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04
FEB
Who's taking home the Bear?

Kicking off the 59th Berlin Film Festival tomorrow night, Tom Tykwer's The International, starring Clive Owen and Naomi Watts sets the tone for the truly international, top-class programme the festival has come to be known for. The first of the year's major European film festivals, the Berlinale brings together 400 films from 120 countries, eighteen of which are choosen to compete for the festival's top Golden Bear prize.

Following last year’s somewhat surprise winner Elite Squad, hailed for its 'rank misogyny' and 'genuine fascist sensibility' amongst other things, predicting this year’s prize would take some talent. That said, the 2009 pickings present a handful of cut-above-the-rest features, which, even if they fail to nab the Bear, will no doubt be gaining big buzz in the upcoming months.

The first of the favorites comes courtesy of French director François Ozon, who wowed judges at the 2007 festival with his drama Angel. Ricky follows the story of a trailer-trash family whose bleak existence is given new meaning when a baby is born. Fellow Frenchman Bertrand Tavernier also opts for the U.S-set drama with "In The Electric Mist," starring Tommy Lee Jones and John Goodman. Demi Moore makes her big-screen comes back with Happy Tears., whilst The Messenger boasts perhaps the biggest all-star cast, including the likes of Woody Harrelson and Samantha Morton ..

The UK touts its own fair-share of hopefuls, led by Stephen Frears latest Cheri, a 1920s romantic comedy starring Michelle Pfeiffer, whilst the lesser-known Peter Strickland makes his directorial debut with Katalin Varga. Yet, the best of the British looks to be that of Rage, with Judi Dench joining a ‘dragged-out’ Judie Law and appearances from Steve Buscemi, Eddie Izzard and John Leguizamo, the judges will do well to find a more worthy winner.

Charlotte Balnave

30
JAN
Rourke Throws in the Towel?

"Chris Jericho, you better get in shape. Because I’m coming after your ass." Speaking at Sunday night’s SAG Awards where The Wrestler failed to make an impression, Mickey The Ram Rourke appeared still full of the fighting talk. A case of too much skin-tight lycra, bad for the blood-flow? Perhaps, but when the actor announced he wanted to go head-to-head with WWF’s Jericho in this year’s Wrestlemania 25, he wasn’t kidding.

Rourke, who only took up acting after a series of injuries prevented him from becoming a professional boxer, has long been itching to regain his reign of the ring. The actor revealed he has been in talks with WWE boss Vince McMahon, who’s keen to get him wrestling at the prestigious Houston event in April.

Judging by his film performance and undefeated boxing record (short though it was), The Ram wouldn't break a sweat making mincemeat of Jericho.. Well aware of this, the rock musician-turned-wrestler has hit back, explaining on Larry King 'You offended me and that the last you thing want to do […] I’m there, whatever you want, bare knuckle fighting, I’m there.' Slamdown. Slightly intimidated, understandably, by Jericho’s naked knuckle proposition, Rourke has since backed down to some degree and is clearly having second thoughts.

Whether or not it goes ahead, let’s hope Rourke’s enthusiasm to revive a long-buried career inspires fellow actors to do the same. Steve Buscemi back in the ice-cream van, Danny DeVito coiffuring hair-dos, Dustin Hoffman compiling the Yellowpages and Courteney Cox, key spokesperson for Tampax tampons once again. What harm could it do?

Charlotte Balnave

26
JAN
Kate Winsalot

Kate Winslet has given a number of fantastic performances this year. There has been her melodramatic turn as a hemmed-in 50s suburban housewife in Revolutionary Road, not to mention her illiterate former-SS guard in The Reader, a story set in post-war Germany where her (rather explicit) sexual-trysts with a younger man are bookended by the reading outloud from classic works of literature, but her greatest performances are being given off-screen.

The two gushing marvels of rebarbative oratorical flight that accompanied her much publicised double Golden Globe win of last week were a wonder of myth-making/story-telling. Serving both to inform anyone who didn't knox she was in dire, shameless need of that particular golden statuette, and to tell them that she is neither German nor suburban American but actually a British (with the perfect English accent to-boot, not all faux-cutglass like Keira Go-Knightly) Actress. And a mother. And so down to earth. So loveable. They were emotionally charming and charmingly emotional in the impression they gave of our dear Kate having gone through such a hard time (not winning an Oscar despite five nominations) before coming out on the otherside. Here. Now.

Last night Winsalot gathered herself for a further speech.

Winning the Screen Actors’ Guild award for best supporting actress in The Reader, she gave a speech that was once again filled with the requisite sighing, raw emotion and bosom heaving (made all the more evident by a resplendent royal blue gown showing off a good deal of her widely admired decolletage) but was this time more measured: cast and crew were thanked deeply; the film’s two late producers Anthony Minghella and Sydney Pollack were lovingly praised; and tears of joy were tastefully subdued. The whole thing was pitch perfect. The greatest performance of her life.

Next week the golden girl comes home to London for an all but certain Bafta win as best actress (she’s nominated twice) for Revolutionary Road. She’ll be playing to a home crowd so the speech will be even calmer and more confident but she’ll be sure to have something up her sleeve (or tucked between her cleaving breasts) to grab the morning headlines.

The purpose of all of this, of taking a month out of life and work to pretty-around in lovely frocks, is to furiously lobby for her Oscar: every red-carpet appearance, every photo-shoot and interview, every single word uttered, is playing its carefully orchestrated part in a campaign that has the Academy Award as its only target.

But will all this strategic charm actually do her any good?

I have to say that I think the campaign is looking increasingly futile. The biggest plaudits have been for her performance in Revolutionary Road (strangely ignored by the American Academy) while her Oscar-nominated performance for The Reader – a film festooned with as many awards nods as excoriating reviews – has been classified supporting rather than leading by every prize-giving board except Oscar and Bafta. While there’s no doubt in even the most scathing reviewer’s opinion that her performance (in Daldry's film) is good, the movie's bitter noticesand the size of her role in it could be enough to persuade the Academy members to put their mark in the box representing either Meryl Streep or Angelina Jolie’s finely drawn Oscar-baiting turn.

So what are her chances? I would have to say slim to none, but then I’ve made a career out of being wrong. What do you think?

SL

21
JAN
Keep Your Eyes On The Prize...

With a big bunch of Golden Globes freshly distributed and a job-lot of Baftas and Oscars gearing up to be handed out to the great and the good, I got to thinking about what, once you've taken the fame, wealth and peer adulation out of the equation, the recipients of these plaudits actually get. Well, aside from a rather fetching door-stopper and a goodie bag worth more than my annual income, not a lot really.

Which is a shame given that, once the parties have died down and the media reports are wrapping tomorrow's chips, there's little to console the actors and film-makers who spend their lives trying to recapture that one perfect moment when their name is called out and they get to blow a metaphorical raspberry to all those school careers advisors who didn't believe they would make anything of themselves.

There are some awards ceremonies, however, that may lack the kudos of the big hitters but have invested time, thought and invention into their prize-giving. You can keep your golden baldies Mr Academy Man, we want one of these...

The Golden Beggar Awards (no, we're not sure why they're called that either) are held annually June in Kosice, Slovakia, and they celebrate all that is great and good about local TV broadcasters. The prize everybody wants to get their deserving mitts on is none other than, yep you guessed it, a golden statue of a beggar. If nothing else, they'd make a brilliant conversation piece.

The Carthage Film Festival, held every few years in Tunisia, offers a very tasty offering named the Tanit d'or, or Golden Tanit, which is named after the lunar goddess of ancient Carthage. A very chi-chi piece, the award is crafted in the goddess' symbol - a trapezium decorated with a horizontal line and a circle - you won't find an artier gong anywhere else on the face of the planet.

Cash and bling combine in the most tasteful way possible at the annual International Film Festival Of India. The festival's top prize? A fetching Golden Peacock, plus a cash prize of a million rupees. That's a statue of a pretty bird made out of gold and just over £14,500 in cold, hard cash - sounds good to us. The most promising director also gets a (rather less valuable) Silver Peacock and half-a-million rupees (about £7,250).

If fleeting fame is your bag I'd recommend entering The Nicktoons Film Festival, which rewards winning young animators with a broadcast showing of their hard work. Alternatively, if that's all a bit juvenile, Indianapolis' Heartland Film Festival awards socially conscious film-makers ("whose work explores the human journey by artistically expressing hope and respect for the positive values of life") a cash reward of $200,000 - which is equivalent to, well, about £150,000 given today's shocking exchange rates.

For my money, though, the best award handed out anywhere in the world as a reward for excellence in film-making is none other than the San Antonio Film Festival. Forget cash, forget statues, these guys give away a low-rider bike as their grand prize. A low-rider! Now that's the gift that just keeps on giving.

What do you guys think? Are the big prizes over-rated? Leave your comments below...

Glen Ferris

19
JAN
The Level of Debate

In the finale of the third season of Curb Your Enthusiasm – the season where Larry invests flailing efforts in an upstart restaurant – our socially awkward hero inadvertently breaks the thumbs of a curmudgeonly TV food critic whose trademarked rating systems (thumbs up/thumbs down) are based on those of the American film critic Rober Ebert. The critic gets his own back by suggesting to Larry a head-chef who suffers from Tourette’s Syndrome. This chef goes on to shame Larry and his co-restauranteurs by f-ing and cursing his way through opening service at their upscale restaurant. My thoughts often revert to this episode when I’m sifting through the UK film critics’ weekly reviews.

 

While most of the serious newspapers in Britain only permit their critics space for one or two longish notices each week, even their most articulate reviewers seldom seem willing to engage with the work at hand. Instead they seem better inclined to write with their thumbs (either up or down) rather than their full-four-fingered hands.


And so I found myself pleasantly surprised this morning on discovering that the art of film criticism is not entirely dead in the UK.
The evidence: a raging row on the film pages of Britain’s most aesthetically pleasing paper, The Guardian.


The furore started a couple of weeks ago when their chief film critic, Peter Bradshaw slammed prettty much everything about the The Reader (with the exception of Kate Winslet’s Golden Globe winning performance) in his brutal one-star review. He was not alone. The film was similarly reviled in a number of indepth reviews as: an ethically troubled piece of ‘cynically calculated Oscar bait’ (Wendy Ide for The Times); guilty of priviledging ‘tastefulness over truthfulness’ (Anthony Quinn for The Independent); and, most scathingly, ‘high-gloss preposterousness’ (Mike McCahill for The Telegraph).

It fell on the inestimable Anthony Lane (whose critique Bradshaw’s closely echoed) to make the most sense when he questioned the purpose of making this very British ‘woefully polite’ take on a foreign horror. ‘Was there really noone from the fierce new wave of German film-making, prepared to dramatize the Schlink? Or did they feel, as I did, that it was pernicious from the start – a low-grade musing on atrocity, garnished with erotic titillation?’ he asked.

The man behind the adapatation of Bernard Schlink’s novel, the award-winning dramatist Sir David Hare, has taken umbrage at these critical notices and now joined the argument by sarcastically attacking Bradshaw’s review as being symptomatic of the critic’s sense of moral superioity. In retort Bradshaw refocussed his attack, accusing the film of biting off ‘more than it has any intention of chewing’, and concluding with the suggestion that some of Hare’s earlier work for the stage contained ‘power and subtlety [which] far exceeded the contrived mawkishness of The Reader.’

In reading all of this I was immediately reminded of Max von Sydow’s misanthropic statement in Hannah and Her Sisters (which itself echoes certain statements by another Hannah in her brilliant study of the nature of ‘evil’, 'Eichmann in Jerusalem'):

‘You missed a very dull TV show on Aushwitz. More gruesome film clips, and more puzzled intellectuals declaring their mystification over the systematic murder of millions. The reason they can never answer the question ‘How could it possibly happen?’ is that it’s the wrong question. Given what people are, the question is ‘Why doesn’t it happen more often?’

While I don’t have any desire to get involved in a Holocaust argument on these pages, this final question here could equally be asked of the current debate: Why do mainstream British film critics so rarely trigger this kind of heated discussion, why does this kind of debate not happen more often? 

Is it because we British cinema-lovers are unwilling or too unsophisticated to engage on with a film on anything other than a totally superficial level? Or is it, as I suspect, because movie-goers and film-professionals have for too long allowed critics to use their thumbs and their tastes while analysing a film rather than their intellect and their wits?

SL

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