Architecture, connection and commitment grace Kogonada's masterful debut, COLUMBUS

The perfect antidote to summer's uber-marketed blockbusters and indie rom-com drivel, here's a movie made for intelligent adult audiences who want something original from their cinema and are willing to watch real characters deal quietly but bracingly with important events and themes in an atmosphere of great, if often man-made, beauty.

Architecture has seldom seemed as vital and important to our life as it does in COLUMBUS, the debut film from a fellow named Kogonada, a South Korean-born U.S. immigrant raised in the Mid-west and now living in Nashville. His movie so lives and breathes its architectural wonders that the viewer is able to do this, too -- relishing each new place, and the compositions through which we see those places, in rapt appreciation. (The cinematography here is by Elisha Christian, and the editing by Kogonada himself.)

Visual beauty and the wonders of architecture have been captured elsewhere, as in La Sapienza by Eugène Green, but Kogonada, as writer and director, has also been able to capture character -- succinctly and realistically -- two in particular: Jin (played by a surprising John Cho, below, left), the son of a famous architect whose father in now in hospital in a coma in this architecturally amazing city of Columbus, Indiana; and Casey (the equally fine Haley Lu Richardson, below, right). a young girl with aspirations to architecture stuck here in Columbus taking care of her maybe-still-drug-addicted mother.

How these two people meet, slowly bond, and finally prove important to one another is handled by the filmmaker with such efficiency, honesty and believability that the movie will probably stand as some kind of filmmaker's/screenwriter's manual on how to achieve this sort of thing.

The character-building and theme-revealing is given us via much of the architecture that we, along with our two characters, view, and this is handled equally well. (The movie should make you more fully aware, if not appreciative, of your own surroundings.)

The pacing here is very slow, yet so much is going on that I doubt you will mind. Event-wise, very little happens, yet by the finale immense changes are occurring. And if Kogonada resists not just melodrama but even perhaps the idea of drama itself, he nonetheless brings us to the point of caring a great deal about these two people and their lives.

The movie's single misstep, in my estimation, is the one scene in which, suddenly, and for no good reason I can fathom, the soundtrack goes silent -- just at the point at which our heroine has been prodded to explain her deepest feelings about her love for architecture. Is this just too precious for the likes of our own, culturally-deprived ears? Or was the screenwriter perhaps unable to quite render le mot juste? This would certainly be one question I'd ask Kogonada in a Q&A.

Otherwise, Columbus is a glory of a movie: quiet, commanding, and utterly beautiful to see. Running 104 minutes, it opens this Friday in New York City at the IFC Center, and in Los Angeles at the Landmark NuArt. (Kogonada is said to be appearing for several Q&A at both the IFC Center and the NuArt during the coming weekend. Click here and here for the schedules. I'm not sure how one man can be in two place at once -- maybe via video? -- and on separate coasts, to boot, but both theaters are claiming to have him.)

Hong Sang-soo's Korean Rohmer-esque RIGHT NOW, WRONG THEN opens in theaters

I've not seen nearly all of the 21 films of Hong Sang-soo but of those I have (including The Day He Arrives, Like You Know It All, Oki's Movie, Night and Day, Woman Is the Future of Man, Woman on the Beach and his latest RIGHT NOW, WRONG THEN among them), certain themes and characteristics emerge. Hong often tells stories with a Korean art film director as a leading character. (Why not? He certainly knows those ropes.) If not a director, he'll give us an artist, or sometimes both. Furthermore, this director (along with most other characters in the film) drinks a lot and womanizes whenever possible. Travel is often present --from one city to another or one country to another -- as is the sense of the past nurturing and/or hobbling the present, as well as a keen interest in responsibility and the acceptance or rejection of same.

All of this has conspired over time to make me think of Eric Rohmer when I confront the films of Mr. Hong (shown at left). And I do mean this as a compliment. Both men's film are art-house to a fault, dialog heavy and often deal in similar themes. (Hong's movies are generally lengthier than Rohmer's, so be patient.)  His latest two-hour frolic splits itself almost exactly in two, with the first hour showing us his alter ego engaging in the usual come-on to attractive women (though he does try to resist, boy, is it difficult!), drinking, flirting, babbling and generally embarrassing himself rather badly. All this is, as usual, great fun to see this pretentious little twat unmasked and undone. But it is with the second half that Hong burnishes his movie to a gleaming shine.

In both parts our "hero" busies himself with a much younger art student, visiting her workshop and seeing her creations, meeting her friends, and then, the following day, giving his talk at a local screening of one of his films. Yet the first and second sections could hardly be more different and we need to view the former in order to properly appreciate the latter.

That first section is so much like many of the other of Hong's movies that it almost seems as if the filmmaker has finally grown fed up with this typical behavior and wants to show us might occur if his characters, particularly the art-film director, were more honest. What a difference this makes.

Sure we can still imbibe and grow drunk, but even here, the results differ when we're less self-involved and more other-centered. The change of behavior even stretches into the scene at the movie theater and the relationship with the film festival curator and his assistant.

To fully appreciate Hong and Rohmer, you must be also appreciate the ability of dialog to create character, and care about and understand character enough to let it control a film. Event is minimal, and yet, because of the depth of character, event, even a small one, in a sense becomes all.

Mr Hong finds humor, sadness and surprise -- even perchance growth -- in his characters, and this makes his forays into travel, drink, sex and art so enticing and so much fun. At least I find them so. I hope you will, too.

Meanwhile, Right Now, Wrong Then -- from Grasshopper Film and running opens tomorrow, Friday, June 24, in New York at the new Metrograph and at the Film Society of Lincoln Center, and in Los Angeles on June 25, at the Acropolis Cinema. In the weeks following, it will hit another six cities. Click here then scroll way down and click on Where to Watch to see all currently scheduled playdates, cities and theaters.

Still the year's best love story: Victor Levin's sweet knockout, 5 TO 7, makes its DVDebut

When I covered 5 TO 7 just prior to its theatrical debut last April (that review is here),  I found it a remarkable example of culture-clash love story. Seeing it again this week on DVD -- where it will hit the streets for rental and purchase from IFC Films this coming Tuesday, August 18 -- I am even more impressed. On second viewing it holds up beautifully, delivering its charm, humor, surprise and sadness with a knockout combination of intelligence and grace. As written and directed by Victor Levin, it's an example of the height this genre can achieve, in which both grasp and reach are at one.

Mr. Levin, shown at right, has many more credits as writer than director, yet he has done a sterling job at both in this film. He's nailed the mind-set of a certain kind of writer -- his hero, Brian, played very well by Anton Yelchin -- without wasting any time trying to mimic the actual process of writing itself (something movies almost never get right and, in any case, is boring to view). He has given us the thrill and beauty of first love -- first real and important love, that is -- and balanced it quite deftly with life and all its compromises. Most important he's nailed the role of children and how defining they are in the decisions we make.

In tackling, as he does so well, the cultural difference between European and American mores regarding morality, sexuality and relationships, Levin has provided some utterly juicy roles for supporting characters -- Frank Langella and Glenn Close as Brian's parents -- and thoughtful, smart ones for actors such as Lambert Wilson and Olivia Thirlby, who play, respectively, the love object's husband and that husband's mistress.

As the love object herself, Arielle, the filmmaker has cast a remarkable performer, French actress Bérénice Marlohe, below, left, who uses her killer smile and graceful, mature composure to such devastating effect that she'll have you every bit as in thrall as she does our young hero. How the filmmaker employs Arielle's character to bring home his thoughts on compromise and life lessons is quite lovely, leading to a finale that balances poignancy with beauty, sadness and loss with a kind of joyful understanding and acceptance of that compromises we must make. And Levin's final line should resonate like crazy with most writers out there.

And yes, as on first viewing, I still feel that the movie works because the people here have no "money problems." This is a film about the entitled. Twice along the way, a character mentions something to the effect that, every so often life surprises us with its grace. Yes -- and especially, as here, when you don't have to worry about how you are going to afford your next meal.  Well, audiences in hard times have always flocked to movies in which the wealthy are seen at play. We still do, and I suspect that I'll return to 5 to 7 every once in awhile, to view a love story that understands the bigger picture and to be royally entertained while also being reminded of the costs involved. For you not to watch the film at least once would represent a real loss. 

A genuine art film arrives in town: Jem Cohen's visual treat, COUNTING, keeps your eyes glued

TrustMovies took more notes on the new film, COUNTING, than on any movie he's watched in long while. This meant pressing "pause" far too often and/or going back to view what he'd missed. This is indeed an "art film," which will mean that at least half of my audience will probably stop reading right now. But there's no other way to put it. Counting, demanding but rewarding, doesn't compare to much else--maybe anything--I've seen, and you have to be willing to take a chance and simply go with the movie-maker's flow. Yet after Cohen's Museum Hours, most folk who saw that quietly spellbinding film will most likely want to take the chance. (Museum Hours seems practically a mainstream movie next to this new one.

Perhaps the best way to approach Jem Cohen's movie (the filmmaker is shown at left) is to think of it as if you're about to look through someone's scrapbook of photos -- in this case mostly moving images. But, no, it's not your Aunt Millie's favorite shots; this is the work of a born photog-rapher. Even his shots of the most mundane activi-ties are elegantly composed.

Divided into 15 chapters of various lengths (I think the lengthiest is the first -- fifteen minutes shot in New York City from 2012 through 2014 -- the film lasts 112 minutes. This is long for a documentary, particularly one without any real narrative drive. And yet, I would not have given up a single one of the fifteen segments during which we travel from the U.S. to Russia to Turkey and back again (most of the time is divided between the USA and Russia).

Along the way we get small doses of politics (very low-key: blink or pay less attention and you may miss these), culture, cats and dogs, some music and a lot of interesting ambient sound. There is very occasional voice-over narration (again, political) but almost no talking, except suddenly, when things take a personal turn as a close relative grows ill. The chapters are numbered and maybe half of these have a somewhat descriptive title. And at the end, there's a wonderful quotation via the late Chris Marker.

What there is mostly is terrific photography, which is a nonstop pleasure to view. The way Cohen looks at things is quite his own -- whether it's a nearly full plastic container of tea left at a Russian curbside, the faces of animals, reflections in a Manhattan window, shafts of light dancing in the frame (this amazing shot puts to shame the million-dollar special effects which which our movies are currently inundated), a decaying building shown against more modern versions, a lovely meal prepared in less-than-ideal circumstances, and one singular image of the reflection of another building caught in a street puddle, the beauty and surprise of which took my breath away.

There is so much here for photography aficionados, but is the film enough of a meal for mere movie buffs? I don't know. It certainly was for me. Coming out of it, I felt as if I knew Mr. Cohen -- along with his views and concerns -- quite a bit better. Maybe, after seeing it, you will, too. I do know that the Muslim call to prayer has never seemed richer or stranger than what is seen and heard here.

From Cinema Guild and running 112 minutes, Counting, after its Brooklyn debut at the BAM Cinemafest, opens theatrically today in New York at the IFC Center.  Other dates and cities? Maybe, once Cinema Guild gets a bit more on the ball and updates its website, we'll find out.

Victor Levin's little treasure, 5 TO 7: Out of the blue comes the best love story in many a year

An instant classic, as well as the finest love story -- small, endearing but enduring, full of surprise, sadness and joy -- that I've seen since can't-remember-when, 5 TO 7, the new film by a fellow named Victor Levin (shown below), will surely knock the socks off folk looking for a movie romance that is funny, moving, believable and intelligent.

For foreign film buffs, the title 5 to 7 can only bring to mind the wonderful Agnes Varda movie, Cleo from 5 to 7. Comparisons are not inapt, as this new film, though much more "mainstream," is also quite French (in its attitudes, along with two of its stars). Its purpose -- together with entertaining us royally -- is to make us think and consider possibilities for relationships that we may not have allowed ourselves as yet enough freedom to fully engage. As writer/director, Mr. Levin's set-up could hardly be more European: a struggling young writer (Anton Yelchin, below, right) and a slightly older woman (Bérénice Marlohe, below, left) become involved, initially purely for a trysting relationship -- that will take place between the hours of, yes, 5 to 7pm.

Where this relationship goes will not be difficult to guess, but how it gets there, and how it engulfs us -- ah, that's something else. Mr. Levin has a splendid touch with dialog. I have not heard anything quite this good in a love story since, well, the time of the classics. And Levin doesn't do "racy," either. He's not trying to get us all hot and bothered with double entendres and the like. He want us to listen. And hear. And the conversation is so good that we hang on every word.

Visually, the director and his cinematographer (Arnaud Potier) do some lovely things with middle- and long-distance shots, over which some of that crack dialog is heard. This gives us viewers distance, as well, so that we see (and hear) the relationship as it grows and deepens -- without so many of those crass close-ups that eventually seem to cheapen things.

We see three generations in the process of this storytelling, too, with the older one brought to terrific life and art by Glenn Close (above, left) and Frank Langella (above, center), who play the Yelchin character's parents with tremendous humor and grace.

The "other man" -- just how European this movie will seem becomes plain when you discover his identity -- is played with his usual flair and substance by Lambert Wilson (above, left), while that man's mistress is played by an actress we can't get enough of, Olivia Thirlby (below).

The casting here is inspired, and so are the performances -- especially those of Yelchin (vital and engaging at every moment) and Ms Marlohe (below, who has both great beauty and a lovely, ever-so-slightly-withholding presence that often marks one of the differences between American and European actresses).

The cast also includes a number of important New Yorkers who actually play themselves (one such honcho is shown below). Mr. Levin, or his casting directors-- Billy Hopkins and Heidi Levitt -- must have some connections to have gotten these people to agree to their cameos. Or maybe it was the screenplay itself. Who would want to pass up the chance to be a part of a motion picture this good?

Culture clash, coming-of-age, love, lust, and the important of children and family. All of these are somehow given their due, along with themes of creativity, writing, and what counts as art. This is quite a lot to pack into a mere 95 minutes. But damned if Mr. Levin has not done it.

His final scene strikes such a amazing balance of strength and poignancy that you'll be holding your breath, while his final line of dialog is simply magical (and, I suspect, more truthful in actual example than not). His film is also an ode to the park benches (above, with their little plaques) of our sometimes fair and way over-entitled city.

In fact, the movie is a tricky kind of ode to that entitlement. What makes 5 to 7 a fantasy (for anyone except the wealthy) is that all this only happens here to those of entitlement. Our young man is no starving writer; in fact, as helped along by his wealthy parents, he lives pretty damned well. And all those he get involved with are living well, too.

This does nothing to lessen the film's intelligence nor its beauty. But a fantasy -- for those of us in the no-longer-middle-class or the working-poor -- it most certainly is.

5 to 7, from IFC Films, opens this Friday, April 3, in New York City at the IFC Center and probably elsewhere, too. The following Friday, April 10, it makes its VOD debut, so just about everyone across the country can discover the pleasures of this wonderful, intelligent and almost shockingly mature love story. 

Cambodia, the Khmer Rouge and a world of clay all figure into Rithy Panh's hypnotic Oscar-nominated documentary, THE MISSING PICTURE

We've seen it before, those horrors of Pol Pot and the 1970s Cambodian genocide. From The Killing Fields to Enemies of the People (to name just two very different films), the experience has been brought home again and again. Now, Rithy Panh, who back in 2003 gave us another documentary on the subject, S-21: The Khmer Rouge Killing Machine, approaches this story -- his own and that of his family -- in a very different way. His new film THE MISSING PICTURE is a work of art: both as a finished film, and as the conduit for artfully contrived nostalgia, in which clay figurines of people are used against miniature settings to bring his movie to very odd, moving, sweet and sad life.

In French, which seems to me to be the world's most beautiful spoken language (at least as it is spoken here by the film's narrator, Randal Douc), with English subtitles, the movie offers up Mr. Panh's story (the filmmaker is shown at right) using a host of tiny carved clay figures that don't move but are simply set into their various environments. This is not, thankfully, animation. Instead, these figures -- carved with care and often featuring wonderfully expressive faces (considering their primitive but artful look) -- make fascinating stand-ins for the real people, now mostly long deceased.

The dioramas we see, featuring the figures of family, friends and town -- both in happy times before the Pol Pot regime and during it, when forced labor, hunger and death were ever-present -- are so beautifully constructed and composed that they serve, perhaps even better than other means might, as clever and thoughtful guides into a world most of us knew only via whatever journalism, Hollywood's semi-skilled narrative and later documentaries could muster.

Mr Panh's choice of medium here is surprising and rather wondrous in how well it carries us into the heart of things. Sometimes, in fact, the clay figures include (as below) a cameraman and/or director shooting the scene, or (further below) mixes the media -- which adds a certain distancing, ironic effect.

The dioramas are occasionally interrupted by the use of newsreel footage and other archival materials. (The Pol Pot regime evidently loved to camera-record its exploits: Witness all those amazing passport-like photographs of the citizens about to be exterminated.)

These photographs and moving pictures serve as a salutary jolt to goose us from the generally beautiful clay figures and background sets, as well as from the dulcet narrative voice that is hypnotically resonant at times and can very nearly carry us off to dreamland.

How a citizenry can so completely cut itself off from viewing its earlier friends, neighbors and fellow citizens as human beings -- whether in the Nazi Holocaust against the Jews, the former Yugoslavia, Rwanda, Cambodia and elsewhere -- is once again brought shockingly home via these photos. One scene in particular, what looks like mere children being shot in the back with deadly arrows, then falling, limbs flailing, into shallow muddy water to die, seems beyond anything human. Of course it is not. As we should know by now, "human" encompasses as bad as it can get.

Overall, The Missing Picture, a unique kind of motion-picture poetry, invites us to consider yet another way in which to discover and hold on to the past -- however horrific that past may be. The movie, another good one from Strand Releasing, opens in New York City this coming Wednesday, March 19, at Film Forum, and in Los Angeles on Friday, March 21, at Laemmle's Royal and Playhouse 7 and for Saturday and Sunday matinees only at the Claremont 5.

A connection between violence and art? You jest. As does Boris Rodriguez's goofy EDDIE: THE SLEEPWALKING CANNIBAL-- plus a fun little Q&A with the filmmaker

A hoot, a goof and a lark about art -- and its sometimes neces-sary attraction to vio-lence for its inspiration -- the new "horror" film EDDIE: THE SLEEPWALKING CANNIBAL has a lot of fun with its premise, beginning with the black-screen opening that features the mellifluous tones of a radio broadcaster (think NPR, or whatever is the Canadian version of same) as he speaks about a gorgeous opera aria, explaining the ghastly plot circumstances surrounding that sterling piece of music and song. Our announcer returns again and again throughout the movie, his each example of a different opera growing loonier but no less truthful.

Writer/director Boris Rodriguez, shown at right, has set his film in a down-on-its-luck art school, to which has come as a new teacher an also down-on-his-luck artist (Keep the Lights On's Thure Lindhardt, below), who made an artistic splash some time back but has created zilch since then. By some very manipulative plot machinations -- but as this is definitely a horror-comedy-satire, the coinci-dences and happenstance are on display to be appreciated rather than reviled -- our hero gets saddled with the care and feeding of the title charac-ter, a mute, overgrown, aging child/man who couldn't be sweeter -- except at night.

Mr. Rodriguez and his game cast achieve very nearly the perfect tone for all this: wide-eyed with wonder and belief, and everyone just a little dimmer than real life might demand. This enables us to genuinely giggle at the gross-outs, which, in any case, are not really that awful (the filmmaker has a relatively light touch here, too: things could have been much worse).

We get the necessary love story -- Georgina Reilly, above, plays another teacher at the school -- and police investigation (a funny, officious Paul Braunstein, below, plays the local cop), while the wonderful Stephen McHattie (of Pontypool) acts the art agent for whom commission tops all. The artwork (Lindhardt's paintings and Reilly's sculpture) are shown but barely, with the camera moving too fast for us to ascertain quality: a smart move, I think. The stuff looks like it might be quite good, but we really haven't the time to dwell and tell.

In the title role, an actor named Dylan Smith, below and at bottom, whom I've seen numerous times without having him register, does so here. In spades. Smith brings just the right combo of beef and brawn, sadness and charm to the role so that Eddie becomes the real hero of the film.

TrustMovies does not want to make too much of this little toss-up. (Fortunately, Mr. Rodriguez himself seems not to have any high pretensions, either.) It lasts but 79 minutes-plus-credits, never wears out its welcome, and gives its single theme/idea a smart and deserving work-out.

Eddie: The Sleepwalking Cannibal is the first release from Doppelgänger Releasing, a new subsidiary of Music Box Films -- which, if it brings to genre films the same taste level that its mother company brings to art films, means that we're in for some treats. Eddie opens this Friday, April 5, in New York City, Beverly Hills, Pasadena, Chicago and Atlanta -- with Denver following next Friday, April 12. Click here, and then click on THEATERS in the task bar halfway down the screen to see all currently scheduled theaters and cities. Note to Couch Potatoes: the movie is releasing simultaneously via VOD.

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TrustMovies contacted Boris Rodriguez (shown below) via email to ask him but three questions. His answers are well put and terrific fun. Below, TM Appears in boldface, Rodriguez in standard type.

 

We really enjoyed your film a lot -- especially your very interesting, humorous and pointed “take” on violence in art, with special attention to painting and to opera (those radio bits were dry and hilarious—and so true!). Was this notion the guiding force behind the movie, or was it something that just came about as you were initially writing the script?

Violence in art became a guiding notion as we toiled through endless re-writes, for sure, but it wasn't it necessarily present as a theme at the outset. When John Rannells first pitched me the idea of a mentally-challenged werewolf and a novelist, he was more focused on doing something outlandish and totally off the hook. But as we fleshed out the characters and the plot, we found ourselves drawing on certain classic themes such as, do artists need to suffer in order to create their greatest work? or, how far would you go for your art? The opera references came in late in the process. At first, I was looking at country music for the film's score because of country's often really depressing lyrics. But one of our producers tried some classical music as a placeholder in a scene and I was surprised by how well it fit the film - opera sounded even better. I didn't know much about opera and started to look at different operas that might have violent storylines so that the radio host in the film could comment on them and stay on theme. Holy crap! Opera turned out to be a veritable gold mine of horror and violence! Virtually every opera is incredibly violent and bloody. I was so happy!

What you do with this idea – bringing it simultaneously to life and death -- is unusual, to say the least. I and my readers would appreciate it if you’d talk about this a bit, as it makes your movie unique and funny and very bizarre.

Anyone who has ever reached an audience with their creativity, enjoyed the process and gotten a positive response knows how addictive that can be. It's a high like no other and you get hooked on it. And like all addictions, the process of feeding that high can quickly become destructive. Anybody who dedicates themselves fully to something can do so at the expense of other things in their lives - relationships, love, even physical health can suffer when we become obsessed. That's a big part of Lars's character, the destructive nature of his addiction. But unlike most artists who limit that destruction to their own lives, Lars takes some liberties - and through his increasingly skewered reasoning - the death of a few innocents is well worth the price of some good art. I don't agree with him, for the record...

What’s next for you? 

I'm definitely doing another horror comedy, for sure. Horror fans are the most open-minded, supportive and enthusiastic fan base out there. They encourage originality and risk-taking. That alone is reason enough for me to make a film for that fan base. I'm looking at a killer chimp script right now. Laboratory surviving chimpanzees brutalize and murder unsuspecting adolescents at a summer camp. It's hilarious! But I'm also writing a psychological thriller about a Mexican miner who loses his job and teams up with some corrupt detectives to kidnap the foreign owner of the company. Topical, edge-of-your-seat and thought-provoking action drama. It's called Cobarde and it just got selected for Tribeca Film Institute's All Access Program. I'm psyched.

Thanks to Mr. Rodriguez for these intelligent, thoughtful and funny answers.  But one more thing: That idea of a novelist and a mentally-challenged werewolf does sound like a lot of fun, so maybe Rodriguez or Mr. Rannells could go back to the drawing board and finish that script...