SCN: Monleón's THE CONSUL OF SODOM: a gay/bi arthouse/mainstream masterpiece

Finally: an unabas-hedly gay/bisexual mainstream/art-house movie that may very well stand the test of time. THE CONSUL OF SODOM is a beautifully filmed, historical romance that puts sex at its center. Since it is also a bio-pic of the Spanish poet Jaime Gil de Biedma, who did much the same thing in his own life, this makes perfect sense and produces a damn-near perfect movie. Here we get his-tory, filtered though the life and times of a gifted poet (shown just below in his heyday) who was also one hell of an interesting guy.

We also get reams and reams of sex, with some of then most gorgeous faces and bodies -- men and women -- to be seen in some time, complete with the occasional hardcore moment, juicy and pertinent, that offers yet more ammuni-tion for those of us who believe that there is no good reason not to show this sort of thing within a movie's sex scenes. We also get literate, smart dialog -- rare in the gay canon -- along with some fine poetry. In fact, the movie made me want to read the work of Gil de Biedma, which I hope is available in translation. Finally we get a knockout performance from the film's leading man, Spanish actor Jordi Mollá -- and a number of wonderful ones from the supporting cast.

The man most responsible for all this is Sigfrid Monleón (shown at left), the film's director and co-writer/adapter, along with Miguel Dalmau (from his own novel), Miguel Ángel Fernández and Joaquín Górriz. I am unfamiliar with Monleón's other films, but on the basis of this one, I'll see anything else he does or has done. He possesses as keen an eye for spectacle as for intimate moments (both are often sexual: those opening scenes in 1940s Manila!), his pacing is terrific (he moves when speed is needed but grows leisurely when we most want to linger), and he draws out superb performances all-round.

Yes, the movie is full of the usual "this happened, and then that happened," which simply comes with the territory of the biopic. But when "this and that" happen so fully and richly (the gorgeous cinematography is by José David Montero, who did the terrific genre film El rey de la montaña a few years back), I have no complaints.

Much of the richness of the film comes from a screenplay encompas-sing not only the life of the poet (who was a very good business-man, in addition to his writing and copious love life) but how this worked into the politics of the time. Gil de Biedma's career spanned the Spanish Civil War, the Franco regime and the heady, post-Franco years, and Monleón's movie gets it all -- and gets it right.

And while the Franco regime did not look kindly upon homosex-uality, coming from a successful and monied family, as the poet did, proved a help. "Franco leaves the rich alone," Jaime insists. "Only up to a point," replies his father, very well-limned by Juli Mira (shown at right). The somewhat fraught father/son relationship is brought to life quite well, as is the writer's place in the left-wing poetry "collective" of the time. The men involved in this appear -- in the film, at least -- to have been able to put aside their sexual differences in order to help each other write and prosper, as shown by Jaime's help to the writer Juan Marsé (played by Alex Brendemühl, below) and by the constant help and support given Jaime by Carlos Barral (a solid Josep Linuesa, shown two photos below). The interplay throughout the film of culture, politics and economics makes the movie all that more engrossing.

As Gil de Biedma was a poet and man dedicated to sexuality and pleasure, it should not be surprising that the various love affairs of our hero take precedence over much else. The view of sexuality shown here is much more sophisticated, fluid and European than most Americans are used to seeing. Even our supposedly liberated GLBT-themed movies tend not to show characters whose sexual preferences can glide so easily from one sex to the other and then back again. Nor is the film afraid to note how economic need influences our sexual options.  It is clear that some of Jaime's male companions prefer women for sex but are perfectly happy to oblige a rich, attractive man when the opportunity arises -- and enjoy it.

Even Jaime finds himself attracted to and finally head-over-heels smitten with the smart and beautiful fashion designer, Bel (played by the alluring, Italian-born singer Bimba Bosé, below, in her first film role) whom the movie posits as the one great love of his life. When Jaime visits, years later, an early conquest from his Philippines' days, he finds the man with wife and family and seems genuinely pleased for his old flame's good fortune.

The Consul of Sodom avoids hagiography, however, by presenting its hero in a rounded manner. Jamie is very quick to anger, and always ready with a witty, nasty quip that often pulls the rug from under his current amour. The movie makes clear how difficult a guy to live with this fellow is. He is also bred from wealth, which shows in his fine taste, as well as occasionally in his unwillingness to accept anything less. There's a smart scene in a restaurant with his final lover Pep (a wonderfully moving performance from Isak Férriz, below) in which he rudely decimates the young man's attempt to learn table manners and wine tasting. Pep later accuses Jaime and his friends of being wealthy and class-conscious -- which of course they are. But they  also make up a decent, caring group that has tried to do its best for culture and citizenry.

 
In the hands (and face, body and mind) of Señor Mollá (below and at bottom), this fine poet and troubled man comes to fecund life. This actor is always good, but he has rarely been given a role as rich as this one, and there can be no higher praise than to say he does it full justice. Despite Gil de Biedma's many faults, we'd have been lucky to have rubbed shoulders (and any other body parts, including brains) with this guy, who was above all kind, witty, literate, talented, great in bed with either sex (providing, as someone makes clear, that he was "in love" with  the other person). And maybe -- according to Bel -- a bit of a sexist. And Mr.Monleón has gotten it all: the times, the culture, the politics, the poetry (much of Gil de Biedma's work is quoted in voice-over here)-- in short, the life.

Most recently seen for two showings at the FSLC's Spanish Cinema Now, the film was nominated for five Goya Awards last year, including one for Mollá. As of now, it has not been picked up for U.S. distribution, but it would seem an absolute shoo-in for a distributor such as Strand, Wolfe, TLA (or IFC, at the very least via its VOD program) -- one or all of whom I hope are bidding on it now.  TrustMovies cannot imagine that interested audiences will not flock to this wonderful film -- and, he hopes, soon. The Consul of Sodom is of course too rich, racy, and bisexual for the American mainstream. But the full house at the recent SCN screening seemed to show surprising approval.  Perhaps arthouse/mainstream audiences might just be able to sit back, suck it in, and then breath out a sigh of happy, surprised relief. Gee: sex of all kinds can be liberating and fun. Dangerous, too.

Ah, yes -- and a very Merry Christmas 

and happy holidays to you all!

Bruno Dumont's HADEWIJCH: Thank god it's opening in time for the religious holiday

Was Humanité just an over-rated fluke? It's beginning to look more and more likely. With each new film that Bruno Dumont serves up -- Twentynine Palms, Flanders and now HADEWIJCH -- it's is becoming clearer that this fellow has little understanding of how human beings behave or the world works. Consequently, the filmmaker, pictured below, busies himself with rank outsiders: "others" who don't/won't/can't fit in -- working, I guess, from the premise that, if you get as far away as possible from anything remotely resembling normalcy, maybe viewers won't notice how false your characters really are. This would be true for the uber-quirky couple (not to mention the titular community) shown in Twentynine Palms; another couple, this time nearing the brain-dead, in Flanders (and, oh, that atrociously-imagined middle-eastern "war"); and now the religious nut and her zombie family in his new one.

In addition to presenting us with bizarre, cliched (but unreal nonetheless) characters, Dumont likes to insert a heavy-duty subject into the mix: rape and murder in Humanité, more ultra-violence in Twentynine Palms, the war in Flanders, and now religion -- and, oh, yes, terrorism -- in Hadewijch. You can't say that this guy doesn't go for the zeitgeist! If TrustMovies is being crueler than usual here, he also admits that, though he enjoyed (he is stretching that verb hugely) Flanders no more than he did Twentynine Palms, he has now found Hadewijch a bit better than either of the earlier films. Another ten, twenty more movies from Dumont, and who knows how high the enjoyment level will have bubbled.

In Hadewijch -- the name doubles as the moniker of a mystic from centuries past, whom the title charac-ter, Celine, appears to be aping in her quest for the love of Jesus -- we are confronted with another over-the-top character who has such weird ideas of religion and faith (and most everything else, actually) that we can only wonder how she had avoided an asylum until now. Her family, very wealthy, appears as clueless in its way as Celine is in her own.

Into this less-than-believable situation, arrives an Algerian kid from the banlieues, whom Celine comes across (in the Dumont version of meet-cute) and brings home to lunch. Yes!  He in turn introduces her to his brother, a stoic and deeply religious Muslim who is involved in -- not theater, not manufacturing, not running the local Mail Box Express (like a Muslim friend I have here in Jackson Heights). Come on, people: Put on those thinking caps. What else would any self-respecting Muslim be concerned with but -- of course -- terrorism.

Soon, our Celine -- a girl so utterly uncertain of her own ideas that she makes your everyday sheep look like William the Conquerer -- is knee-deep in oh my goodness. And where does religion fit into all of this? Don't ask. Ah, but our Celine certainly does. By the finale I think you might just say that our lass has found... redemption.  Or, as I am fond of calling this sort of thing, re-dumb-tion.

However you choose to view the movie's conclusion, you will probably arise from your seat, shaking your head in amazement, and murmuring, "WTF. Dumont has done it again!"  Now, among all this nonsense, there are some good things to be seen.  The film's cinematography is sterling (by the director's oft-time collaborator Yves Cape), and the filmmaker does have a feel for interesting faces (if not any particular acting ability) like that of his leading lady, newcomer Julie Sokolowski. To be fair, the girl has been given a role of which even a young Meryl Streep might have found it difficult to make much sense.

Dumont has chosen for his locations, as usual, nature and some fairly dismal housing projects, but this time, into the mix he has tossed a fabulous apartment, Celine's home (shown above) -- which makes a nice visual change from the rest of the film -- and, in fact, the rest of his oeuvre.

So forget Santa and just go with god, as Hadewijch, from IFC Films, opens today, December 24, in New York City at the IFC Center, with three showings daily. You can check the performance schedule here.  And if you can't wait -- or can't get into Manhattan -- the movie is already available via IFC On-Demand.  Click the link at left to determine if and how you can get it.

SCN: STARS TO WISH UPON -- Life in a women's prison, under Franco & church

Upon some reflection, it may surprise America film buffs that Spain -- for centuries such a Catholic country-- would have led Europe in certain areas. Chief among these would be a more open sexuality in the country's film and culture, and finally in its laws. (Wasn't Spain the first European nation to OK same-sex marriage?)  And all this without the blessing of the Catholic Church.

Well, Spain and the Church have issues, as literally any Spanish Cinema Now series (currently in its 19th year) makes clear. These stem from the country's long flirtation with and consumma-tion of Fascism via the collusion of the Franco government and the Catholic Church during the period of the Spanish Civil War and onwards though the end of the dictator's reign. While certain annual SCN programs have demonstrated this theme more than others, this year constitutes the most nearly all-Franco-all-the-time series that TrustMovies has yet seen. A fine wrap-up (SCN closes tonight) is provided by STARS TO WISH UPON (Izarren Argia), which offers us a look at Franco's notorious women prison, Saturrarán, which was run by the Church and its nuns.

Written and directed by Mikel Rueda (shown at right), the movie begins with short statements from a number of elderly Spanish women (who presumably were political prisoners) about their time spent in Saturrarán. "Who would imagine that priests and nuns could do such things?" one of the women asks. Another, unintentionally echoing the slogan of the JDL, notes that people must understand "what went on here because this must never happen again." As America's own flirtation with fascism via our Republican Party proceeds apace (ironically, Spain's "Republicans" were the liberal and progessive left), this yearly series seems ever more timely and salutary. Members of the audience with whom I viewed the film yesterday literally shouted out in agreement, from time to time, when one of these political prisoners voiced her antipathy toward either the political regime or the Church. I suspect many more of us sat there in silent agreement with these on-screen prisoners.

Stars to Wish Upon is no women' prison camp classic, however. We hear a few muffled cries of perhaps torture or at least pain, but the worst we see is something called "the well," in which recalcitrant prisoners are made to remain for a day or two (or more) in cold water up to their necks. No, the greatest pain for these women is being permanently separated from their children, which the nuns find wonderfully creative ways of managing -- from starvation and/or refusal of doctor visits leading to death (for sometimes the parent, other times the child) to false promises of reconciliation if a prisoner is willing to "work" for the church.

The closest our movie has to a heroine is Victoria (a smartly held-in performance by Bárbara Goenaga -- shown above, center-left and further above at far left -- of TimeCrimes, from the 2008 SCN), who is a teacher and the widow of a now-dead Republican. Franco's forces treated most who disagreed as traitors, and so entire families were sometimes imprisoned. Here it is two sisters and the young son of one of them. The children quickly become the chief bargaining tool, which the Church happily adopted off to families with the proper religious/political viewpoint, who would then raise the children following the "righteous" path.

The movie is full of of the ins-and-outs of prison life, with the nuns ranging from quietly monstrous to as quietly helpful as possible under the watchful eye of the N-I-C, also known as  the White Panther (played with a remarkable combination of subtlety and iron will by Itziar Lazkano). Filmmaker Rudea succeeds in putting us in the minds and hearts -- and most definitely on the side of -- these political prisoners.  His movie is excellent agitprop, achieving its ends with a blunt force that is often devastating, never more so than at the conclusion. No happy ending can be had here, for the war is but won and decades more of under-the-tumb rule is in store. Yet Rueda and his cast achieve at least the goal of helping older audiences remember, while informing younger ones of their country's checkered history. This will perhaps allow them to understand why "Never again" is the appropriate response to what they have seen.

Stars to Wish Upon plays one more time, closing this year's Spanish Cinema Now tonight at 9:10 at the Walter Reade Theater.

SCN: ELISA K -- a child's trauma, then post-trauma, shown as indelibly as we've seen

When ELISA K sees its final Spanish Cinema Now appear-ance this evening at 5:30, TrustMovies would advise a visit. This is the kind of highly unusual film that may never find its way into US thea-ters again, or even onto DVD on this side of the Atlantic. Yet it's a stunner -- proving once again how very collaborative is the art of movies & how a satisfying whole can be created from a few well-chosen and executed scenes.

Dealing directly with a traumatic event that befalls the title character as a barely pre-teen child, the film moves from color prior to the day of the event to black-and-white from then until we see the girl again in adulthood, at which point we're back into a color palette. The co-directors Jordi Cadena (shown above, right, who adapted the film from a novel by Lolita Bosch) and Judith Collel (above, left, who gave us 53 Days on Winter a few years back) concentrate on the day of the event, its aftermath at home and in school, and then nearly fifteen years later, when Elisa, as an adult, suddenly recalls the event. Only 72 minutes long, the movie packs in a wealth of vital detail offered artfully and quietly -- until that adult scene, which is breathtakingly real and awful, finally providing an outlet for all the confusion, shame, guilt, fear, sadness and especially anger that has built up in the interim.

Cadena and Collell use mostly voice-over narration, a style of filmmaking that I usually do not like. Yet it works wonders here, helping to provide an uneasy calm and a sense of dread and impending disaster that is complimented well by the sumptuous black-and-white cinematography and a camera placed generally at enough distance to keep us separate but involved. (The cinematographer is Sergi Gallardo, who also shot 53 Days of Winter.) The filmmakers choose, wisely, I think, not to show us the event itself, nor to even describe it. This makes it worse in some ways, for we, like Eliza, try to figure how how it could possibly have happened. Her father was there, asleep on the couch, with her brother playing out on the terrace. And yet it did. And everything from that point on, has changed.

Elsa's parents, and her teacher at school, know something is wrong, but without cooperation from the child -- who has already repressed the event -- they can do no more than be present and offer their love and understanding, as they hope for the best. How the teacher handles things is especially moving and, under the circumstances, remarkably helpful -- a fact that Elsa somehow understands and appreciates as she grow older.

Elisa K is one of those films that bears out the less-is-more theory. Intelligent adult viewers, who have seen countless films and television movies dealing with this same subject, will bring their own knowledge to bear as they watch this film. Consequently its subtlety and pared-down scenario will force them to do a lot of the heavy-lifting. Yet, instead of seeming a cheat, this should enrich the movie for most viewers, engaging them in a much fuller manner so that the climax -- the scene of Elisa as an adult, coming to terms with the event -- will have that much more meaning and immediacy. This scene is amazing, by the way.

The actresses chosen for the young (Clàudia Pons, on the poster, top, and the two black-and-white photos, above) and older Alisa (Aina Clotet, one of the stars of 53 Days of Winter, shown in the two photos, immediately above) bear a fine physical resemblance to each other and each is riveting in her own way. The rest of the small cast does wonders with their limited roles. In some ways clinical -- showing us how the child thinks, feels and reacts in the time following the trauma -- the film is more often artful, as it places us in a situation that should chill the heart of any parent. It is movies like this one that make Spanish Cinema Now such a special -- and often surprising -- treat each year.

Elisa K plays again only this afternoon/evening at 5:30 at the Walter Reade Theater. Click here for more information.

Lee Chang-dong's SECRET SUNSHINE taps into a mother's love -- or is it guilt?

A simple description plot-wise, of SECRET SUNSHINE, the Korean film adapted (from the novel by Yi Chong-jun) and directed by Chang-dong Lee (pictured below), could easily make this movie sound like soap-opera. Indeed, if you listed all the events that occur in this lengthy -- well over two hours -- tale (don't worry: I won't), you'd be hard pressed not to sum up: "Too much!"  Yet the movie isn't.

Its odd success is due to Mr. Lee's ability to guide us through these many events with an eye that goes beyond the individual players themselves and into a sense of the entirety of life. We Americans, and probably movie-goers worldwide, are used to finding some closure from the films we love. That's why we keep coming back and back and back again. This filmmaker will have none of that. He doesn't slap us in the face with darkness and horror; he simply demonstrates how nothing works. When we want to find answers, they're just not there.

For instance, when the movie's big "event" occurs (all of it off-screen), we never learn any particulars -- why, when, where, how-- all staples of most films that feature this sort of situation. Our heroine, Shin-ae (played spot-on by Jeon Do-Yeon, above: She deservedly won Best Actress award at Cannes and elsewhere for her performance) -- who, with her elementary-school-age son, has come to the home town of her recently departed husband, to try to create a new life -- spends the remainder of the movie trying to come to terms with this event. Good luck.

The filmmaker resists the usual and typical explanations for beha-vior found in film of this type: he simply shows that behavior and lets us extrapolate from it. Mom certainly feels enormous pain and sorrow from what has happened, but she also must be experien-cing horrendous guilt. No mention is made of this by her or anyone else, but via what she says and does, motives become clearer.

When she turns to religion, becoming a born-again Christian (thanks to the town's busy-body pharmacists), she eventually gets the religion, along with its tenants of forgiveness and love, thrown back in her face in a bracing manner that I think is rather new to cinema. When a possible new love rears his head (very early on), this is greeted with a shrug.  "Let me help you here: You're not her type at all," offers our heroine's brother to the suitor, played by the fine and versatile Song Kang-ho, shown above (from Thirst, Memories of Murder and The Good, The Bad, The Weird), who just keeps on trying.

By withholding what we (and his characters) may expect, Mr. Lee (who also gave us the unusual Oasis) forces us all to look at things differently, wrestling with the situation from another perspective. This is not initially thrilling -- or exciting, suspenseful, romantic or any of thse usual adjectives we might use to describe film we love. But it pays off. Perhaps not in quite so spectacular a fashion as to class this movie among the best films of the year (as two of The New York Times reviewers did this past week), but certainly enough to make it a must-see for film buffs who don't mind a movie that challenges and surprises.

Secret Sunshine, via IFC Films opens today in New York City at the IFC Center, while simultaneously available from IFC On-Demand (where it has appeared since early November.)

News flash: Peter Liechti's award-winning doc THE SOUND OF INSECTS is no doc at all

Marketing, I guess, really is all. Being billed as some kind of a documentary (it won the 2009 European Film Award in that category), THE SOUND OF INSECTS: Record of a Mummy -- a film from Swiss filmmaker Peter Liechti (shown below) who, in this case has adapted, written, directed, produced, and handled the cinema-tography -- is not a documentary at all. Not since On the Bowery -- which at least had a true documentary feel, was shot on location and used actual "alkies" as its actors -- won its doc award, has anything so dead-wrong occur-red in the land of the fête. (OK: The Blind Side was nominated for Best Picture. But Liechti's film actually won.) Before seeing the movie and imagining that it had anything to do with the documentary format, I'd considered the European Film Awards to be a cut above our own. That notion has now been laid to rest.

According to its press release, The Sound of Insects "blurs the line between documentary and fiction," a phrase we've been hearing more and more of late. But surely this is true only if someone has no idea of the meaning of the words "blur," "line," "documentary" and "fiction."  This film is based on a novel.  A novel! (Speaking of meanings.) And a novel
written by a Japanese man, at that (and set, I imagine, in Japan): so much for verite of location. It's subject: a man who takes to the woods and commits suicide. (No spoiler here: the film begins with the removal of his corpse.) So this is a documentary? Then one might think our filmmaker would by now have been arrested. But of course not. This movie is about as "fictional" as you can get.

Even if you consider the movie to be "a profound inquiry into the art of representation" that "probes the ever-elusive and mystifying line between life and death" (that press release again), all movies -- good, bad and indifferent -- makes a stab at the former, while countless one (most recently Hereafter, Shutter Island and several films in the ongoing Spanish Cinema Now series) are happily probing the latter. OK: So much for the marketing of the movie. How is it as cinema? Interesting. Not bad. Though not particularly award-worthy, either, TrustMovies thinks.

Using (yes!) a heavy-duty documentary style -- which is hardly the same thing a being a documentary -- Liechti introduces us to his protagonist, a fellow of middle-age determined to starve himself to death over a period of, he hopes, a very few weeks.  Death, it turns out, takes longer. We see parts of him, as he himself would, looking at his own hands and legs. We become acutely aware of the world around us/him, particularly of sounds, as the symptoms of starvation becomes more intense. There's a nod to eastern culture, spirituality and the like, but this seems not nearly thought out enough by the character nor the filmmaker.

We learn very little about our fellow -- who does not seem to have led a particularly fascinating life -- and this helps drag the film down. I'd have preferred spending my hour-and-a-half with someone more interesting -- but then that person would have been a good deal less likely to commit suicide at this relatively young age. The visuals are rudimentary -- much is as they would be if we were there in the tent that the protagonist has built -- and the attempts by the director to go into fantasy and heightened states of reality are not very successful. You certainly see what Liechti is trying for, but that's about it.

The film does encourage you to consider what its protagonist is attempting and how this might play out, together with what dreams, thoughts and feelings would arise as death draws nearer. This, of course, is enough to send the majority of most audiences running for the hills. But a few fearless souls may opt for the ride. We don't get this kind of film all that often, so attention must be paid. Just don't expect a documentary.

The Sound of Insects, from Lorber Films, is opening at a Manhattan cinema venue I've never before mentioned: the Rubin Museum (150 West 17th St. between 6th and 7th Avenues), beginning Wednesday, December 22, at 7pm.  Click here for all screening dates and times (there are only ten of these, so if this post has piqued your interest, reserve now).