amy George

by James McNally on September 13, 2011 · 1 comment

in Film Festivals,TIFF

Amy George
Amy George screens at part of the Canada First pro­gramme at TIFF 2011.

Amy George (Directors: Yonah Lewis and Calvin Thomas): Toward the end of this quietly res­onant film, 13-year-old Jesse’s mother tells him about a time when he was a child that his par­ents thought they had lost him, but that they knew to just look up: “You came down from the trees like a monkey turning into a man.”

And although it’s a rare case where the writing feels a tiny bit forced, it just might sum up this intimate slice of adoles­cent life. It’s a glimpse, a snap­shot of a man in the pro­cess of form­a­tion. And it’s all the more remark­able because the average age of the cast and crew must be some­where around 20. Director/writers Yonah Lewis and Calvin Thomas are very recent (2008) film school gradu­ates, and the film’s exec­utive pro­ducer is 15-year-old actor Connor Jessup.

“Write what you know” is good advice for writers and Lewis and Thomas cer­tainly are not so far removed from the small ter­rors of adoles­cence. And new­comer Gabrielle Del Castillo Mulally is stuck right in the middle of them, ensuring that his con­stant expres­sion of puz­zle­ment comes from a genuine place.

Jesse is the son of well-meaning but flaky lib­eral par­ents (ex-Rheostatics drummer Don Kerr and his real-life spouse, author Claudia Dey) who are nav­ig­ating a fright­ening new stage of par­enting in which neither of them seems able to com­mu­nicate with their son. Mother Sabi nags Jesse to eat his vit­amins but won­ders to her hus­band whether he might be gay, or unpop­ular at school. It’s the stage where taking care of your kids seems to become expo­nen­tially more com­plic­ated than just making sure they’re fed and clothed and sheltered.

In reality, Jesse has lots of friends, even a close female friend, but he also seems to enjoy spending time by him­self. When an art teacher’s assign­ment requires him to take a pho­to­graph that rep­res­ents some aspect of him­self, he con­vinces his par­ents to buy him an “analog” camera and a tele­photo lens.

He also takes an off­hand remark from his teacher about being a “true artist” so lit­er­ally that he checks out a book from the lib­rary called “True Artist” in which the male author says defin­it­ively that no man can be a true artist until he has made love to a woman.

Throwing this “advice” into the churning stew of Jesse’s adoles­cent sexual awakening leads him into some murky ter­ritory; namely, up a tree across from his slightly older neigh­bour Amy George’s room, where he snaps a pic­ture of her. A few days later, the two are thrown together in unusual cir­cum­stances. After sneaking some alco­holic coolers from the fridge, and some exper­i­ments with hyp­notism, Jesse finds him­self tempted to go fur­ther than ever before in his sexual explor­a­tions on a passed out Amy.

In one of the film’s best scenes, he con­fesses his feel­ings of guilt to an older female family friend, who assures him he’s likely done nothing wrong, and that these things are more com­plic­ated than he thinks.

It’s barely an epi­phany, but the film con­tains a few of them, making us feel that Jesse, des­pite his con­tinued wide-eyed bewil­der­ment, is on his way.

It’s a remark­ably self-assured debut for the film­makers, and though there are a few rough spots tech­nic­ally (shaky camera, less than per­fect sound, a few uneven per­form­ances from the sup­porting players) and a bit of shape­less­ness to the story, it adds up to a sat­is­fying exper­i­ence. And it makes me happy to add another couple of young Canadian film­makers to my radar.

Official site of the film

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Take This Waltz
Take This Waltz screens at part of the Gala Presentations pro­gramme at TIFF 2011.

Take This Waltz (Director: Sarah Polley): Sarah Polley’s second dir­ect­orial effort, Take This Waltz starts out looking very much like a romantic comedy, and des­pite efforts to change gears later, never seems to achieve the weighty ser­i­ous­ness it needs. The super­fi­cial sheen of coin­cid­ental meet­ings and deserted spaces for lovers to flirt or to talk make it hard to take what is essen­tially a tragic story very seriously.

Margot (Michelle Williams) and Lou (Seth Rogen) have been mar­ried for four years, and their domestic routine is affec­tionate and a bit eccentric. In other words, like most couples, they share their own private lan­guage and long-running jokes. In small doses, this can add a unique intimacy to an on-screeen rela­tion­ship (I really liked the way Rashida Jones and Paul Rudd bantered in I Love You, Man, for example.) But over­used, as it is in Polley’s film, it makes the char­ac­ters annoying and infantile. And per­haps that’s her point. Margot and Lou never really seem to have an adult conversation.

Which makes Margot’s slow-burning flir­ta­tion with neigh­bour Daniel (Luke Kirby) such a powderkeg. Confused by her desire for some­thing new, Margot never really artic­u­lates to either man what it is she wants. Daniel appears out of nowhere and promises…well, what? Escape? Novelty? Temporary passion?

It’s never clear what he wants out of this flir­ta­tion either. In one more mad­dening rom-com touch, this power­fully attractive man has no mate, and the per­fect strong-sensitive work life. He works as a rick­shaw driver (macho side) but is also secretly an artist (sens­itive side). He is, in fact, the per­fect man.

But Lou isn’t so bad. Sure, he refuses to make con­ver­sa­tion at their anniversary dinner (“we’re not going out to ‘catch up’!” he scoffs), but he loves her like any good hus­band, some­times dis­trac­tedly but never less than deeply.

We see no evid­ence that they’re actu­ally bad for each other (unlike Williams’ superior turn in last year’s Blue Valentine, a film I’m sure will be drawing com­par­isons), so we’re left to think that Margot is simply pur­suing some­thing new and shiny.

When it turns out that it’s really Lou who learns from the affair, it makes it all the more frus­trating. On the cusp of having their first real on-screen grown-up con­ver­sa­tion, he says, “You didn’t want to have this dis­cus­sion before. Let’s not have it now.” It’s one of sev­eral moments when important things need to be said. And we don’t get to hear them. It robs the nar­rative of the angry and hurt con­front­a­tion that not only our couple, but the audi­ence, needs.

A series of word­less (of course) mont­ages near the end were almost laugh­able in their unreality, but when I wondered if Polley was pos­iting them as some sort of fantasy sequence, I looked back to the begin­ning of the film, and real­ized the whole begin­ning was equally phoney.

It’s painful to write those words, because I had very high hopes indeed for the film. And there are many things to like. My ini­tial fear that Seth Rogen would be the weak link was unfounded; his per­form­ance, in fact, felt the strongest of the three main char­ac­ters. And the cine­ma­to­graphy, by vet­eran Luc Montpellier (Cairo Time, Polley’s pre­vious film Away From Her), is gor­geous, lending Toronto a candy-coloured dream palette. It’s Polley’s script that fails for me. Perhaps she should have brought in Leonard Cohen (whose song “Take This Waltz” provided the film’s title if not its theme) for a rewrite.

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Director Jean-Marc Vallée

With TIFF almost upon us, this will be my last pre­view post, and I’m happy to be fea­turing another Canadian film from Québec. Directed by Jean-Marc Vallée (C.R.A.Z.Y., The Young Victoria), Café de Flore has been get­ting great buzz among local critics who have seen it before it screens at the festival.

The syn­opsis describes the film as “a love story about people sep­ar­ated by time and place but con­nected in pro­found and mys­ter­ious ways.”

Atmospheric, fant­ast­ical, tragic and hopeful, the film chron­icles the par­allel fates of Jacqueline, a young mother with a dis­abled son in 1960s Paris, and Antoine, a recently-divorced, suc­cessful DJ in present day Montréal. What binds the two stories together is love — euphoric, obsessive, tragic, youthful, time­less love.

Jacqueline is being played by French act­ress Vanessa Paradis, better known over here as Mrs. Johnny Depp. A beau­tiful woman by any measure, she dares to look very unglam­ourous in the film, which raises my expect­a­tion that she’ll show some ser­ious acting chops. The role of Antoine is being played by Québecois musi­cian Kevin Parent, and it’s inter­esting to note that Paradis was also better known as a singer and model before turning to acting. Music prom­ises to be an important part of the film, with a soundtrack fea­turing Sigur Rós, Pink Floyd, and The Cure, among others, but I wonder if the fact that both leads can sing will figure into the plot at all?

According to Canadian dis­trib­utor Alliance Films, the film will receive a the­at­rical release in the province of Québec on September 23rd, but no release date for English Canada has been announced. All the more reason to catch it during TIFF!

SCREENINGS:

  • Monday September 12, 10:00pm — Princess of Wales
  • Wednesday September 14, 11:45am — TIFF Bell Lightbox 2

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Director Philippe Falardeau

Continuing my series of pre­views of films playing at this year’s Toronto International Film Festival, I’ve chosen another Canadian film, announced yes­terday at TIFF’s press con­fer­ence. Director Philippe Falardeau knocked me out a few years back with C’est pas moi, je le jure! (It’s Not Me, I Swear!), a nos­talgic por­trait of a young trouble­maker that man­aged to be sweet even as it detailed some rather hor­rific mis­be­ha­viour. I’m hopeful that Falardeau’s new film, Monsieur Lazhar will be able to blend the sen­ti­ment and the grit just as effect­ively. It will have its Canadian premiere at TIFF, after playing inter­na­tion­ally this week at the Locarno Film Festival.

Like his pre­vious film, this one is also an adapt­a­tion. In this case, it’s from Bachir Lazhar, a play by Evelyne de la Chenelière. Algerian immig­rant Bachir Lazhar takes over an ele­mentary school class still grieving for their pre­vious teacher, who has com­mitted sui­cide. Gradually, we dis­cover that, in addi­tion to helping his stu­dents work though their grief, Monsieur Lazhar is dealing with his own per­sonal tragedy.

Falardeau is again working with chil­dren, but I trust that he’ll por­tray the stu­dents as real char­ac­ters, working their way through unfa­miliar and fright­ening ter­ritory. As someone who trained to be a teacher, I have always loved films about teachers and their stu­dents, from corny stuff like Les Choristes (The Chorus) to more gritty stuff like Entre les murs (The Class) and Être et avoir (To Be and To Have). And isn’t it strange that the first three films that came to mind are all in the French lan­guage as well.

There’s some­thing moving in seeing not just the trans­mis­sion of know­ledge from teacher to stu­dent, but the form­a­tion of emo­tional con­nec­tions as well. In many cases, teachers act as sur­rogate par­ents for chil­dren who have less-than-ideal family lives. Falardeau points out some­thing with which I agree very strongly:

[T]here is…another dimen­sion quite dear to me that sur­faced in the film, although it wasn’t in the play. It’s the entire ques­tion of the codi­fic­a­tion of rela­tion­ships between chil­dren and adults in schools. Over the years, we have estab­lished rules that forbid adults from touching chil­dren, no matter what the cir­cum­stances, even if it is just to “put sun­screen on their back,” as the gym teacher char­acter com­ments. We very well under­stand the reasons behind these rules and what’s at stake with them. But the result is that teachers, par­ents and even the chil­dren walk on eggs whenever it comes to showing a cer­tain form of affec­tion or close­ness. The ques­tion is extremely del­icate and con­sti­tutes a pivotal moment in the film. I think the film speaks a great deal about this, imper­cept­ibly at first, until the end where the sub­ject matter becomes explicit.

In my opinion, the film­makers from the province of Québec have been cre­ating Canada’s strongest cinema for a long time now, and I’m very much looking for­ward to seeing more from Falardeau and other young dir­ectors from “la belle province.”

SCREENINGS:

  • Sunday September 11, 9:45pm — TIFF Bell Lightbox 2
  • Wednesday September 14, 3:30pm — AMC 7

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Sarah Polley on the set of Take This Waltz, August 2010

So, if you haven’t been trapped under some­thing heavy, you’ll know that the Toronto International Film Festival announced the first batch of films screening at the 2011 fest­ival yes­terday. It’s all over the place, so instead of just adding another copy-and-paste listing to the existing noise, I thought I’d begin looking at some of the films them­selves. Granted, since many will be world premi­eres, there may not be a lot of inform­a­tion, but I think this could be kind of fun. It will cer­tainly build my own anti­cip­a­tion for the fest­ival, which runs from September 8–18. Hard to believe this will be my 17th year attending!

One of the first sur­prises for me was that the opening night slot didn’t go to Sarah Polley’s new film, Take This Waltz. Her dir­ect­orial debut Away From Her screened as a Gala at the fest­ival back in 2006 and went on to play numerous other fest­ivals, even scooping a number of awards for Polley and her star Julie Christie. The opening night slot has often (though not always) gone to a Canadian pro­duc­tion, and after the roundly-derided Score: A Hockey Musical opened last year’s fest­ival, it would have been nice to see Polley given an oppor­tunity to spot­light her film here in her hometown. Alas, that was not to be, with Davis Guggenheim’s U2 doc From the Sky Down shoul­dering her aside. But I’m curious about her new film, and hope it won’t be over­shad­owed by the musical behemoth that is U2 and the sideshow they are sure to bring to town.

I’ll admit to knowing very little about Take This Waltz until a few days ago. The TIFF syn­opsis is vague: “a bit­ter­sweet story about a mar­ried woman strug­gling to choose between her hus­band and a man she’s just met.” Canadian dis­trib­utor Mongrel Media’s descrip­tion is better:

When Margot (Michelle Williams), 28, meets Daniel (Luke Kirby), their chem­istry is intense and imme­diate. But Margot sup­presses her sudden attrac­tion; she is hap­pily mar­ried to Lou (Seth Rogen), a cook­book writer. When Margot learns that Daniel lives across the street from them, the cer­tainty about her domestic life shat­ters. She and Daniel steal moments throughout the steaming Toronto summer, their erot­i­cism heightened by their restraint. Swelteringly hot, bright and col­ourful like a bowl of fruit, Take This Waltz leads us, laughing, through the familiar, but uncharted ques­tion of what long-term rela­tion­ships do to love, sex, and our images of ourselves.

And I have to admit that for me, the casting is what’s making it inter­esting. I’ve abso­lutely loved just about everything Michelle Williams has done. Last year’s double shot of Blue Valentine and Meek’s Cutoff made me ever more con­fident that she’s just get­ting started. The poten­tially wrenching storyline is lightened con­sid­er­ably by the casting of Rogen and Silverman, as well as by the film’s day-glo palette, which makes this an intriguing proposition.

The title of the film is from a Leonard Cohen song, which is based on the poem “Little Viennese Waltz” by Federico García Lorca. Perhaps the lyrics will give us some clues:

Now in Vienna there are ten pretty women. There’s a shoulder where Death comes to cry. There’s a lobby with nine hun­dred win­dows. There’s a tree where the doves go to die. There’s a piece that was torn from the morning, and it hangs in the Gallery of Frost. Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay. Take this waltz, take this waltz, take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws.

I want you, I want you, I want you on a chair with a dead magazine. In the cave at the tip of the lily, in some hallway where love’s never been. On a bed where the moon has been sweating, in a cry filled with foot­steps and sand. Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay. Take this waltz, take this waltz, take its broken waist in your hand.

This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz. With its very own breath of brandy and Death. Dragging its tail in the sea.

There’s a con­cert hall in Vienna where your mouth had a thou­sand reviews. There’s a bar where the boys have stopped talking. They’ve been sen­tenced to death by the blues. Ah, but who is it climbs to your pic­ture with a gar­land of freshly cut tears? Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay. Take this waltz, take this waltz, take this waltz, it’s been dying for years.

There’s an attic where chil­dren are playing, where I’ve got to lie down with you soon, in a dream of Hungarian lan­terns, in the mist of some sweet after­noon. And I’ll see what you’ve chained to your sorrow, all your sheep and your lilies of snow. Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay. Take this waltz. Take this waltz with its “I’ll never forget you, you know!”

And I’ll dance with you in Vienna. I’ll be wearing a river’s dis­guise. The hyacinth wild on my shoulder, my mouth on the dew of your thighs. And I’ll bury my soul in a scrap­book, with the pho­to­graphs there, and the moss. And I’ll yield to the flood of your beauty, my cheap violin and my cross. And you’ll carry me down on your dan­cing to the pools that you lift on your wrist. O my love, o my love. Take this waltz, take this waltz. It’s yours now. It’s all that there is.

Will this end up being a frothy candy apple of a movie, or will there be a worm at the core? With Polley at the helm, I’m con­fident we’ll get some­thing mem­or­able, espe­cially if she’s read her Lorca and listened to Mr. Cohen.

SCREENINGS:

  • Saturday September 10, 9:30pm — Roy Thomson Hall (PREMIUM)
  • Sunday September 11, 12:00pm — Ryerson

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