The Greek "Oscar" submission, Athina Rachel Tsangari's ATTENBERG, opens

From what we might assume -- considering the movies that this country has lately submitted for Best Foreign-Language Film consideration -- Dogtooth last year (which managed, incredibly, to reach final nomination status) and this year ATTENBERG, which, though better than its predecessor, didn't even make the shortlist -- Greece is a country desperately in need of help. And not simply economic help, which we know from daily newspaper headlines, but psychological, social, and sexual, too. Please: Give this country a life coach. I jest, of course, but not entirely. I mean, don't you sometimes wonder: How did they get from Homer to here? There is something so irredeemably creepy and constrained about these two films, as well as others I've seen from Greece over the past decade or two, that I can only mourn all the more the passing this year of the great Greek filmmaker Theo Angelopoulos.

Written and directed by Athina Rachel Tsangari (shown at left, who also helped produce Dogtooth), Attenberg, takes its name from the mispronunciation of the name Attenborough, as in David, whose British wildlife documentaries appear to be the only staple of TV viewing for our heroine and her dying dad (mom's long gone). This attractive young woman, Marina, is brought to life in believable fashion (which is no small compliment considering how nearly unbelievable the character usually appears) by Ariane Labed (below, right, learning to French kiss) in her film debut. She is greatly in need of help. How she has managed to reach the late teens while remaining clueless-to-the-max is one for the books.

But she has, and so we must accept this or give up on the film entirely. And as there are some very interesting scenes to come, let's not. Her best friend and chief competitor, Bella (Evangelia Randou, above, left), seems to have a bit of a thing for that sickly dad (Vangelis Mourikis, whose performance helps immensely to ground the film), and later on, Marina attempts to connect the two sexually -- more as a gift to dad than to Bella.

Marina, who makes some income driving engineers from hotel to work site (above), takes up with one of these (below) -- which makes for some of the movie's more amusing, if again, barely believable, scenes. This kissing and sex business, not to mention the reactions from the body of the male, are so new to her that she finds it necessary to verbally describe everything she's doing and going through (below) to the recipient.

She and Bella also love to walk, march and dance in tandem, sometimes quite suggestively, which they do periodically (below and on the poster, top). All this is fun for awhile, but even at only 95 minutes, the movie is too long. My first note taken during its screening was "could use some editing" and by the end of the movie I had scribbled this several times. Yet the story itself is compelling and would be more so, were it not simply too bizarre. And almost willfully so. (Though, for "bizarrosity," there is not much from any country that beats out Dogtooth.)

From Strand Releasing, the movie opens in New York City tomor-row, March 9, at the IFC Center, and in Los Angeles on Friday, April 6th, at Laemmle’s Monica 4-Plex and Pasadena Playhouse 7 -- followed by a limited national rollout.

Valérie Donzelli's and Jérémie Elkaïm's DECLARATION OF WAR -- France's submission for "Oscar" bait -- opens

How odd -- and a little unsettling -- to have found nearly irresistible the first feature film by up-and-coming French movie-maker Valérie Donzelli (that was The Queen of Hearts [La reine des pommes] shown at last year's Rendez-vous With French Cinema--my review is here; click and scroll down) and now to find myself so heavily resisting her second feature work, DECLARATION OF WAR, a film that proved much more popular than her first in her native France. (So popular in fact, that it became France's submission for this year's Best Foreign Language Film, though it made neither the final nominations nor even the short list).

Since first viewing Declaration of War a couple of months back, I've been asking myself why I could so easily resist it, and I think I understand at least some of the reasons. Fortunately (or maybe not), most viewers will not be in my shoes, for they will not have had the opportunity to see The Queen of Hearts. (Though I hope they do, as it is delightful and original.) Ms Donizelli's style (the filmmaker is shown above) in both movies -- hectic, quirky and extremely self-involved -- is quite unusual, and I found this worked exceptionally well for the first film (a rom-com with enormous psychological smarts) and much less so in this new film, which details a pair of young parents whose child develops a life-threatening illness.

Donizelli and Jérémie Elkaïm (above, right, who co-wrote and co-stars in the film) -- are (or were) real-life partners who, we are told, went through an experience quite similar to the parents in the film. Initially Donzelli locks you into things via fast pacing and plenty of incident. I wonder, though, if the couple could have been quite so frenetic and ever on-the-move.

From the super-cute names the pair give themselves (he's Romeo and she's, you got it) to the soundtrack that never shuts up to the super-energetic non-stop movement of the actors and editing, the movie soon begin to seem a little -- no, a lot -- overboard and cute. Eventually, I swear, it could further curdle your buttermilk.

The filmmakers are quite right in their insistence that the movie be about the parents. It is their responsibility, after all, to see that their child survives. The kid himself, at his young age, can do little more than look sweet and get our sympathy. Yet I think Donzelli and Elkaïm mis-step by concentrating so thoroughly and heavily on themselves and their quirks. After a time, they seem to be, above all, prime narcissists.

The two leads are certainly up to snuff with their energy, and their supporting cast  -- which includes some fine French actors like Frédéric Pierrot, Anne Le Ny, Brigitte Sy and Elina Löwensohn (the latter's actually Romanian) -- does a great job with barely sketched-in roles.

Voice-over, slow-motion, a musical number and more -- Donizelli has packed it all in, and while some of this indeed works, it is finally too much. For me, anyway. You might have quite a different opinion. And since, at this point, I don't know that America will ever get to view The Queen of Hearts, I hope you do see Declaration of War. At the very least Donizelli's style, I think, is sure to seem unique.

The film, from Sundance Selects, opens this Friday, January 27, in New York (at the Lincoln Plaza Cinema and the IFC Center), San Francisco (good luck trying to search the web for the specific theater!) and Los Angeles (at Landmark's Nuart Theatre) -- followed by a national rollout beginning on Friday, February 3, which also marks the day the film will be available nationwide via Video On Demand.

Asghar Farhadi's A SEPARATION: a shoo-in for the Best Foreign-Language Film shortlist

A SEPARATION, Iran's entry into this year's Best Foreign-Language Film sweepstakes, is, TrustMovies believes, almost certain to make the shortlist, as well as being among the final five films nominated, and -- he suspects, from what he's seen so far of the other entries -- very probably the winning film itself. It is that riveting a multi-generation family drama, utterly accessible to western sensibilities, and a film that will keep you on your toes right up until the last suspenseful moment. It is so good, in fact, that TM dearly wishes it were better. We'll get to why at the end of this post, where we will try our best to avoid spoilers.

Written and directed by Asghar Farhadi (shown at right, this is his fifth full-length movie as writer/director), the film appears at first to be about the dissolution of a marriage and family -- the separation of the title -- but soon evolves into much more. The mother, played well by Leila Hatami, shown below, wants the family (she, her husband and her daughter -- all clearly bright and well-educated) to move to the U.S.A. where she believes they will have a better life. (Perhaps she's unaware of our increasingly poor 99%, or maybe the family is richer than they seem.)

Her husband Nader (a terrific acting job, the movie's best, from Peyman Maadi, shown below, left) can't/won't leave his Alzheimers-ailing father (Ali-Asghar Shahbazi, below, right, in his film debut), behind in Iran.

The couple's daughter -- a nice job of presenting teenage angst, in a quiet, eastern style over-layed with a religion biased against women, by Sarina Farhadi (below, and the director's own daughter) -- is angry, at first toward mom, and then later, for reasons that slowly become apparent due to the twists taken by the plot, toward her dad.

The catalyst for much of what happens is another mother/father/
daughter family that mirrors the first in interesting ways: They seem super-religious, as opposed to our three who are more secular, not particularly intelligent nor well-spoken -- and not nearly so well off.

The mother (Sareh Bayat, above, left, giving the strongest woman's performance in the film), her daughter in tow, takes a caretaker job with the first family, screwing things up in just about every way possible. When her mentally unbalanced, religious-nut husband (funny how these two qualities work together so well in this society) -- a riveting performance from Shahab Hosseini, below -- enters the picture, all hell threatens to break loose.

Questions of who knew what and when did they know it (doesn't that put you in mind of Watergate?) loom large as the film progresses, and it is when the pieces of the puzzle finally come together that my quibbles surface.

Our discovering the be-all-end-all event so late in the game is not a little annoying, particularly since we were literally right there, moments before that event happened. That the filmmaker chose to deprive us of this knowledge by cutting away at the singular moment smacks of manipulation rather than of organic storytelling. (This happens again right at the end of the film, when knowledge we might know and profit from is deliberately withheld from us.)

Yes, these characters -- all of them -- are flawed, and it is good that the filmmaker makes certain we understand this. But the loose ends here are awfully long and untidy (Is there a law in Iran that a doctor cannot testify as to the state of her patient at a certain day and time?  Was that missing money stolen, misplaced or what? And by whom?) Truth and justice may be murky, all right, but here it is simply made more murky by the filmmaker's choices.

All this does not sink A Separation, which is among the most western movies made by an easterner that I have seen (only Certified Copy beats it in terms of western sensibility). The performances are splendid, the dialog on target, the sense of place and space (below) captured beautifully. And the many moral questions the movie raises are well worth exploring. I recommend the film wholeheartedly -- despite these, yes, minor flaws -- because it is so full of intelligence, humanity and spirit. Word-of-mouth, I believe, is going to be major on this film, so don't be surprised if you can't get in to see it on your initial attempt or two.

A Separation (from Sony Pictures Classics, 123 minutes) opens this Friday, December 30, in New York (at Film Forum and the Lincoln Plaza Cinema) and in West Los Angeles at Laemmle's Royal. A nationwiderollout begins the following week and will continue over the coming weeks and months. Click here to see the playdates, cities and theaters so far scheduled.

The inventive Hungarian Oscar submission: Szabolcs Hajdu's BIBLIOTHÈQUE PASCAL

Keeping up with the best foreign language film submission for the yearly Academy Award's ceremony is getting to be a nearly full-time occupation. But it's worth that time. For every outright bomb (Greece's Dogtooth, that made it practi-cally to the Oscar finish line by using transgressive sex to hook critics into going along for an empty ride) or so-so movie (Mama Gógó from Iceland, Germany's When We Leave), you're likely to come across a splendid film that you wouldn't be seeing otherwise. One such, and the subject of today's post, is Hungary's entry into this year's sweepstakes, BIBLIOTHÈQUE PASCAL. And a more beautiful, ugly, strange yet finally comprehensible movie you'll be hard-pressed to find.

That soon-to-be airtight wetsuit on the poster above (and in one of the stills below) makes for a breathtakingly creepy image and scene, and its use by writer/director (and ofttimes actor) Szabolcs Hajdu, pictured at right, is as shocking as it is bizarre. Part of a very high-end and exceedingly literate brothel at which wealthy clientele have all sorts of wishes fulfilled, the costume and its use allows Hajdu to give vent, I would guess, to some of his more grotesque fantasies. That these come side by side with others of delicious sweetness and light is what makes the movie so memorably odd. And the cinematography by András Nagy -- interior, exterior, natural light or created -- is simply stunning, frame by frame by gorgeous frame.

The story begins with a quietly distraught mother appealing to a social service worker for the return of her daughter, whom she had been left with an aunt of possibly less-than-sterling character. But then no character in this amazing movie approaches sterling, let alone silverplate or brass. You could, if you were so inclined, cal this movie a treatise on how precarious is survival in the Eastern Block -- whether yesterday, today or tomorrow.

And so our heroine Mona (a fine performance from Orsolya Török-Illyés, above, that combines strength and steely beauty in equal doses) begins her explanation to the social worker.

From the first, this seems a phantasmagoric tale of love, jealousy and betrayal, followed by a quick, then an even quicker, change of partners.

Which leads to a night of passion (and more great visuals!) with a very hot, but not long-lasting criminal named Viorel (Andi Vasluianu, below), which leads to the birth of that child.

Men, we quickly learn, are not to be trusted, most of all one's own father, below, who makes a very dirty deal, regarding Mona.

And this takes us to the titular bibliothèque -- a combination of the high-tech and old-fashioned bordello sleaze, the highly literary and torture porn -- that provides some of the most beautiful and creepy scenes in the film.

Hajdu creates an almost constant tension between the gorgeous visuals we love to watch and the subject matter, which grows darker and darker.

The climax -- which involves that wet-suit,

along with a marching band (above) -- culminates in an amazing, funny/sad view of a group people in the street that is one of several shots in the film that I suspect will find a permanent place in my movie memory bank. And the ending? Ohmigod: quiet, sweet, sad, surprising perfection.

But what does all of this mean? Ask that social worker, who takes this wild fantasy and tries to provide it with more "real" details, in order to help Mona. Yet it may be mankind's very ability to spin fairy tales, dark as they are, out of our worst woes that allows us to keep going. Ask Mona, and Mr. Hajdu, who've spun one of the most spectacular of all in this movie that ought to have at least been shortlisted for "Oscar" glory -- and which you really must see.

But how? According to the film's U.S. distributor, GoDigital Media Group, you can click the SAVE button on the film's Netflix site -- and hope that the service gets the DVD and adds it to its streaming facility soon.  Meanwhile, you can rent and download Bibliothèque Pascal via iTunes (and with cinematography this good, I'd pay the extra buck for the high definition version).

Genz's TERRIBLY HAPPY, Danish entry in the Foreign Language Film derby, opens

Oh, those Danes! They think the "Oscar" voters want dark? Black comedy? Well, there's dark and there's midnight. There's black and there's pitch. So it's little wonder that TERRIBLY HAPPY, the Danish submis-
sion to compete for Best Foreign Lan-
guage Film, did not make the shortlist. Dark works best for Academy voters when it ends up giv-
ing them the chance to feel good. Or sad. (Or when the film in question receives critical hosannas and does well enough at the box-office to make some waves: No Country for Old Men.)  When a "dark" movie ends up making you feel nothing at all, that tends to be an Academy deal-breaker.

In this movie, directed and co-written (with Dunja Gry Jensen and Erling Jepsen) by Henrick Ruben Genz (shown at left), a Copenhagen policeman (Jakob Cedergren, below, left, a looker who also appears in Sally Potter's Rage) who's had a pot of trouble at home is transferred to a new post in a tiny little town in the Danish sticks that operates, well, a bit differently from your run-of-the-mill hamlet. (Or perhaps, being so small, everything percolates a bit faster.) That's all you need to know without having something spoiled for you, so if you're prone to the kind of entertainment that goes from gray to somber, all the while posing as a "comedy" -- yet sans laughs -- then this is a film for you.

TrustMovies is not certain what, if any, American landscape might fill in for the one shown here.  Appalachia?  Probably not, but it's as good a choice as any.  In our little town we have a man-in-charge who's drunk on power, some spousal abuse, a doctor (below) a tad too free with his drugs, a store owner who encourages kleptoma-
nia, and many more offbeat characters.  Genz likes to film at odd angles for arty, "meaningful" moments, in which all sorts of things -- including Shirley Jackson's The Lottery -- come fleetingly to mind.

In the end we have a non-hero hoisted by his own petard, which seems appropriate enough in this case.  Along the way, we learn a typical (I am guessing) Danish phrase: "Mojn," which mean (I am guessing again) Mornin'.  If I sound less than enchanted with this movie, it's because I am less than enchanted.  Dark but not much fun and telling us plenty of stuff about human nature of which we're already aware, Terribly Happy (ironic title, dontcha know) is a cynical little romp for art-house pseudo-sophisticates.

The film, distribted via Oscilloscope Laboratories, opens this Friday, February 5, at Manhattan's Angelika Film Center.