Always san-chôme no yûhi (Always, Sunset on Third Street)

Felt strange watching a Japanese film that wasn't full of monsters, samurai warriors, or drug addicts and femme fatales. Apparently, there's a huge market for melodramas and tear jerkers in Japan as well. Who knew! Takashi Yamazaki's Always san-chôme no yûhi (Always, Sunset on Third Street) is one such melodrama and it tugs at the heartstrings while presenting colourful characters in an urban setting. The narrative is basically divided along artistic and mechanical lines. Ryunosuke Chagawa (Hidetaka Yoshioka) dreams of becoming a famous noteworthy writer and ending his days composing mainstream popular books. He was cast out by his family for pursuing the literary life and is consistently ridiculed by the hot-tempered garage owner Norifumi Suzuki (Shin'ichi Tsutsumi). Norifumi employs Mutsuko Hoshino (Maki Horikita) who has just arrived from the country and is none to pleased when she discovers his garage is not a prosperous automotive plant. While Ryunosuke is characterized by meekness, Norifumi expresses himself through rage, and the two form an entertaining odd-couple relationship. Poverty and manners of representation are examined throughout, most characters being forced to make tough decisions as a result of their predicaments. But as they make these decisions friendships grow and personalities change as responsibilities increase and families multiply. Sure, Always san-chôme no yûhi doesn't have a group of survivors boldly holding out against the mighty Godzilla, and the ancient code of the samurai is neither interrogated nor referred to. But it does showcase the ups and downs of following your dreams in a sentimental fashion that is more enlightening than maudlin, and it felt good to get caught up in its quotidian routines. With reversals and adventures and orphans and heartbreak, Always san-chôme no yûhi may be a bit much to take at times, but it still successfully develops a vibrant, convivial, volatile life of its own, more compelling than incorrigible, for which everything does not work out in the end.

Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby

Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby is consistently funny. There isn't much of a point which is nice. It concerns the life and times of Ricky Bobby (Will Ferrell) who wants to grow up and drive really fast. The comedy is produced by a number of extended awkward scenes wherein propriety is recast and reconstituted according to the guidelines of driving really fast (notably the grace, rehabilitation knife, and Ricky Bobby meets Jean Girard [Sacha Baron Cohen] scenes). Juvenile and spontaneous yet sophisticated and structured (editing by Brent White), the successful jokes and offbeat characters/situations thoroughly lap their demobilized opposition. Several themes appear, lay dormant, are referred to quickly, and then revitalized (Ricky's relationship with his father [Gary Cole] for instance), as a multidimensional cast adds different layers of comic sensitivity to the narrative. Ricky Bobby does drive really fast and so does his lifelong best friend Cal Naughton, Jr. (John C. Reilly). Worth several laps around the track, Talladega Nights presents and promotes a worthwhile down home country concern, with confidence and potency, the occasional piece of historical trivia, and a number of observations regarding values. It's well done.

Need to remember when friends have children to ask them questions related to how they are adjusting to life with those children before asking them questions concerning whether or not they recently won chicken wing cook-offs.

Made some tasty moose chilli yesterday, cooked for four hours on low with an extra layer of garlic added every hour on the hour. The tube of frozen ground moose meat was cut in two with an axe by my roommate.

I thought, while walking through the streets and contrasting present points of view with those possessed ten years ago, that if I had met her three years later, when my desire had been sequestered within a more domestic comportment, that perhaps we would have enjoyed a greater number of dinners featuring delicious cakes and sumptuous cheese sauces, while discussing the details of some ridiculous Canadian political development, like the outcome of an election being decided on positions concerning a long-gun registry, the formal characteristics and agitations built into its presentation, whether or not said presentation was predetermined or spontaneous, or the degrees to which either side of this opposition coalesce with one another in a political aesthetic, quaintly cloistering different ethical stances within picturesque prints illustrating mainstream predictability; and whether or not we should buy a cat. That's what she sort of wanted at the time anyways and I was still dreaming about writing screenplays in Hollywood. In the film we would end up with three cats even though if I remember correctly she wasn't fond of them. She used to glower at them whenever they disturbed the harmony established by a group of birds in her parent's backyard.

And as I was crossing the street I was surprised, for the distance I still needed to traverse was vast, and the speed at which an approaching car was travelling intense, and it had plenty of time to slip through the space to which I was eagerly moving before I arrived. But instead, exercising supreme caution and modesty tempered by a resounding respect for pedestrian ways and means, the vehicle decelerated and gingerly waited for me to pass. I could only deduce from this state of affairs that the culture of _______ was indeed generous and self-sacrificing, putting the interests of the law ceremoniously ahead of its own personal ambition, while tranquilly accepting the fact that there is no need to rush. For the day's events and unsatisfied necessities can indeed wait and be resolved/satiated/underwritten at another time. Upon reaching the other side and turning back to watch the traffic surge onwards, as though I had never existed, never sauntered through its accelerated domain and interrupted its determined pace, I felt a sense of disproportionate awe for this peculiar circumstance, which had allowed me to rapidly and prudently go about my business.

Dinner for Schmucks

Stacking awkward conversations and embarrassing situations upon harrowing miscommunications and mismanaged revitalizations, twisting it all up, and igniting a raging disorienting inferno, of comedy, Jay Roach's Dinner for Schmucks delivers a consistently progressing discomforting crescendo, within which Tim (Paul Rudd) must come to terms with Steve Carell's Barry. A prestigious promotion is within Tim's clutches if he can 'negotiate' a deal and impress his new contemporaries. At the same time, he must find an individual whose relationship with reality can be thought of as questionable and bring him or her to his boss's party. The party showcases representatives of the peculiar, the person possessing the most distance unknowingly winning the day. But when Tim's partner Julie (Stephanie Szostak) discovers this malevolent purpose, she forbids him from attending, throwing an ethical wrench into his professional plans. Conscience and economics then engendger a combustible quandary, which thoroughly complicates what it means to do the right thing.

Steve Carell shines and saturates Dinner for Schmucks with a cheerfully disconcerting other worldly constitution, whose gesticulating regulations coordinate comedic justice. I shook my head several times. Paul Rudd holds his own and soberly responds to Carell's offbeat harmonies. A light-hearted comedy filled with sandpaper and pith, Dinner for Schmucks will demand your attention if you don't mind sitting back to shiver and squirm. Here's hoping one day Carell finds his Dr. Strangelove. Excellent supporting performances from Zach Galifianakis and Jemaine Clement.

Easy A

The rumour patrol, derisively and intrusively guided by, well, everyone, in some little way, for abstract, practical, or theoretical purposes, always and forever. Will Gluck's Easy A examines the strengths and weaknesses of a malevolent high school rumour machine, full of invective and austerity, delineations and miscommunications, as it attempts to ruin the reputation of Olive Penderghast (Emma Stone). But Olive's smarter than your average bear, and she uses her classmate's curiosity and stereotypical subservience to elevate the social status of the downtrodden, while quietly accepting her scarlet letter. The film excels at presenting sensational subject matter in a subdued yet occasionally theatrical manner designed for young adult audiences yet containing enough elderly content to appeal to the middle-aged, and others, as well (this form subtly heralded by the coy opening credits). Olive's parents (Patricia Clarkson and Stanley Tucci) steal the show, but then Thomas Haden Church steals portions of their booty from them, while Stone herself makes off with a queen's ransom. An engaging examination of the potential horrors of high school distilled and distributed by an appealing 'iconoclast,' Easy A's case study suggests that the solution to overcoming ruthless gossip is to find true love, unless he or she is secretly unfaithful, which, I guess, is kind of saccharine. Good movie though.

La hérisson (The Hedgehog)

The film version of Muriel Barbary's L'elégance du hérisson (The Elegance of the Hedgehog) presents several of the novel's intriguing developments in a necessarily condensed form. Paloma (Garance Le Guillermic) still wishes to commit suicide and Renée Michel (Josiane Balasko) is still the secretly atypical concierge, reluctant to engage in personal social interactions with her clients. Screenwriter and director Mona Achache negotiates the tempestuous gulf providentially cultivated between a character's thoughts in a novel and their depiction in a film by having Paloma shoot and narrate a documentary throughout, thereby maximizing the number of literary ideas transmitted without relying to heavily on intrusive objective narration. The introduction of Mr. Ozu (Togo Igawa) is much more subtle in the novel and his perspicacious intuition comes across as somewhat larger than life (if not forgivably endearing). Paloma's acute perceptively dour psychological observations incisively and playfully occupy its forefront, while Renée's metamorphosis gradually picks up steam. Not sure what either Barbary or Achache are saying by having Renée die as soon as she begins to transcend her preoccupations with her thoroughly researched conceptions of her culture's general attitude concerning her personality as it relates to her job, apart from the fact that it dissuades Paloma from committing suicide, but that's another matter. Thoroughly entertaining, piquantly quizzical, and enigmatically enlightening, Achache's film compliments Barbary's novel even if their relationship could be a little less direct.

I meet her on Friday at school. She assists me and is of my type. On Saturday evening after leaving the movies I see someone in a car who looks like her waiting to turn right as I cross the street. I'm tempted to wave but think she may find me creepy if I'm staring at her while crossing the road so I just look in front of me. When I finish crossing she pulls away slowly, turns right and continues to drive away slowly. I look over and soon she is gone. I wonder if a chance to make a new friend has slipped away or if I'm simply over analyzing a mechanical situation.

It was a surprising comment insofar as it was brief and exclamatory, instinct suggesting that its author possesses a heightened sensitivity which I had never suspected, forcing me to reevaluate the ways in which I traditionally interact, even though I thought I was also quite polite.

The American

At first I thought The American was going to be a terrible film. The introductory scenes have a peculiar logic that doesn't make much sense and George Clooney's (Jack/Edward) performance within is anything but exceptional. But as it unreels and the motifs and situations percolate and blend, slowly and harmoniously disseminating character, philosophy, and metaphor, utilitarian and reflexive, frank yet cunning, a life force begins to shine forth, greater than the sum of its parts, as an assassin tries to escape his fate and freely retire from his cloak and dagger existence. For once a priest is shown to be an honourable man (Paolo Bonacelli), judgments regarding controversial occupations are suspended, mature desires coalesce with ubiquitous anxieties, and professional foresight outwits calculated terminations. Some of it's kitschy and sensational but these scenes often conclude with a sinisterly provocative resolution which reflects the subtleties of the predictable. A uniformly paced paranoid template within which a nocturnal narrative timorously pulsates and maneuvers, The American outwits expectations and undermines its overt manifestations. Directed by Anton Corbijn with an excellent performance from Mr. Clooney.

The Kids are All Right

Lisa Cholodenko's The Kids are All Right covers the volatile disruptions affecting a family of four after a married lesbian couple's two children seek out their biological father. His freewheeling bohemian ways conflict with the family's traditional order of things as he challenges, complicates, and reinvigorates their dynamic. Bourgeoisly examining themes such as child rearing, conjugal power struggles, friendship, ethnocentrism, adultery, philandering, and young adult relationships, The Kids are All Right has a multidimensional character which elevates its aesthetic. Effectively normalizing gay marriage for right wing audiences, while problematically making light of the harsh treatment of Mexican workers(thereby highlighting the phenomenon's unconscious cultural agency), The Kids are All Right successfully investigates manifold topics, presenting robust characters and humanized ideals.

Trois temps après la mort d'Anna (Mourning for Anna)

Presenting the harrowing struggles of a mother whose daughter is murdered in the prime of her youth, Catherine Martin's Trois temps après la mort d'Anna (Mourning for Anna) traumatically accentuates what it means to profoundly suffer. Stripping the narrative down to its bear essentials and rarely even moving the camera, Martin's portrait of Françoise's (Guylaine Tremblay) breakdown is desolate, poignant, and bleak. After her daughter's death, Françoise moves from Montréal to a remote family home in Kamouraska in order to confront her grief. Isolated, desperate, and alone, her mind begins to play tricks, and long lost family members suddenly appear. In a moment of despair, she collapses in a snowbank only to be rescued by a local painter (François Papineau as Edouard). As the film continues, Françoise subtly convalesces thanks to Edouard's patient kindness. Trois temps après la mort d'Anna substitutes landscapes and imagery for dialogue and action, illuminating a barren portrait of a mother's battle with spiritual destitution. Stark and lean yet vivacious and colourful, it directly submits a uniform thesis, leaving us free to respond with intuitive perceptions.