Thracian dawg's reviews

Page contents: The Decalog: episodes 1-10 (1988) / Turtle Diary (1985) / Camille Claudel 1915 (2013) / A family Resemblance (1996) / Farewell, My Queen (2012)


The Decalogue (1988) - Kieslwoski

One: I am the Lord thy God; thou shalt not have other gods before me

The players? Krzysztof, a university professor and general all around brainiac. Pawel, his son and Irena, his aunt.

This is a nice family portrait and setting up the locale of the series within the confines of a Warsaw apartment block; the balconies look like crosses piled one atop another all the way up to the sky. The father is a gifted man of learning and science: he's making his son in his own image. When Pawel asks his aunt: What is God? Rather that give him a formula to work the problem out, she hugs him and asks how do you feel? I feel happy. She says: that's where God is hidden.

Pawel delights in each and very new discovery about the world around him--- though he still sleeps with his stuffed toy. He's noticed a certain girl in the neighborhood. She doesn't know it yet, but he's going to be her very first and best boyfriend. He's sad when he discovers that all things must die; that the heart is just a pump that will eventually stop pumping. Christmas is coming, he's already found where all his gifts were hidden. Yeah, Pawel is pretty much precocious.

A tramp has set himself up beside the lake, as if on a vigil, huddled by his roaring fire. This is the same spot where the crowd will gather a couple of days later, to watch the rescue mission. He creates in advance, a place of comfort---this also suggests foreknowledge of the event. This dude's going to be a recurring character in the series, and rather than call him a symbolic representation of Christ or a casual observer of the folly of humankind each and every time. I'm going to give him a real meat and potatoes name like say ... Andy Kilvinski.

This episode is chock full of wonderful foreshadows. Like many of the episodes, the soundtrack can be quite haunting as is such as case with this one. There's a nice scene when Krzysztof is at his work table; and the paper he's editing suddenly darkens and comes alive before his eyes. His intellectual delight dampens the realization that this is a simple wash of color from a broken ink well. This visual motif echoes the emotional drama playing out in the neighborhood at exactly the same time: the spreading panic of the parents.

For all his soaring intelligence, Krzysztof's is unaware that the part of the lake that doesn't freeze over is because of the conduit from the local power station that empties there. The night he makes his calculations, they purge their hot water tanks into the lake. In the professor's pristine and logical universe, everything has a measured and predictable outcome, except for acts of God.

Two: thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.

The players? Dorota, a violinist in the philharmonic. Her husband, stricken with cancer. And the old doctor.

The set-up? Dorota needs a doctor, but not just any doctor, but someone like a medicine man who will divine her future.

Right away, each episode of the decalogue will not be a dry exploration of the episode's title. So rather than the tragic story of a teen idol with Tourette's Syndrome trying to make it to the top of the pop charts, we get a hospital story. Also the stories also aren't sequential. The doctor mentions his dead dog; could this be the same dog that young Pawel discovered in episode one? This would place the previous episode already in the distant past.

The story begins with the janitor finding either a pet or the future occupant of a stew pot that has tumbled to it's death from a high rise balcony. He pokes around the building knocking on doors, holding up a symbolic dead rabbit. Is this yours?

The Doctor has a few daily rituals. There's a song bird that he turns on and off with a towel. A dying cactus he's trying to resuscitate. Every morning, he and his cleaning lady meet over coffee. Every day he adds a little more to a long story he's telling. On his way to work, he notices another tenant on the landing, which is a bit odd, she lives on an upper floor. On his return, she's still there, it occurs to the doctor he's being stalked.

The lady waiting for him on the landing is Dorota. She visits her dying husband everyday. But she wants the Doctor to call it: is he going to live or die? The rest of her life desperately depends upon it. The doctor refuses, saying there are far too many variables in his profession; a lot of what he does is beyond his control. But because she's so fraught and persistent, he makes an exception just this once. The moment in the lab when he makes his final summation, and his colleague confirms it; Kilvinski appears as a lab technician watching them.

Nice things? The dying man has already got one foot in metaphorical hell, but it's not one of fire, but water; it's almost like he's passing away from neglect in some public hospital in New Orleans. The moment of his return to life is matched to that of a honey bee that is drowning in a glass of syrupy fruit juice. The bee kicks desperately and fights for his life and slowly climbs up a spoon to back into the living world. Dorota's acting out the "abortive" gestures are in fact positive; destroying the plant, stubbing her cigarette out in the matchbox, smashing her glass of coffee means that she believes that her husband will live.

Great things? A part of the success of series is the wonderful actors that inhabit the roles, the old doctor here is a prime example, he's got a great character face. Also, the old doctor is in fact playing God. He's rejected her emotional dilemma and enlarged the criteria; he's decided a child will be far more precious to her life than any man ever could be.

Kilvinski reappears a second time as an orderly when Dorota faces her husband after she's made her decision. It's at this precise moment that the series deepens considerably. Kilvinski may be a benevolent Christ figure, but within the context of this scene, he's also the Angel of Death. Further, the director is using him as punctuation at the moment of transgression. And taking this one step further. If you were to imagine in your own mind's eye, your personification of a spiritual savoir: the robe; the sandals; the kind voice; the loving eyes, the glowing halo; you'd spot him (or her) in a coal mine. But what if that same divinity came at you obliquely, wearing a disguise? What about that young woman you saw yesterday, begging on the sidewalk; a cardboard sign propped up beside her tattered knapsack and empty coffee cup: I traded my other life for a song. Would you be able look into her eyes and see the face of God? The characters---for the most part---tend to look right through Kilvinski as if he were invisible, which points to their own spiritual emptiness.

Three: Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.

The set-up? A woman vows to spend one night with an ex-lover, even if that night turns out to be Christmas eve.

The players? Ewa, a 30 something woman. Janusz, a taxi driver and his wife.

This one's my favorite of the bunch; a desperate drama wrapped within a mystery. We can't quite be sure what's going on. When Janusz gets the late night summons from Ewa; he turns and tells his wife his taxi has been stolen. His wife's reaction seems to suggest she already knows the taxi story is twaddle. She gently spars with him; telling him he doesn't have to go out into the night; that a stolen Taxi wouldn't be the end of the world.

Like an old shoe, Janusz is the picture of worn down reliability. By nature he doesn't get emotional. Almost immediately we sense that he knows Ewa's missing husband is some kind of deception and yet he plays along. She spotted him at midnight mass and decided right then and there to hatch a plan. But she clearly hasn't thought things all the way through, so whenever a gaping hole in her story is revealed, she immediately ups the ante; this involves going to drunk tanks, to look at sad, naked men and even the morgue, to check out cadavers. There's a level of desperation to maintain this fiction that's slightly frightening. Kilvinski appears at the helm of the trolley car they gun towards during their game of street chicken.

I couldn't help feeling a knowledge of Polish customs and culture would helped a lot here---as with some of the other episodes. Is the whole city still up at one in the morning? Janusz gives his wife some ski equipment, yet one senses this is an empty gift, they'll stay in the living room propped up against a wall for a while, then be placed in a closet and quietly forgotten. They'll be never able to afford the luxury of a ski vacation because of their social situation.

The reversals at the end, are quite exquisite. It's also evocative that at any moment, all Ewa has to do is turn slightly and the man she is searching for is right there beside her; or how she steals a bit of intimacy by brushing up or pressing against him in passing. There's a depth of observation that makes these two characters that come alive with predictive behaviors.

Santa Claus is the personification of love for children; so it ain't no thing for Janusz to dress up for his kids, that's just something he does. But there's also the faint idea he's playing make believe for Ewa also; putting the costume of an old lover that still cares about her after all these years, that restores her faith just enough for her to keep on going. When he returns home in the morning, rather than a frying pan to the noggin, his wife welcomes him back undramatically, there's no use fighting it, that's just who Janusz is.

Four: Honour thy father and thy mother

The key players? 20 year old Anka and her father, Michal.

The set-up? When Michal goes away on a business trip, He leaves his passport and plane ticket ready on his desk along with a letter hiding in plain sight. Anka notices the letter because of the disclaimer: not to be opened until after my death. Will curiosity kill the cat?

But Michal would like her to open it, before leaving he asks her to pay some bills, directing her to the drawer where the letter is stashed. After a little hesitation she takes the letter out for a walk to the same riverside park in episode one. Kilvinski knifes through the water in a canoe to where she's sitting near the shore. Just when she's about to snip open the letter, She sees notices him standing there looking at her, although she may be just transfixed by the familiarity of that image: she sleeps next to someone quite similar every night. He stops her.

Here's an example of the exquisite craftsmanship in the series: the old doctor from episode two bumps into them in the elevator. He registers just a flicker of surprise. They're out of place. They live below him, what the devil are they doing up here? Already he senses something is up with them.

When the letter from her dead mother reveals the truth about the past it throws their relationship in disarray. Both father and daughter both confess a physical attraction to one another. Anka has never found anyone that measured up to him. Michal has never remarried so perhaps he was waiting for her to become a big girl. Although she's about to be engaged, she could just as quickly break that off if he expressed an interest. Without a direct blood line, they're just a man and a woman who have loved each other for a very long time. Yeah, this episode is whole lotta if, on the iffy scale.

From their apartment window, Anka sees Michal leaving in the morning and dashes downstairs to catch him before he leaves. This turns out not to be an idle fear. Staying in the apartment as man and woman, eventually they would have acted on their impulses; so Michal has decided to abandon her. It's at this point that Kilvinski reappears and walks past them as the canoeist.

One important detail to mention is that Anka is a budding thespian, and drama for drama's sake is always appropriate. Although in acting class, she's hopelessly lost during an intimate love scene---with her actual boyfriend no less! So she may be just another bad actress. Although she did nail the recitation she gave her father when he returned home from his trip.

Five: Thou shalt not kill

The main players? Jacek; Piotr, a young lawyer and a taxi driver.

Right off the bat, I'm not suggesting getting litigious or taking the law into our own hands, but the cinematographer who is responsible this, certainly deserves, at least 50 lashes with a wet noodle. Ugh! The filters are horrible.

Kieslowski develops here a nice visual motif of emotional distance registered through windows. Jacek is always looking into or seen through a window or a pane of glass, suggesting his alienation. The time line is also interesting. The story takes place the day of an execution, although the bulk of the story happens a year earlier. Also the story opens with Piotr is being asked for a third time: what is justice? Now he's not so sure, which suggests time-wise that this is the last scene in the story.

The priesthood is subtly evoked. After the sentence Piotr meets with the Judge in chambers and asks if there was anything else he could have done. The judge tells him he was faultless, flawless, and gives him total absolution. Instead, he'll take that great responsibility of the law onto his own shoulders---though to be honest---he doesn't look like he's going to lose much sleep over it. The lawyer also hears Jacek's the last confession, where we learn a little something of his personal drama. Jacek reveals his best friend accidentally killed his little sister while they were on a drunken bender together. His father passed away from a broken heart, not long after. Which explains the children. At first they seem to be the only thing that rouses him briefly from his sullen stupor, although as the story progresses he seems to be actively haunted and even pursued by these images of innocence which suggests unbearable guilt. And perhaps even a physiological need to be punished? Kilvinski appears first as a road surveyor holding up traffic, he seems to warn Jacek off with a shake of his head. Then later reappears unnoticed as a handy man tooling around the prison.

The taxi driver's fate appears to be preordained; yet as we follow him, we notice every moment contained another a choice that would have spun him around in a different direction and removed him from danger. Which is an interesting observation. Looking forward, your life always appear to be a logical progression from point A to point Z. You got from there to here in one straight line. Whereas in fact, if you look backwards, the diagram of your life would resembles a craggy lighting strike from grave to cradle. The proverbial fork in the road doesn't exist, it's a branch of infinite choice. You could quit your job tomorrow, move to the south of Spain and take up ... roller derby. Each and every waking moment is filled with a multitude choices.

Of course, the sordidness of Jacek's crime, is surpassed only by the unyielding thuggery of the state. The similarities between the two are unbearable. For the taxi driver; the man on the bicycle could have stopped and shouted Jacek off. Or the way the engineer in the passing train mistakes his desperation as a casual greeting. A single bystander would have saved his life. For Jacek, all the witnesses gather to watch him die. Their preparation rituals seem to eerily match; they even smoke the same brand of unfiltered cigarettes. The offal tray the executioner places beneath the gallows to catch his leakage, making after execution clean-up a breeze reveals he's a skilled serial killer, unlike Jacek.

There's also a third fatality in the story; Piotr's idealism. Having discovered with his very first case that justice is just a delusion for the masses; the idea he's going to use the law to ennoble society is a crock. He's going to sit next to the conveyor belt of crime and punishment, for the next 20 or 30 years of his life, picking out a case here and there, watching the weak and defenseless, pilloried and dispatched as examples of social control.

Six: Thou shalt not commit adultery

The players? 19 year old postal clerk, Tomek. The old woman he stays with, and Magda, the beauty who lives across the way.

The alienation expressed as emotional distance through pains of glass in the last episode has been ratcheted up a few notches. Here the characters need telescopes and binoculars just to catch glimpse on one another. Tomek was raised in an orphanage; his childhood may have been pretty grim and starved of affection. so he may possibly lack basic social and booty skills. Magda's excuse is like that of Jessica Rabbit, she's not bad, she's just drawn that way.

Most of the episodes involve a subtle mirroring of the protagonist and antagonist's needs and desires. But here the transference almost goes a full circle, where they seem to have wholly swapped their conceptions of love. There's one observation on just how much the world has deteriorated since this was originally shot. Instead of putting tiny, insignificant countries to rack that aren't compliant enough to big business interests as the U.N. is wont to do these days. The old woman's son was stationed in Syria, as part of a U.N. mission to keep the peace and save as many human lives as possible.

Kilvinksi crosses Tomek's path twice. The first time as a voyager returning home; Tomek has just gotten the green light from Magda and he's running around the square like delirious madman. He accidentally splashes him with some water on him, he stops and apologizes. Then Kilvinski leaves on another journey just when Tomek is returning from their date, this time they lock stares with one another.

When Magda returns his jacket, she walks right into his room and inhabits his space while the old woman hovers by the doorway. Although Tomek he's not related to old woman; she fears without someone else in the apartment, she would just shrivel up emotionally and die, so she clings desperately to Tomek's place in her life. There's a subtle bit of dramaturgy going on as the old woman steps around Magda during their conversation and slowly backs her out of his room and their apartment.

The last shot has Magda staring at Tomek through his guichet window. The pane has a small circle cut out of it where they each could whisper a secret if never dared to tell before. If they so wanted, they could slowly lean forward, and their lips could meet in the most exquisite kiss.

Seven: Thou shalt not steal

The players? Majka, a 22 year old student. Ewa, her mother. Ania her six year old daughter. And Wojtek, Ania's father.

The set up? Although she had once a promising future, Majka has just been expelled from School but gets an opportunity to immigrate. She wants to take her little sister Ania with her, even if she has to kidnap her.

With a title like that, one could except a fair amount of thievery going on, and there is. The first act of theft was that of Majka's youth. Her mother was the principal. Wojtek was a teacher in her employ. And she was his student. Ania is six years old, so working backwards, that would have made Majka 15 when she was conceived. It's kind of creepy that Wojtek now lives in an isolated Hansel and Gretel house in the woods, making stuffed toys for children.

Although setting the story in a remote village far away from the Warsaw apartment block draws out the underlying fairy tale elements of the story, it also unfortunately removes all the interconnection. Assuming that Wojtek switched up his production models ever so often, the only connection I can find is that the stuffed elephant that Pawel slept with in Episode one, may have been made by him.

Majka learns that all that altruism and great sacrifice was done not for her---but to her---in order for her mother to acquire her child. It's a bit of a misstep that the story focuses on Majka, the most compelling character is obviously her mother. She's a nasty piece of work; unrelenting and manipulative. The way she quickly neutralizes any threats, or the way surrounds herself with weak people she can bully at will. Her husband seems to be have permanently retired to his workroom. Even the final scene, when Ania runs back into her arms, Ewa can't help but take care of Majka with just a look that is like the final stab in her heart. Majka immediately gives up and runs away from home.

In this fairy tale, the evil step mother never gets her comeuppance. Ania is and always was the most important thing, but she's lost Majka forever in the process. Does Ania cry out symbolically in her sleep, foretelling that moment of Greek tragedy when she discovers the truth, a lifetime away?

Eight: Thou shalt not bare false witness

The set-up? Would you lie to save a life?

The players? Zofia, an old college professor. Elzbieta, her American translator come to visit.

Zofia is quietly famous and respected, several foreigners eagerly sit in on her lecture. She begins her class in ethical hell by throwing open the auditorium to questions from the students. One young woman retells the story in Episode two. Zofia underlines the moral for them: the life of a child is always more precious than any adult. Elzbieta asks if she could add an example, since hers seems to be at odds with the story they have just heard. Kilvinski appears as a student in the lecture hall, at the moment when Zofia realizes Elzbieta is not telling some anonymous story from the past, but one that features her, and back then, a child's life was singularly unimportant.

I'd like to point out the nice control Kieslowski has over his actors; the emotive spins and restraint he easily coaxes from them. The scene in the Dean's office is a perfect example. Everyone is festive and happy when the professor is introduced to her foreign translator. Then an instant later, a chill goes through the room, as if a Nazi commandant has committed a social faux pas by swaggering into the office with brain splatter on his leather boots. This is probably because Elzieta specializes in the Polish history during the holocaust. Though Nazi barbarism was probably an common everyday occurrence during the war, most people didn't get involved and looked the other way. If you don't know, after a war, everyone turns out to have been in the resistance. So her unearthing unspeakable and unpunished acts of collaboration done by the same important people now in power is not a remote possibility. She's one dangerous woman.

This underlines an interesting idea: Courage has to be learned, it can't be taught. Have all great heroes, been shamed by an act of cowardice at a some earlier period in their lives? Turning away a little Jewish girl during the holocaust has haunted Zofia her entire life, reflected by the serial gesture of her straightening painting in her living room---she's forever resetting the world right. There also seems to be an undeveloped theme of debt in the story. A debt of gratitude. What do you say to someone who saved your life? Elzbieta admits that it's beyond humiliating.

Incredibly Elzbieta accepts the explanation for turning her away when Zofia qualifies her excuse. Her defiance seems strangely to fizzle out---which seems false---she's been waiting 40 years to confront the old bitch. To fill out her story, Zofia asks if Elzbieta would like to meet the couple that originally volunteered to shelter her. The man is still alive; he now lives a quiet, uneventful life as a tailor. Although he does react when she tells him she was the little girl he was going to hide. Unfortunately, the man is now a steely vault: the war; the post-war; the current situation; all are out of bounds. He refuses categorically to talk about anything. So she leaves. But that image of that old man in the shadows looking out his dingy window at Zofia and Elzbieta in the sunshine is one of most intriguing of the series: what secrets could he tell about being an honest man in a time of wolves? The only thing I can be sure of is, he doesn't toss and turn at night, worrying about any damn ethical problems.

Nine: Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife

The players? Roman, a successful heart surgeon. Hanka his wife. And a blonde haired Adonis.

The set-up? A man gets a diagnosis that, that small problem he's been experiencing the last couple of years has now become permanent affliction. He of course, immediately begins to obsess about his wife's (in)fidelity.

Unlike the old doctor in episode two, the doctor Roman consults, has no qualms about laying it all out on the table. The doctor knows his odds for survival are next to none. So he tells him the point blank: get your affairs in order and ... end your marriage. The doctor already knows this is going to drive him emerald green with jealously.

Up until this point all the stories have been solid moral dramas, here we take a swing into black comedy. This is upper class couple has had a professional partnership; free from any want; separate lives, yet joined in all the socially right places. It was unwritten between the both of them, that little affairs of the heart, spiced up the marriage. But now, for them to remain together, their marriage actually has to work. His wife still adores him and says physical love isn't that important, although she doesn't know it yet---but for the good of the marriage---he's going to require she also give up those extra marital activities.

Kilvinksi cycles past Roman after his diagnosis, when he's feeling suicidal and tries to crash his car. Roman pedals past him a second time like a madman, his death by bicycle all planned out as he sprints like Lance Armstrong towards that fatal highway overpass.

Brownie points for working in a few limp dick jokes; the flaccid gas nozzle; the soprano gesturing with her thumb and her forefinger: this fricking big. But demerit points for the soprano's story as a bizarre counterpoint to their marriage. The young woman would actually prefer to live a simple life as a wife and a mother without the singing; it's her mother pushing her to have the life threatening operation, she's got a one in a million voice, if the operation doesn't kill her, her future as a rich and famous diva is guaranteed, These high stakes doesn't exactly match up to the banality of their bedroom drama. Also, the last scene between Roman and the soprano was unclear, did he talk her out of the operation ... or into it? This whole episode feels slightly unfinished.



"Cuckoo, cuckoo"

Ten: Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s house, or his male or female servant, his ox or donkey, or his signed sports memorabilia or classic comic book collection, or anything that belongs to thy neighbor.

And the laughs continue with Jerzy, a family man. And his brother Artur, the frontman for the legendary Polish rock band: City death.

The set-up? When their father passes away, two slightly estranged brothers discover their ne'er do well father, has left them a considerable treasure trove.

They know about his stamp collection, that's all the old man ever cared about during his life to the exclusion of all else. Jerzy estimates since stamps have gone up in value recently (my figures may be a little sketchy ) they may get ... say 15,000 or maybe even 30,000 dollars for his life's work? They may not lose that much on the old man's passing. The first hint that something is up is when the first creditor comes at them with a bill for 34, 000 dollars, then nonchalantly offers to take a stamp and call it quits.

Their cluelessness is illustrated perfectly, when Artur takes one of his father's books to a stamp fair looking for an some sort of estimation of their value. The man opens a page and takes one look: "You're one of the sons, right? In this philatelic sub-culture, the whole world knows about his father and his collection. Or when Jerzy gives his son the three zeppelin stamps as a touching memento of his grandfather. A day later (they approach him) his son has already traded them away for a bag full of worthless paper. They're flipped only a couple of times but by the time Jerzy catches up with them, their value has skyrocketed out of sight. It'll be 11,000 dollars a piece if he wants to buy them back. Unfortunately the brothers are done upon and not the active drivers of their own fate which severely weakens the story. They are small fish in a pond that contains a lot of hungry sharks and they seem to know it.

Nice things? Like everything in their father's apartment, the fish tank is related to the stamps. Anything harmful in the air will be registered instantly in the fish. The fact they're floating belly up is the proverbial red flashing light, warning that the stamps are in danger. The scene near the end where the brothers spot the stamp crooks is important; it frees up their suspicion that the other one was involved in the heist---that ultimately would have poisoned and ended their relationship. Also Tomek from episode six puts in an appearance. He's requested a transfer away from the neighborhood outlet to a branch postal downtown. He looks happy as he sells Jerzy his first collectibles It's also nice that last shot has the brothers hovering over their first stamp purchases, suggesting their father's love of stamp collecting and lifelong passion has been passed down to them, but none of the acquisitive mania. But wait a minute, we're forgetting the 150,000 dollar stamp Jerzy traded for---so in the end, they did make out like bandits ... sorta.

The Decalogue

Your review of this film actually motivated me to want to check it out...nicely written.

You definitely hit upon my biggest problem with KNIGHT AND DAY...Cruise is just getting too old for this kind of hardcore action film.

Your reviews of The Decalogue certainly interest me in seeing the films, it's a piece of work I am interested to seeing for the 80s list, hopefully I get round to it before the submission deadline

Turtle Diary (1985) - Irvin

The long run

The set-up? Two rank amateurs are going to try to smuggle 500 kilos of ... sea turtle back into the ocean.

William Snow (Ben Kingsley) and Neaera Duncan (Glenda Jackson) are too queer birds indeed. Snow is not quite explained. Once upon a time he was married, had a couple of daughters, owned a thriving business. But he's taken a break with all that. He lives alone in a small rooming house, works in a bookstore, he's kind of retired from the rat race.

Neaera is a children's author who writes and illustrates her own books about wee anthropomorphized animals; but she's right in the middle of her own break down as she believes the fount has run dry. She wonders aloud to her editors, if another book is even possible. She's lowered the bar and switched to insects, putting an aquarium in the middle of her living room; dropped a water beetle inside and waits for something awesome to happen.

The three oldest turtles have been swimming in circles for 30 years now, which has the tinge of mortality, that's almost the average working life of the people watching them. But unlike sea turtles that were captured and placed in their glass cage; the lives the characters live in are self imposed; best expressed in the character of the painfully shy Miss Neap. She's mortified and struck to the core when she sees the little sign Snow has put up in the shared bathroom. She assumes he is calling her a filthy pig, and she confronts him on the verge of tears; he has to explain it 's not meant for her---pointing with his head (indicating the door next to them) but that slob. But Snow's glass cage is only marginally larger than Miss Neap's.

When Neaera tells him about the troubling nightmare she's had, he's the picture of reassurance, until she informs him the dream is not about her, it's about him which clearly throws a scare into him. One can see why they're been mutually drawn to the sea turtle exhibit in the London zoo; they can't summon up the energy required to make a change in their own lives. However, Snow has been so rattled that the next day, despite having toiled next to Harriet for years, he finally asks her out for a pint after work.

The writing is effortless. Simple things like a minor twist of character: the zookeeper who---in contrast to his chosen profession---believes that animals shouldn't be caged, they should live free. Or the little scene at the gas station, just having the attendant walk around to the back of his station and press his nose against the window, while Snow fills a pail of water, goes to the back of his lorry, throws into inside, then repeats the gesture a couple of times, transforms what would have been a simple transition scene into high drama. Pinter sets the climax back from where should normally be in a movie, allowing the effects of their "heist" to reverberate in their lives. Snow has moved onto an even more dangerous project, one that almost guarantees physical danger. He's going to teach Mr Sandor how to clean up after himself, even if he has to use his face to scrub the scum ring from the bathtub after each time he uses it.

And a few nice cameos: Nigel Hawthornne (The madness of King George) Harold Pinter (2005 Nobel Prize for literature) as a boob in the book store who has read the wrong book first. And Peter Capaldii (In the loop) as an assistant aquarium keeper.

Of course, this is an acting film, you're here for Ben Kingsley and Glenda Jackson, quietly marvelous. This is like an old fashioned movie that just percolates with drama. The overview would be essentially be: unremarkable people doing unremarkable things.

Turtle Diary -

---And too short. In Jack Reacher, although the sets were carefully measured to make him appear larger---in certain scenes, it looked as if a 5' 4" action hero was kicking the stuffing out of carefully selected array of baddies that were only an inch or so taller than he was.

You got lots of time. Also, if you haven't already seen it, I'd suggest checking out Michael Mann's Thief from 1981 for the list. James Caan is one of the original bad asses.

Thanks for reminding of this movie

__________________
Health is the greatest gift, contentment the greatest wealth, faithfulness the best relationship.
Buddha

Camille Claudel 1915 (2013) Dumont

Permanent vacation

The set-up? Interned in a lunatic asylum against her will for two years, Camille (Juliette Binoche) is told her brother will visit in a few days, perhaps the hour of her deliverance is at hand?

Early on, it's clear the routine has slowly worn her down, although she still permits herself minor flashes of rebellion. A raised voice immediately draws a nun, up close and personal to nonchalantly ask, "what's the problem?" One senses there are other incentives for patients that act out.

Though watching Camille move through-out the abbey and interact with the inmates and keepers, one seems to divine her problem. Far from being estranged from the real world---she feels everything far too keenly. She sees the world around her---as opposed to merely looking at it. Her sensitivity is best illustrated in an early scene in the courtyard, when she sits on a bench eating her frugal meal, watching a barren tree in wintertime; the sunlight slowly dips into the courtyard bathing the upper most branches in a golden hue, as if lighting a tarnished candelabra.

The only characters of consequence in the film are Camille and her brother Paul. Although, I'd like to suggest a third, the light. One would think that a monastery would be dark and musty, yet all the rooms and corridors are extraordinarily well lit. This sunlight warms the skin and even seems to soften the stones. There's a recurring visual motif of her coming out of doorways into direct sunlight to look at the world.

There's a definite feminist cri du coeur here, of a woman who could be at home in a man's world and excel. Camille's irrational fixation with Rodin has ruined her life---but she wasn't wrong---a hundred years ago, men could dump their long time companions whenever. Whereas today, at least she'd walk away with a nice chunk of change. A cast of Rodin's "The Thinker" sold at auction last may for 15 million.

There's a strange symmetry between their conceptions of art that ultimately separates them. Paul's reasoned approach to a literature that promotes societal good and celebrates God, which highlights their essential difference: her art is not one of a polite sublimation. Camille uses her creativity to work through her emotional turmoil---life is filled with moments of almost painful beauty---not teaching points to illustrate a moral precept.

The day outing to the mountain top suggests ... Calvary? The path to the top is littered with rocks that hints at the bits and pieces hammered from a massive stone sculpture that has now been removed from the summit. If I had to find a theme for the film, I'd say unrequited suffering.

Their reunion is short and sweet. Her tirades are an embarrassment for the family. Her outbursts, although unsaid, could injure Paul's social reputation and diplomatic career. So he'll keep her locked away for proprieties sake; he appears more than a little ridiculous in this secret triumph over her. No doubt he could find it in his big mangy heart to bring her back with him in his new fangled motor car, but alas, it is God who has made the decision for him.



If you've seen one Bruno Dumont film, you know in advance his morose aesthetic. The inclusion of a major professional actor (or any actor for that matter) like Juliette Binoche is an interesting development. Although the average mainstream audience, given a choice between this film and sitting in a freshly painted room for 95 minutes, would choose the room because at least there'd be a slim chance of a contact high. As a spiritual mediation, this film is very restrictive territory. Everything seems to happen increasingly behind her eyes. When brother Paul reveals the final horror ... that face ... those staring eyes ... is all that will remain.

Camille Claudel 1915 -

Un air de Famille (1995) Klapisch

Who let the dogs out?

The set-up? A family gathers at a son's café for an aperitif before their weekly jaunt to the swanky restaurant down the street. (Un)fortunately, someone's running a little late, so they have sit and wait ... and maybe talk to one another.

This film was originally a successful stage play co-written by Agnès Jaoui (Betty, the sister) and Jean-Pierre Bacri (Henri, one of the sons) That entire cast was reunited for the film version: so they know by heart, every gag and dramatic beat in the film. The title "Un air de Famille" means both a family resemblance and a place for family.



The father has passed away long ago, and exists only as a name on the wall outside--but not before their mother divorced his sorry *ss. Henri inherited the café from him. It's interesting how the structure of the family has not only remained the same over the years but certain patterns seem to repeat as grown-ups. The idea that Henri will turn into his old man is a future he's clearly destined for.

Although Betty has no trouble speaking her mind and telling off idiots in the real world, she hasn't quite emancipated herself with regards to her family. A look or a word from them can cut her to the quick. It's interesting that Betty is also not far from "bêtise" (a stupidity) She's walking on egg shells because she already knows brother Philippe is going to hit the roof, the moment he finds out what happened at the office earlier that day. Henri soon joins her when he finds out the reason for his wife's tardiness. The thing of it is, Henri and Betty know all the criticisms by heart, they've heard them a million times and already anticipate the torrent of slings and arrows that are going to rain down upon them. So Henri is hoping against hope that he can escape the evening without them discovering the truth.

The Mother is a great creation: she barges in and sprints the length of the café to take a whiz in the ladies room in the basement. When she comes out, she apologizes to ... the dog for not stopping to say hello earlier. Excuse me, I got that wrong. First she berates Henri, because much like himself, the light bulbs in the basement are too dim to be of any use, so could he replace them pretty please---then she goes back to smother Caruso (the dog) with affectation. To make her point that Henri is shiftless to Philippe and Yolande, she takes them outside, where she envisions a "ka-ching ka-ching" garden terrace. A nice reverse from across the street instantly kills that idea, revealing the space is basically a dirt driveway with a sliver of grass. When opening your club or restaurant, there are three things to keep in mind: Location, location, location. Being situated next to a busy railway crossing makes this café more of a dislocation.

Ownership and objectification are the main ideas here. This family belongs to the mother lock, stock and barrel. It's hers to do with as she pleases, and long ago she's decided which child would smack the home run and who will be on the sidelines watching. She actually mentions with pride how her own mother in her great wisdom took one look at Henri when he was two days old and said "This kid's going to be complete dud." Philippe's wife, Yolande (Catherine Frot) also mentions how one of her boys (the difficult one) is being deliberately spiteful by getting sick on her. Both Philippe and the mother are threatened by Denis (the barman) and ask Henri to please curb his observations, as an outsider, he's not allowed commentary in their private club.

Yolande. Okay, granted that she's a bit of a ditz. Philippe openly calls her yoyo. But she's priceless comedic quicksilver. Two drinks and she's flying. Her slow motion reactions are priceless---the cake scene is the three minute version of their marriage. But she's warm and loving and wonderful. There's an almost painful placement of her in the background, sandwiched visually between his mother and Philippe. His inattention to her is obvious.

Philippe has been the little prince his entire life. He attracts so much care and attention, that Henri becomes invisible whenever he's around. Henri has to struggle just to be heard. To his discredit, Philippe cancelled a long awaited vacation with Yolande just to do the television spot, under the mistaken belief it's of such earth shattering importance. Yolande makes the observation (being a little tipsy) that referring to him as Monsieur the Director is largely a pretense, since that post belongs to someone three places higher up in the company.

It's interesting that Philippe knows what an odious person Benito (the number three man at the company) is. He's a pig that enjoys making everyone's lives miserable merely to elevate himself, but he fails to realize, he does exactly the same thing with his own family. He can't help slipping in Henri's pet name from childhood, "riri" (ha ha) which might best be interpreted here as meaning "hey stupid" or using Betty as a prop that has to endure one of his screaming fits.

That's used three times briefly. The first two times it's used as a temporal device, indicating a block of time has passed. However the third time, Betty actually sees what Henri has told her, that he's always been forced to play the fool since childhood.

The only difficulty with the film is that it's constructed through constant elision. Henri and Arlette (his wife) have had a spat earlier in the morning but that's missing from the film. He's making a serious effort to please her. Everyone double takes and wonders why the hell is he so dressed up for? Betty's scene in the office isn't there. Henri is talked into the romantic gesture by Denis and Betty but what he did or said in the courtyard is left to the imagination. And of course the warm and fuzzy memory that the grown-up children collectively remember actually belongs to the mother. This reflects the endless negative reinforcement she has used over the years to keep them frozen in these crippling relationships. Gad! I'm making this appear so wretched, but take my word for it, this is actually funny stuff.

There's exquisite framing by the director that reveals hidden relationships. Betty is talking with Denis and Henri enters and busts his balls about slacking off and chases him back to work. Not long afterwards, the conversation turns to romance and Betty is now at the bar; Denis is washing dishes in the kitchen and Henri is placed between them. This framing instantly reveals her problem: she fears that Henri (and the family) wouldn't accept Denis. There's also a few shots later of Denis waiting hopefully by the window for Arlette, mirroring the same gesture done by Betty earlier in the film, her relationship with Denis (which she says is only casual) deepens by the comparison.

On the surface, nothing ground shattering seems to have happened; yet I'm assuming everything has. During the film Philippe has gradually lost all his lustre,to the point he's just a simpering, mamma's boy and one who's easily confused to boot. The fantasy of him being a world shaker exists only between him and his mother. Yolande has also won some autonomy, as Philippe is now visually placed in the background between her and his mother, as it should be---and she's warned him to be nicer.

Probably what I liked best about the film is the just the tiny shifts in perception that allows these characters to change. The way Denis nudges them in the right direction: his observation that Betty is more like Henri rather than Philippe is a revelation to her; she had always thought the opposite. Each little success seems to embolden the other, to the point where together they mutually move out of the supporting roles they've been assigned to become movie stars in their lives. Henri has let go of his dad's macho bullsh** because he's rather have his wife with him then living without her; one can't stress enough how insignificant that may appear to be, but how much of a game changer it really is.

Un air de Famille

Farewell, My Queen (2012) - Jacquot

Having your cake, but not eating it.

Two primes for the film; literally within the opening seconds of the film the average French viewer has already skipped ahead in the story and is anticipating a lot of the gruesome details. So the director immediately subverts their expectations by making the main character of his film, a lowly servant girl. Sidonie Laborde (Léa Seydoux) who—rather than thirsting for a better world—is already walking on sunshine being this close to her Majesty (Diane Kruger) and could care a whit about anything happening outside the palace gates. Unfortunately, this curve ball will completely baffle North American audiences.

Secondly, this is a hugely internal film. Perhaps self-effacement is a skill all the best palace servants learn, but Sidonie does them one better with a great poker face. She guards her secrets well. Although she may actually be swooning with delight on the inside, she appears totally unemotional when the Queen transgresses the boundaries of master and servant.



As with all Jacquot films, you can knock the premise over with a feather. Will Sidonie get a chance to prove her undying devotion, and more importantly, will the Queen notice? La-di-dah. La-di-dah.

She's a little clumsy. She needs to take a few lessons from Rachel McAdams, who could star in her own super hero franchise: high heel girl. She runs a little late, hence the gold clock from the Queen's head servant to keep her on time. Her first awakening gesture is to look at the time; this immediately orients her to those times in the day when the Queen may call for her. She's one of those original zero hour workers, who have to remain available for any work at a moment's notice, yet may not be called for days or weeks.

The film is essentially a construct of a certain time and a certain place. Life at the royal court has been codified into routine and official protocol over the years, but within a matter of days it all begins to fall apart. There's a collective freak-out when the servants learn the King has been awakened during the night. These scenes of quiet panic and disintegration are at the film's core.

I liked the little disappearances in the film. Someone is suddenly no longer there in the morning; that aristocrat that needs his morning coffee to jump start his busy day is utterly lost when that seemingly unimportant servant is gone. Even if the noble was a take charge kind of a guy, he wouldn't know how to work the coffee machine, and secondly, he wouldn't know where the kitchen was.

And far from being some sort of monster, Marie Antoinette is just one of the unfortunate few who's was given mind boggling wealth which allowed all her slightest desires to be seriously entertained. Hence, boredom would be her most compelling occupation. She's like a little machine constantly churning out capricious demands. I loved her mild distraction when someone shows up breathlessly only minutes later with the object of her desire—she's already forgotten what she's asked for.

In "Broadcast news", there's a little scene where William Hurt asks Albert Brooks: what happens when your life begins to outstrip your dreams? Brooks (clearly annoyed by the question) says: Keep it to yourself. Imagine the world's paparazzi focused on a single person. Marie Antoinette becomes a lightning rod and the symbol of all that is hated in the monarchy. Absurdly, a pamphlet shows up at the palace with a listing of the most egregious members of the aristocracy; Marie Antoinette and her small circle of friends top the list.

Most of the scenes have enough depth for them to be interpreted in opposite ways. The film opens with the buzzing of a mosquito. Versailles is either flush with blood suckers, or flush with putrefaction. In contrast to the palace's highly functioning rumor mill; there are many individuals who know exactly which way the wind is blowing, but their personal investment will bind them in place—either to the bitter end—or for a little while longer. The King's historian is especially poignant, he knows precisely what he's documenting.

Through-out the film, Sidonie has been slightly favored and enjoying privileges above her position―that social climbing has been noticed and disapproved of by certain servants. In the end, her fall is complete, she's been stripped of all rank, the ultimate humiliation is when another servant sees this and within a matter of days, everyone will learn of her great disgrace.

Farewell, My Queen -

Thanks for that, dawg. It sounds like something I'd like.

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5-time MoFo Award winner.