Three Colours: Red review

 Number 222 on the top 1000 films of all time is the French final part of the 'Three Colours trilogy: Red.'

Valentine Dussaut (Irene Jacob) is an aspiring model who accidentally runs over Rita - a German Alsatian belonging to an old, bitter ex-judge Joseph Kern (Jean-Louis Trintignant.) When Valentine tries explaining, Joseph couldn't care less, but it is revealed that he whiles away his time eavesdropping on people's phone conversations. One of these people is Valentine's neighbour Auguste (Jena-Pierre Lorit,) a trainee lawyer.

This is another film trilogy that I'm writing out of order, as is often the nature of this list. I enjoyed Three Colours: Red much more than I thought I would. I thought it would be a pseudo-intellectual arthouse film, but it was actually very interesting and thought-provoking.

Joseph Kern was an instantly engrossing character. Misanthropes are not the most original of characters, but they are engaging. He posed lots of interesting questions that I wanted answering. Why was he so callous? So lonely? Why was he listening into these conversation? And what can these conversations tell us about the human condition? That behind closed doors, the facade drops and we're not as nice as we like to think we are? Jean-Louis brought this man to life and stopped him from being a cliche.

Irene Jacob was also very good as Valentine Dussaut. In many ways, she is the audience proxy. As she is simultaneously intrigued and repulsed by Joseph's actions, so are the audience. The only character I was unsure about was Auguste whose storyline wasn't really given a chance to shine. He felt like he should have been a main character, but he was portrayed as a subplot.

Nonetheless, this was still a very interesting film. Now, I just have to go back and watch the first two parts of this trilogy.

Paris, Texas review

 Number 240 on the top 1000 films of all time is the 1984 road film 'Paris, Texas.'

After spending four years roaming the Mojave desert, aimless drifter Travis Henderson (Harry Dean Stanton) is found in Texas. His brother Walt (Dean Stockwell) takes him home to Los Angeles where he and his French wife Anne (Aurore Clement) have been raising Travis' son Hunter (Hunter Carson.) Travis and Hunter then set out on a road trip to find Jane (Nastassja Kinski,) Travis' wife and Hunter's mother.

I have to admit that this film surprised me. I initially thought it would be pretentious and overly-intellectual a la Ingmar Bergman. But despite its arthouse nature, it was very engaging. It was so bright and vibrant with some gorgeous cinematography. I loved all the sweeping shots of the great American landscape. All the colours popped off of the screen. Speaking of colour, red featured very prominently. Why? I'll leave that to the film majors to answer.

True, at two and a half hours, the film is probably longer than it needs to be. There are a lot of silences and forlorn gazing into the desert. Not all of this held my interest. Yet it was always steered back by Harry Dean Stanton's excellent performance. Travis, being initially mute, would not have been an easy character to play. He is a man rendered virtually catatonic by some unexplained trauma. But Stanton slowly transforms him from a vague, lifeless sketch into a living breathing person.

I also very much enjoyed the score. It was sparing and economical with every piece of music playing at the right moment. Perhaps if there had been more music instead of silences, especially with the pivotal conversations toward the end, I may have been more engaged throughout.

I talked about Stanton earlier, but I don't think there was a weak link among the cast. Dean Stockwell plays Travis' sympathetic, but increasingly frustrated brother. And Aurore Clement was equally good as his wife Anne. It's difficult not to feel sorry for the two as Travis and Hunter without telling them. And, finally, Nastassja Kinski was great as Jane. The final reunion between her and Travis was touching and poignant to watch.

Generally, I'm not a fan of arthouse films. They're the territory of cinophiles and film majors, but Paris, Texas surprised me. It's not a very loud film, but it made a hell of a lot of noise.

Stalker review

Number 182 on the top 1000 films of all time is Andrei Tarkovsky's science fiction art film Stalker.

Set in a distant future in an unnamed land, Alexander Kaidonovsky plays the Stalker - a guide who steers people safely through a dangerous area, where the laws of physics don't apply, called the Zone. At the centre is a room said to grant the greatest desires of its occupants. The Stalker's next charges are the Writer (Anatoly Solonitsyn) and the Professor (Nikolai Grinko.)

From Italian art house to Russian art house, but the change in country doesn't make me anymore receptive to art house cinema. Films like these remind me of the dense, academic books, where nothing happens, which I had to slog through for my degree. And when I say nothing happens, I mean nothing - the film is little more than a philosophical debate about faith and the nature of human desire. Too intellectual for the likes of me. I didn't even understand what I didn't understand. Too much talking. As such, I found this film virtually unwatchable. Part of it was down to my own personal tastes, but also due to Tarkovsky's stylised direction.

Firstly, there was the soundtrack or lack thereof. In pivotal moments, a soundscape of distorted, synthesised sound effects played which created an eerie atmosphere. But much of the film had no music altogether. Only silence. Yes, this made things creepy, but it also made things boring. Sometimes in film, the use of music can be distracting, but the opposite was true here. Yes I know that Tarkovsky wants to ensure the audience can focus their whole attention on the philosophy, but you have to give them something to work with. Silence isn't engaging enough.

Especially when it's coupled with long takes of the characters doing very little. The film begins with the Stalker getting out out bed and brushing his teeth. It is not until the ten-minute mark that any dialogue is said. Any first-year creative writing student will tell you this is not interesting way to start a story.

One thing I did find interesting was Tarkovsky's colour scheme. For the scenes outside the zone in the "real world," he uses a sepia tone, but the scenes within the zone are in full technicolour. Perhaps this is how the Zone forces men to be completely honest with themselves and their desires whereas the real world allows them to keep lying to everybody.

That's my attempt of interpreting the film, but my days of deeply analysing media are long over. Although this film does raise an interesting question. If the Stalker was guiding you through the Zone to the room so your heart's desire can be granted, what would it be?

Persona review

 Number 172 on the top 1000 films of all time is Ingmar Bergman's psychological thriller Persona.

Alma (Bibi Andersson) is a nurse charged with looking after Elisabet Volgar (Liv Ullman) who has inexplicably become muter. Alma's matron believes Elisabet will better heal in a remote seaside cottage and send her and Alma there. Alma starts losing her minds as she finds it more and more difficult to distinguish between herself and Elisabet.

Film critic Thomas Elsaesser described Persona as "besides Citizen Kane, the most written about film in the canon," and it is easy to see why. Having watched The Seventh Seal, Wild Strawberries and Fanny and Alexander, I would characterise Bergman's films as classic arthouse that only diehard cinephiles would understand. Persona is no exception to this.

As the film begins, we are treated to an abstract collection of images including a tarantula, a crucifixion, all culminating with a young boy waking up in hospital. From there, we cut to Nurse Alma in the most minimalist hospital ever, being assigned her new charge of Elisabet. We then immediately see Alma's self-doubt about being able to care for her.

Things only get weirder when Alma and Elisabet move to the seaside cottage and Alma begins confiding in Elisabet about her own anxieties before eventually confessing to cheating on her husband by having an orgy with some teenage boys, one of them impregnating her which she later aborts. Elisabet then tells her that she should go to bed, but Alma dismisses this as a dream.

Upon delivering the mail, Alma reads a letter that Elisabet has written and find that her charge is silently studying and mocking her behaviour and a fight ensues. What was also interesting was Bergman's minimalist soundtrack. In pivotal scenes, such as the fight scene, where you might expect there to be music, Bergman solely employed silence. This did wonders for raising the suspense.

As did Bergman's minimalist style. Everything was so plain from the costumes to the interior set designs to even the seaside location. There was nothing there to distract you from the action happening on screen. 

As Alma's mental health deteriorates, she finds it harder to distinguish herself from Elisabet. At the film's conclusion, Elisabet's husband arrives and confuses Alma for his wife. Despite Alma initially correcting him, she eventually accepts her new identity and makes love with Mr Vogler. The film climaxes with Alma narrating Elisabet's tragic backstory. She became pregnant with Mr Vogler, but believing she lacked motherliness, she started hating her unborn child and repeatedly tried to abort it without success. When the child was born, she continued to hate it and prayed for its death.

The monologue is then repeated, but with the focus on Alma before a split screen shows both women's faces side-by-side, symbolising the changes of identity. Both women are also dressed very similarly in black dresses with the same hairstyle and they are very difficult to distinguish, all further symbolising Alma's deteriorating mind. After the monologue, Elisabet becomes completely catatonic and Alma later leaves with the camera showing that she is being filmed by a cameraman and a director. I thought that the two would undertake a full role reversal with Alma becoming catatonic and Elisabet regaining the ability to speak - whether she actually lost it in the first place is still up for debate.

As are many different aspects of this film. Why the imagery of the crucifixion? Why the footage of Buddist Monks self-imolating or the infamous Stroop Report photograph? Why did Alma force Elisabet to drink her blood? And why was Alma being filmed at the end? All of these questions and more have been analysed with no conclusive answer given. And I cannot offer any more answers here. For I am not a cinophile or film critic. I guess I liked the film, but it was also very surreal and very confusing. Instead, I'll concur with Bergman who has refused to give any concrete interpretations in favour of viewers making their own opinions. 

Mary and Max review

 Number 167 on the top 1000 films of all time is the 2009 Australian stop-motion drama - Mary and Max, directed by Adam Eliot.

Mary (Toni Colette) and Max (Philip Seymour Hoffman) tells the story of the blossoming relationship of the two titular characters. Both social outcasts, they soon find connection when they become pen pals.

I watched this film with my dad and he said he hadn't watched a film quite like that before. Neither have I. It was abstract and surreal. Dark and creepy at some points, hilarious and uplifting in others. It was a film that I had never heard off before and, apparently it never received a wider theatrical release, although it did premier at the Sundance Film Festival.

Although, I am puzzled as to why it didn't receive a wide theatrical release, as it was a brilliant film. Perhaps because it dealt with some problematic themes and it has some off-beat, dark humour. But the way, it engaged with its troubling themes was sensitive and evocative. Mary is a little girl in Australian with an alcoholic and kleptomaniac mother and a father who is more interested in taxidermy than his daughter. She has a prominent birthmark on her forehead which leads to her being bullied at school. Upon recounting this in a letter to Max, she breaks down in tears. Considering 'Mary' was only a claymation sculpture and not a real person, this was very upsetting to watch.  Bethany Whitmore who played the young Mary did well to bring real humanity to the character.

Conversely Max is a morbidly obese, autistic man living in New York. Because of his autism, he finds it difficult to befriend anybody and he too is a loner. Despite this, he was an uplifting character who far from feeling sorry for himself is proud of being a self-proclaimed "aspie." It is a fundamental part of his identity and, despite what his therapist might say, is not something that needs curing. He may not understand human behaviour or why people throw away food while children starve in India, which only makes his connection with mary all the sweeter. 

His lifelong goal of making a friend, a goal he realises with Mary is all too relatable and powerful. He was a pitiful character, but a likeable one. And that is down to Adam Eliot's good writing and Hoffman's good portrayal. With autistic characters, there is always the danger of making them into a cariacture of themselves, but that didn't happen here.

If I were to describe this film to anybody, it would be as a real arthouse film, mostly because of its claymation style allowed Adam Eliot to tackle themes he might not have been able to do with more traditional film. Mary and Max's environments contrast so drastically. In sunny Australia, the lighting is bright, the locations spacious, but in New York, everything is dark, gloomy and cramped. Max is alone in a crowd of people. Mary is isolated in a close-knit community.

Even the colour schemes are different. Australia is brighter with an off-colour, soft yellow. Whereas New York is a dark grey-scale, almost monochrome, representing Max's confused viewpoint of the world. But when he begins corresponding with Mary, spots of colour begin appearing, like the orange pom pom that she knits for him. He attaches this to this skullcap, which he wears, not because of how he is Jewish, but because it keeps his brain warm.

The growing relationship between the two central characters climaxes in the worse possible way. In a misguided attempt to help Max, Mary enrols in university, to study mental disorders like autism, in the hopes of curing him. Using Max as her case study, she writers a book detailing the findings of her research.  But Max, believing she has exploited him and his condition, rips out the "M" key of his typewriter and mails it to her. This raises interesting ideas around "disorders" like autism. Is it really a disorder? Is it an illness that needs to be cured? What if the person is happy the way they are?

Upon realising how badly she has hurt her friend, Mary sinks into a deep depression, becoming a mirror image of her alcoholic mother. In the process, she loses her childhood sweetheart, Damian Popodopulous (Eric Bana) who leaves her for a sheep farmer in New Zealand. Her depression culminates in a suicide attempt which is set to a slowed-down version of "Que Sera Sera." This combined with the background scenery fading to black was the darkest, most haunting, but most powerful moment of the film. Mary is only saved by her neighbour who delivers a package from Max who has finally forgiven her.

Over a year later with Damien's child, Mary finally travels to New York to meet Max. Sadly, he had died earlier that morning, staring up at all of Mary's letters which he has stuck on his ceiling. One of many heart-warming moments in what is a very twisted, Grim Brothers-esque fairy tale. Amid all the surrealism and horror, there are valuable lessons to be gained about human connection. 

Mary and Max was definitely a film that took me by surprise. I don't know what I was expecting, but I certainly wasn't expecting a poignant, surreal, arthouse film about the importance of friendship and loving yourself.