fathers-and-sons

Calvet

Calvet (Director: Dominic Allan): The story that Jean-Marc Calvet tells in this essen­tially one-man show is so unbe­liev­able that you might find your­self not believing it. But dir­ector Allan, who doesn’t appear in the film, was on hand to assure the audi­ence that he has done his research, and it all checks out. Here is yet another case where the truth is stranger than fiction.

Calvet today is a renowned painter who lives in Nicaragua and sells his work in New York gal­leries. But less than a decade ago, he’d never picked up a paint­brush. Worse, he was a man on such a path of self-destruction that nobody seemed able to divert him.

Sure, he’d been a troubled teen­ager growing up in the south of France, strug­gling with drug addic­tion and sexual abuse, but then he entered the Foreign Legion and traveled the world. He met a nice woman, got her preg­nant, and became a cop. But even after his son Kevin was born, Calvet con­tinued to dabble with the dark side. His drinking and drug problem never really went away, and he got into rack­et­eering. He went on to work in private security, and even served as a body­guard for American stars like Mel Gibson, Forest Whittaker and Tim Robbins who were vis­iting the Cannes Film Festival.

Through con­nec­tions, he began working as a body­guard for a shady American who offered him a huge salary to come back to the States with him. But he’d have to cut off all ties, leaving his wife and young son behind. Taking a chance, Calvet moved to Miami to become the man’s trusted pro­tector, but the arrange­ment soured when he real­ized he wasn’t get­ting the prom­ised money. By this time he’d real­ized that he was working for a mob­ster, and the man was so para­noid that he had all his bank accounts in Calvet’s name. It was only a matter of time before Calvet began to look for an oppor­tunity to get paid. When the time came, he absconded with more than half a mil­lion dol­lars and found his way to Central America.

In Costa Rica, Calvet bought him­self a house and a nightclub, but became too para­lyzed by his fear to live the high life for long. It’s here where his addic­tions nearly took him, and his para­noia mixed with his tre­mendous guilt over abandoning his child. Punishing him­self with larger and larger doses of drugs and booze, he began to hear voices and see vis­ions. Almost in a trance, he dis­covered paint cans under his stair­case and after plunging his fists into them, began to smear the walls of his house. In this way, he dis­covered painting.

Years later, clean and sober and using his art as therapy, he resolves to find Kevin and hope­fully to recon­cile. While the first part of the film fea­tures Calvet remem­bering his past, the last half is unwritten as the film­maker travels with him in search of his lost boy. It’s clear how important this is to him, and also how nervous he is about the outcome.

The res­ulting film is by turns har­rowing, grip­ping, and moving. Through art and sheer force of will, Calvet is able to des­troy the dark parts of his per­son­ality and redis­cover the lost boy in him­self. Only then does he feel worthy enough to search for Kevin. Director Allan knows when to stay out of the way, although his visual and sonic touches do add con­sid­er­ably to the telling of the tale. And what a tale it is.

Official site of the film

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Bomber

by James McNally on March 24, 2009

in Film Festivals,SXSW

Bomber

Bomber (Director: Paul Cotter): A well-edited trailer and an inter­esting premise drew me to this film, and I have to say up front that Bomber didn’t quite live up to expect­a­tions. It’s a film I wanted to like. Ross is an under­em­ployed art school graduate with an extremely pos­sessive girl­friend. To make things worse, he’s been dragged unwill­ingly along on a road trip with his par­ents. His father, Alistar, was a teenage bomber pilot for the Royal Air Force during the Second World War and wants to return to the small vil­lage in Germany he acci­dent­ally bombed in order to apo­lo­gize. Director Cotter used only three actors and seven crew, picking the rest of his cast from among the local townspeople. So far, so good. There is actu­ally a lot to like about Bomber: it’s beau­ti­fully shot in high-definition, there’s a won­derful soundtrack (espe­cially the songs by Sweden’s Marching Band), and the per­form­ances are gen­er­ally good. Where the film let me down was in its weak script. Hackneyed dia­logue and crude attempts at humour didn’t bother most of the audi­ence, but they did grate with this reviewer. The pacing could have been tightened up a bit too. The bits I enjoyed the most were actu­ally the dialogue-free shots of the family van driving through the Dutch and German land­scapes, accom­panied by the excel­lent soundtrack music. Unfortunately, those shots could very well have occurred in a car commercial.

Most frus­trating for me was the way son Ross pro­gresses from a total emo­tional melt­down in one scene, trying to attack his par­ents from out­side the van, to later giving them lec­tures filled with psy­chobabble like “you just have to express what you’re feeling.” Normally, com­edies are full of char­ac­ters this incon­sistent, but the problem is that Bomber isn’t strictly a comedy, and when it went for any sort of emo­tional payoff, I was unmoved because these char­ac­ters hadn’t really been developed beyond sketches.

I sus­pect that Cotter fell prey to the mis­con­cep­tion that he needed to be an auteur, both writing and dir­ecting his first fea­ture film. Though the idea ger­min­ated with him and his own family his­tory (and in fact he has also written a radio play called Dropping Bombs essen­tially cov­ering the same ground), I think the story would have been better served by bringing in a more exper­i­enced scriptwriter, who could have pol­ished Bomber into a much better film.

Page for the film on the director’s web site

Trailer

6/10(6/10)

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Flower in the Pocket

Flower in the Pocket (Director: Liew Seng Tat): Just before the screening, I over­heard someone praising the Malaysian film­makers’ ability to tell inter­esting stories on min­is­cule budgets and then when the film was intro­duced, it was revealed that this film was made for US$10,000-$15,000. After seeing this, I can concur with that judge­ment. In his dir­ect­orial debut, dir­ector Liew Seng Tat weaves a remark­ably rich and evoc­ative por­trait of an unusual family with an unex­plained core of pain. When the film begins we meet Ma Li Ahn and Ma Li Ohm, two young Chinese-speaking brothers living in Kuala Lumpur. We observe their impish play and their dif­fi­culties at school, and how they depend on one another. When they do finally get home, the older boy, who appears to be about 9, makes three bowls of soup. The boys eat theirs, and leave the other bowl covered up as they head off to bed.

Later that night, their father Siu comes home. A single father, he works as a man­nequin maker, and seems pro­foundly cut off from human con­tact, even con­tact with his own sons. Remarkably, father and sons aren’t even in the same frame for almost an hour. But the boys are resourceful and have each other. They seem to be happy. When they meet the tom­boyish Ayu, she takes them home to meet her mother, who feeds them like the almost-feral creatures they resemble. It’s only at this point that the audi­ence real­izes how neg­lected the boys are.

Their father isn’t exactly uncaring, but he almost seems incap­able of expressing love. Only later do we get a hint of the wound at the heart of the family, when Siu takes an old photo of a couple out of a shoebox, tears it in two, and tries to swallow the half with the woman’s pic­ture. I assume this is the boys’ mother, but they never seem to ask for her. All this would seem unbear­ably sad except for the won­der­fully impish per­form­ances of the brothers. As well, near the end, Siu seems to be making an effort to recon­nect with the world, and most import­antly, with his sons. There is also a good amount of humour in the film, some of it bor­dering on the zany.

I believe this may have been my first exper­i­ence watching a film from Malaysia, and it was enlight­ening to observe just how multi-racial and multi-lingual a place like Kuala Lumpur is. With so many dif­ferent cul­tures clashing, there is plenty of room for mis­un­der­stand­ings, many of which the dir­ector plays for laughs. But it’s also a place where people can fall through the cracks, and the scenes where the younger boy struggles in school because he can’t under­stand the Malay lan­guage point out that without family or friends, the modern mul­ti­cul­tural city can be a scary place for children.

7/10(7/10)

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The Savages

by James McNally on July 28, 2008 · 1 comment

in DVD

The Savages

The Savages (2007, Director: Tamara Jenkins): Described by at least one critic as a “coming-of-middle-age” film, Tamara Jenkins’ quietly powerful film covers some ground familiar to many of us entering (or enduring) our forties. John Savage (Philip Seymour Hoffman) and his sister Wendy (Laura Linney) are both unmar­ried, child­less, and absorbed in their own lives. He’s a pro­fessor in Buffalo, she’s a strug­gling play­wright in New York. They’re not par­tic­u­larly close, until Wendy receives the sort of phone call that we all dread. Something’s wrong with their father, and they’ll have to put him into a nursing home. In the best of fam­ilies, this would be a night­mare, but Wendy and John didn’t grow up in the best of fam­ilies. It’s never made explicit, but it’s clear that their father was absent at best and abusive at worst, and they haven’t kept in touch in many years. Their mother is also out of the pic­ture, and it’s heart­breaking to see these two trying to deal with a man neither of them knows very well.

Wendy exhibits the guilt you’d expect of a daughter who hasn’t kept in touch. She over­com­pensates, trying to get father Lenny (Philip Bosco) into the “best” nursing home pos­sible, even as it’s clear his dementia renders him incap­able of grasping his situ­ation. John is more stoic, but his anger sim­mers until an explosive con­front­a­tion with Wendy in a nursing home parking lot. These sib­lings, neither of whom has really settled into adult­hood, are forced to con­front the fact that their father is dying. Worse, he’s beyond the point where they’ll ever get to know him or the reasons behind his mis­treat­ment of them. I appre­ci­ated this aspect of the story, that Jenkins didn’t try to make this episode the venue for a too-pat “recon­cili­ation.” John and Wendy remain angry and con­flicted about this man, but they do their best, and in the end, the ordeal allows them to move on a little fur­ther into adulthood.

Both Linney and Hoffman are superb, and while the sub­ject matter sounds unbear­ably grim, there are many moments of wel­come humour and human con­nec­tion. Although the dir­ec­tion is for the most part under­stated, I espe­cially appre­ci­ated some of the cine­ma­to­graphy near the begin­ning of the film, when these East Coast intel­lec­tuals must retrieve their father from the garish and bizarre retire­ment com­munity of Sun City, Arizona.

Official site of the film

Purchase the DVD from Amazon.com
Purchase the DVD from Amazon.ca

8/10(8/10)

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Editor’s Note: In addi­tion to Jay and myself, from time to time we’d like to fea­ture some guest reviewers who can help us cover even more films than we can on our own. Brooke Smith is a pro­fes­sional journ­alist and movie buff, and best of all, she’s my wife. Hopefully, I can con­vince her to post a few more of her reviews.

The Bodybuilder and I

The Bodybuilder and I (Director: Bryan Friedman, Canada, 2007): I was looking for­ward to this doc­u­mentary as I have been known to do a few bench presses at the gym. But body­building was simply the back­drop for this very per­sonal journey for a son and father.

Bill Friedman had been a bad hus­band, a work­aholic and an absent father. But after a second divorce and a bout of depres­sion, he quit his job at the law firm, headed to the gym and started pumping iron. In fact, he became a com­pet­itive bodybuilder.

Knowing this inform­a­tion from reading the syn­opsis gave me a bias. I didn’t like Bill. He was obnox­ious, gruff and…well, let’s just say I felt for his son, dir­ector Bryan Friedman. I took Bryan’s side against an absent father who never had time for his kids, who was only looking out for number one, per­haps someone who didn’t deserve a son.

Yet, at a turning point in the film, when Bryan and Bill dis­cuss the past, I realize that it takes two people to create anim­osity. Bryan has to let go of his anger. Ah, Bryan, get over it. Stop whining and blaming your dad for your problems.

As father and son jour­neyed to self-discovery, I jour­neyed with them. And I think that’s what makes the film very strong. Their feel­ings come right off the screen. The all-business dad and the woe-is-me son are human. And in between more comedic sec­tions: Bill prac­ti­cing his routine (for the body­building com­pet­i­tion), tan­ning or trying on his cos­tume, the rela­tion­ship is starting to develop through the body­building, the sweat and the inev­it­able tears.

The father/son mes­sage comes through: although you can’t make up for lost time, life is too short to hold grudges. Forgive and forget and start anew. And that’s what Bryan and Bill are doing.

9/10(9/10)

UPDATE: The film was awarded Best Canadian Feature Documentary at the Hot Docs Awards cere­mony held on April 27. Congratulations to dir­ector Bryan Friedman and everyone involved in the film.

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