No Science for Sleep

The Science of Sleep is a rare beast. In itself it is as much a work of joy, brimming with unabashed creativity and imagination as it is of sadness and woeful abandon. The film starts audaciously enough with a TV show Stephane (Gael García Bernal) hosts in his dream. He shows how dreams are made and that sets off the tone for the rest of the film which exists in a world made up of Stefan's dreams, real life and the place in between where dream and waking life both merge seamlessly.

Stephane is an aspiring young artist who comes to Paris after the death of his father in Mexico. His French mother gets him a job at a calender designing company where Stefan is distraught to learn the job isn't the artistic type he was promised. He endures his time at his dismal workplace with boorish colleagues and makes tentative shy acquaintance with his neighbouring flat tenant Stéphanie (Charlotte Gainsbourg). Soon enough Stephane is helping Stéphanie with her art project and this eventually leads to that heartbreaking realization for any boy who falls for a girl who only thinks of him as just a friend.

Michel Gondry, sprinkles this most simplest of story with sparse visual confetti to make it a special special viewing as well as an emotive experience. There are scenes in the film where some dream logic seeps into the waking world. Cellophane comes out of taps, tufts of cotton stay afloat in air to a particular pitch of music, Stephane makes a time machine that goes a second in time forward or backwards. The dream sequences are staged with rudimentary cardboard sets and cityscapes. These sequences provide a surprisingly refreshing antidote to the more pristine CGI effects.

Despite all the imaginative detours, the film has so much more that makes it a sad endearing wince of a joy and yet just like any other film or book or piece of music that you love, I feel inadequate to express its delicate beauty.

The last scene shot of the film can be seen as self defeating, escapist fantasy taking precedence over the more painful living life. A wistful fairy tale conclusion.

Little Miss Feelgood Film

Little Miss Sunshine was the runaway indie success story of 2006. A film that came out of nowhere, won the audiences' hearts, charmed the critics and bagged up prestigious recognitions by the end of the year.

The premise of the film is simplistic to a fault; a dysfunctional family takes up a road trip to the titular beauty pageant for kids. A quick rundown of the family has Richard Hoover (Greg Kinnear), a motivational speaker who is reduced to lecturing the virtues of positive thinking on to his family, Sheryl Hoover (Toni Collette), tightly wound up, closet smoking mum who has no other choice but to put on a brave face amongst other volatile members of the family, Edwin Hooper (Alan Arkin), the heroin sniffing, foul mouthed grandfather who can't extol the virtues of sleeping around enough to young Dwayene (Paul Dano), the Nietzsche disciple who has taken a vow of silence and is marred by natural teenage angst. Frank Ginsberg (Steve Carrell), Sheryl's gay, depressive suicidal Prosut scholar brother rounds up the clan and at the centre of it all is ofcourse the shy, beauty queen infatuated nine year old Olive (Abigail Breslin) who's invitation to compete at the Little Miss Sunshine contest provides the catalyst for the film.

Predictably so, along the way on the road, the passengers bicker, quarrel, squabble, annoy each other and gradually start to understand and respect each other leading to the whole family dancing on a stage that surmises for a feelgood conclusion.

This film is just another example of how thin the line between Studio and Independent film is getting these days. It could just as well have been a routine family affair for pleasurable family viewing and the right proportions of quirk is sprinkled over the production to remind us this is a pleasing, heartwarming film about a family sticking together yet is nonetheless, an unmistakably proponent of American Independent cinema. The selective characters are given their respective dark traits to play with, an eclectic soundtrack and the ending that wisely (and for me surprisingly) doesn't go the conventional way. An interesting cast member of the film is the yellow Volkswagon that has its own personal traits and contributes as much as the rest of the cast. It's a push-start vehicle with a not so reliable horn.

The film works best as an ensemble piece. That may be one of the finer points of the film, the interaction between the actors. They make their respective travesties believable with adequate amounts of pathos. Steve Carell has the makings of taking up the Robin Williams mantel sans the mania and Alan Arkin is missed in later scenes.

In summation if you feel that new fad that is dysfunctional family not to your taste you might want to skip this one.

(And isn't the dysfunctional family fad getting a bit tiresome?)

I'm Not There: An Unconventional Musical Biopic

Todd Haynes' I'm Not There safely subscribes to the most broad definition of a musical biopic as in the film features filmed renditions of some Bob Dylan songs incorporated into the main narrative, and also subscribes to the salient aspects of a biopic as in it charts Bob Dylan's career and life from humble beginnings to his dramatic rise as the definitive voice of an era. Now that the film has neatly placed itself within a popular genre it shoots off on a rambling, elliptical and ultimately rewarding trajectory.

The film claims to be based on the music and many lives of Bob Dylan who has been one of the most mercurial artists in the second half of the 20th century. It always felt unfair to confining his talents within the parameters of popular music. His influence has trickled down to mass consciousness and yet Dylan, characteristic of anyone who has ever been labeled as the voice of a generation, has been reluctant in expressing himself and telling us what his work and words mean. His words have always had the rare simplicity that defies any general explanation.

I'm Not There is a work of daring and imagination. Haynes rounds up six different actors of diverse age, color and gender backgrounds to play one singular character or more likely the variants of Bob Dylan at different times of his career. Woody Gutherie (Marcus Carl Franklin) is the 11 year old black kid who is a musical prodigy and has tall tales to tell to match his talent. The timeline he occupies is 1959 yet in his mind he lives in the depression era and as the name implied already, an avid disciple of folk singer Woody Gutherie. Jack Rollins (Christian Bale) is an up and coming folk singer whose simple homespun songs and honest, poignant lyrics have made him a public figure. He goes in hiding for the next ten years only to return as a born again Christian and using his talents for the Lord's service. Arthur Rimbaud (Ben Winshaw) is an articulate verbose poet who sits in front of an interviewing tribunal. Robbie Clark (Heath Ledger) is a movie star who shot to fame portraying Jack Rollins, whose domestic life is falling apart and after years of high headed success he feels he will miss the domesticity. Jude Quinn (Cate Blanchett) is a one time highly revered folk singer who betrayed his core audiences by going "electric" and finds his time in London dodging and confronting accusations at his ever strung out self. And finally there is Billy the Kid (Richard Gere) an aging cowboy in a hybrid Old West town where giraffes and ostriches roam free.

Some of the Dylan variants are easy to connect, the progression of Woody Gutherie to Jack Rollins leading to Jude Quinn, punctuated by the occasional Rimbaud clips. Bob Dylan was never a movie star like Robbie Clark but that may be a nod at his celebrity status in the 60s and his matrimonial account clearly influences the film star story. Todd Haynes in his own words has attempted to deconstruct the myth of Bob Dylan and so in so he has succeeded by not offering us a conventional chronological account of the man or his different lives. I'm Not There is a meticulously constructed mosaic made up of interwoven strands of the idea and music of Bob Dylan.

Being a musical that it is, I'm Not There is a richly rewarding visual experience as well. The film seamlessly intercuts between one Dylan variant to the other and one gold toned color scene to another grainy black and white one. Each Dylan strand filmed has its own distinct look. The Woodie Gutherie scenes are washed in honey gold sepia, most of the Arthur Rimbaud press conference is filmed in a grainy black and white static shot. Hanyes recreates vintage documentary feel for the Jack Rollins scenes intercut with the obligatory talking heads that are part and parcel of profile documentaries. Vietnam War channeled through TV in people's homes take up most of the space in the Robbie Clark story. The centerpiece of the film, the now bravura performance by Cate Blanchett is filmed in crystal black and white with tracking shots reminiscent of Fellini and other corners of the frame borrowed from Richard Lester films. The Billy the Kid scenes that bookend the film have the same visual resonance as the Woody Gutherie scenes and I personally can't think of any other reason for the inclusion of this particular strand as to give the film's structure some kind of battered symmetry.

It would help to know the most basic rudimentary of your Dylan before you see this film for it illuminates certain passages of the film, otherwise the music is great and performances are stand out through with Cate Blanchett standing head and shoulders above her peers.

Khuda kay Liye: The title says it all

It has been a while and the much lauded debut feature film by the once wonderkid of PTV Shoaib Mansoor has come and gone with all the splendorous fanfare. The film was hailed as the much deserved revival of Pakistani cinema but you know what (and some of you do) Khuda Kay Liye is a substandard film. It's not really the kind of film that merits critical attention or if that is not important for some people dismissing it as just another frivolous irritation the film simply fails to lodge a place inside of us as should all good films. Demonizing American authority (the American imposition) after 9/11 isn't exactly the most original of ideas.

The brutal interrogation of the Shan character (aptly named Mansoor) is not as much a liberal and frank and balanced view of interrogation methods as it is a sensational call for sympathy for the proud eastern hero (a part and parcel of our hero worshipping heritage, plus throw in a dutifully weeping American wife to further spice up the sentimentalmeter). Shoib Mansoor stretches a bit more on same line, assigning his name to the hero. In his website he refers to the falling out he had with Juniad Jamshed (his one time protege and "brother") over the same argument Shan and his brother (not named Jamshed) had in the film which in turn inspired the film. 9/11 is a topical subject that is hard not to get away from and Pakistan being the frontline nation in the proverbial war against terror is obliged to make a film that not only condemns the catastrophe but also to deny it has anything to do with it.

Other than that the girl from UK main plot/sideplot is soooo derivative, I'm sure it happens but PTV dramas of all kinds have already mined the topic and now we get a cinematic depiction.

Where I charachtersitcially flinched at most of the (make it all) songs from the soundtrack, I admit the score was something of a rarity, sparse and atonal. The photography was impressive as well save for the sepia tinged look reserved for the Pakistan portions of the film. The courtroom scene went on and on and on and on and with Shah jee (read Nasiruddin Shah) coming off as the good maulvi to Rashid Naz's bad maulvi. That particular scene was executed in a heavy handed manner and attempted to justify all the undoings happening uptil that moment throughout the film in one big scene. Cinema's way of giving us easy answers.

Rashid Naz is excellent in the way he gives equal measures of soft spoken charm underlined with unsettling threat so commonly associated with charismatic maulvis. Shan manages to put a bit, just a bit of proper restraint and that girl (Iman Ali) was just plain awful, being sexy helps a little but not much in a "meaningful" film. Other good actors were underused, the always reliable and emotive Ayub Khosa was only given one scene and one expression. Such a waste. The same goes with the talented Hamid Sheikh assigning him a token character whereas the rest of the cast positively appeared comatose.

Though the film with all its apparent failings has managed to do one thing that no other Pakistani film, including the Titanic fate of Jinnah has ever done. It has generated polarized opinions and sparked off a debate. I sure hope this launches way for other Pakistani films that won't be labeled Lollypollywood.

And lastly, before I had seen the film, just by reading the synopsis of the film I had already declared the film to be an apologetic exercise on part of Pakistan on the 9/11 fiasco. So maybe that was undue but watching the film only strengthened my criticism. the good Pakistani boy Shan is beaten to the brow and yet he declares his love for USA chalking it through his dingy cell. With all the beatings and abuse and humiliation and the stench of piss it only takes the vile abomination and loathing of swinemeat to make him love usa-ma. Last straw some would say.. puh-leeez

Getting Whacked on Inland Empire

You expect a David Lynch film to be strange and weird, this film gives you strange and weird in generous proportions. You won't really form an overwhelmingly strong love or hate emotion to the film. This is David Lynch's magnum opus, it really is. He channels motes from all of his established films here. From the electric weirdness of Eraserhead to the emotional intensity of Blue Velvet to disturbingly colorful characters from Wild at Heart to the red curtained dreamscapes in Twin Peaks (throwing in a lumberjack for good measures) to the depravity and sexual tension of Lost Highway and self awareness of Mullholland Drive.

To say the film is self referential is an understatement. The film in construct is obtuse, labyrinthine and given to way over the top narcissistic indulgence. The film no doubt is an ego trip for Lynch but then again he has earned it over the years. And yet there are just a couple of things that didn't work for me in the film. A subplot set in Poland and in Polish, (with Polish subtitles, so that doesn't help much), scenes that go on and on just for the sake of going on , meta over artistic high brow stuff sprinkled here and there, and elements taken from hardboiled soaps. so many irrelevancies that in my boredom I skipped them (yes I should have more patience) but it still works. This film has some of the most trippiest sequences I have ever seen and some of the most unsettling and scariest.

And boy is Laura Dern a fine actor. The performance itself blows you away and this isn't a tagline from any other Tom Dick Harry film review. As an added treat David Lynch gives two of his own songs in the soundtrack. And if you have read about the film already there is the rabbit sitcom connection in the film which starts off as an uneasy surreal distraction but builds up to something else yet remaining a distraction.

I was getting bored of Lynch and didn't quiet as much revel in Lost Highway and Mullholland Drive as I should have had but dang he's a fine filmmaker. You owe yourself to see this film and yeah guess who else is on the soundtrack...Beck?! (maybe you saw it coming from Odelay).

Tommy Hanks vs the Commies

Charlie Wilson's War proclaims itself to be a black comedy. It's the kind of film that one can easily mistake to be a big, important Hollywood film. It is helmed by a big and important name, Mike Nichols (The Graduate, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolfe, Working Girl), has big important A Listers in the cast namely Tom Hanks, Julia Roberts and Phillip Seymour Hoffman, written by the same guy who used to write for West Wing and attempts to give us a look at a hugely important aspect of recent history...How USA got involved in Afghanistan. With this kind of package you don't expect anything less than a savagely brutal and ironic to boot indictment of the burning issue of American involvement in Afghanistan today.

Too bad despite its appearances. Charlie Wilson's War has no teeth. The film opens with Senator Charlie Wilson getting commended by some committee for his part in winning the cold war. In attendance are a happy looking Julia Roberts in a peroxide wig and Philip Seymour Hoffman nodding approvingly in his ruggy moustache. Then the scenes cut to 1979, and how images of Afghan refugees on TV catches the attention of Charlie Wilson nestling with naked girls in a hot tub. From thereon, the films rushes on to one significant plot point to the next. Charlie Wilson, a consummate hedonistic playboy of a senator that he is and is never short of providing witty one liners, gets to be more Tom Hanks than Charlie Wilson. Despite his extracurricular activities, Charlie gets the time to meet with important dignitaries, our very own Zia-ul-Haq (played with apt restraint by Om Puri) included, and visit Afghan refugee camps near Peshawer and is visibly grieved and angry with the amount of help the Afghan resistance is getting. So the main crux of the film has Charlie Wilson lobbying for more supply and help for the Afghans and weaves a harebrained idea of Pakistan and Israel working together against the Evil Soviet Empire. And the means by which he gets this working looks like coming straight out of a boy's adventure tale, belly dancers flown in from Texas to Cairo, verbal arm twisting of officials et al.

The timeline of the film jumps dizzily by years and years til it goes from 1979 to 1988 within the span of less than hour and a half. At the end of it, all feels rather hollow. The complex nature of this extended episode of the cold war gets an airbrush treatment and the ramifications it has in the current times is given a lip service by the Philip Seymour Hoffman character warning there will be consequences if the American government doesn't help the war torn country.

70s and the 80s saw great war films made on Vietnam which were as complex and serious as the conflict itself, Platoon and Apocalypse Now come readily to mind. Another similar conflict in a more cynical age gets a comic book treatment. Maybe it is still too soon to start making films about the war on terror or anything pertinent to it. Lets wait for the wind to blow over and then maybe we will see another era of good and honest war films.

Rail Whimsy

Wes Anderson's brand of whimsy takes another shot in his latest film packaged as a road movie through India.The premise is simple, three brothers reunite in India on the behest of the eldest sibling, a mummy faced Francis (Owen Wilson), to discover themselves through spiritual enlightenment. The other two brothers, Peter (Adrian Brody) and Jack (Jason Schwartzman), reluctantly agree for the trip maybe because they don't have anything else to do and in part because of both are running away from obligations of a demanding world. Peter can't cope with the fact that he is soon going to be a father and Jack has just broken off with his girlfriend.

They board a luxury train, the self titled Darjeeling Limited, catch up on the recent events in their respective lives, visit shrines along the way, bicker and squabble and even get to have fleeting romance and let a poisonous snake loose in the train. They manage to get themselves kicked out of the train, are held up in a village and are almost about to board a plane out of India when they decide to visit their mother up in the Himalayas. And by the end of the film the three mistrusting siblings start to understand and respect each other.

The basic premise of the film complies to the conventions of a regular road movie, whereby along the journey the characters discover new places, experiences and themselves. Sibling rivalry and emotional distance from parents have always been a recurring theme in the films of Wes Anderson and in Darjeeling Limited he finds an appropriate template to retell his familiar concerns. In itself Wes Anderson doesn't provide anything new in his film. It's just his patented brand of whimsy that render this and his previous films something close to the proximity of the word sweet, coupled with a soundtrack littered with obscure British rock songs from the 60s, a horde of familiar actors, colorful appetizing mise-en-scene and the closing shot in obligatory slow-motion.

What gives Darjeeling Limited it's novel identity is the Indian landscape, sights and sound. Wes Anderson is too intelligent a filmmaker to make a picture perfect portrait of a mythical exotic east. He is wise to show an India that is devoid of any glamorous or mystical bearing. Given that the fictional train and its decor is made up and doesn't resemble any real railway service in India and the pursuit of spiritual enlightenment does form the core of the film, these tropes are handled with thankful restraint. I also admired the observational quality of the film as testament in a particular scene where watching some kids playing by Peter wonders why the kids are playing cricket with a tennis ball. Or similarly and in a subtle manner the presence of regular people on the streets, in the shops and the train.

Additionally and more importantly the soundtrack of the film redeems it beyond considerable measures. It includes vinatge Indian music as opposed to a pleasing Bollywood ditty, which evokes the urban grounded romanticism of the place.

All in all this film, aside from giving a more ambient portrayal of India from the eyes of Americans, doesn't break any new ground. But unlike his semi namesake Paul Thomas Anderson, I am partly thankful he hasn't made a film that is a departure from the rest of his oeuvre. For all its shortcomings and deficiencies when one would look back at the film two adjectives would come instantly to the mind: sweet and warm. Not necessarily bad for a film.