THE WILD PEAR TREE: Nuri Bilge Ceylan's latest, lengthy, loving dissection of family, country, religion -- but not quite politics

Nothing overtly political ever crops up in the latest endeavor from Turkish filmmaker, Nuri Bilge Ceylan. Not even a tiny aside such as the bit of "Erdo-gone" graffiti you might have noticed oh-so-briefly in that popular Turkish cat documentary from 2016, Kedi. Yet I defy any viewer who lasts out the 188-minute running time (this should not be difficult, given the quality of filmmaking here) of Ceylan's newest, THE WILD PEAR TREE, not to feel grateful that he or she lives almost anywhere else.

Mr. Ceylan, shown at left, never stints on showing us how beautiful are the Turkish landscapes, full of the kind of flora, fauna and gorgeous scenery you'd want to embrace. It is the people here, thoroughly fucked-up as they seem (which is standard in this filmmaker's work), who will give you pause.

Major family dysfunction is the rule, and while Ceylan is more than adept at spreading responsibility -- no single person, nor even an entire generation, comes off as villain here -- still, the buck must stop somewhere. And so it does. Just off-screen. The restraints that hobble anything close to a democratic society -- while inflicting helplessness and depression on that society, as it forever scrambles and strains to make ends meet by hook (or mostly crook) -- are inescapably shown.

Yet so long as Ceylan points no obvious fingers, he is allowed, thankfully for intelligent film lovers, to keep working and even to have his movies chosen as Turkey's Best Foreign Language Film submissions, as was this one. Mr. Ceylan has so far had five of his films submitted by Turkey in the BFLF category, but none have been actually nominated. TrustMovies suspects they are simply too demanding and lengthy for Academy members to appreciate fully.

The Wild Pear Tree has at its center a young man named Sinan (played by Aydin Doğu Demirkol, above) at last out of college who has written his first book -- that eponymously titled fruit tree --  and has come back to his family and home town to try to find financing for publication. How he does this involves everything from bureaucratic snivelling to family (depending upon how you perceive it) betrayal.

All this allows us to get quite an inclusive and all-angles view of his father (a fine Murat Cemcir, above), an addictive gambler; his angry yet steadfast mother (Bennu Yuldirimlar, below); and Sinan's grandparents;

as well as a look at some of his friends, a would-be lover, and a local politician, a business owner and even a successful author (Serkan Keskin, below) to whom he turns, somewhat angrily, for help.

As in his other lengthy and extremely rich movie, Winter Sleep, The Wild Pear Tree is distinguished by not only by its very strong character studies but also via some equally vital and almost shockingly lengthy conversations/philosophical discussions about writing/accommodating and religion, during which we eagerly hang on to each new turn of phrase and idea expressed. (The gorgeous, beautifully framed cinematography -- by Gökhan Tiryaki -- helps, too.)

We also find ourselves, in a tale told via occasional fantasy and dream, moving from anger and dismay to a sad and quiet understanding of the various characters and their needs and actions. The final father/son scene is as surprising and full-bodied as you could wish, ending the film on a note that is simultaneously hopeful yet might also be a mere continuation of all that has come before, now passed down to a new generation. However you choose to view it, The Wild Pear Tree takes an immediate place as one of this year's best.

A Cinema Guild release, the film opens in its U.S. theatrical premiere this Wednesday, January 30, in New York CIty at Film Forum and on February 8 in Los Angeles at Laemmle's Royal, followed by openings in another dozen cities over the weeks to come. Click here and scroll down to see all currently scheduled playdates, cities and theaters.

Gerard Barrett's GLASSLAND combines subtlety and melodrama to odd effect

Having recently seen the very fine American-Irish actor Jack Reynor in Sing Street, TrustMovies was fired up to view him in another Irish film, GLASSLAND, alongside one of TM's favorite actresses, Toni Collette, and another good performer, Will Poulter. As written and directed by a fellow named Gerard Barrett, the movie is nothing if not quiet and respectful. This is particularly surprising, however, considering that Barrett's film (the movie-maker is shown below) is all about alcohol addiction, dysfunctional family dynamics and heavy duty criminal activity. Unless I missed something along the way, however, the last of these three does not even suggest itself until nearly the end of the film.

These heavy-duty subjects, as handled by the movies, often result in melodrama -- especially when they're mixed together, as here. And yet Glassland, which refers I am guessing to a world in which everything around you is ripe for breakage, seems anything but melodramatic because its writer/director refuses to go that route. Instead he subdues everything so that even major plot points reveal themselves slowly via quietude and indirection. For anyone beaten down by Hollywood's heavy hand, not to mention those very long running times, this may seem like a kind of Nirvana (the movie lasts but 93 minutes).

Glassland is also a prime example of what some of us are fond of calling "British miserablism," Irish-style. It offers up everything from our current and horrible economic times to a very popular means -- alcohol -- to circumvent same, and even, maybe especially, a handicapped child.

Ms Collette (above) and Mr. Reynor (below) play alcoholic mother and hard-working son in a family where dad has gone missing and another, younger son with Down Syndrome resides in an institution. Fun, huh?

Determined to pull mom out of her abyss, good son does all his can -- which finally includes that aforementioned criminal activity. What it is and where and who it comes from is part of the movie's final surprise package -- the point being, I expect, that when we have little to nothing on our plate, we must do whatever it takes to obtain what we want. I'll buy that. But I don't buy Glassland, at least not fully.

The movie's sub-plot about Reynor's best pal (Mr. Poulter, above) and his problems could be excised in full and the film would not miss it in the least. In fact, we might have used that time concentrating on more and better specifics about the characters played by Collette and Reynor. Performances are all fine, so far as they go. But with more to work from, imagine what the actors might have given us. I'm all for subtlety and indirection, which Glassland offers in spades. But it also needs more content. Otherwise what's there begins to resemble, dare I say it, cliché.

From Film Movement, after a very limited theatrical run this winter, Glassland arrived on DVD this past Tuesday, May 3 -- for purchase and/or rental. 

Robert Edwards' ONE MORE TIME brings Christopher Walken back to his musical roots

Did you know that Christopher Walken began his career as a Broadway chorus boy? TrustMovies didn't realize this until much after the fact, even though he actually saw Walken in the Noel Coward/Bea Lillie musical High Spirits back in 1964. Now, here the guy is again, singing (but not dancing) in the smartly written and relatively entertaining dysfunctional family film, ONE MORE TIME, from writer/director Robert Edwards. As usual, Mr. Walken has "got it," singing as well as he acts and fitting perfectly into the excellent ensemble Edwards has created.

The filmmaker, pictured at left, proves especially good with dialog, turning out a number of choice moments, all of which are handled beautifully by his cast. From a one-night-stand in which his protagonist, Jude (Amber Heard, below, left) leaves her bedmate suddenly and to his mild consternation, to the following scene at a music studio and then to those that take place in the Hamptons, providing us with the family that seems to grow more dysfunctional scene by scene, Mr. Edwards embeds his necessary exposition very lightly and cleverly, while letting quiet little zingers fly.

Jude is the talented daughter of a famous crooner Paul Lombard, né Lippman (played by Mr. Walken, above, right, and below), who is still fondly remembered by folk who love romantic ballads but has done nothing new for quite some time. Down on her luck, finances, love life and all else, Jude crashes at Dad's house, to his unexpressed-but-still-there pleasure, though not particularly to that of the rest of the family.

This would include Paul's current wife Lucille (Ann Magnuson), Jude's sister Corinne (Kelli Garner), Jude's brother-in-law and ex-bedmate, Tim (Hamish Linklater), and he and Corinne's eight-year-old son, David (the thankfully un-cute Henry Kelemen).

Add to this Paul's lawyer, played by Oliver Platt, also a one-time bedmate of Jude (the girl gets around, and usually to not very appropriate places). Feelings emerge and are put back into storage, small events occur, and just maybe a little change is in store by film's end. Edwards never pushes too hard; his cast proves first-rate; and there is some pleasant music along the way: one pretty good song from Paul (his comeback, he hopes) and a couple of nice ones via Jude.

In addition to his smart dialog, the filmmaker is good with quiet, even silent, moments that reveal character, and he gifts each of his cast members with a juicy scene or two (there's a particularly nice one between Garner--shown below--and Magnuson late in the game). Heard's character is almost destructive enough to lose us, but the actress helps make us care, and Walken, who at this point in his career, need only to open his mouth and those wide protuberant eyes to make a fine impression, does that and lots more. Platt is, as ever, on the mark; it's great to see Magnuson (above, left) in a good role again; and Linklater comes through with his graceful, easy charm and appeal.

Nothing major here, but as dysfunctional family films go, this one is actually a pleasant ride. And its got music, too! From Starz Digital and running 97 minutes, One More Time (a very tired title, need we say) opens tomorrow, Friday, April 8, in New York City at the AMC Empire 25 and in Los Angeles at Laemmle's Playhouse 7 and Music Hall 3. Simultaneously with its limited theatrical release, the movie will also be available via VOD.

THE AUTOMATIC HATE--Justin Lerner's family dram-com is one nifty little zinger of a movie

My only experience with a movie made by writer/director Justin Lerner is the oddball 2011 film, Girlfriend, so I am happy to declare that his new endeavor, THE AUTOMATIC HATE, is an enormous improvement over that earlier work. Beginning with a look at an unsettled couple, followed by a mysterious unknown woman, a fractured family, a smart and funny college class in Behavioral Development, and a grandfather scene that takes its place in the canon -- all of this beautifully edited (by Jeffrey L. Castellucco) into a crisp and enticing 15-minute mystery having to do with a missing relative -- the movie finds a near-perfect melding of tone and theme via the excellent writing, direction and acting of its very fine ensemble.

That blend of tone and theme, by the way, is something rare in movies these days, and it makes workable a story that could easily go off the tracks. Instead, thanks in good part to Mr. Lerner (shown, left), it manages to stay oddly centered and surprisingly believable throughout. More than anything else, the movie is a mystery about what divided this particular family several decades previous. Clearly, whatever it was must have been pretty fucked-up. What brings it back together, as one character points out, is equally fucked-up. The answer to the mystery, when we finally get it, is a humdinger that makes immediate sense on a couple of levels.

The ensemble of performers gathered to bring this family to life could hardly have been chosen better, beginning with Joseph Cross (above) as the pivotal son and Adelaide Clemens (below) as an equally pivotal daughter.

Their fathers, two brothers who've not spoken nor acknowledged each other for years, are played in fine form by the always fascinating Ricky Jay (below, right) and Richard Schiff  (below, left) both of whose performances add further mystery and luster to the proceedings.

The fifth wheel here, the girlfriend of Mr. Cross' character, is brought to quivering and sympathetic life by Daredevil's Deborah Ann Wohl, below. Supporting roles -- wives and other children -- are handled equally well so that we don't doubt for a moment that these strange people we're viewing are indeed connected by nature and nurture (which is another theme the movie tackles quite well).

How this all plays out -- including one scene of family violence that manages to be both shocking and hilarious -- proves riveting and entertaining, finally serving up a visual and verbal definition of cowardice that seems spot-on.

The Automatic Hate does not easily compare to much else we've seen, with performances, writing and direction all straddling that line between believability and exaggeration, the real and the mythic. With just a little push in one direction the movie might have toppled into camp, or in the other direction into Greek tragedy. Instead, thankfully, it works its wonders by standing strong and tall -- if also quite alone.

From Film Movement and running 98 minutes, the movie opens this Friday, March 11, in Los Angeles at Laemmle's Monica Film Center, in Santa Barbara on March 16 at the Plaza del Oro, and in Chicago at Facets Cinematheque and the Four Star in San Francisco on March 18. To see further screening dates, click here and scroll down. DVD and digital streaming will surely happen soon, as well.

Michael Patrick Kelly & Kathleen Kiley's ISN'T IT DELICIOUS boasts a star-studded New York cast

Wow. Kathleen Chalfant, Alice Ripley, Mia Dillon, Robert Lupone, and Malachy McCourt. How's that for a sturdy line-up of New York legitimate theater actors? Plus Keir Dullea (whom we don't get to see in that many new movie roles) and a handful of younger talent. Their vehicle is the new film, ISN'T IT DELICIOUS, directed by Michael Patrick Kelly from a screenplay by Kathleen Kiley. The venue here in New York City is the Quad Cinema, a theater I bring up only because it also hosted the premiere of another movie quite reminiscent of this one: The Abduction of Zack Butterfield. Though never reaching the hilarious level of unintentional camp achieved by the Butterfield abduction (except perhaps in its final WTF moments), Isn't It Delicious may be the most embarrassing film I've seen since that earlier "classic." (And that was in the spring of 2011.)

If you follow my reviews much at all, you already know that I don't enjoy ripping apart a new film, into which has usually gone the heart and soul of the filmmaker and/or screenwriter. So, as much fun as it might be to tear into this one, I am really going to try to hold back a bit -- and just explain semi-rationally what went wrong. Director and co-writer Kelly (shown at right) appears to have had a real fondness for the screenplay submitted to him by Ms Kiley. Since I can only go by what emerged from this collaboration onto the screen, I must say that the Kiley/Kelly combo offers up way too much of a not-very-good thing.

Isn't It Delicious (and, yes, no question mark adheres to this title) is a film about death and dying and family and fighting. And if you already suspect that the family here is dysfunctional to the max, you'd be right on the mark. Pay attention to what's on screen and to the dialog you hear for even a few minutes, and you will want to shriek at the cancerous character played by Ms Chalfant (shown above and below, with Mr. Dullea as her hubby), as my spouse did at one fraught point, "So, die already!"

This is because the storied Ms Chalfant, who possesses bona fides aplenty, takes the dialog given her -- often obvious and overdone to begin with -- and tears into it like a rabid mastiff. But, then, this whole family is so constantly annoying and overwrought that watching them awhile could make willing bachelors and old maids out of any audience. This is a truly dreadful screenplay: underscoring, repeating, and saying the obvious in any case (live life while you can). If the dialog were written with more of an eye for humor (there's some, but it surfaces far too seldom), this might have helped.

But, no, Delicious -- beginning with one funeral (above) and ending with another (at bottom) -- is chock-a-block with life lessons that we damn well better learn. If only Kelly/Kiley had given us more scenes like that in the automobile in which Chalfant notices a stop sign with a line of graffiti scrawled across it. This makes for a very funny, astute moment, one of the few not batted home with a shovel.

Characters seems to exist mostly to teach us, and while certain scenes work better than others (the one featuring a limo driver played by the excellent Ger Duany is among the best), they're all there to educate.
The actors playing Chalfant's children -- Ms Ripley (above), Nick Stevenson (as the older son, below), and Jonah Young (two photos below) as the younger male fare little better than the oldsters because they, too, are asked to constantly bicker and fight till they bore us silly.

I lost count, but I know that we hear the line "I want you to be happy" far too many times. And when the title line is finally spoken, it comes -- oy! -- with a resounding thud.

I suspect that someone here -- writer, director, maybe both -- subscribes to the Buddhist religion. Certainly this figures heavily into the story, and it may account for the final scene, which ends the movie on a high or low note, depending on your idea of what constitutes unintentional camp. Woody Allen once created a scene like this (in Everyone Says I Love You), which worked because it was playful, silly and very funny, as well as making its obvious point. Here, it is embarrassing, almost beyond belief.

Isn't It Delicious opens in Los Angeles this Thursday, December 11, at the NoHo 7; in New York City (at the Quad) and in Chicago (at the Logan Theatre) on Friday, December 12. In addition, the film will have a one-night-only screening on Friday, Dec. 12, at the Palace Theater in Syracuse, New York.

Chico Colvard's moving shocker FAMILY AFFAIR is exactly that -- and in so many surprising ways

Since viewing, via Netflix streaming, FAMILY AFFAIR, the all-about-my-dysfunctional-family documentary by Chico Colvard, TrustMovies has been thinking about the film ever since, wondering why -- among many other topics for discussion -- this 2010 movie has not received wider acclaim and much more popularity. It is a remarkably brave endeavor, for both the filmmaker and his many family members, who contributed to the documentary with their honest and straight-forward interviews about a subject that is not all that often discussed, and certainly not with the truthfulness and attempt at genuine understanding that is found here. The film is about family violence and incest, where these comes from and how they move from one generation to the next (we see four generations here).

The reason, I suspect, that Family Affair is not better known, is that it's simply too strange, surprising and complex in what it shows and tells us about a subject that is usually handled in the most broad, obvious, single-note and knee-jerk manner. The tale the film tells, while it may seems stagger-ingly "original," is probably not unlike many others out there. The difference can be found in the details, of course, but also in the deci-sion of Mr. Colvard (shown at left) and his siblings, father and other relatives to not only "spill the beans" but then to try to figure out what those beans add up to and why they turned out the way they did.

Now, Chico Colvard, it should be said straight out, is no psychologist. Nor is he any brilliant filmmaker. He is simply a man who has tried the best he can to bring to light the story of his family. His "best" turns out to be plenty good enough, for this movie will stay with you and, if you watch it with others, provide reams of discussion. When Chico was ten years old -- with thanks, he feels to the old Chuck Connors TV show Rifleman that he loved watching -- the boy took a gun belonging to his father and shot one of his sisters several times in the leg. This was not any kind of "anger release," it seems, but more an accident in which the boy misunderstood the reality of a gun (and just one more reason, though the movie does not state this, for better gun control).

The incident, which drew the police to the home, also brought to light the father's violence and sexual abuse of the three sisters (Chico himself was not abused physically nor sexually). What happened after, and why -- to the children's mother (a white German woman the black father had married while in the military service abroad), to the children, and to the father himself -- is riveting and rich in history, social and otherwise.  What has happened to the extended family, meanwhile, is every bit as odd and amazing. Or maybe not, when you stop to think about what family means and how much so many of us want it in our lives, come hell or high water.

How the people we see here have accommodated "family" -- through abuse, guilt, payback and self-hurt, among other reactions -- makes for one hell of a story, fractured as it is. Colvard himself can't make complete sense of it, understand or even empathize totally with the many different viewpoints we see and hear. Who -- save an all-seeing, all-knowing deity -- could? But he gives all this to us, raw and undigested, and simply asks that we try to understand. The great amazement and strength of this 80-minute movie is that somehow we do.

Family Affair -- a don't-miss documentary -- is available now via Netflix streaming. Miss it, and you will miss one of the more unusual family stories of our times.

Roy Chow Hin-Yeung's NIGHTFALL: What does a somewhat middling Hong Kong movie look like?

When I first saw NIGHTFALL appear on the list of new additions to Netflix' streaming service, I automatically thought it was a Korean film. The poster had that certain look, and the story --according to the short Netflix description -- had to do with a detective investigating the murder of a famous pianist, so that sounded properly dark and delving. But then, as we started watching and the opening scene was one of those uber-bloody and frenetic but perfectly choreographed action/fight scenes taking place in the shower room of a prison, I immediately realized, uh-oh: Hong Kong! (I've never been there, so the night-time cityscape on the poster above didn't ring any bells.)

And indeed this is a Hong Kong creation, though not up to the level of some of the better of the Johnnie To movies like Breaking News or Sparrow (click and scroll way down). In fact there are two major action sequences: that fine and fast opening and another in a glass-bottom cable car (plus a couple of good chase scenes, as well). But the major part of this off-key but reasonably fulfilling film from Roy Chow Hin-Yeung (shown at right) is devoted to the mystery of multiple deaths arriving a generation apart, and the detective bent on solving them, along with his -- this is near-de rigueur for current Asian thrillers -- pretty young female assistant. (Real feminism is coming but slowly to Asia, if its movies are any indication.)

The longing of families fractured by untimely death is a paramount theme here, and it's handled pretty well, mostly thanks to that wiry but highly muscled actor Nick Cheung (above) who manages to handle both action and emotional scenes with prodigious flair and feeling. The titular star of the film is Simon Yam (below) who plays the detective in charge of the case, who lost his wife to supposed suicide (he imagines something other) years before. Mr. Lam gives a perfectly OK, close-to-the-vest performance but his work pales against what is required of (and provided by) the amazing Mr. Cheung.

The family that gives the plot its goosing is made up of a servile mom (Yu On-on), that pianist dad (Michael Wong, in a pretty scary, "Hey, listen to me revert to English!" performance) and put-upon daughter (the lovely Janice Man). Each is up to snuff, with Mr. Wong particularly memorable in a nasty way.

Enjoyable enough and somewhat mysterious (though I guessed the characters' connections awhile before the movie revealed them), Nightfall never rises much about the level of "just so-so." Despite all the back-and-forth, past-and-present time-frame changes, the film is not at all hard to follow. In fact, it's a little simple minded in its plodding manner, and the detective work on display is pretty paltry, too. Not to mention the coincidences that abound. I suspect that, had this been a Korean film after all (see initial paragraph), it would have made a better movie -- though perhaps with not quite such good action sequences.

(On the subject of "just so-so" (in the paragraph above): This was a rating level that Netflix, early in the game, used to offer its viewers, before it realized that forcing folk into either liking or not liking a movie was a much better marketing strategy because most of the time, viewers will, if they have mixed feelings about a film, opt for liked it over didn't like it. Little wonder, once Netflix dropped the so-so rating, so many movies seemed to become so much more popular. Rotten Tomatoes does the same thing. You either like or don't like a film. A mixed review cannot exist. This is, of course, bullshit. But this is also the hail-the-god-of-marketing times in which we live.)

Nightfall (a rather much-used title) in this case probably refers to the beautiful shot above -- in which sea, sky, cliffs and moon are actually the background for some very ugly goings-on. The film is available now via Netflix steaming.