La lectora provisoria

by Christoph Huber

Up. The most merciful Cannes opening choice in memory, though just because it’s sweet and entertaining doesn’t make it profound, which some quarters seem to claim inexplicably. Rather, it is just about charming enough to forgive its shortcomings (at which it pokes gentle fun, at least), i.e. another case of the mysterious overrating of the late work of Pixar. Bonus points for the alarm clock frog and the Tex Avery dog, though.

The Lou Ye Movie. I cannot even be bothered to remember (or look up) the title of this turgid doodle, an embarassing failure even by Lou Ye’s (mostly nonexistent) standards. It doesn’t work on so many levels it might be astonishing if it weren’t just embarassing. Clearly programmed upfront so we cannot have the pleasure of mercifully sleeping through it; also an announcement that this competition is a joke.

Tetro. Not really good, but extremely enjoybale. (Maybe less so for Argentinians, since it digs up every other cliche about the country, but then again, as an Austrian I had the most fun with my countryman’s Klaus Maria Brandauer’s totally overdone double role.) As opposed to most other stuff here, clearly a film that comes from the heart of the filmmaker, for better and worse. Interestingly clean, but weird visual style, ranging from worst CGI ballets ever to a rather impressive last half hour. A funny movie.

Air Doll. This year’s Tokyo Sonata (meaning that whatever you make of it, this is filmmaking with a vision, making it all the more ridiculous it has been relegated to Un certain regard, while the competition is running on empty). A bit one-note, but oddly moving, both as a fairy-tale spin on Kore-eda’s brand of humanism and as an example of astonishingly fluid construction. Is Bae Doon No the greatest actress alive (or not)?

Thirst. The bad competition joke continues. Not even as a Park detractor I was prepared at how awful this mixture of postmodern random genre-blending, empty style and bad comedy drags on. Fled after half an hour, to see Dario Argento’s Giallo in the market, which is very disappointing, but soothed the soul in comparison to Park. (At least it fails honestly.)

Taking Woodstock. Much like the opening, a likeable, but also somewhat forgettable exercise, since for all the sincerity Ang Lee brings to the project (and projects on supposed Woodstock idealism), he clearly is out of his depth with regards to drugs, music, and whatnot, resorting to unfortunate cliches, but also sometimes finding interesting ways to bundle them into contradictions (cf. Liev Schreiber’s excellent turn as transvestite war veteran).

Ne change rien. A self-conscious, immaculately shot film about rhythm and the self-conscious alure of Jeanne Balibar. A good minor film, that would be even better if it would be content with being minor. Still, eminently worth seeing, and often lovely.

Like You Know it All. Hong Sangsoo surprises with a first half hour that must rank amongst the funniest portrayals of the truth about film festivals. Although generally, the second half doesn’t live up to the first, this is very good Hong.

Ne te retourne pas. Mysteriously hated (then again, maybe not so mysterious, seeing how people prefer genre abuse from Park to Audiard), this could have been made in the 1970s, except for its intriguingly weird digital effects which merge lead actresses Marceau and Belucci into „Sophica“. Proof that old-school values are not extinct, just underappreciated.

Al-momia (Shadi Abdel Salam, Egipto, 1969). A reminder that I should spend more time in Cannes Classics (also quite good: Basil Dearden’s colorful 60s thriller Victim, brimming with great character acting); a rather unique Egyptian classic, monumental and still, as befits its subject.

Kinatay. The first half hour, in which Brillante Mendoza is again at his best at capturing urban bustle, is wonderful, and the overall concept (moving into darkness and slowing down) could be interesting, but then it’s too much (written-in point-making) yielding too little (substance). Still the most interesting competition movie at that point.

Mother. Solid, but too baroque, which is always Bong’s problem. The lead actress is so good that you don’t mind much, especially as things come together rather satisfyingly in the end after some unfocussed ambling.

Vengeance. Finally, a masterpiece: Johnnie To’s finest since Election, full of astonishing action setpieces (inventively utilizing nature—whether moonlight or wind—as well as genre tropes, like restaging a western covered wagon encirclement with huge trash cubes). All hail the killer gang with the other Johnny (Halliday), greatest of Wongs (Anthony) and the incomparable Lam Suet.

Un prophète (Jacques Audiard). Simply, a total mess. What people see in this except for the acting (even more than the lead: Nils Arestrup) remains a mystery. It may be another case of the recent folly of prasing ambition per se, no matter the underwhelming execution, what with the generally interesting plot buried in half-baked and increasingly arbitrary bits of „psychology“, „social interest“ and whatnot.

Antichrist. The big surprise of Cannes: Lars’ movie is really entertaining. Is it also completely (though deliberately) idiotic? YES! In fact, it is like the feature version of his funny 3 minute short from that horrible Cannes birthday omnibus film, which was his best film since the ghost television series. Amusing, although of course, whatever.