spain

Room in Rome

by James McNally on March 21, 2011 · 3 comments

in DVD

Room in Rome
eOne released Room in Rome on DVD in Canada on March 1, 2011. Help sup­port Toronto Screen Shots by buying it on Amazon.ca.

Room in Rome (Director: Julio Medem): My dis­il­lu­sion­ment with the work of Julio Medem con­tinues. After one great film (1998’s Lovers of the Arctic Circle), I’ve found the rest of his work creepy and self-indulgent. His last film, 2007’s Chaotic Ana (review) infuri­ated me, but when I saw the syn­opsis for Room in Rome, I thought he might be able to deliver a sim­pler, more character-based story.

Alba (Elena Anaya) and Natasha (Natasha Yarovenko) meet while drinking at a bar in Rome and Alba invites Natasha back to her room after what we assume to be a mutual attrac­tion. Natasha claims never to have been with a woman before, and is reluctant to let her­self be seduced by the more exper­i­enced Alba. But one thing leads to another and the two exper­i­ence an intense one-night stand. So far so good. They’re both beau­tiful women and based on Medem’s pre­vious work, there was bound to be an abund­ance of flesh on dis­play. I was even pre­pared for a bit of talk­i­ness in the ser­vice of char­acter devel­op­ment. But true to Medem’s self-indulgent style, we get so much more than we can believe.

The women spend the first half of the night lying to each other about who they are. Spaniard Alba makes up a story about being spir­ited away with her mother by a Saudi prince to live in luxury, while Russian Natasha claims to be an act­ress. One of the things that annoyed me so much about Medem’s pre­vious film was the con­stant desire to show off, mani­fested in lots of dif­ferent loc­a­tions around the world. In this film, we still get to travel around the world; only this time, bizar­rely, it’s using Bing’s Virtual Earth soft­ware on Alba’s laptop. This gim­mick is repeated so often that it becomes almost a Microsoft commercial.

The char­ac­ters speak to each other in English des­pite the fact that we later find out they can both speak Italian and Spanish. This makes the dia­logue sound even more ridicu­lous than it would in another lan­guage. When it turns out that Natasha has a twin, who’s a tennis player and who is actu­ally an act­ress, it’s hard to tell where the tale-spinning will stop. Natasha con­fesses that her name is actu­ally Dasha and that she is really just a lowly art his­torian. Coincidentally, Alba’s room is filled with Renaissance paint­ings that the two women can dis­cuss when they’re not writhing around with each other. Alba’s real iden­tity is even more ludicrous. She’s a mech­an­ical engineer who’s invented a form of ecologically-friendly trans­port. When they both end up singing Volare in the shower, you might think it couldn’t get much sil­lier. And then it does, with Max the opera-singing room ser­vice waiter.

Medem is cer­tainly an able film­maker and even a cap­able stylist. But his films so often seem to be reaching for pro­fundity and failing miser­ably. Ponderously paced, and with a repet­itive and annoying soundtrack, Room in Rome is able to take all the fun out of what might have been a sexy premise. The char­ac­ters feel fake, the romance feels fake, and like a one-night stand, the next morning leaves you feeling empty of any­thing except regret.

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Balada Triste (The Last Circus)

Balada Triste (The Last Circus) (Director: Álex de la Iglesia): Though I haven’t seen everything he’s made, I’ve been a big fan of Álex de la Iglesia since I saw his bril­liant Crimen Ferpecto (review) at TIFF way back in 2004. The man has a gift for sat­ir­izing the rich and powerful. His first film, the crim­in­ally hard-to-find Accion Mutante, was set in a future world ruled by the beau­tiful where a gang of mutants and out­casts kidnap the daughter of a powerful busi­nessman to demand more rights for ugly people. So I was very excited to see what he would do with the still-somewhat-taboo sub­ject (at least in Spain) of the Spanish Civil War and life under the dic­tat­or­ship of Franco. I was not disappointed.

The film begins in 1937, as the Spanish Republic is rap­idly crum­bling under the advance of Franco’s army. Republican forces compel a troupe of circus per­formers to join them in repelling an attack and in the ensuing battle, a machete-wielding clown cuts down dozens of fas­cists. Sent to a labour camp, he tells his teen­aged son that he must follow in his foot­steps, but that he will be a sad clown. The only way the young man will exper­i­ence love, the father says, is by exacting revenge. When son takes up his father’s chal­lenge by bombing the work camp, it leads to his father’s death and a con­front­a­tion with a sad­istic Colonel which leaves the com­mander blind in one eye and eager for his own revenge.

Fast for­ward to 1973, and young Javier is now a chubby middle-aged nebbish about to begin a job as the sad clown with a ragtag circus troupe under the sad­istic con­trol of Sergio, the “happy clown.” Sergio tells Javier that if he wasn’t in the circus making chil­dren happy, he’d be a mur­derer, and it doesn’t take long for him to dis­play the truth of that admis­sion. At a post-show dinner, he tells a joke in extremely poor taste, and Javier is the only one who doesn’t laugh uproari­ously. Then Sergio punches his girl­friend, lovely trapeze artist Natalia, right in the face and leaves her lying uncon­scious while the group con­tinue to listen to his funny stories. When they leave, Javier comes to her aid and is imme­di­ately smitten. As the days go on, Natalia flirts with and con­fides in Javier, and Sergio’s jeal­ousy reaches insane heights. In their act together, Sergio takes it out on Javier, leaving him bruised and humi­li­ated. When he catches Natalia and Javier on a date at a fun fair, he goes crazy and beats Javier almost to death.

From his hos­pital bed, Javier vows revenge and soon returns to exact it. Seething with rage after he finds Sergio and Natalia having sex, he attacks his rival with knives, leaving his face badly dis­figured before run­ning off into the night. When the troupe can find only the local veter­in­arian to repair the damage to Sergio’s face, he’s left looking more like a mon­ster than a clown. Meanwhile, Javier is living in the forest like an animal, naked and eating raw meat, still sense­less with anger. After Sergio also dis­ap­pears, the circus has to close up shop.

Balada Triste (The Last Circus)

But our two rivals are still intent on win­ning Natalia’s heart and there will be even more Grand Guignol spec­tacles of violent retri­bu­tion to come, including self-mutilation, a humi­li­ating encounter with Franco, a mem­or­able reunion for Javier and the Colonel, and a Hitchcock-inspired chase across the giant cross at the Valley of the Fallen.

It’s boldly oper­atic film­making, and the added weight of meta­phor makes it even stronger. Two clowns fighting over the same woman rep­resent, for de la Iglesia, two sides fighting over the same country. While his sym­pathies are with the Republicans, he clearly shows how war trans­formed the rational into the irra­tional until both sides resembled the same type of mon­ster. In the end, the entire country suffered. Jealousy, pos­sess­ive­ness, ego and a bloodthirsty desire for revenge have left deep scars on the country both sides claimed to love, and Balada Triste turns up the viol­ence and the car­toon­ishly insane beha­viour of the lovers to heighten the effect. The end result is out­rageously enter­taining and sobering at the same time. As with his pre­vious films, de la Iglesia hides his angry fist inside a humourous glove, but he still hits very hard. This is def­in­itely a film that will reward repeat view­ings. At the first viewing, it will be hard to be any­thing other than dazzled; he’s not a subtle film­maker. But I think there is much more here than just hom­icidal clowns.

Official blog of the film (Espanol)

Here is the Q&A with dir­ector Álex de la Iglesia from after the screening. As always, he’s wildly enter­taining, having just enough English to endear him to the audience.

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (ver­sion 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest ver­sion here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Duration: 14:56

I couldn’t find a trailer yet for the film, but here is the song by Raphael that is the inspir­a­tion for the title. This footage is actu­ally used in an important way in the film, too.

Update (June 20, 2011): Trailer now available:

9/10(9/10)

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En la ciudad de Sylvia

by James McNally on January 8, 2009

in DVD

En la ciudad de Sylvia

En la ciudad de Sylvia (2007, Director: José Luis Guerin): When Guerin’s film played at TIFF last September, I remember being lured by the stills of a beau­tiful woman being tailed by a rakish young man, but what a strange little film it turned out to be. With long, almost dialogue-free shots, Guerin seems able to both dis­tance us and draw us into what at first seems to be a simple, even romantic story. The hand­some young man (Xavier Lafitte, looking vaguely like both David Bowie and Orlando Bloom) is a tourist in an unnamed French town (it’s Strasbourg, in Alsace, on the border with Germany), where he appears to be searching for someone. Day after day, he sits at a café near the School for Dramatic Arts, sketching in his note­book and people-watching. Well, truth­fully, he’s girl-watching, and Guerin’s camera lingers over many a beauty. As a man, I can say with con­fid­ence that Guerin cap­tures the sheer joy and pleasure of just looking at a beau­tiful woman. But our prot­ag­onist isn’t con­tent to just glance. He stares, and it’s obvious he’s searching each face for some memory.

All at once, he sees the one he’s been looking for, and jumps up, knocking over his beer. For the next half an hour, we follow him, in real time, as he pur­sues “Sylvia,” the name he’s written in his sketch­book. At first, the woman seems unaware of his pres­ence, but at one point he comes dan­ger­ously close and calls out to her. From then on, it appears that she’s half-aware of his pres­ence. He loses her, and we begin to wonder what’s going on. And then he finds her again, and by now it’s starting to feel just a little bit creepy. Is he just a garden-variety stalker? I often tease some of my female friends that the only dif­fer­ence between a romantic ges­ture and stalker beha­viour is whether the woman is at all phys­ic­ally attracted by her suitor. In this case, our man’s good looks have had us on his side up to now.

En la ciudad de Sylvia
Note: Possible spoilers in the next para­graph. Although this is far from a plot-driven film, I’ve col­oured the text white so you’ll need to click and drag your mouse cursor over the para­graph to read it. Sorry for the inconvenience.
When he finally gets on a tram and speaks to her, we’re almost 50 minutes into the film. Up to this point there has been very little in the way of dia­logue, and so when our prot­ag­onist speaks, he sounds a little des­perate. He asks her if she’s Sylvia, the girl he met at a bar in the city six years ago. She tells him he’s mis­taken. He’s crushed, and embar­rassed, or claims to be. We begin to wonder if his story is even true. Who would return six years later to find someone he chatted up in a bar? As she gets off the tram, the ten­sion winds down again.

Except that by the end, we’re not quite sure what he’s going to do. He seems unable to shake his fix­a­tion with her. For a film so filled with beau­tiful people, sun­shine, and cobbled streets, I found myself more than a little dis­turbed by the film’s con­clu­sion. In the first half hour, I was praising Guerin’s ability to cap­ture “the pleasure of looking” but by the time we reach the open-ended con­clu­sion, that phrase holds a decidedly more sin­ister resonance.

I loved the film’s formal con­struc­tion. Guerin lets his camera run before his char­ac­ters enter the frame and long after they’ve left it, grounding us in sev­eral loc­a­tions, to which he returns throughout the film. We see many of the same people sev­eral times in the film, although they don’t have speaking roles. It cap­tures a cer­tain claus­tro­phobia, even in a beau­tiful European town like Strasbourg. The sound design really cap­tured for me the feeling of trav­eling alone to a new place. The man hears music, but doesn’t really over­hear con­ver­sa­tions. His inter­ac­tions with everyone are per­func­tory. The whole film feels care­fully put together as a kind of puzzle, and although I’ve been thinking about it for some time, En la ciudad de Sylvia made me even more eager to study film theory. It’s the sort of film that doesn’t give up its secrets too easily, and which will reward repeat view­ings, even if it is only to look at the heart-stoppingly gor­geous Pilar López de Ayala. Perhaps there’s a little stalker in all of us?

8/10(8/10)

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Chaotic Ana (Caótica Ana)

Chaotic Ana (Caótica Ana) (Director: Julio Medem): Chaotic is one way to put it. Train wreck might be more accurate. Annoying, arti­fi­cial, absurd, and by the end, simply appalling. This was a real dis­ap­point­ment. I had been warned earlier in the week by some friends who saw the first screening, but I wanted to see for myself. Unfortunately, Medem has turned all the ele­ments of his pre­vious films up to 11, making this a jumbled mess of coin­cid­ence, chance encoun­ters, per­form­ance art, hyp­nosis and an inter­na­tional cast speaking all the wrong lan­guages. The dir­ector has clearly bitten off more than he can chew, and though the first half was at least watch­able, I was annoyed by what appeared to be a kind of “show-off” atti­tude. Ana (played by the lovely Manuela Vellés) is a raw-talented painter living in a cave with her father on the island of Ibiza. One day, the slightly sin­ister Justine (Charlotte Rampling) arrives and offers to take her to Madrid and be her patron. Once there, she’s esconced in a dec­adent and mys­ter­ious house filled with artists of all kinds. Cue the pre­ten­tious art talk.

Then Ana begins to have powerful flash­backs and through a random encounter with experts in hyp­nosis, is sud­denly the sub­ject of numerous ses­sions exploring her past lives. Then she escapes as a stowaway on her friend’s father’s yacht and ends up in New York City, where both her hand­some young hyp­notist and Justine find her and take her to the desert, to dis­cover her “true” self, the first in a long series of rein­carn­ated women who all die viol­ently at the age of 22. Still with me? There’s more. By the end, there’s even a ludicrous attempt to tie everything into the Iraq war.

Using inter­titles to count down from 10 to 0, as in hyp­nosis, had one pos­itive func­tion. It let me know how much longer I had to endure. Even the sight of often-nude Ana wasn’t enough to make me stop wishing it would end. Medem is a tal­ented dir­ector, but this was just self-indulgent and for that reason, it’s all the more disappointing.

Trailer
Official Site

5/10(5/10)

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El Bola

by Jason Chu on June 5, 2007

in DVD,DVD Clubs,Film Movement

El Bola (Pellet)

El Bola (Pellet) (Director: Achero Mañas, Spain, 2000): Pablo’s nick­name is Pellet, hence the title of this film. I didn’t know any­thing about this film before pop­ping it in the DVD player, so I had no idea what kind of a ride I was in for.

The ride was great. Performances are authentic and at times, appro­pri­ately subtle. The actual sub­ject matter doesn’t arise until almost halfway through the film; a style that doesn’t always work, but def­in­itely does here.

Pellet loiters around town with some of his misfit, dare­devil peers and befriends the new kid at school, Alfredo. Alfredo provides Pellet with a simple camaraderie that Pellet seems to never have known before, and he is obvi­ously needy for this kind of friend­ship. Still, he ini­tially feels out of place in cer­tain situ­ations, such as spending time in Alfredo’s family envir­on­ment; granted, Alfredo’s family envir­on­ment may not be the most “normal”, but we soon see why Pellet is tentative.

El Bola (Pellet)

The film touches indir­ectly on a lot of themes and situ­ations that are not very developed, but I appre­ciate the real­istic snap­shot of time-and-place that this method provides; they also work to advance char­ac­ters rather than plot. We never really get the story on some of the sup­porting char­ac­ters but it ends up not really mat­tering; somehow the subtle oddities of cer­tain people and events gives the film a “truth is stranger than fic­tion” sort of backdrop.

I was very impressed with the lead actor Juan José Ballesta, who played the title char­acter at only thir­teen years of age. I didn’t recog­nize him at first, but later real­ized that I saw him in person a couple of years ago at TIFF when he was in town to pro­mote the film 7 vírgenes.

El Bola is a powerful film that deserves the many awards and nom­in­a­tions that it received. It is a moving story that is painful at times and heart­warming at others. It authen­tic­ates itself through its pho­to­graphy, char­ac­ters, per­form­ances and sadly, the story itself. I think that Jay would con­sider this to be a “Jason Chu film”, so it’s no sur­prise that many moments of it recall Truffaut’s Les Quatre cents coups (The 400 Blows).

Note: Film Movement fea­tured this film as their Year 1 Film 1. That’s right, it was their very first pick. As an added bonus, the film is on sale right now for half price, making it a bar­gain even for non-subscribers to Film Movement’s service.

Official site for the film (Spanish only)

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