Pat Collins' SONG OF GRANITE gives us -- very elliptically -- the story of Joe Heaney and traditional Irish singing

Filmed with the kind of breathtaking black-and-white cinematography that will have aficionados drooling, this year's Irish entry into the Best Foreign Language Film sweepstakes is a movie entitled SONG OF GRANITE, directed and co-written by Pat Collins, a documentary filmmaker who in 2012 gave us his first narrative movie, Silence, and has now come up with this new one, which traces the life, parental history and career of a man named Joe Heaney, of whom TrustMovies had never heard but who was evidently known as a great singer of traditional Irish songs.

Mr. Collins, pictured at right, possesses a highly poetic sensibility, and he and his cinematographer (Richard Kendrick) have contrived a movie so steeped in gorgeous images -- there's one, of a father and son sitting in front of a stone wall and doorway, that I could look at, I think, maybe forever -- that you don't want to look away from the screen for even a moment.

The poetry goes beyond mere images, as Collins also tells his tale by moving back and forth in time and and also by interspersing archival images with those he and Kendrick has more recently created. At film's end he even joins the older Heaney man with his younger self across both time and a lovely outdoor landscape.

If only Song of Granite's aural qualities were anywhere near its visual ones.

Granted, I am not the best person to judge this, since I knew next to nothing about traditional Irish singing going into the movie (if I've ever hear much of it previously, I most likely and immediately tuned it out).

Coming out of this film, I am most definitely not a fan. I find this particular musical genre consistently dour, repetitive and an absolute drudge to hear.

I would estimate that there is at least as much song here as there is dialog (maybe twice as much, unless I am letting my distaste for the genre get the better of me). At times I felt like turning off the sound completely, but then I'd have missed some of the English dialog (much of the film's is spoken in Irish/Gaelic, I am guessing, with accompanying English subtitles).

Eventually I had to content myself with those visuals and with the interesting performances of the cast Collins has assembled, beginning with that of Colm Seoighe, above, as the youngest of the Joes, and especially that of Michael O'Chonfhlaola (three photos up, at microphone) as the adult-to-middle-aged Joe, who has a beautifully sculpted face that seems designed to please the camera.

Because Collins jumps around so much, but does so poetically, while we don't always get the details, we can follow both the story and the emotions it and its characters convey. If you've a taste for traditional Irish singing, by all means see this film. If you're a novice to the genre, Song of Granite is certainly one place to start learning. And if you're not a fan, well then, you know what you're in for.

From Oscilloscope Laboratories and running 104 minutes, the movie opens in New York City at Film Forum this Wednesday, November 15; in Los Angeles on December 8 at Laemmle's Monica Film Center; and in Santa Fe on December 29 at the Jean Cocteau Cinema.

Don Cheadle's MILES AHEAD gives us some fun, along with a fantasia on Mr. Davis' life

From the opening credits of MILES AHEAD, the new movie co-written (with Stephen Baigelman), directed and starring Don Cheadle, we learn that Miles Davis Properties LLC , a company controlled by some of the late Miles Davis' family members, was involved (TrustMovies suspects rather heavily) in the overseeing of this film. One cannot blame family for doing its utmost to burnish a legend's image -- the man and his music -- but I wonder if it can be trusted to offer up anything approaching "reality" about the subject at hand?

Not that Mr. Cheadle's movie (the actor/filmmaker is shown above and elsewhere below) doesn't give us the kind of warts-and-all biopic audiences have come to expect these days, but at the end of it all, we do have that kind of queasy feeling that we ought to understand that Davis' music excuses just about anything and everything.

So, yes, this is indeed yet another movie about a music personality who is egotistical, brilliant, drunk and drugged-out and very self- and other-destructive. The difference is that it stars Mr. Cheadle, who is always a joy to watch, and it is -- from what I can gather -- almost totally invented in terms of the plot line, which involves a supposed reporter (played by Ewan McGregor, below), who, in attempting to to get an interview with Davis, himself becomes involved in trying to get back a stolen tape recording of the musician's latest work.

This is fun and games, I suppose, and acted quite well by all concerned, but what's the point? Unless it is designed to somehow show us the "real" Davis by giving us invented narrative over the usual bio-pic documentary fodder. Well, it's an odd choice, but it's one that does provide the opportunity for a little wit and surprise, along with all else.

There's gunplay and beatings and a car chase and a bunch of shady characters, as the movie circles in and around on itself. becoming a kind of fantasia that culminates in a whoop-dee-do prize fight that descends into music and melodrama and murder. In another unusual scene, the dialog during a argument/fight between Miles and his wife (played with feisty beauty by Emayatzy Corinealdi, above and below) is literally overcome, as is so much else here, by the music itself.

In its period detail, the movie gets the "look" down pat -- from the hairdos and cars to the clothes and home decor -- and the supporting cast (which includes the wonderful Michael Stuhlbarg in another fine role) is certainly on target. And the movie does have a genuinely interesting construction: flashing from present to past, with the music always at the periphery and occasionally front and center, and circling back on itself as it bounces back and forth from here to there and now to then. But for all that bouncing, what comes up is too often the usual stuff of cliched musical biopic: a life of drugs, dames and bad behavior.

At both the beginning and end of the film we do get a kind of "interview" with Davis, as performed by Cheadle, in which he tells us that his music is not "jazz" but something he prefers to be called "social music" (as if all music ever composed -- from opera to the Twist -- wasn't in some sense social music). Clearly, Davis was some kind of control freak, a quality that Cheadle captures with spirit and intensity .

From Sony Pictures Classics and running 100 minutes, the film, while playing New York and Los Angeles, opens all across the country tomorrow, Friday, April 22. Here in South Florida, it plays everywhere from Aventura to Boca Raton, Hollywood to Miami, Coconut Creek to Pompano Beach. Click here to see all playdates, cities and theaters.

The splendid Catherine Frot in Xavier Giannoli's not-quite bio-pic, MARGUERITE

On the basis of the three films of his I've so far seen -- The Singer, In the Beginning and now MARGUERITE -- Frenchman Xavier Giannoli (shown below) has become one of my favorite filmmakers. This writer/director takes his ostensible subject, quite different from film to film, and then opens up what can seem like the entire world in the process of telling his particular and always absorbing stories.

His films are rich in the most wonderful of ways: They make you stop and consider so many things, and they never smash home their moral. In fact, it's rather difficult to spot villains in his movies, so full are they with folk just trying to make their way along. Yet what Giannoli repeatedly uncovers about us humans and our often odd behavior makes us seem at once amazing and mysterious. This was true of In the Beginning, which, like The Singer, I caught at past Rendez-vous With French Cinema outings (they were never released theatrically here in the USA), and it proves more so, and more subtly, with Marguerite.

If you've heard of the almost-famous Florence Foster Jenkins, she of the miraculously off-key voice, you'll have a good idea of the fictionalized title character -- played by the hugely undersung on these shores, at least, Catherine Frot (shown above and below) -- on whom the film is very loosely based. (That fine director Stephen Frears will have a movie coming out later this year about Ms Jenkins starring Meryl Streep.)

M. Giannoli's movie uses Marguerite -- her character and her voice -- to explore our love: of music, opera, art, life and each other. In the process, we come upon everything from politics and economics to Dadaism and medical science; philosophy and Colonialism to the multitude of ways we humans can use and abuse each other (often simultaneously).

Marguerite is being billed as something of a comedy, over here in the USA, at least, and indeed there is enormous humor in hearing the incredible caterwauling of this voice from hell. Yet the film is so rich in odd incident and strange, provocative and mysterious characters whom we come to care about more than we would expect that, by its very moving finale, it has opened up even greater mysteries.

Giannoli's accomplishment here is immense, but so quietly achieved that I suspect that it will not be fully appreciated -- for awhile, at least. Classics generally take their time to cement. One thing that should register immediately is how amazing Ms Frot is (as always). Last seen as that no-nonsense, hands-on chef for François Mitterrand in Haute Cuisine, the actress here transforms herself into a wealthy woman who wants desperately to sing, as well as have her husband care about her. (The actress won the French César award last week for this performance,)

To this end she is abetted by a host of folk who need things of her -- from her philandering husband (André Marcon, two photos above) and the professional music group she has funded to an on-the-skids opera star (Michel Fau, below) who now must double as Marguerite's teacher, a young journalist with a career to jump-start, and a pretty, upcoming singer with a lovely voice (Christa Théret, above, center left).

Perhaps the most mysterious character is Marguerite's accompanist, chauffeur and jack-of-all-trades (Denis Mpunga, at piano below) who may possibly be the most abusive of all and yet has provided our heroine with much that she has needed for years now.

As I say, this movie is full of mysteries, which you will probably savor and explore for a long time to come. Certainly the film is worth more than one viewing. I can't wait until it's available on Blu-ray, where the (also award-winning) costumes, production design and sound will set your eyes and ears ablaze.

From Cohen Media Group and running 129 minutes, Marguerite opens this Friday, March 11, in New York City at the Paris Theater and Angelika Film Center and in Los Angeles at The Landmark. Over the coming weeks it will open all across the country. Here in Southern Florida look for it on April 1 in Miami at the Tower Theater, in Boca Raton at the Regal Shadowood, and at the Movies of Delray and the Movies of Lake Worth. Click here to view all currently scheduled playdates, with cities and theaters shown.

Where the hell are THEIR Oscar nominations? Chadwick Boseman in Tate Taylor's and John-Henry & Jez Butterworth's superb GET ON UP

If we must have -- and apparently, after so many decades of them, we still must -- more movie biographies of the famous, they should only be as rich, vivid and startling as GET ON UP, the movie bio-pic of famed singer/ songwriter/performer James Brown. As portrayed by Chadwick Boseman (of 42 and The Kill Hole), this perfor-mance is so incredible in terms of capturing Brown's energy and moves, his charm and nastiness, that you simply cannot imagine any other actor doing it better. Why Mr. Boseman (below and at left) was overlooked for an Oscar nomination (was it because he lip-synched?) is an embarrassing question.

A role like this may not come around for this actor (or anyone else) again, and as much as I like the work of David Oyelowo, Boseman 's Brown wipes the floor with Oyelowo's MLK. And yet, all we hear about is how the Academy snubbed Oyelowo, with nary a mention of Boseman. Is this because Martin Luther King is such a "safe" subject, while James Brown was so transgressive? Very probably. That, and the fact the Get On Up didn't set the box-office on fire, in the manner of a nitwit patriotic slough like American Sniper (Boseman's work also wipes the floor with that of  Bradley Cooper).

The other big surprise offered by this movie is the very fine, brave and sophisticated directorial work of Tate Taylor, who earlier gave us the pleasant, enjoyable but unsurprising The Help. What Mr. Taylor and his screenwriters have done is to fracture the storytelling here so that we get relatively short scenes of Brown's life and work that never linger too long. This means that many of those moments that could stand out as cliched and obvious in so many other bio-pics here move by with grace and speed, helping to tell the story without weighing it down in pablum or sentimentality. One prime example is how the film handles the demise of Brown's manager/promoter (beautifully played by Dan Aykroyd, below, left). We get a brief and sudden glimpse of a coffin and a Jewish star, then cut to another sharp, fast moment of the man's dead face in close-up on a golf course. It's all quick but quite moving -- and a lovely example of Taylor's fine and pointed work here.

Scene after scene sparkles and resonates beyond what we get from the usual biopic. If Taylor is using cliches, and of course he is because these are endemic to this genre, he manages to make them seem fresh and new via the fast-pacing, the flipping back and forth in time, and some supremely fine editing (Michael McCusker) that allows no unnecessary fat in the fire. The movie lasts a lengthy 139 minutes yet seems to fly by.

The movie's screenplay is by brothers John-Henry and Jez Butterworth, and it cracks the usual bio-pic mold wide open, allowing us to catch the kind of smart glimpses into character, time and place that combine to make a powerful whole. The movie is full of fine scenes, but the one between Brown and Little Richard (a terrific Brandon Smith) comes close to classic.

In addition to Mr. Bosman, the huge cast includes the usual excellent work from Viola Davis (above, as Brown's mom), Octavia Spencer (below, right, as the madame of the local brothel who takes him in when his parents have left), and Jill Scott (as one of his several women). Also fine is the work of Nelsan Ellis as Brown's longest friend and partner.

Normally, I would try not to over-praise a movie like this, but since Get On Up -- despite mostly favorable reviews -- never found the audience it deserved, I'm going to call it a "must." If it were an independent, rather than a big-studio movie, I'd also have added it to my last year's movies-to-see list. In any case, it is out now on Blu-ray, DVD and various streaming sources.

FIAF hosts NYC debut of Florent-Emilio Siri's CLOCLO, starring a startling Jérémie Renier

Musical bio-pics tend to run pretty true to form, from Walk the Line and Coal Miner's Daughter (in the country music variety) to those about celebs on the order of Elvis and Garland, often made for TV audiences. Occasionally comes along an unusual biopic (the recent Gainsbourg is one example), but generally they all tend to be obvious in the extreme, too lengthy for anything they might have to say, and adoring, while pretending to show us warts-and-all. However, the audience for the May 9th "sneak preview" screening of the new French film CLOCLO, which took place at Florence Gould Hall, courtesy of the French Institute/Alliance Française (FIAF), got an interesting taste of what a musical biopic looks like when directed by a leading "action" filmmaker.

The man in question is Florent-Emilio Siri, at left, who gave us a The Nest and Hostage (two fine action films) and Intimate Enemies (one of the great modern war films, in which he used his action techniques to excellent effect). Now, he does something similar with Cloclo, the birth-to-death story of Claude François, nick-named Cloclo, a famous French performer of the 60s and 70s (unknown to TrustMovies until now), who appears to have had a similar effect on young ladies as that certain Mr. Presley did on American girls.

I'll have a lot more to say about this striking and consistently interesting movie once it opens here. (Its French distributor, Canal Plus, is said to be currently in negotiations with an American distributor.) For now I will simply tell you that the film sparkles with visual beauty and invention (Cloclo was born in Egypt and, once famous, lived rather high on the hog, so expect some sumptuous settings and fab costumes and decor).

The film also, while covering the standard tropes of the genre, moves surprisingly quickly, as M. Siri bounces from event to event, place to place, carrying us along with him in brisk, frisky fashion. I suspect this has a lot to do with the very fine co-screenwriter and provider of smart dialog, Julien Rappeneau, all of whose work that I've seen, I've loved: Bon Voyage, 36th Precinct, Paris 36 and Largo Winch.

The music is sensational, by the way. Because Cloclo wrote some of his songs but also covered the work of others, you're going to hear some very familiar tunes, done dandily. Other people also covered Cloclo's wortk -- the most spectacular case being Frank Sinatra's My Way, which M. François originally wrote as Comme d'habitude -- a version whose lyrics strike TM as infinitely smarter than the self-serving sentimentality of the Sinatra version (the lyrics of which were written by Paul Anka). They say that no song in history has been recorded as often in as many languages as this one (well, what performer can resist a good ego trip!), and for that reason alone, the movie seems worthy of an American release.

Additionally, the François/Cloclo story is a good one, and it gives the actor Jérémie Renier another great role to savor -- which he does, and then some. He sings (just two songs, he lip-syncs the rest to Cloclo's voice), dances with aplomb and pizzazz, and generally comports himself like a coddled superstar, while capturing plenty of intimate moments from a career that was, on balance and despite a life in the spotlight, a bit darker than bright, sadder than joyous.

M. Renier has impressed audiences ever since the Dardennes brothers used him as the child in The Promise (they've used him again and again, ever since, most recently in The Kid With the Bike). His versatility -- The Brotherhood of the Wolf to Private Property, Potiche to the recent A Heavenly Vintage -- is pretty extraordinary, and if he were not so young, I'd say that Cloclo might be the capper to his career. But, no, he's got a lot more good stuff in store for us, I'll wager.

I hope those negotiations are moving ahead, full-tilt. It would be a shame if American arthouse audiences are deprived of learning about the life of this unusual entertainer -- and seeing what a surprising choice of director can do with a project seemingly far outside of his usual genre.