Terrence Malick's TO THE WONDER opens; the "spiritual" among us may ooh and aah

In the spirit of our late and much lamented comrade Roger Ebert (whom yours truly only learned to appreciate later in Ebert's career, once that TV show had been laid to rest), I am going to approach TO THE WONDER, the new movie from Terrence Malick, in the manner in which I believe Ebert often did: by trying first to determine what the movie-maker was attempting to achieve with the film. I tend to do that automatically; it's always been part of my approach to viewing a film. I don't read the press material before seeing a movie because I find that this obfuscates as often as it makes clear, and sometimes it greatly effects what one imagines that one is seeing. When you are told what something means in advance, it's doubly difficult to un-understand it. So the tabula rasa is by far a better option.

Mr. Malick, shown at left, begins To the Wonder in Paris (and not the dark, dank Paris of the recently reviewed Simon Killer) with its stars, Ben Affleck and Olga Kurylenko, taking us on a little travelog to some of the most beautiful places in and about France. The two play characters who are clearly in love, and Kurylenko looks soft and vulnerable, while Affleck has seldom seemed as relaxed or sexy. The two hold hands. They gambol. They cuddle. They neck. And there never seem to be any other people around them -- even at some of the most beautiful and, one-would-think, touristy spots. Well, they're in love, and doesn't love often make you feel as though there is nobody else in the world except you and your beloved. OK: let's agree to buy that interpretation.

This sort of smooch fest continues for maybe ten or twelve minutes, at which point, I suspect many viewers are going to say, OK: We get it. We then leave, along with the two lovebirds and her just pre-teen daughter for the plains of the Southwest -- which I suspect Mr. Malick thinks compares in beauty to the wonders of France. To each his own, but this looked looked more like a wasteland to me. (Coincidentally, Affleck's character appears to have some sort of job involving toxic waste and talking to citizens about their experiences with it. But we never learn more than this.)

On these southwestern plains, we get a lot more of Kurylenko gamboling, prancing, dancing and flitting -- and verbalizing her innermost thoughts. Here's one: "What is this love that loves us, that comes from nowhere, from all around?" Or maybe that popped out the innermost thoughts of a priest who's lost his faith -- an enormous waste of that fine actor Javier Bardem, below. (Wouldn't you say that any filmmaker who can render Bardem utterly non-specific and boring is in the wrong business?)

It doesn't really matter who says what in this film because all the verbiage is so dreadful. I won't use the word cliché because the narration never rises to even that level. Instead it more often sounds like the twaddle being recited by a three-year-old who has come to language skills only haltingly. At one point we're inundated with the word "love" spoken over and over until we're ready to talk back to the screen.

There is no plot to this mess -- only "situations." They're in love. They out of it. She and her daughter leave. He gets involved with a blond, played by Rachel McAdams (shown above and below, with Affleck), who is used here ever more poorly than is Bardem. She, too, is shown dancing, swaying, and running through the fields. And that's it for her. About that priest and his crisis of faith: Normally I'd welcome any movie that questions organized religion. But this one's questions are so standard and obvious, it's like the religious version of paint-by-numbers.

And who are these people? They have all this interior life, replete with imbecilic voice-over nonsense that they share with us while gamboling (Kurylenko) or getting down and solemn (Bardem), but they have zero exterior lives. No friends, no co-workers, no relatives, no nuttin'! Malick seems to have completely lost track of how to tell a story or create a character (ever heard of dialog, Mister?). And there aren't even --for Tree of Life lovers -- any dinosaurs. There are bison (two photos up), which is a helpful distraction, though I fear it leads to more dancing and prancing. (And not by the bison, which, in the manner of the musical Hair and its horses, would have been fun.)

Aside from smiling maybe once, Mr Affleck manages a single dour expression throughout almost the entire film: as though he is kind of miffed about something, perhaps that he signed on to this movie. Kurylenko grows nuttier until she's certifiable. If you are generous, you might call the film a meditation on existence, life, god and love. But there is so little to be learned or gained from its paltry array of "ideas" on verbal parade and even less from its "pretty" visuals, which, these days are a dime a dozen. And, yes, the movie ends with yet more prancing.

Who is the audience for this film, aside from absolute die-hard Malick fans?  I would guess, given its take-down of organized religion, together with its attempt at creating god out of twaddle and prance, it will appeal most to those people who fancy themselves spiritual -- as in "I'm a very 'spiritual' person." To which I usually reply, "Honey: That's for someone else to say -- not for you to say about yourself." (In my experience, people who imagine themselves very spiritual are often just raging narcissists.)

So, if Tree of Life did not cure you of Terrence Malick, To the Wonder surely will. It is perhaps the most offensive film I have ever had to sit through. No, it's not "dirty" or full of foul language or overt sexuality or any of the usual suspects. But it is full of itself -- and irredeemably stupid. Even for those of us who liked or loved Malick's earlier work, it is time to stop pretending and call a spade a spade. To do any less is to become, in a word, an enabler.

The movie, from Magnolia Pictures and running a seems-like-twice-as-long-as 112 minutes, opens this Friday, April 12, in 16 cities and then expands to another 24 next Friday, and from there outward until most of the USA is covered. You can find all currently scheduled playdates by clicking here.

Vikram Gandhi's KUMARÉ may be the most important, funniest, surprising film this year

Why do we need "spiritual leaders"? This is the question that filmmaker and faux guru Vikram Gandhi asks himself and that leads this Jersey boy (granted he's got East Indian roots) to go way out on a limb and impersonate a guru -- even if the SL (short for spiritu-al leader) he quickly becomes insists on telling his flock that he is nothing more than a fake. Do they listen? Of course not. Oh, they hear him, all right, but they imagine (as many of us might) that this statement simply shows his true humility coming to the fore. Fore!

In a mere 83 minutes, Vikram (shown in his street drag, at left) takes us on a journey that so far as I know, has no peer in film history or maybe history of any kind. Ah: You say there have always been plenty of fake gurus and other SLs dotting the landscape of any and every country. True. But have any of these refused to accept financial gain from their acolytes, warned them that they were fakes and then set out to teach them what is perhaps the most important lesson, vis a vis religion and spirituality, that they will ever learn? That's right: Give a look and a listen to this movie, and you may find your world turned upside down.

Not only does KUMARÉ, the man and the movie, question the relevancy and reality of any kind of SL, but in taking its philosophy to a sensible conclusion, it actually questions the reality and relevancy of any kind of organized religion. We all, Kumaré tells his flock, have the ability within us to understand ourselves and our needs and to make correct decisions regarding our lives and our place in the world. Well, this is a shockeroo. What's more, Kumaré gets his group to pretty much manage this on their own. We're talking something revolutionary here -- thinking for oneself -- if only we hoi polloi could rise to the occasion.

The above is what makes the movie so important: the kind of film of which I believe that someone like Mathew Chapman, who last year gave us the very good and also revolutionary movie The Ledge, would approve. As our world seems to grow smaller, yet ever more fundamentalist and less secular, what a joy it is to see someone like Mr. Gandhi so easily and beautifully pop the bloated balloon of religion -- by simply placing the burden of responsibility on us.

What makes the movie so god-damned entertaining, however, is the skill, charm and ease with which Gandhi and his crew (including his two young-lady assistants: Purva Bedi, shown above, and Kristen Galgaro, shown below) -- and, yes, the disciples that he seduces -- bring to the movie. Together, they wrap us up so strong-ly in the situation that we end up identifying with and caring about everyone involved. We laugh at them, sure, but not in any nasty way. What's going on is simply so funny and unusual and finally surprising that we're hooked for good within a very few minutes.

The first half of Kumaré is perhaps the funniest movie I've seen all year, maybe several. The laughs come fast and hard, and because they're so clearly arriving from a place of "reality," nothing falls flat. Then an odd thing happens. At the advance screening I attended, only one other press person was present. The rest of audience was made up of young people whom the producers and its distributor Kino Lorber were hoping would enjoy the film and recommend it to their friends. They certainly managed the first directive; I have not heard this much laughter in a theater in a long time. And these are not the kind of snarky, nasty laughs that come from a Sacha Baron Cohen endeavor. As funny as the situation and characters are, you actually grow to care about Kumaré's disciples, as much, it seems, as the guru himself eventually does.

And then, around the halfway point, something strange happens. The laughter begins to subside, as questions arise in the mind of the filmmaker and (I suspect) that of us in the audience, as to how Mr Gandhi is going to get out of this situation, and what will happen to him and to his disciples (one of whom is shown above), once the truth is known. It is this concern that takes up the remainder of the film, and how it resolves itself is suspenseful, sad, funny -- and somehow, given the game/ruse in play, also quite fair and honor-able. So consider this a heads-up: If you don't see Kumaré, you'll have missed the best and most important film of the year so far.

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At the end of the screening Mr. Gandhi (above) appeared, along with one of his producers (Brendan Colthurst, shown below), to do a Q&A with us in the audience. The filmmaker proved as special as we might have expected, given what we'd just witnessed in the theater: demure, easy-going, sporting no attitude but willing to answer every question directly and with no apparent agenda other than to explain. Granted, one should never be so naive as to take anything or anyone at face value. But with Vikram it was pretty difficult not to, as he answered question after question about the film's history and beginnings, told us about himself and his family, how his "disciples" reacted to the cameras being present, any lawsuits resulting from the movie (none yet), and how he came up with his very special (non-regional) East Indian accent, which he then launched into it on the spot.

TM didn't realize in advance that Mr. Gandhi was going to be in attendance, or he would have brought his recorder, stayed for the entire Q&A, and transcribed it for your edification. That chance is now over, but should you get the opportunity to see and hear this fellow in person, take it. He seems as special and real as does his lovely, funny and oh-so-meaningful movie.

Kumaré opens this Wednesday, June 20, in New York City at the IFC Center, where you can see director Vikram Gandhi in person both Wednesday, June 20, & Thursday, June 21, at the 6:20 & 8:25pm shows. The movie -- 83 minutes, from Kino Lorber -- will also be playing around the country in California, Colorado and Washington State. Click here to see all currently schedule playdates, with cities and theaters.

The all-conquering beauty of ALTIPLANO, an odd concoction of Brosens & Woodworth

Utterly compelling in its encompassing beauty and design, if not its fractured storytelling, ALTIPLANO will strike you, I suspect, as a memorable movie despite some faults that go hand-in-hand with the film's conception and execution.  Beginning with a strange but fascinating religious ceremony in the mountains of Peru  -- it looks half Catholic/half pagan and must be some native adaptation of Christianity -- in which an idol is accidentally smashed, the movie moves immediately to the middle east and to a terrorist/hostage/
photo-op situation and then to a family gathering and grieving amidst some lush greenery and gorgeous European architecture.

Our filmmakers are Peter Brosens (shown at extreme right) and Jessica Woodworth (near right), a duo who, back in 2006, gave us the Mongolian classic Khadak, comparisons to which are apt. While their camera and the people they observe generally move at a measured pace (even in the scene of middle-eastern terror), we are still quickly thrust into three very different landscapes and situations that we soon perceive to be somehow linked.

This slow pacing is both hypnotic and unsettling, while the photog-
raphy here is beautiful and compelling, due to its exquisite compo-
sition and its use of color and light (at times reminiscent of the "old masters") -- as befits a film in which  "images" (religious and otherwise) are all-important.  These include not just the brilliant view of the ceremony that begins the movie (shown just below),

or the forced photograph taken in the middle east, which causes its photographer to put away her camera for good, but also the video letters home from a lonely husband to his wife (below) and the framed photographs (two photos above) of the dead Peruvian native population, martyred to the mercury that is at the heart of the film.

About one-half-hour into the movie we finally see this beautiful and terrible killer -- the mercury spilled by the mining company that excavates the nearby mountains -- that will somehow unite our little group in death. Connected by this lovely, deadly substance unlike any other (the first shot we see of it is stunning) is an Andean Indian family: mother, son, daughter (Magaly Solier, shown on poster at top and two photos below, star of The Milk of Sorrow) and the daughter's fiancé; the war photographer (Jasmin Tabatabai, above and below, left) grieving over the very ill-use of her trigger finger; and her husband (Olivier Gourmet, below, right, the Belgian go-to guy for just about any role), who here becomes an eye doctor working in a nearby area of the Andes to that in which our Indian family resides.


As it goes along, the film and its images become increasingly symbolic -- and rightfully so.  Reality, as most of us know it, has been left far behind.  But as the images --- such as the clothes of a dead man burning on a rock (shown at bottom) -- are often as strange as they are riveting, the viewer eventually lets go of conventional habits of mind and eye.  And as for theatrical death scenes, Altipano offers one that would do Shakespeare proud.  And yet, as it turns out, this death is absolutely meant to be theatrical.

Even so, I do wish that the filmmakers had parsed their plot a bit more carefully.  A pivotal scene rests upon the native population, so angry at the constant deaths of their loved ones, that they blame the guiltless eye doctors, wreaking unnecessary havoc and death (below).  The very next time we see these natives, they seem to have a complete understanding of the entire situation, from the mercury that is killing them to the responsibility of the mining company.  "Indians and mines: It's a very old problem," a policeman that our photographer meets on a bus explains to her. Wow: that was fast and convenient!

"Without an image, there is no story," one character tells us.  Altiplano is a film blessed with a plethora of wonderful images, many of which will probably remain soldered on your brain.  In the press information for the film, the movie-makers explain that they made it with a Peruvian audience in mind, as Khadak was made first for the Mongolian audience.  This is understandable and admirable, too.  It worked better with Khadak, however, because so much of that film was mysterious and foreign culturally, that we could more easily sit back and let it wash over us.  

Altiplano takes in the environment and its despoiling by industry and includes incidents we've read or heard about and so seems particularly timely, immediate and understandable in some ways. This has the effect of making it less mysterious, but more proble-

matic, no matter how beautiful and symbolic its images may be.

The film opens via First Run Features this Friday August 20, at New York City's Village East Cinemas. For further scheduled playdates, cities and theaters, simply click here.