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SILENT RETREAT - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Dreadful Script and Uncertain Tone Sinks Thriller, But Still Worth Seeing For Great Robert Nolan Performance, Solid Direction, Editing and Especially Fine Cinematography. A movie you wish was better than it is. It still manages to be better than WolfCop - by a bit, anyway.

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Silent Retreat (2013) **1/2
Dir. Tricia Lee
Starring: Chelsea Jenish, Robert Nolan, Sofia Banzhaf

Review By Greg Klymkiw

There are simply so many things wrong about this movie which, makes it especially frustrating to assess since the few elements that are right about it, are so very, very right on! Alas, those positive elements are almost buried by the film's problems - its two most woeful elements being a dreadful screenplay by Corey Brown (from a story by Brown and director Tricia Lee) and the movie's uncertain tone (which in fairness is rooted completely in the aforementioned poor writing).

On the surface, the high concept of the piece isn't bad. A mysterious juvenile detention camp for wayward teenage girls is located deep in the woods (one road in, one road out). It takes only five inmates at any one time and the rules are very simple - NO TALKING. None. Nada. Zip! Girls who are especially problematic are expelled, though in reality, they're dragged into the woods, chained to a tree and sacrificed to a monster that lives there. Hey, in theory, I've got no problem with this at all.

In practise, however, it's a completely different story. The first two-thirds of the film plays - both in story and direction like a very lame and tame young-teen-oriented thriller. This might have been acceptable if the pace and overall solitude didn't give an audience time to start asking questions (either to themselves, or most annoyingly, out loud to whomever they're watching it with). Some of the questions are eventually answered, but they come much too late in the proceedings since we've already been yanked out of the drama way too many times wondering about elements that could have been dispensed with so much earlier on.

A number of the revelations are withheld from both the audience and the characters and this is a huge mistake. In fact, the "mystery" isn't all that very interesting anyway. We know there's something really wrong with this juvie camp for girls right from the get-go. The entire movie would have worked so much better without this muddle and allowed its director to concentrate on really creeping us out and scaring the bejesus out of us right from the get-go.

And ugh, speaking of right from the get-go, there was absolutely no reason to begin the movie showing a juvie teen girl who we never meet again, chained to a tree in the woods as we hear the approaching growls of some mighty hungry-sounding creature. And ugh, there really was no reason to even begin from the beginning as Janey (Chelsea Jenish), our heroine, is brought into the camp. So much running time is boringly wasted on cliched storytelling when deep down, there's a tale - a reasonably original take on one, anyway - that's desperate for some sort of simple (as opposed to simplistic), clean and at the same time, sophisticated approach.

For example, there's a pretty okay bit of writing that's very nicely played by a wonderful character actor whom I have - to my knowledge - never seen in anything before. The character is that of the Doctor (Robert Nolan), the commandant of the camp and he lays out the ground rules for Janey. At least a third of his speech could have appeared off-camera as we were delivered some of the visuals in the opening before we join the conversation in progress. This, by the way, is where some very basic expositional information could have been slipped in for our benefit so we didn't have to be wrenched out of the drama at later junctures wondering about it.

I do so wish more young filmmakers who want to tackle genre material thought more about giving US all the information we need or want and withholding it from the protagonists so that we're never in the dark, but are, instead even more on the edges of our collective seats as the "ignorant" heroes are sucked into a spider's web that we already know is there. Like Hitchcock so often said (in a variety of ways), if a bomb is planted on a bus, it's not the explosion that will be the horrendous thing to draw out the suspense, but it's US knowing the bomb is there and where it is and following our protagonists into this horrendous situation. In any event, the screenplay for this film had so many elements like this, that unnecessarily turning them into mysteries did little to keep our interest in the story and characters' trajectories, but rather forced us into ALWAYS being in the same position of ignorance with said characters.

Another woeful element is the promise of a movie that could have really delivered big time on the perversity front. We've got a private juvie joint in the middle of nowhere that takes in a select number of "bad" girls - all of them, of course are, thankfully, babes and its run by this creepy old dude and his inbred sons who assert weird dominance therapy including hypnotism and mysterious trips into a cabin. And, of course, I have no idea the ages of the actresses in this film, but let's be frank, if they were or are all "of age", there are clearly exploitative genre tropes that are begging to be employed. In fact, employing them might have worked wonders in terms of beefing up the strange Stepford Wives indoctrination going on.

There was also a great opportunity to put a crazy, sexy spin on all the great juvie pictures of the 50s and the women in prison pictures of the 70s. Again, I reiterate - we've got five babes in a completely whacked-out juvie joint and most importantly: There are showers, there are beds and even a creepy comment from the doctor warning against sexual improprieties. Puh-leeeeeeese, don't put this potential for exploitation in our minds and NOT deliver on it.

One of the biggest disappointments is when we discover that the girls are being subjected to a barrage of propaganda on film. This too is a great idea, but the images themselves are so dullsville (and dispensed with so quickly) that instead of getting something similar (in terms of power and impact) to the images of violence Alex is forced to endure in A Clockwork Orange, or better yet, in the perverse propagandistic "test" given to prospective political assassins in Alan J. Pakula's The Parallax View, we get lame, thoroughly unconvincing images. I'm not suggesting the filmmaker needed to copy these scenes, but instead, needed to find a way of selecting and presenting the images so tied more directly in with the weird group hypnosis scenes and then, on a visceral level, for them to knock us on our collective butts. This was clearly the intent, however, as the old saying goes, the road to hell is paved with good intentions - which also seems to be something one can use to describe so much of the film and its failings.

This goes on and on - PG-rated incidents, rife with confusion and then we eventually get slammed with the final third of the film that's anything but PG or PG-13 or even R. The climactic scenes of the film are so deliciously over-the-top, really well directed and edited (by Mike Reisacher) that the filmmaker's intent to provide something very quiet and ominous in the first two-thirds could have worked so beautifully - IF, the writing had been up to the fine idea and most importantly, if the utter, sickening, creepy perversity of the situation had been amped up.

The other dreadful element is the musical score by Aaron Gilhuis - a godawful, by-the-numbers series of plodding riffs that are always leading the action rather than providing a supporting bedrock or thematic foundation to the proceedings. In fact, so much of the score could have been dispensed with entirely. Given the fact that we're in the middle of the wilderness would have lent itself to creating a rich soundscape to capture, replicate and even enhance the malevolence of the natural world as juxtaposed with the overt malevolence of the three creepy guys running this madhouse.

The biggest script problem, however, is the monster itself. We wisely don't get to see it until the final third, but I still have no idea what it is, why it's there, where it comes from and why there's only one? At first, I assumed there might have been a bigfoot angle or maybe a bunch of genetic inbred mutants suffering the effects of a nuclear power plant meltdown or something. (Northern Ontario, where the film appears to be shot in and set, is full of hidden environmental crap like that.) But what we get is something that resembles the creatures in The Descent (now THAT is a great contemporary horror film) and their existence made sense within the context of caves deep beneath the earth's surface. Here, we get one such creature - not too badly designed either - but we really have no idea what it is. It's never enough that it's a monster and it's just conveniently there. It's a cheat of the most egregious kind.

So, what's on the plus side? Well, a genuinely kick-ass final third (even though the creature elements make absolutely no sense) and three tremendous leading performances. The camera adores both of the female leads in the picture and Robert Nolan is an absolute revelation. Who is this guy? Where did he come from? Why isn't he cast in every genre picture in this country? And better yet, if he was, he'd build up so much great work that we might even start seeing him in American indie and/or studio pictures. Nolan has a phenomenal look, intensity to burn and an almost puckish sense of sicko humour roiling just beneath his flesh. Alas, none of this is exploited completely here, but I'm grateful to have been introduced to him and hope to see him flex his thespian muscles in other movies. This guy is an A-1 psycho villain. That said, he's got such clearly natural chops that he needs to be cast in as many pictures as possible. (He also bears a striking enough resemblance to Leonardo Di Caprio that he'd be a natural to play the kid's Dad or Uncle or older brother.) Canada always blows it with their leading ladies and men and the country especially blows it with all the fine character actors. I'm delighted that the makers of Silent Retreat didn't follow in the footsteps of so many other Canadian filmmakers and populated it with solid actors that - and this is ALL important - the camera LOVES.


Speaking of visuals, I was also impressed with the cinematography by Christian Bielz - especially the night exteriors. As someone who lives much of his time in the middle of absolute nowhere, I was impressed with the look and lighting of these scenes. For what seems like decades now, Canadian movies always used this horrid blue gel over the lights for night exteriors - so much so, that I nastily and dismissively referred to it as "Canadian Blue". Here, though, we get that wonderful sense of pitch black, but with both dollops and swaths of a kind of gentle white light which is actually what the eye sees in deep bush. Even when it's overcast and/or the sky isn't lit up with a bright moon, the stars are so intensely bright that they do indeed cast a very cool glow over everything. And, uh, it's not blue.

Alack and alas, what is blue, though, is how I feel when I see a low budget genre film that is bursting with potential, but never goes the distance. I hope at some point, director Tricia Lee gets to work with a great script, but that also, she uses her instincts for horror to shock and scare us - not with what we DON'T know, but what we do know.

Silent Retreat opens theatrically at the Carlton Cinema in Toronto on June 13, 2014 in addition to venues in these fine burghs: Ottawa, Peterborough, Lethbridge, Regina and Glenboro.

BURT'S BUZZ - Review By Greg Klymkiw - One of Canada's Most Dynamic Filmmakers Shoots the King of Bees.

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In addition to having it's World Premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival 2013, Burt's Buzz, Jody Shapiro's fine documentary portrait of Burt Shavitz, the public face of Burt's Bees health products, was released by FilmBuff theatrically and via iTunes download in the USA on June 6, 2014 and will begin its theatrical launch in Canada on June 13, 2014 at TIFF Bell Lightbox (the year-round home for all of TIFF's activities, including the Toronto International Film Festival). After you read the review, please note that just below it on this page is a preview and link to a major feature length story entitled Jody Shapiro: A Guy For All Seasons in "Electric Sheep - a deviant view of cinema", focusing upon the director of Burt's Buzz, Jody Shapiro, one of Canada's most legendary young filmmakers.


Burt's Buzz (2013) ***1/2
Dir: Jody Shapiro
Starring: Burt Shavitz

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Jody Shapiro began his career in film as one of the truly genuine creative producers in Canada, or rather, as a producer, he was always easy to look upon as a filmmaker (as opposed to the annoying assumption that a filmmaker and a producer are two different things).

Working with Guy Maddin in the latter stages of the great surrealist's career, Shapiro brought his artistic instincts to bear and was never shy about leaping into the fray with a movie camera and shooting like a madman. That Shapiro went on to be Isabella Rossellini's chief collaborator as a co-director and producer on her utterly insane Green Porno series of shorts speaks volumes about why he might have been the perfect director to document the life of Burt Shavitz.

Any producer attracted to as many eccentric projects and working closely with as many genuine eccentrics as Maddin and Rossellini has proven indeed that Shavitz could not have been luckier than to have someone like Shapiro infuse Burt's Buzz with his keen eye for the joys of, well, eccentricity. Shapiro's feature documentary is a loving portrait of the famed old bearded hippie whose face has adorned the packaging of the Health Store mainstay products "Burt's Bees". Though Shapiro interviews associates, sponsors and family, the film is mostly all Burt all the time - which is great because the camera loves him and he has a nice low key irascibility.

Shapiro delivers all the fascinating biographical details of how this city boy made his way to the backwoods of Maine and eventually became an avid beekeeper. With the assistance of the woman he loved, the company grew to gargantuan proportions. There's a melancholy to the tale also since Burt by his own admission was not happy nor especially cut out for corporate life and he sadly sold his shares in the company and his "brand" for peanuts. Considering Burt's Bees sold to the Clorox Corp. (I kid you not!), the sale was worth over 900 million dollars. Burt's not seen a cent of that and makes his living as a kind of travelling personal appearance spokesman.

Shapiro bounces between the solace of Burt on his farm and the genuine adulation he receives during live appearances. This is a simple, but effective juxtaposition and was the wisest way to present contrast, conflict and the two sides of the current coin that is Burt Shavitz.

Given the ubiquity of the Burt's Bees brand, you'd think we were dealing with a typical hippie-turned-corporate-sellout, but Shavitz is anything but that. He's a man of nature who's happiest on his farm in Maine and it's within the context of this that Shapiro trains his camera. Though there's probably a film to be made about a natural health company being owned by one of the most heinous producers of environmentally unfriendly consumer goods - this is NOT that film.

It's a sweet, funny and loving portrait of a man, his dog and his farm and how he needs to drag himself out to trade shows and malls to do a horse and pony act for the privilege of living a life of solitude amongst the hills and the trees.

And, of course, his bees.

He might not be a multi-millonaire, but you know, it could be worse.

Burt's Buzz was released by FilmBuff theatrically and via iTunes download in the USA on June 6, 2014 and begins its theatrical launch in Canada on June 13, 2014 at TIFF Bell Lightbox (the year-round home for all of TIFF's activities, including the Toronto International Film Festival).AND NOW, HERE'S ALL THE INFO YOU NEED ON HOW TO ACCESS MY FEATURE LENGTH STORY ON JODY SHAPIRO, THE DIRECTOR OF BURT'S BUZZ:




JODY SHAPIRO: A GUY FOR ALL SEASONS by Greg Klymkiw
can be read in Electric Sheep - a deviant view of cinema
by accessing UK's coolest online film magazine HERE

JOURNEY
with Jody Shapiro into the very heart, soul and mind of Burt Shavitz

DISCOVER
the special bond twixt two men from two generations
who share one object of affection

LIVE
the humble beginnings of a nice Jewish Boy
in the neighbourhood of Mel Lastman's North York

EXPERIENCE
Shapiro's post-secondary adventures at York University
and his STRICT tutelage under Niv Fichman

ENJOY
an ALL-EXCLUSIVE Guy Maddin pitch
for a highly-charged erotic scene involving
Jody Shapiro

BASK
in the glory that IS Jody Shapiro as the likes of
STEVE GRAVESTOCK + ISABELLA ROSSELLINI + GAY MADDIN
extol the Great Man's considerable virtues

DELVE
into Shapiro's most intimate personal fantasy
involving culinary arts and wildlife

SHARE
a rare fantasy with two men among men

ALL THIS AND MORE WHEN YOU READ:

JODY SHAPIRO: A GUY FOR ALL SEASONS
BY GREG KLYMKIW at ELECTRIC SHEEP







JODY SHAPIRO GETS KISS FROM FORMER GF LOUELLA NEGIN.



THE BEST OFFER - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Festival Preview Review for the inaugural Niagara Integrated Film Festival 2014 (NIFF 2014) from the visionary producer and legendary co-founder and the first-ever Director of the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF), Mr. Bill Marshall

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The Niagara Integrated Film Festival launches its first exciting season June 19-22, 2014 inclusive. You're probably wondering about the "integration" aspect of this cultural event and I can assure you it has nothing to do with President Lyndon Johnson's 1964 Civil Rights Act. No Gene Hackman and Willem Dafoe sporting guns and fedoras to stop Mississippi [from] Burning, no To Kill a Mockingbird Atticus Finch (Gregory Peck) show trials, no Virgil Tibbs (Sidney Poitier) coming to town In the Heat of the Night to solve murder with a racist lawman (Rod Steiger), no Melvin Van Peebles singing that Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song and most certainly, no William Shatner, The Intruder, heading to Wine Country to preach against desegregation. No-siree, Bobski! We're talking all about the integration of fine cinema, fine dining and the finest wine from the luscious grapes of Southern Ontario, all finely mushed together by the skillful prowess of only the finest bare feet a-stomping on the sweet orbs of fruity delights in those healthy receptacles designed to yield the nectar of the Gods. This is going to be one unique film festival and I've had a chance to preview a few of the cinematic morsels on view this coming weekend. The Film Corner reviews of NIFF's bevy of cinematographic delights right here and now.

Hey kids! Let's ALL line up
for a Geoffrey Rush sex scene.
IT'S NUTRICIOUS & DELICIOUS!
The Best Offer (2013) ***
Dir. Giuseppe Tornatore
Starring: Geoffrey Rush, Sylvia Hoeks, Donald Sutherland, Jim Sturgess, Kiruna Stamell

Review By Greg Klymkiw

He gave us Cinema Paradiso, the bonafide masterpiece and loving ode to movies and he's reigned as one of Italy's most prolific, though not always on-the-mark directors. With The Best Offer, Giuseppe Tornatore delivers a sumptuously crafted romance infused with elements of mystery and the high-toned trappings of filthy rich people and settings that offer the sort of pleasures only movies can bring to us plebeians.

Herein this cinematic eye-candy, Geoffrey Rush plays a lone-wolf art/antique expert and celebrated auctioneer who jets all over the world to appraise private collections of disgustingly affluent upper-class scum. His greatest joy is privately collecting priceless portraits by working with a bearded beard (Donald Sutherland) who attends auctions to bid and win works that Rush prices far too below their real value. It's how the rich get richer and stay rich. They're essentially criminals at heart, but when they're played by Geoffrey Rush, we kind of look the other way so long as they're not overtly exploiting the downtrodden.

When Rush agrees to assess the collection of a mysterious young heiress (Sylvia Hoeks), locked away Miss Havisham-like in a massive villa, he's delighted with the woman's offerings within her crumbling manse, but taken aback that she refuses to meet with him in person. He only does business with people he can lay eyes upon. Our girl, hidden behind the walls of her secret room, proves however, to be quite the conversationalist and when our auctioneer snatches a few peeks of her lithe form she's also quite the catch for a stinky old art connoisseur, a definite babe.

Needless to say and in spite of her agoraphobia, the classy, erudite Mr. Rush manages to charm the panties off shy little missy and she eagerly opens up her private boudoir to him. Soon our smelly, old, but oh-so rapturously seductive gentleman is not only plumbing the depths of her very soul, but plumbing her, uh, plumbing (so to speak).

One of the cooler elements of the tale is how a handsome, young restoration expert (Jim Sturgess) side-coaches Rush to orgasmic bliss, performing a kind of Cyrano de Bergerac role, though in reverse, obviously, since Rush is a smelly, old coot endowed with a semi-prominent proboscis and dreamboat Sturgess has his fair share of babe-o-licious ladies drooling over him.

Even cooler, though, is the subplot involving Rush finding scattered pieces of what appears to be the inner-workings of a centuries-old automaton and Sturgess excitedly rebuilding it. This actually might be the coolest idea I've seen in a movie in some time - I almost perversely wish it could have been devoted to an entire movie instead of the one Tornatore gives us. Well, we're stuck with this one and it's pretty darn good with two exceptions.

The first drag is that the first hour of the film is supremely entertaining. No two ways about it. That's not the problem, though. What is, is that the careful viewer will pick up on pretty obvious hints as to where the narrative is going and said careful viewers will, like I did, want to beg Tornatore not to go there. Alas, he does. It's not only the obvious direction for the film to go, but as such, is an almost-hard-to-swallow denouement that hardly delivers on the promise of the first half.

The second drag might be my own peccadillo, but is there anyone on the face of God's Green Earth who wants to see Geoffrey Rush naked and having sex? Sure, if he's playing a sicko like the Marquis de Sade, I'm there, but somehow, in a mystery-drenched romance a la Daphne Du Maurier, there's something vaguely upchuck-inducing about oldster carnal shenanigans (unless one's imbued with that fetish, and if so, knock yourself out). Three years ago, Rush starred in a dreadful Australian picture called The Eye of the Storm. When I reviewed it, I noted that one of the picture's more sickening subplots involved Geoffrey Rush having his knob plunged and polished by a comely young thing who seemed genuinely charmed by him. It's more of the same here, only this is a good movie that really needed a far more chaste approach to Rush achieving orgasms.

I know what you're thinking: The laddie doth protest too much. Indeed, perhaps, he does, but some things are worth protesting, mais non?

The Best Offer screens on the opening night of NIFF. For further info, visit the festival website HERE. The movie is worth seeing on a big screen, but it will also soon be available on DVD via Mongrel Media. Feel free to order the film from the Amazon links below and, in so doing, support the ongoing maintenance of The Film Corner.



5 SHORT FILMS/ 1 NIGHT - Reviews By Greg Klymkiw - Reviews of recent CCE nominees screening at Toronto's illustrious Royal Cinema: THE ARCHIVIST, METHOD, ROSBILT, SUNDAY PUNCH, WALK THE MOON

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5 SHORT FILMS / 1 NIGHT: The Canadian Cinema Editors (CCE) presents a screening at The Royal Cinema of 5 short films all nominated at this years annual CCE awards.

Editors:
Paul Day,
Ray Savaya,
Erin Deck,
Mark Fifield,
Richard Mandin

Directors:
Gregory Smith,
Roman Tchjen,
Jeremy Ball,
Allan Powel,
Maire Tacbas

All 5 films are feted in this delicious presentation of the finest in Canadian Short Drama. This is a great opportunity to see such diverse pieces the way they were meant to be seen - under the roof & on the big screen of one of Toronto's premier exhibition venues, The Royal Cinema, with its gorgeous sound & projection.



5 SHORT FILMS / 1 NIGHT
Reviewed in Alphabetical Order


The Archivist (2013) **½
Edited by Richard Mandin
Written and Directed by Jeremy Ball
Produced by Glen Wood and Jordana Aarons

Starring: Pip Dwyer, Jesse Aaron Dwyre, Peter Messaline

Review By Greg Klymkiw


The Archivist was part of "Stage to Screen", a commemorative project created the visionary young producer Glen Wood of ViDDYWELL FiLMS in collaboration with The Ontario Heritage Trust (and co-produced by Jordana Aarons) to mark the 100th anniversary of Toronto landmark The Elgin and Winter Garden Theatre Centre. Emerging filmmakers were invited to scout the theatre and present a concept for their short film. Six films were selected for production to take advantage of the venue’s historic architecture and atmosphere. This visually impressive dramatic fantasy involving a projectionist at loggerheads with his boss when he actively investigates a series of mysterious disappearances in a movie theatre, proved to be the second weakest of the group of aforementioned shorts (three of which were dazzling, one of which was solidly and artistically ambitious and one that was relatively inconsequential). Ball's film was certainly closer in quality to the upper half of the equation, though proved to have more style than substance. Its most egregious sin is one that might be overlooked by audiences, but the picture has the faint aroma of "Calling Card" wafting from it. The picture is very well crafted, but in that "Look Ma, we can make a movie" manner so many short films are cursed with. The end result is something that's not really about much of anything at all. In its defence, plenty of big budget mainstream feature films are also adorned with such attributes.


Method (2013) ***
Edited by Paul Day
Directed by Gregory Smith
Written by Peter Mooney (from Smith's Story)
Produced by Kevin Krikst and Sonia Hosko
Starring: Shawn Doyle, Sarain Boylan, Katie Boland

Review By Greg Klymkiw

A cop interrogates a woman. It sounds simple enough, doesn't it? Deceptively so, since life (and good movies) are never, ever that simple.


Driving the intensity of this confrontation are highly personal elements: the woman needs to testify against someone close to her and the cop is personally connected to a crime victim. It can't get more intense than this and Method is a classic set-up for a short film. That said, though, the picture breaks a few important narrative barriers, thus allowing for layering that stems from the simplicity and not the horrendous other way round where emotional and thematic levels take precedence and the whole thing crumbles into transparent didacticism. Opening with a breathtaking cut that sucks you in immediately, then settling into a more conventional cutting framework for, as you'll discover, very good reason, until the piece continues along with a trajectory - dramatically and stylistically - that's unexpected, to say the least.


rosbilt (2013) ***1/2
Edited by Mark Fifield
Directed by Marie Tacbas
Starring: Ross Stuart
Produced by Mike Kirkwood

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Utilizing elements of classic Cinéma Direct as pioneered by Michel Brault within the context of creating a slice-of-life narrative in documentary film is best achieved when the hand of the filmmaker can be felt via carefully selected and placed dollops of footage that advance the story with methods of more conventional tools such as the spoken words of the subject.

These words, derived through interview and/or simple directed conversation, then transformed into naturalistically-derived narration from said subject allow for greater adherence to "manipulated" (in the best sense of the word) storytelling, flying in the face of Direct Cinema and/or even that of strict cinéma vérité. To achieve this successfully in a short film, as it is in rosbilt, is quite often nothing short of a miracle as the "breathing space" is going to automatically be restricted by the parameters of both the running time and the choice to present the material within a shorter framework. Focusing upon the unique skill and artistry of the film's central subject, Ross Stuart, we're allowed a slice-of-life glimpse into the creation of musical instruments - banjos, ukeleles, etc. - cobbled expertly together from materials not automatically associated with generating exquisite, practical implements that will emit gorgeous music. It's a lovely film that works perfectly as a short, yet inspires the notion that rosbilt could also work perfectly as a segment within a much larger film devoted to unconventional methods and materials used to create implements that bring aesthetic beauty to people in ways they'd never imagine.


Sunday Punch (2013) ***
Edited by Erin Deck
Written and Directed by Alan Powell
Produced by Matt Code and Alex House
Starring: Jessica Greco, Ennis Esmer, Rod Black, Art Hindle

Review By Greg Klymkiw

A filmmaker using Cinéma Direct and Cinéma Vérité to create a blend of (literally, as you'll discover) kitchen-sink domestic drama that borders on qualities of Neo-Realism is, frankly, hard enough to achieve with any degree of success.

To then spin things and practically morph into creating drama within a re-creation of a reality television episode is to lay oneself open to the considerable potential for either folly and/or slick but ultimately hollow trick-pony gymnastics. Happily, Sunday Punch melds these implicitly disparate elements into a movie that's as fun, sprightly and clever as one would want, yielding a supremely entertaining and original work that offers-up a funny, biting and affecting tale of acrimony within a simple, but layered love story. That the film features sports announcer Rod Black offering play-by-play and Art Hindle dispensing colour commentary (similar to his hilarious work in the original indie feature Monster Brawl) borders on some kind of mad genius.


Walk the Moon (2013) ****
Edited by Ray Savaya
Written and Directed by Roman Tchjen
Produced by Vaishni Majoomdar
Starring: Nina Iordanova, David Sherwood, Ethan Singal, Rod McTaggart

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Walk the Moon is one of the finest short Canadian films I've seen this year (possibly in quite a few years) and signals great things to come from its entire creative team. Led by an exquisite performance from Nina Iordanova as a deaf teen adjusting to a new school, a fractious relationship with a parent and how the fear of silence in this delicate stage of a child's life compounds her decidedly dour state, yields a genuinely heartfelt affair which also roils with undercurrents of darkness. Deftly and with great artistry, this is a movie that cascades from present tense to flashbacks and through dreamscape with astonishing maturity at every level. The intelligent use of soundscape is subtle and effective, blending ever-so gorgeously with the astonishing visuals, delicate pacing and a careful attention to nailing the picture's dramatic beats. This is a deeply moving film - as much for its thematic and narrative content as for its virtuosity. The film contains cuts and images that are breathtaking, yet rooted firmly in the narrative trajectory and as such, I was not only dazzled, but compelled to shed more than a few tears. Bravo!

5 Short Films / 1 Night plays Tuesday, June 17, 2014 at 7:30pm, The Royal Cinema, 608 College Street in Toronto, $5 - Members, $7 - Everyone Else. For further info The Royal website HERE.

A KIND OF WONDERFUL THING - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Sweet, Funny, Quirky & Moving Canadian Family Drama that's playing at the first edition of the Niagara Integrated Film Festival (NIFF 2014).

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The Niagara Integrated Film Festival launches its first exciting season June 19-22, 2014 inclusive. You're probably wondering about the "integration" aspect of this cultural event and I can assure you it has nothing to do with President Lyndon Johnson's 1964 Civil Rights Act. No Gene Hackman and Willem Dafoe sporting guns and fedoras to stop Mississippi [from] Burning, no To Kill a Mockingbird Atticus Finch (Gregory Peck) show trials, no Virgil Tibbs (Sidney Poitier) coming to town In the Heat of the Night to solve murder with a racist lawman (Rod Steiger), no Melvin Van Peebles singing that Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song and most certainly, no William Shatner, The Intruder, heading to Wine Country to preach against desegregation. No-siree, Bobski! We're talking all about the integration of fine cinema, fine dining and the finest wine from the luscious grapes of Southern Ontario, all finely mushed together by the skillful prowess of only the finest bare feet a-stomping on the sweet orbs of fruity delights in those healthy receptacles designed to yield the nectar of the Gods. This is going to be one unique film festival and I've had a chance to preview a few of the cinematic morsels on view this coming weekend. The Film Corner reviews of NIFF's bevy of cinematographic delights right here and now.


Quirky Anna (Erica Sherwood) shares some tender moments
with her equally quirky little brother Josh (Brad Moore).
Happily, neither of them deserves to be punched in the face.
A Kind of WONDERFUL Movie.
A Kind of Wonderful Thing (2013) ****
Dir. Jason Lupish, Written by Erica Sherwood and Jason Lupish
Starring: Erica Sherwood, Ralph deGroot, Kelly-Marie Murtha, Edward Balli, Bill Sherwood, Arlene Copland, Emma Sherwood, Brad Moore, Liam Sherwood, Tiffany Browne, Sydney Thompson, Nicole Maris, Darlene Sherwood, Beth Moore, Mitchell Wood-Sarkisian, Greg Switzer, Rob Colonico, Brian Andres.

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Preamble - On Quirky Comedies: - I think I hate the idea of quirky comedies more than I actually hate the thing itself. I suspect this has to do with seeing so many bad ones that I've automatically built up a knee-jerk resistance to them. What I detest most is when the pictures go completely out of their way to be off the beaten track, so much so that you can actually see the soiled remnants of the creator's dirty mitts all over the piece itself. What you actually see is the stitching more than the fabric, and often, the fabric itself tends to be a cheap cut of cloth. Worse yet, is that the whole notion of a "quirky" comedy should really be one that's rooted in both the originality of the filmmaker(s) and sprout from seeds of reality that we all recognize. When the "quirks" we experience on-screen are like a mirror reflection of either our own experience and/or that of those we know, then what we're experiencing is something very special indeed.

We're not, for example, being gagged with a spoonful of rancid cinematic afterbirth like pictures that have been machine-tooled to be quirky like, for example, the despicably overrated "cute-retard" Oscar winner Silver Linings Playbook. What signals truly great eccentric laugh-fests are those like such bbonafide classics or near-classics as Terry Zwigoff's Ghost World, Noah Baumbach's Greenberg, Jim Jarmusch's Stranger Than Paradise, Mike Judge's Office Space and/or Napoleon Dynamite by Jared Hess. Not a single one of these films feels "manufactured".

Seeing obvious signs of any artist's abominably soiled fingers is the worst thing in any movie, but especially in offbeat comedies. I'm not necessarily talking about their style, or voice, because if that were the case I'd detest ALL of Woody Allen's movies, many of which could well slip into the realm of "quirky". Luckily, he's a genuine filmmaker and because of it, I clearly like and most often, love his stuff. When Allen or any other filmmaker is working at the peak of their powers, you don't see what they're up to - the pictures are so exquisitely crafted that what you're getting is the full monty. There are no annoying moments where you're being ripped out of the dramatic trajectory and asking, "Hey, where's the salami?"

In recent years, quirky comedies have also been shit-stuffed with far too many tell-tale signs of their desire to be outside of the purview of the ordinary, the commonplace. Wes Anderson, of course, used to be one of the most horrendous of these dabblers. Rushmore, for example, is so sickeningly twee and quirkily so, that all you really want to do is slam that stupid kid's face, teeth-first, repeatedly against a water fountain's metal spigot, then stick his idiotic red beret up his ass. Of course, the absolute worst offender is the wretched screenwriter Diablo Cody whose obvious, cellar-dwellar snappy dialogue is little more than gussied-up TV-sitcom writing which, with the horrendous Juno seemed perfectly suited to the marginally talented camera-jockey Jason Reitman, who thus far has proven that all he can do is make feature length versions of TV dramedies.

In many ways, there's not a damn thing wrong with the commonplace. There's no need to manufacture "quirk", because the ordinary is so often what is funny. Truly great and/or natural filmmakers are able to mine this territory for all its quirky worthiness. There's no need to look under every rock for the offbeat and then, if it isn't there, invent it for the simple reason of making sure it exists.

Canadian filmmakers, especially in English Canada, have naturally migrated to slightly out of the gourd comedies. Our unique perspective as a nation resisting Manifest Destiny (while schizophrenically wanting to embrace it), in addition to the basic reality of substantially lower budgets to play with, has contributed to a ludicrously high number of such films - perhaps generating more of them on a per-capita basis than anywhere else in the world. Like our American indie or indie-styled counterparts, the best work in this sub-genre has been rooted in a genuine sense of skewed reality coupled with original filmmaking voices like that of John Paizs (Crime Wave, Top of the Food Chain), Sarah Polley (Away From Her, Take This Waltz), Jacob Tierney (The Trotsky), Michael Dowse (FUBAR, Goon) and most recently, Kathryn Palmateer and Shawn Whitney's A Brand New You. Alas, the number of perfectly wretched quirky Canadian comedies is also, on a per-capita basis, probably higher than any other country. Even bothering to cite them here, would be like shooting fish in a barrel.

All this, however, brings us to the order of the day - a first-rate solo sophomore directorial effort and yes, a quirky comedy. It's not only a terrific movie, but it's Canadian!

Why is this pretty girl hanging
herself? Is it because she's quirky?
A kind of, well, you know, a kind of pretty good, I guess, well, you know, a kind of, well, maybe it's a bit better than pretty good, maybe it's, well, uh, well, you know, it's Canadian so it's kind of going to be, you know, kind of well, you know - maybe it's A KIND OF WONDERFUL THING.
Anna (Erica Sherwood) wants to kill herself. She's single. She works in a laundromat/coffee shop. Her annoyingly Status Quo-loving sister Sarah (Beth Moore) is about to get married and hates her for presumably being responsible for their Dad's accidental death and spilling his urn of ashes before they could be scattered, uh, properly.

Oh yeah, Anna is going to die anyway.

She's been diagnosed with what is most probably terminal cancer. Unfortunately, Anna's so close to being a female version of a nebbish that she can't even hang herself properly, so when that fails, she turns to drowning her ennui with liquor and diving headlong into 98-hour work weeks.

Seems reasonable, yes?

Her little brother Josh (Brad Moore) wouldn't think so. He's returned home to attend the wedding and decides to crash with Anna. After all, she lives alone in the old family house and if it wasn't such a mess, there'd actually be plenty of room. Josh is a musician, a seemingly happy-go-lucky wandering troubadour, though mostly, no doubt, an odd-jobber to support his music career. His return stimulates the warmth and good humour the brother and sister shared as kids - before, of course, the accident.

Always, the accident. It clearly touched the whole family's life, but none more than Anna. It consumes many of her waking hours when she's not working or drinking herself into a stupor, mixing the booze with her drugstore-full of anti-depressants. Worse yet, even at rest, it doesn't escape her. Anna's dreams are filled with memories of her late father which, rather than offering solace, only serve to remind her of his death. In some ways, Anna's life is not so much a living nightmare, but one of those horrendous, icky disturbing dreams we sometimes get when we accidentally fall into those decidedly unexpected catnaps on hot, humid days.

We've all experienced them. I have a recurring one, myself. It involves a slime-drenched foetus-like creature being stroked gently by my bedridden Mother who inexplicably has knobby stumps for arms. When the foetus slithers away, up a wall, then onto a ceiling, it drops, splattering onto my face and waking me up.

But, I digress. You get the idea, I'm sure.

To complicate matters further, Anna notices that a super-handsome hunk (Edward Balli) has moved into the house next door. She obsesses over him and he seems to like her, too. He likes her so much, he admits how easy and delightful it would be to kill her. This seems to be courtship-talk of the strangest kind, but as the story is set in the bucolic Southern Ontario city of St. Catharines, a sort of wine-country Canadian version of David Lynch's Lumberton in Blue Velvet, anything is possible. The sleepiest burghs in Canada tend to be roiling with all manner of dark undercurrents. And let's not forget that St. Catharines, Ontario is the former kingdom of the happily married schoolgirl-killer-rapist hubby and wifey, Paul Bernardo and Karla Homolka. Our hunky neighbour could well have a few quirks he needs to genuinely iron out. Don't we all?

Speaking of quirks, one huge spanner in the works with respect to romance for Anna - well, aside from her terminal cancer - is that lover-boy has a pretty, blonde ex-girlfriend (Tiffany Browne) who is not only stalking him, but shooting evil eyes into our heroine. Oh, and our stalker chick also steals gum. This is inexcusable, especially, it would seem, in St. Catharines.

And please, allow me to reiterate. This movie is, after all, set in St. Catharines, Ontario. As weird a place as that is to set a movie, it seems to be just what the movie doctor ordered, because it's the indigenous qualities of that world that contribute greatly to the film's winning originality. The writing by star Sherwood and director Lupish is some of the best I've had the pleasure to experience in a Canadian comedy. It's up there with the best. Though the dialogue dangerously borders upon the almost stock indie-quirky-comedy tone of deadpan disaffection, it brilliantly never plunges straight into that chasm. The screenplay is deftly balanced, always fun, often telling and extremely affecting. One of its strengths is how clever it is without being self-consciously clever.

(There's one strange false note in the writing that I just didn't get. I've watched the film twice now and still can't figure out why Anna is beleaguered with medical bills when she lives in Canada, a country with universal healthcare for all. I thought that maybe she was traipsing down to nearby Buffalo, New York to circumvent the sometimes tortoise-like machinations of the national health system in Canuckland, but I don't know any American hospitals that bill you for services rendered. It's cash or credit card up-front in the Land of Stars and Stripes. At least that's been my experience. Yeah, this is a nitpick, but it does kind of stand out like a sore thumb.)

Sore thumb or not, the movie grabs you by the funny bone and the heart and it never lets go. Lupish directs with the kind of sincerity and simplicity that allows for the screenplay to soar and the performances he elicits from the cast are nothing short of miraculous. The acting is naturalistic and fresh - from its charming leads right on down to bit players and even extras. We never feel like we're watching "actors" or rather, actors who ever try to overplay dialogue that could well veer into the aforementioned "quality" of machine-tooled quirkiness.

In spite of its layers of darkness and even heartbreak, A Kind of Wonderful Thing creates a natural feeling of buoyancy in an audience. It makes you feel good, even when you're tweaked and singed by the reality and even sadness of Anna's world (and by extension, the world of all the characters).

Lupish also creates magic where it really counts. Letting the script take its odd southpaw turns, the movie builds to a climax that comes completely out of nowhere, but even that's the delicate magic of his work as a director. It doesn't really come from nowhere - it's an inevitability we can't escape from, but one in which we participate with blindfolds. The film astoundingly engenders a sense of repression - not only within the characters (one which they all must narratively overcome), but within us, the audience. We repress what's staring us in the face because we love the world and characters of this film too much.

This is what tears at your heart. The film cuts deep. I even urge an audience to load up on kleenex and/or hankies before watching the movie. Lupish creates an ending so beautiful and haunting that you might well be needing them. A Kind of Wonderful Thing serves up something that's finally not kind of wonderful, nor is it tear-jerking, nor is it sloppily manipulative. It's wonderful, alright and it's so damn moving, it'll send you out of the cinema soaring with both melancholy and contentment.

In the end, you can't ask too much more from a picture.

A Kind of Wonderful Thing plays at the inaugural Niagara Integrated Film Festival (NIFF 2014). For tickets and further info, visit the festival website HERE.

BLOOD GLACIER - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Oh, those wacky Germans!!! Sinister Cinema Does Deutschland!!!

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BLOOD GLACIER has it all. Check this out. It's got: Germans, mutants, Alps, a cute dog, a blood glacier, a balding unkempt alcoholic hero, snow, ice, weasel-like scientists, weird-ass shit under microscopes, thickly proportioned mean-ass German hausfraus, people who say "Ja" and "Nein!" a lot and who do things they shouldn't be doing because we know they're going to die but for some reason they can't figure that out, beefy hunks (for the ladies and light-in-the-loafers gents), babe-o-licious babes for the fellas and bull-dykes ('natch), mutants, guns, drills, claws, sharp teeth, open sores, English subtitles for those who do not sprechen ze deutsche and much, much more. Have I mentioned the mutants yet? Oh. Sorry. I have. BUT, have I mentioned the mutant Ibex? I thought not. Where else will you see a mutant Ibex? Only in Germany. (And of course, in the visionary Raven Banner's latest Sinister Cinema presentation.)

The majestic Ibex has a noble tradition in German Cinema. To the left you will see the lovely Leni Riefenstahl, former interpretive dancer and eventual
director of Triumph of the Will, clowning about with an Ibex on the
set of a Bergfilme by the legendary Dr. Arnold Fanck
and to the right you will spy a hungry Mutant Ibex
in the bloody German shock-fest BLOOD GLACIER.

Blood Glacier (2013) ***
Dir. Marvin Kren
Starring: Madita (AKA Edita Malovčić), Hille Beseler, Gerhard Liebmann, Wolfgang Pampel, Brigitte Kren, Peter Knaack, Michael Fuith, Murathan Muslu, Adina Vetter, Coco Huemer, Felix Römer, Santos as Tinnie the dog

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Ladies and gentleman, in honour of Marvin Kren's utterly insane alpine thriller Blood Glacier, please join me now in raising - not our right hands, but, our heads, hearts and voices to the heavens to sing the following ditty to the tune of the stirring German National Anthem:

Deutschland, Deutschland über alles,
thank you for this very fine film,
we will worship all you have to offer,
even when it inspires incontinence,
we will spew forth,
from our sphincters,
whilst you do scare the living shit from us…"


Good creature features need BABES!
Luckily, as this is German, it has a fair share.
I believe, quite strenuously, that Raven Banner, the visionary international sales agent of genre films needs to score a promotional tie-in with the Kimberly-Clark Company to provide free Depend® products at the Sinister Cinema screenings so that audience members will not soil themselves, nor the fine comfy chairs in the Cineplex Entertainment complexes that show such bowel-and-urinary-movement-inspiring scary movies not unlike the new mutants-in-the-Alps horror shocker Blood Glacier, courtesy of some (no doubt) crazed, yodelling, lederhosen-adorned German filmmakers. This is one fun ride and it's infused with more than enough elements to inspire unfortunate accidents of the expulsive kind.

Poor Tinnie, So Cute,
So utterly DOOMED!
A group of persnickety scientists studying the effects of climate change upon the glaciers of the Alps and Janek (Gerhard Liebmann), their slovenly, drunken jack-of-all-trades-technical-dude encounter difficulties with their communications satellite dish. Upon investigating the mystery they discover a huge glacier that looks like it's covered in frozen blood. Samples are taken, the satellite is repaired and - uh, oh - Janek's sweet, loyal and super-cute dog Tinnie is bitten by something in a cave. Getting back to the base station, Janek puts Tinnie under some covers, assuming his canine pal might have been bitten by a rabid fox. We in the audience know differently though, since we've seen many movies like this before. Even Janek suspects otherwise when the ice sample is discovered to be a mysterious entity that creates mutations.

The scientists express grave concern, not over a rabid fox or even other animals outside that have more than likely been infected by this mysterious entity. Rather, they're worried that a visiting delegation might decide not to come the next day if there's any hint at all of danger. More scientists, guides and an influential German Minister (a porcine battle-axe hausfrau type) are headed up to inspect the team's progress in order to assess the extension of funding for the environmental research activities at the alpine base station. Janek is appalled these supposedly good men and women of science would dare risk the safety of everyone for funding.

LOVE
means never having to say:
"
Bitte erlauben Sie mir,
Ihnen meine
 Wurst geben."

Well, things go deliciously awry from this point on. Needless to say, the conflict twixt Janek and the others mounts. Best of all, when one does the quick math on the delegation making its way up the mountain and the members of the research station, the movie yields more than enough characters to ensure an excellent body count. Both the monsters and situations are delightfully derivative of both Alien and John Carpenter's The Thing with just enough originality and environmental thematics to keep things fresh. The group dynamics are especially well evoked and as we meet more and more monsters, we're deep into this affair with more than a few dirty shirts.

We even get some perfunctory romance since the chief scientist coming for a visit is Janek's former lover - a babe, naturally.

Director Kren (Berlin Undead) more-than-ably handles the suspense, elicits strong performances from his cast and makes excellent use of the real alpine locations. He also juggles the character dynamics of Benjamin Hessler's decent screenplay (one which offers just the right balance of smarts and entertaining stupidity). The special effects are also a big treat - a total blast of the ingenious low budget variety mixed with a few dabs of cheesiness (nothing too egregious, though). All the picture's technical credits including cinematography, cutting and a cool score all rank above and beyond the call of duty for a semi-by-the-numbers creature feature.

There's nothing more DEADLY
than a hausfrau with a DRILL!
For me, as a fan of both horror movies AND the insane Bergfilme genre, best rendered by Dr. Arnold Fanck and starring Hitler's and Goebbels' favourite Aryan minx Leni Riefenstahl, Blood Glacier rendered me happily apoplectic. Kren's picture has more than its fair share of psycho touches to please any devoted, kitsch-seeking Teutophile. One of the film's most pleasurable moments involves the aforementioned porky hausfrau and her stunningly deft ability to wield a deadly and humungous drill. Most of all, the movie features what I believe to be a cinematic first - a vicious mutant Ibex. An IBEX, people! What in the bloody hell are you doing at home? Get out and see Blood Glacier. How often in your life will you experience an out-of-control Ibex in the German Alps? Yeah, I thought so.

Blood Glacier plays at Raven Banner's Sinister Cinema series for One night Across Canada, Thursday, June 19, 2014 @ 7:30pm.

Additional screenings have been added at Cineplex Cinemas Yonge Dundas & VIP starting June 20 in Toronto. Check Toronto local listings for confirmed dates and times.

Here's a complete list of participating cinemas for the showing on June 19:

Complete list of participating Cineplex theatres:
Scotiabank Theatre Chinook - Calgary, AB
Scotiabank Theatre Edmonton - Edmonton, AB
Cineplex Cinemas Saint John - Saint John, NB
Cineplex Cinemas Avalon Mall - St. John's, NL
Cineplex Odeon Victoria Cinemas - Victoria, BC
SilverCity Riverport Cinemas - Richmond, BC
Galaxy Cinemas Nanaimo - Nanaimo, BC
Cineplex Odeon International Village Cinemas - Vancouver, BC
Colossus Langley Cinemas - Langley, BC
SilverCity Polo Park Cinemas- Winnipeg, MB
SilverCity Sudbury Cinemas- Sudbury, ON
Galaxy Cinemas Regina - Regina, SK
Galaxy Cinemas Saskatoon - Saskatoon, SK
SilverCity Fairview Mall Cinemas - Toronto, ON
Cineplex Odeon Winston Churchill Cinemas - Oakville, ON
Cineplex Cinemas Yonge Dundas & VIP - Toronto, ON
Cineplex Odeon Eglinton Town Centre Cinemas - Scarborough, ON
Cineplex Cinemas Queensway and VIP - Etobicoke, ON
Colossus Vaughan Cinemas - Woodbridge, ON
Cineplex Cinemas Mississauga - Mississauga, ON
Coliseum Ottawa Cinemas - Ottawa, ON
SilverCity Gloucester Cinemas - Ottawa, ON
Cineplex Cinemas Bayers Lake - Halifax, NS
Cineplex Odeon Forum Cinemas - Montreal, QC
Cineplex Odeon Devonshire Mall Cinemas - Windsor, ON
Galaxy Cinemas Waterloo - Waterloo, ON
SilverCity Hamilton Cinemas - Hamilton, ON
SilverCity London Cinemas - London, ON

The film had its Canadian launch via Mr. Colin Geddes and his delicious TIFF Midnight Madness series.

DEAD BEFORE DAWN 3D - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Dreadful Canadian Horror-Comedy Besmirches Maple Leaf. This Niagara Integrated Film Festival (NIFF 2014) offering is best reserved for undiscriminating audiences.

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LOWEST FILM CORNER RATING:

Delivered to films too bad to garner one-star (*).

Said films would normally then receive the "One Pubic Hair" rating, however, not to besmirch the fine pubic hair recipient Sharknado by lumping it in (so to speak) with genuine turds, I was forced to create a critical rating even lower for Ridley Scott's abominable The Counsellor.

The Rating is, quite simply and evocatively:

"TURD DISCOVERED BEHIND
HARRY'S CHAR BROIL AND DINING LOUNGE"
.

As pictured to the left, this an actual turd found by myself and Project Grizzly filmmaker Peter Lynch in the illustrious Parkdale parking lot behind Harry's wherein the two of us had just dined with writer Geoff Pevere.

Recipients of this hallowed rating since Scott's atrocity have been the wretched 2014 remake of Endless Love, the putrid Veronica Mars movie and the horrendous 2014 Godzilla.

Now, please feel free to add:

Dead Before Dawn 3D to the aforementioned list of recipients of this most appalling critical rating which will, one hopes, seal the work's fate in some manner of infamy.


How did I get into this movie?
Oh yeah, some Canadian paid me.
Gimme a Blue, eh?
Dead Before Dawn 3D (2013) Dir. April Mullen
"TURD DISCOVERED BEHIND HARRY'S CHAR BROIL & DINING LOUNGE"
Starring: Devon Bostick, Christopher Lloyd
Review By Greg Klymkiw
Some movies are so pathetic it feels like shooting dead fish in a barrel to bother reviewing them. Normally, Dead Before Dawn 3D would be such a picture as it's certainly a dead enough fish and the barrel it floats in reeks of rotting malodorous offals, but its filmmakers have ambitiously tricked the normally appealing Devon Bostick into taking the lead role, plopped the bankable genre icon Christopher Lloyd into a decent-sized cameo and bothered to shoot the film in stereoscopic 3-D. Chances are good that plenty of folks will be conned into laying out cold, hard cash to see this fetid tin o' tuna. This, then, requires further investigation.

The horrendously stupid and juvenile screenplay by Tim Doiron makes the fatal error of dialling the tone of humour down to the level of some half-witted inbred or worse, most suburban tweener-teener mall rats of, shall we say dubious breeding and/or rearing and in so doing, serves up some of the dumbest dialogue and hopelessly unfunny gags imaginable.

The plot, such as it is, involves teenager Bostick as a geeky lad living amongst the leafy greens of Niagara wine country who agrees to help out goofy grandpa Christopher Lloyd by holding down the fort at the wild-eyed old coot's occult shop. (Isn't that convenient?) Upon departing, Lloyd, on his way to pick up an award from an Occult Society, warns Bostick to never touch a mysterious urn.

Well, obviously he does.

Bostick, you see, is hung up on a teen babe played by Martha McIsaac who turns out to be an occult buff (conveniently) and when she and a bunch of other teens enter the store, the urn is retrieved for the babe's edification and breaks. Not only does the urn break, but the other kids begin joking about its occult properties and inadvertently conjure up one mega-curse wherein townspeople begin turning into combo-zombies-demons. As hell breaks loose, it's up to Bostick to break the curse.

Director April Mullen camera-jockeys the proceedings with near-borderline competence, but the movie is jam-packed with dreadful digital effects and sub-par makeup design work and the whole mess is finally so low-budget that the setting itself seems ludicrously under-populated. Not that the godawful script helps matters, but Mullens's directorial "touch" is to play everything for overwrought hilarity and/or horror - so much so, that the movie begins to plod with the kind of dullness one gets when a picture's frantic qualities just plain wear you down.

Apparently, Dead Before Dawn is the first stereoscopic 3-D film shot in its entirety by a female director and also purports to be the first-ever stereoscopic 3-D film made as a full-fledged all-Canadian feature in Canuckland. Both attributes mean little since the overall compositions of the shots are so dull that the depth of 3-D means zilch and the few comin-at-ya' f/X stink to high heaven. Also, Canada has actually generated a genuinely fine all-Canuck 3-D feature film. It might not be full-on back-to-back 3-D, but it was actually shot ON FILM as opposed to the much inferior red-cam digital. Oh, and it was made over 50-years-ago in Toronto. Directed by Julian Roffman (I'll grant you, he's not a female), his 1961 3=D effort The Mask is a genuinely cool movie and a far more historic contribution to both the history of genre films and, of course, Canadian film history.

Dead Before Dawn 3-D is one of those horrid Canadian films that wants us to applaud it because the movie was simply made and because its filmmaker chose to attack it - seemingly - to get into the record books, rather than to generate a good movie. Granted the picture was cobbled together to make money, but that's hardly an achievement when there are a lot of dreadful movies that make far more money than this will ever make and frankly, aren't quite as mind-numbingly mediocre.

Worse yet, is that the film seems genuinely aimed at a youth audience, but it dumbs itself down, treating them like morons. My own 13-year-old daughter Julia caught on to this while watching it with me. She occasionally reviews films at the Film Corner as my junior cub reporter (you can read some of Julia's reviews by clicking HERE), but after seeing Dead Before Dawn 3-D she yawned, then remarked, "I'm going to pass on writing about this, Dad. Life's too short."

Indeed it is.

Dead Before Dawn 3D plays at the Niagara Integrated Film Festival (NIFF 2014). For ticket info, click HERE.

FOUR CORNERS - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Shattering South African Crime-Drama @niagaraFilmFest2014

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Brilliant chess prodigy Ricardo (Jezriel Skei)
can't escape the influence of criminal gangs.

A tattooed prison lifer knows all,
because he's seen all and stays alive
with his constant hawk-like gaze.
Four Corners (2013) ***½
Dir. Ian Gabriel
Starring: Brendon Daniels, Jezriel Skei, Abduragman Adams, Irshaad Ally, Lindiwe Matshikiza,

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Though over twenty years has passed since the dismantlement of racial segregation in South Africa, the brutality of the White minority's policy of Apartheid continues to assert its damaging effects over this country struggling to accept that the shackles are gone and that freedom is, sadly, a learned experience.

The repercussions of racism as official governance prior to the election of Nelson Mandela as President in 1994, forced poverty and crime to reign over certain segments of Black African society. This shameful blight, flagrantly and meretriciously foisted upon the nation's majority continues even today. The prisons overflow with black inmates whilst rival gangs, in front and behind the walls of incarceration, perpetuate a perverse self-identify through criminal activity, much of it against each other.

Ian Gabriel's finely crafted film Four Corners focuses on a handful of inter-connected characters as we follow the amalgamation of their individual stories into each other.

Farakhan (Brendon Daniels) is a General of a vicious gang. Upon his release from prison, he seeks to cut ties with the criminal organization, extract revenge upon the rival who murdered his father, reclaim his family home (now smack in the middle of the rivals' territory) and painstakingly seek out the son he's never met. Along the way he meets Leila (Lindiwe Matshikiza), a London-educated doctor who has returned to her Cape Flats home to settle her recently deceased father's estate. The couple are immediately attracted to each other, but their diametrically opposed worlds have the potential to drive a wedge between them.

Tito (Abduragman Adams) is a detective obsessed with solving the case of numerous missing children who might well be victims of a serial killer as opposed to gang warfare. He also takes a gently patriarchal interest and approach to keeping a watchful eye over Ricardo (Jezriel Skei), a fatherless teen chess master who is constantly faced with the inevitability of joining the criminal gang presided over by Gasant (Irshaad Ally), a handsome, power-hungry young crime baron whose mesmerist qualities are exactly what the doctor ordered to attract juveniles to the cause (whether they're "delinquent" or not).

It won't take long before these four disparate souls intersect and though there's a feeling that Four Corners (as harsh and brutal as much of it is) compares to being a kinder, gentler and more straightforward South African version of Amores perros by Mexican auteur Alejandro González Iñárritu, it never feels like homage, nor is it blatantly derivative. Given the poverty and corruption within both countries, it seems like a perfectly acceptable approach to telling its tale(s).

Four Corners also manages to achieve this without an accent on aping Iñárritu's cerebral qualities and especially in its favour is the film's lack of didactic qualities many other filmmakers on their sophomore effort might be prone to. Gabriel is a fine meat-and-potatoes director and clearly fulfills the promise he displayed with his first feature, the powerful Forgiveness from 2004. Here, he more than ably renders the solid screenplay (from his story) by Terence Hammond & Hofmeyr Scholtz which never blatantly references the effects of Apartheid, but certainly always keeps it present in the subtext.

If anything makes the film stand out from many other crime pictures of a multi-character structure is that at its core, the film is about family - seeking family and restoring family. This notion, so ever-present, touches all the characters and again, is tied to the slavery-like policies of Apartheid which did so much damage in separating people from their homes and those they.

There's a sense of melancholy and tragedy running through this beautifully acted film, but there are also touches of an eventual new world for all the characters and a strong sense that perhaps their children and their children's children will be the ultimate beneficiaries of their pain, struggles and sacrifices in a country still hurting from the hideous legislation of segregation and racism.

Four Corners is playing at the Niagara Integrate Film Festival (NIFF 2014). For tickets visit HERE.

GREASE - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Iconic 70s Homage to the 50s from Hit Play an Exercise in Futility.

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Do you detect the aroma of our love?

Grease (1978) dir. Randall Kleiser **
Starring: John Travolta, Olivia Newton-John, Stockard Channing, Didi Conn

Review By Greg Klymkiw

I hate this movie. I have always hated this movie. I will always hate this movie. In fact, the only reason I feel compelled to give it a two-star rating is that virtually everyone else in the world seems to think it’s worthy of slavish devotion. (I’m tempted to say “hopeless devotion”, but refuse, ultimately, to succumb for fear of morphing into Gene Shalit or worse, Peter Travers.)

So why, you might ask, is this innocuous tuft of powder puff worthy of my hatred? First and foremost, it paints a bone-headedly sun-dappled portrait of 50s America – a period so rich in contradiction and darkness just below the thin surface of light, that I find it impossible to stomach the pure nostalgic fakery. Call it curmudgeonly, but even upon its first release, I responded to the picture with the same kind of jaded contempt that (at the time) made me cringe when I first saw Star Wars a year earlier. In retrospect and with the benefit of several helpings since that time, including the new Blu-Ray release, Grease, like Star Wars, sits there in cinema history – a perfect Easter Island-like moai of how, by whom, where, when and why movies started to go seriously awry and led to a decade (the 80s) that was replete with some of the most mind-numbingly empty movies of all time. Even ace film critic Pauline Kael abandoned the lively sexually-charged titles of her book collections of reviews and collectively titled her pieces during the early 80s as “State of the Art” – reflecting the soul-bereft technical proficiency and machine-tooled quality of the work during that period.

In tandem with the aforementioned, the second most important piece of ammunition for my derision is the simple fact that Grease is not especially well made. It’s definitely machine-tooled, but not in any aesthetically pleasing way.

While many of the songs are not without the melodic qualities that popular music needs, the delivery of said pieces vocally and visually is either insipidly competent at best and at worst, downright dull. Olivia Newton-John, while suitably Sandra-Dee-like in her performance as the blonde goody-two-shoes who falls for the greasy bad-boy played by John Travolta, delivers all her vocals with the same lifeless range that vaulted her to the top of the A.M. charts during one of the most tunefully-challenged periods of mainstream music. Travolta’s singing is marginally better in that he attempts to infuse his clumsy warbling with something resembling pizzazz. The supporting cast is in better voice – notably Stockard Channing who delivers (in spite of her obvious over-age and flabby thighs), a musical performance that has EXACTLY what a musical needs in terms of vocal delivery – she has a great voice and lots of character.

Worse yet are the dance numbers. Newton-John simply can’t dance and Travolta, who can, never really gets a chance to cut loose as in Saturday Night Fever and, in later years, Pulp Fiction. This is not necessarily ALWAYS the fault of the performers. Patricia Birch’s choreography is pretty run of the mill, but worse yet, Kleiser simply has no idea where to put his camera during these scenes. I normally have no problem with proscenium-styled theatrical choreography where the camera lets the performers do most of the work, however with Grease, many of the shots are really uninspiring and/or just plain slapdash and while the idiotic over-cutting that pastes them sloppily together is not quite as awful as in most contemporary musicals, it does signal the shape of things to come such as cutting to the beat and/or constantly punching in for unnecessary close-ups. (An excellent example of proscenium styled choreography that’s handled deliciously can be experienced in the Blu-ray release of Joshua Logan’s gorgeous and stunning South Pacific.)

At the end of the day, I have no problem with fluff if it’s first-rate, but Grease– after several viewings over the years – seems (at least to my eyes) lacking the kind of style and oomph one normally equates with great movie musicals. There’s also something vaguely detestable about the “Happy Days” quality to the nostalgia. George Lucas went back to 1962 with the brilliant American Graffiti, but the movie captures a time of change so that the fun and frolics have a true bittersweet quality to them. Grease captures not much of anything, save for some poorly shot, cut and choreographed musicals numbers purporting to capture a period that doesn’t seem to exist in any world save for the one belched up by Kleiser and his factory workers.

The Blu-Ray release of Grease is also a bit of a disappointment, too. Part of the problem is the source material since the movie is not especially well shot, but there also seems to be something not quite right about the transfer. After my considerable disappointment with the look of this Blu-Ray release, I compared the virtually identical DVD version. Surprisingly, the Blu-Ray disc doesn’t look much better than the up-rez that occurs when I play the DVD on the Blu-Ray player itself.

The extra features are the usual grab bag of fan-aimed nonsense. The “documentary” elements of the extras are not much more than publicity-styled puff pieces, the deleted scenes are only of use to die-hard fans and the sing-a-long feature feels oddly out of synch. (My little girl, who loves the movie and the music, switched off the sing-a-long feature and did her thing without it because the karaoke effect was just confusing.)

The real surprise and best thing about the Blu-Ray release is the excellent commentary track by Kleiser and Birch. For a bad movie, a dreadful director and an unexciting choreographer, they actually sound like intelligent people and some of the insights into the production are informative and entertaining – not enough, alas, to change my mind about the picture itself, though. Ah, the hell with it. Call me a wet blanket and enjoy!

Grease is available via Paramount Home Entertainment on Blu-Ray & DVD in a package titled “The Rockin’ Rydell Edition”.

DIARY OF A WIMPY KID - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Even the kiddies will be bored to tears with this one.

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Diary of a Wimpy Kid (2010) *
dir. Thor Fruedenthal
Starring: Zachray Gordon, Robert Capley, Devon Bostick, Chloe Grace Moretz

Review By Greg Klymkiw

This minor surprise hit is the sort of family film that makes me fear terribly for the next generation of children. If the title character is one that kids are supposed to identify with and in fact, do, then all of us oldsters are in for a rough ride in our august years when these brats grow up into bigger brats.

Not that there's anything wrong with upholding and extolling the virtues of a kid who is clearly an underdog, but the character of Greg Heffley (Zachray Gordon) is not only represented ever-so blandly by the generic young actor shoe-horned into the role, but is such an unpalatably dull and spoiled figure of boyhood that the film might be better titled "Diary of a Little Knob". And a little knob he surely is. That said, he comes from an entire family of knobs.

Living in a relatively affluent, bucolic, tree-lined suburb dotted with immaculate pre-war two-story homes, Greg is about to enter middle school convinced that childhood must be left behind n order to fit in, and most importantly to strive for acceptance based on beiing cooler than cool

Alas, he's a wimp.

We know this because the movie (and his character) tell us he is through clunky, all-over-the-map narration (striving to be clever with a myriad of animated comic book techniques, wipes and flashbacks, but falling short and feeling contrived). What's especially odd, however, is that Greg initially appears to be the unlikeliest candidate for wimp-dom. He's a fresh-faced, relatively articulate, seemingly innocuous and even sweet-looking young man. Granted, he's got a shorter, more slender frame than many of the jock-types, but he certainly qualifies as cute. Again, if the movie didn't keep telling us what a wimp he is, we'd have no reason to believe he actually is.

And, I reiterate, as the story progresses, he actually proves to be as big a knob as all the bullies are.

This, of course, is no surprise, since his immediate family are also knobs. The movie keeps telling us that this is the typical and ideal suburban family and while I admit that most suburban-types are, in reality, knobs, this does not appear to be the film's intention. Yet another reason why the movie fails miserably.

His big brother Rodrick (Devon Bostick) is an eye-liner-wearing wanna-be basement grunge-rocker who imparts advice to Greg about handling the transition to middle school and then insults his little brother by telling him what a wimp he is and playing one cruel practical joke after another on him.

His mother Susan (played by the abominable Rachael Harris, an actress reeking of TV-Q and not much else) is a shrill, professional working Mom who pays far more attention to her youngest child, an obnoxious and somewhat ugly toddler always sitting on the pooper. As well, she is quick to believe her eldest son when he fixes it so that Greg gets into trouble. Why she puts such faith in this lanky, head-banging poseur is beyond me.

Then there's his Dad Frank (embarrassingly over-played by the woefully untalented Steve Zahn) who secretly sides with Greg, but is ultimately so pussy-whipped and ineffectual that he's unable to do much of anything when Mom and Big Brother cut him down. Zahn's overwrought, eye-bulging, please-like-me school of acting inspires in us, the desire to bash his skull to watermelon-pulp with a baseball bat.

Once Greg comes to school we truly begin to realize what a cowardly knob he is. His friends include Rowley (Robert Capron) the amiable, childlike, Mama's Boy fatso with streamers on his pink bike, the drooling, buck-toothed, snot-eating Fregley (Grayson Russell) and a cute, earnest and bright young East Indian boy Chirag Gupta (Karan Brar). Any one or all three of these boys are much bigger wimps than Greg. They also happen to be far more engaging characters - so much so that when Greg tells us in the insufferable to-the-camera narration how ashamed he is of being seen with them, we like them even more and begin to detest the leading character with a passion.

When Greg meets Angie Steadman (Chloe Grace Moretz) a genuinely stunning and intelligent middle school babe who edits the school newspaper, reads Allen Ginsburg and extends an offer to Greg to help her out on the paper, we begin to detest our leading man-boy even more as he rudely rejects her advances. We get no real or believable explanation why he would do this, he just does. And all one can think is - what a knob!

Eventually, we write this loser off completely when he displays total and irredeemable cowardice and lands his best friend in hot water - betraying him further by not owning up to his guilt (and when he does, doing so with a backhanded apology).

By the time Greg owns up to all his mistakes, he's forgiven - but not by us. He's been such a knob that his turn seems sickeningly manipulative. It's also one of the more moronic plot details. And speaking of moronic plot details, the worst involves a piece of mouldy cheese that sits forlornly on the pavement of the school's play area. It carries an urban legend that anyone who touches it becomes - untouchable. During the climax, some bullies force Greg's geeky fat-boy friend to not only touch it, but take a few bites of it. When the rest of their classmates show up, Greg "bravely" grabs the cheese to save lard-boy the ultimate humiliation and himself becomes, the untouchable. The movie tells us he's learned a lesson, but we never really believe it. Besides, up to this point Greg has been such a supreme knob that the audience not only detests him, but so does the school populace. So big deal, he makes a sacrifice to take himself from pariah to bigger pariah.

The movie, while a mere 90 minutes, feels like an eternity. Aside from the character of Gupta, the sweet East Indian boy, the entire world of the picture is so white and affluent that it's impossible to feel much of anything for anyone. Yes, these worlds exist in real life, but they're populated by people so bland and average that if one is to bother making a movie about them, then part of that movie's perspective and/or mandate should be to examine how such a world perpetuates sameness and condemns diversity. Alas, it sticks to the status quo like a fly to fecal matter. And, of course, let's not forget that Greg, the main character, is a knob who ends up hurting people that seem far more likeable and engaging than he is.

By the end, one is simply drained, sickened and offended. This generic colour-free world is placed on a pedestal and our title character's plight is ultimately so inconsequential that the very cleanliness of the world the film creates makes us feel dirty.

Interestingly (and happily enough to me), when I took my then=eight-year-old daughter to see the movie theatrically, she was so bored and disgusted by this picture that she begged me to take her to see another movie immediately after it ended. I took her to see Green Zone which not only thrilled her, but inspired a lengthy discussion afterwards wherein she stated that a lot of the "bad people" hurting the Iraqi people seemed like Greg in Diary of a Wimpy Kid. Delightfully, she cited the persnickety slime-ball American bureaucrat played by Greg Kinnear as seeming to be the Greg character from "Wimpy Kid" and what he'd be like when he grew up.

So much for traditional family values if they're anything like those on display in this abomination.

Diary of a Wimpy Kid is family cinema of the lowest order. It's on DVD and Blu-Ray. I'm not sure why anyone would want to own it, though.

ANTISOCIAL - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Standard Low-Budget Thriller Signals Arrival of Talented Director

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Antisocial (2013) **1/2
Dir. Cody Calahan
Starring: Michelle Mylett

Review By
Greg Klymkiw


The final 20 minutes of this low budget Canadian horror film's 92 minute running time features some truly mind-splitting gore and suspense. From a directorial standpoint, the movie kicks into the sort of high-gear one wants from a low budget genre film and though Writer-Director Cody Calahan's feature debut has a few frissons slithering throughout, much of its first two-thirds is a slog on a number of fronts.

Basically, it's a one-star movie boosted a notch by a terrific climax and the potential of its director to eventually make a good movie. The setup is typical of most no-to-low budget genre items - a group of college kids are trapped in a house while an infection rages outside and in addition to threats of the external variety are those from within as the college kids start catching the plague - beginning, middle and end of movie.

Ho-hum. Been there. Done that. The only thing that's going to keep us watching is a combination of directorial flourishes, new twists on the now-stale set-up/backdrop and, of course, good writing (if not narratively, at least on the level of character and dialogue).

On the directorial front, Calahan (the first assistant director and co-producer of Monster Brawl and Exit Humanity) knows a thing or two about delivering scares in a solid fashion. Alas, there are weird pacing and spatial issues when he's not focused on pure terror. For example (and there are many similar such scenes throughout), we get two characters in a room, bad shit happens in there, the other characters come upstairs to see what's wrong, we cut back into the room, a long conversation takes place, we wonder why the characters in the hallway who have expressed considerable interest and urgency haven't burst in long before this and then, when the lines of dialogue (which aren't especially good anyway) have been uttered, the door opens and the rest of the characters saunter in.

At least when stuff like that happens in an Ed Wood movie, it's funny.

As a director, Calahan seems either incompetent or uninterested in pretty much everything other than visceral thrills which, yes, he can handle well enough. A good part of the problem, however, is the writing and for that, he merely needs to look in a mirror. Though derivative of much better films like Kiyoshi Kurosawa's Pulse, Calahan's script at least steals a good idea from it by rooting the source of the evil in computers. The nice twist is that it manifests its victims via a Social Networking site. This is good. Tons of potential. Alas, the possibilities - narratively and thematically - are not mined in any intelligent way.

It sits there, ever-so nicely, like the good idea it is.

"Look at me, Ma. I'm a good idea, but my writer isn't doing anything with me."

"Don't worry, child, someday he - or someone, will."

As far as the characters go, they're pretty much stock for this kind of movie. Is it always necessary to populate these films with vapid college kids who really have no depth beyond the perfunctory? Of course, it isn't, but this is exactly what Calahan does. We get a group of dull, average losers with pretty low and petty personal stakes. One might charge Sam Raimi with a similar crime in his first Evil Dead outing, but his viciously black sense of humour, the appearance of the genuinely brilliant Bruce Campbell and the utterly creepy, horrendous shit he puts them through makes it a winner all the way. Calahan probably needed to remember that washouts of the kind he's populated his film with REALLY need MAJOR punishment.

The dialogue is especially wretched and of the variety wherein something happens on-screen and one of the characters tells us and his fellow characters what we (and they) have just seen. The first time this happened, I was close to throwing in the towel, but hung in hoping things would get better.

Even the tropes of substandard straight to video genre fare are handled with a kind of dull conservatism in Calahan's film. The initial symptoms of the infection include copious bleeding from facial openings like the ears, eyes and nose plus paranoid hallucinations. That's okay, I guess, but when I think about the blood parasite infecting Barbara Steele in David Cronenberg's first feature Shivers by slithering up into her vagina, or the disgusting pustules all over the deformed baby's face and the gloopy blood it coughs up from its mush-filled infected mouth in David Lynch's first feature Eraserhead or the little girl stabbing her mother repeatedly with a garden trowel in Romero's first feature Night of the Living Dead, nosebleeds just don't cut the mustard.

Rectal and vaginal bleeding, however, might have been what the doctor ordered to grease things up a bit. I suggest that next time Mr. Calahan listen to his knowledgeable G.P.

Eventually Calahan's virus-infused victims turn into raving homicidal maniacs. I can live with this, but again, I think back on Cronenberg's Shivers where the infected victims become raving homicidal SEX maniacs. In fact, Calahan's characters could use a little sex to begin with, but instead we get the main female character moping around from being knocked up by her loser boyfriend who dumps her via social networking just prior to her heading off to do remedial work after flunking a criminology test. Ugh! She's not only a drag, but stupid.

She is, thankfully, a babe, but even though the actress playing her is indeed a knockout, we know there won't be any boinking going on when she hooks up with her handsome male friend who seems vaguely more intelligent and far more worthy of the supple charms twixt her thighs than the bonehead she was being dinked by.

Worse yet, another vapid couple gets it on in the bedroom, but ONLY manage to strip down to their undies. Come on, for Christ's sake! Can we get a little bare breast action from the babe or a smidgen of schwance from her studly male partner? No. It's not that kind of movie. (Though actually, it IS that kind of movie, but too precious to deliver the goods.)

The nice thing about low budget genre features is when, like the aforementioned Monster Brawl and Exit Humanity, the movies - for whatever flaws they possess - at least try to do something different and go well beyond the tropes.

That doesn't happen here, but if you do bother with the film, I can assure you that in its final third, on a purely visceral level, the film will wag a drill in front of your face and bore itself into your skull.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, IS entertainment!!!

Antisocial is available on a DVD edition via Anchor Bay Entertainment Canada. The extras are a surprising bones only because the commentary track is better than most. The Director and Cinematographer indulge in annoying anecdotal items less than is usual in these things, the transfer is fine and the accent is on screen-specific elements with respect to the making of the film. The added Behind the Scenes, however, is perfunctory stuff. Feel free to order Antisocial and other great titles from Anchor Bay by clicking directly on the Amazon links below band in so doing, contribute to the ongoing maintenance of the Film Corner.

THE PIN - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Scars Inspire Memories of an Eternal Love Borne of a Dangerous Time. Fresh from its triumphant Canadian Premiere at the Toronto Jewish Film Festival, THE PIN begins its Canadian Theatrical Release Friday, June 27, 2014 at one cinema in the huge, virtually monopolistic Cineplex Entertainment exhibition chain, the Canada Square Cinemas. Hopefully other venues in the GTA and across the country will have a chance to enjoy it on a big screen with real audiences.

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A young girl (Milda Gecaite) confronts an
ethnic-Russian collaborator in her secret
haven from Nazis searching for Jews.
Once again, I am thrilled to report that a terrific new Canadian film, THE PIN, opens theatrically on June 27, 2014. What I'm not thrilled to report is that this terrific new Canadian film is only playing in Toronto at the Canada Square Cinemas. Given its subject matter, this important film with a tremendous built-in audience needs Canada's largest exhibition chain Cineplex Entertainment to open screens for it in the myriad of ideal northern suburban venues in Vaughn, Thornhill, Richmond Hill, Markham, Newmarket and Aurora.

Obviously, one would want a wider audience than an ethnically-specific market, but for that, it would have benefitted from at least one play date in downtown Toronto (at least the Varsity 7). If The Pin does NOT play the Grant Park Cinema in Winnipeg - the perfect venue for it (if some decent grassroots marketing happens and a few dollars are spent on it) - then something's rotten in the state of Canuckville. Luckily, the Grant Park is NOT a Cineplex screen, but part of the Landmark chain. More on this below, and now……THE PIN


Milda Gecaite & Grisha Pasternak are lovers in a dangerous time.

Milda Gecaite and Grisha Pasternak, hiding from
the Nazis in Naomi Jaye's THE PIN.
The Pin (2013) ****
Dir. Naomi Jaye
Starring: Milda Gecaite, Grisha Pasternak, David Fox
Review By Greg Klymkiw

They're scars that last forever, borne of danger and carved into the right-hand palm belonging to a young Jewish girl (Milda Gecaite). In hiding from the Nazis, she obsessively, fearfully digs her fingernails into soft flesh. Her scars plunge deeper. Beyond layers of tissue, glancing over frayed nerve endings, cascading through marrow, these scars are emblazoned upon her eternal memory.

Ultimately, these pain-infused engravings are chiseled onto the subconscious mind, searing her very soul. She will be forever scarred by the haunting memories of looking down at the street from above, her mother looking up, training her maternal eyes at the rooftop where her daughter is safely hidden while family, friends and neighbours are led by Nazis to awaiting boxcars. Destined to face Hitler's Final Solution, the girl's entire family become part of the "cargo" that will be forcibly unloaded at the extermination camps of Nazi Germany.

It's World War II in Lithuania. German soldiers and ethnic-Russian collaborators are crawling all over the countryside surrounding the old barn the young girl hides in. She's eventually joined by a young Jewish boy (Grisha Pasternak). He too will bear a literal scar from the open flesh wound on his arm and like the girl, his own soul will be defaced by malignant memories. Having been buried alive in a shallow grave next to the bodies of his entire family (executed by a Nazi death squad), he wisely stayed still amongst the corpses. Having escaped a fatal bullet, he waited for a safe moment to crawl out of the dirt, dashed into the forest, soon discovering a momentary safe harbour with the girl in her solitary haven. What they both find is the tie that binds forever and for a time in the lives of these two young people, love blossoms and yields joy.

The Pin, Naomi Jaye's haunting, exquisitely rendered and deeply moving love story is her promising feature debut and signals the arrival of a film artist who approaches her craft with great beauty and emotional force. From her own script, Jaye allows us to be party to the soft, delicate and heartfelt courtship that takes place within the confines of this ramshackle, abandoned barn. Punctuating shifts in narrative, tone and the passing of days, Jaye always reminds us of a dazzling natural world that looks over the turmoils created by man, always reminding us that looking to the Heavens is the constant reminder of how small we are and yet, how significant we are to be a part of it and under its ever-present gaze.

The pace of the film is gorgeously languid, creating a bed from which we can almost participate in the hours and days of solitude - a brief respite for the hero and heroine (expertly played by Gecaite and Pasternak) before the madness around them infringes upon their almost-Eden-like existence. However, when the worst comes, Jaye's approach has lulled us into a state of grace not unlike that of her characters and the sheer horror and tragedy that befall our young lovers, though not unexpected (this is, after all, WWII), still hits us like a ton of bricks.

There's something here, almost tonally, that reminded me of the classic Louis Malle drama Au Revoir Les Enfants. Both films are set against the backdrop of innocents hiding from Nazi tyranny during the war, both offer a pleasingly delicate pace to allow for our sheer pleasure in seeing deep emotional bonds being created and then - WHAMMO! - what we expect, when we least expect it, is a shocker and we're then faced with the horrible truth of how war can instil a kind of madness in children (not unlike Spielberg's astonishing adaptation of J.G. Ballard's Empire of the Sun).

I'm of course more than happy to include The Pin in the same breath as the two aforementioned Malle and Spielberg pictures. Though both of them were created by masters at the peak of the powers, Jaye's film, while not without the sort of occasional flaws one finds in early works (a too obvious framing device, ever-so tiny dashes of didacticism and a few period slippages), is still so mature and harrowing that one feels she'll someday, if allowed the chance, to grow and blossom and move well into the same territory. What's remarkable about the film for me is its resolve to always maintain a challenging mise-en-scène of long takes in gorgeously composed shots - always allowing the frame of the camera to act as a kind of proscenium into the private lives of these two people against an extraordinary backdrop.

This is a brave and uncompromising work - one that reminds us, as we must always be reminded - of how the world of the recent past went so utterly, horribly and insanely wrong (and, with recent events, continues to do so) and that love, faith and a resolve to accept the natural world that rules and presides over us is what we must accept so IT might never happen again.

The Pin begins its Canadian theatrical release in Toronto at the Canada Square Cinema on Friday, June 27, 2014 via Search Engine Films. AND BONUS: It's the first Canadian Film ever made in the Yiddish Language.

You know, I'm so sick and tired of the Cineplex attitude towards Canadian film. They can well afford a more concerted effort to boost their corporate responsibility to our culture - especially since they have a virtual monopoly of first-run screens. They'll argue the need for commercial films, but the recent WolfCop debacle, a COMMERCIAL Canadian film that was handled so poorly in the GTA, that I was flabbergasted! It was allowed one play date downtown (on the wrong screen, no less). This was completely and utterly useless. That film should have been multiplexed all over the burbs where its audience exists. In (grudging) fairness to Cineplex, nobody bothered to spend money on WolfCop and fight tooth and nail to have it released properly in the right venues.

Well, now we have another potentially commercial independent film that has a decent theatrical marketplace. I can't quarrel with the Canada Square as a good venue for The Pin, but it needs a distributor to spend some dough on solid grass-roots marketing and have something resembling a substantial ad-buy to target additional screens. Most distributors of Canadian films learn on a Monday that Cineplex Entertainment has deigned to free up one screen a few days later on a Friday, usually as filler. This is no way to support, market and exhibit films theatrically. Something's got to change.

SNAKE & MONGOOSE - Review By Greg Klymkiw

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Jesse Williams & Richard Blake as SNAKE & MONGOOSE
The real-life drag racers who partnered with Mattel's HOT WHEELS
Snake & Mongoose (2013) ****
Dir. Wayne Holloway, Writers: Alan Paradise & Wayne Holloway
Starring: Jesse Williams, Richard Blake, Noah Wyle, Tim Blake Nelson, Fred Dryer

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Snake & Mongoose is a tremendously entertaining picture about the grand, glory days of drag racing. Focusing on the friendly rivalry between two of the sport's biggest stars, it's a movie's movie that comes jam-packed with all the Kraft Dinner comfort-food-styled-clichés you'd want from a racing picture yet alternately dappled with raw, rip-snorting reality. I suspect it's a picture many people will enjoy - of both sexes - but for those of us who lived through that amazing time, the movie is only going to have oodles of added resonance, but will frankly provide plenty of pure, glistening pools of unadulterated joy.

During the 70s, I seriously doubt there were any little boys in North America who:

(A.) Didn't own a few truckloads of Hot Wheels racing cars;
(B.) Didn't own several sets of Hot Wheels racetracks:
(C.) Didn't fall in love with drag racing;
(D.) and most of all, didn't know who the Snake & Mongoose were.

I was one of those little boys and I sure don't remember any kids I grew up with who weren't obsessed with any and all of the above. I remember counting myself extra lucky since my Dad was a P.R. man for a brewery at a time when promotions were the only way to market beer since advertising booze was against the law (at least in many Canadian territories). Dad sponsored a lot of sporting events and the one I loved the most was drag racing. I practically got to live at our local drag racing track one summer - not in the stands with all the suckers, but in the backstretch and at ground level, with all the manly men in T-shirts, cigarette packs tucked into their sleeves, sporting amazing sideburns and always, ALWAYS, surrounded by a ton of booze and babes: HOT BABES like the HOT WHEELS cars! It was Heaven on Earth: a cacaphonic, kaleidoscopic sensory-overload-sensation brimming to the max with the smell of fuel, burnt rubber and greasy oil, the sound of engines revving, tires squealing, staccato track announcements, babes-a-twittering, flashbulbs popping and LOUD rock n' roll on the speakers. And yeah, there were babes, too.
The dazzling and promising feature length directorial debut of Wayne Holloway tells a relatively simple tale that spends twenty years in the lives of the famed California drag racers, Don "The Snake" Prudhomme (Jesse Williams) and Tom "The Mongoose" McEwen (Richard Blake). Friends and rivals since childhood, the two young men follow their dreams early in adulthood. Don is sweet, stable and loyal to his best gal while Tom is a wild man who cheats on his lovely, loving wife, drinks hard, rides hard and plays hard. He's also a whiz at self-promotion and keeps trying to convince his buddy to follow in his footsteps.

Through the two characters we experience how the early days of professional drag racing were full of unscrupulous track owners who make all the money while welching on the full prize money to the drivers. Tom combats this with promotional and sponsorship tie-ins as Don struggles along. When Tom comes up with the brilliant idea to sell themselves to the Mattel company and tie-in with the company's hugely successful Hot Wheels brand of toy race cars, Don decides to jump on board. In no time, Mattel designs toy cars to match the men's own cars and in turn, the guys design cars based upon models whipped together by the toy design team at the kiddie toy empire.

On track, the men are genuine rivals, but off track, they are the best of friends. This is part of their appeal to all the young boys - two men who remain best pals, but who also want to win. They capture the hearts and minds of kids everywhere. As they rise to the top of their game, one rises even higher and the other begins a slow plunge. It's a standard show business trope in narratives of this kind, but it also happens to be rooted in fact and generates a great deal of dramatic conflict throughout the proceedings. The film also focuses on the domestic lives of the men, adding a human element to the picture that eventually trumps a great deal of the macho shenanigans (without leaving them too far behind). There's an especially harrowing subplot involving Tom's leukaemia-stricken son which, goddamn it, moistened my eyes on more than a few occasions and most notably during a "Win one for the Gipper" conversation twixt father and dying son.

What jettisons Snake & Mongoose into a special place amongst racing pictures is how the clearly talented director Holloway captures period detail by expertly mixing straight-up dramatic recreations (chock-full of superb period detail) with absolutely stunning genuine stock/newsreel footage of the back-stretch at the track as well as during the thrilling races themselves. This is expertly bounced about to deliver a seamless tone that keeps our attention glued to the screen.

The film has a gorgeous sun-dappled look, but in the heat of race days, it's especially evocative in terms of the gorgeous grain dancing on-screen from the stock footage and the carefully filtered and beautifully lit dramatic footage that captures the blazing heat and dust of the track and its backstretch. In addition to eliciting terrific performances from the entire cast (especially its two leads and a wonderful supporting turn from the great Fred Dryer), director Holloway displays a vivid and clear voice as a filmmaker who has the kind of gifts that will, no doubt, deliver even more terrific pictures. The movie is jam-packed with a clever, varied palette of technique, but it's also got a ton or two of real heart.

Snake & Mongoose is up there with the best racing pictures. In fact, I'm willing to declare it might be the best of them all.

Anchor Bay Entertainment Canada (along with their U.S. counterpart) has released a stunningly transferred Blu-Ray release which is seldom less-than perfect. Its only flaw is a meagre, short and disappointing added behind-the-scenes feature which feels more like a promo reel. Most egregiously, it features interviews with everyone but the film's clearly gifted director. Whassup wit''dat? The movie, however, is more than worth owning in spite of this, especially for racing fans and 10-year-old boys of ALL ages. Feel free to order the film from the Amazon links below, and in so doing, supporting the ongoing maintenance of The Film Corner.



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UNDER THE SKIN - Review By Greg Klymkiw

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ADMIT IT, GENTLEMEN (AND LADIES OF THE PROPER PERSUASION), THERE'S REALLY ONLY ONE REASON WHY YOU'D WANT TO SEE THIS PRETENTIOUS, BORING AND MORONIC PIECE OF CRAP!!!
CHECK OUT THE JOHANSSON LOVE HANDLES. HUBBA-HUBBA!

Under the Skin (2013) *
Dir. Jonathan Glazer
Starring: Scarlett Johansson

Review By Greg Klymkiw

The cerebral science fiction oddity Under the Skin stars the intolerably ubiquitous Scarlett Johansson as an alien Woman Who Fell To Earth or rather, in this case, Scotland. Her mission is to seduce a variety of Glaswegian men, take them back to her squalid digs and tempt them with her puffy white flesh. As Scarlett doffs pieces of clothing, the seemingly endless parade of gents who follow her, their eyes transfixed by Little Miss Bum-Chunks, gradually find themselves sinking feet-first into a murky, purulent, gelatinous goo that swallows them up.

In short order, this harvests their manly flesh.

Why this needs to be done is not 100% clear (or maybe I nodded off briefly when it was explained), but as this is an idiotically precious and pretentious "art" film of the worst kind, we really don't need to know the whys and wherefores of pretty much anything that's happening. All you really need to do is groove on it. The only thing worth explaining about this picture is this: After avoiding the shedding of clothing in one film after another, the corn niblets twixt Miss Johansson's ears must have been working overtime upon first reading Mr. Glazer and co-writer Walter Campbell's script in order to take in (and accept) the necessity of revealing her flesh for the keen eye of the acclaimed Sexy Beast director.

I gather we are also supposed to do some long and hard noggin scratching, too. To this I say, "Fat chance!" The real reason most fellas (and gals of the sapphic inclination) would put up with the tedium of this movie is to gaze upon the supposed glories of a starkers Miss Scarlett J. That's it! Nothing more!

I mean, really now, the first hour of this thing is almost solely devoted to Johansson driving about the streets of Glasgow, interminably picking up salivating male victims and leading them into her swimming pool of Jello Blood Pudding in an otherwise empty apartment.

There's no suspense, no sense of her as a character (at least not in the first interminable hour) and finally, unlike Nicolas Roeg's astonishing The Man Who Fell To Earth, Glazer's film feels bereft (save for its nods to self-importance) of little more than one excuse after another to display Johansson's naked flesh. For some, that might be quite enough and to that I say, "Who am I to deny anyone from deriving pleasure from a nude Scarlett Johansson?"

Alas, for me, 'twas not quite enough, especially since the second half of the movie is devoted to Johansson's non-charaacter vaguely becoming one after all. She finally begins to understand that being human is to experience a wide range of feelings. She comes to recognize the notion of compassion within herself and hence - UGH! - humanity, just as she also comes to understand the flip side of human existence, cruelty.

Well, isn't that profound? It takes close to two hours to learn this. If you don't mind getting a sore ass, I suppose you'll be granted some edification.

Look, Glazer has proven to be an intelligent filmmaker with previous work and even this movie is chock full of fine, considered imagery which is more than enough to recognize he's clearly attempting to generate something that's completely off the beaten track. Part of me wants to like the fact that he's more interested in a real science fiction film rather than the noisy, bone-headed crap with endless explosions and gunplay that passes for science fiction these days. Glazer's aim is true, but he never connects with the target - whatever it's supposed to be. His desire to create an intelligent, quiet dystopian science fiction movie in the tradition of Nicolas Roeg, fizzles. The film is so utterly dreadful that it's not even a matter of Glazer being in "close, but no cigar" territory, but rather, he inhabits a spot on the opposite end of the world from the grand tobacco fields and cigar factories of Havana.

There's also an extremely disturbing sexual assault and murder in the film which, while not meant to be prurient, has an inadvertent whiff of exploitation only insofar as this is one of those movies trying so hard to be profound, that its crashing failure in that respect renders all of Johansson's nudity and the shockingly unexpected violation to be all for naught. All that's left is a twisted salaciousness for those so inclined and/or for all the pseuds stupid enough to buy into the film's jackhammer thematics and hoary qualities of the cerebral, a reason to indulge in the exploitative qualities without feeling bad about it. I think I might hate that most of all.

You might wonder if I believe art and exploitation can't co-exist. Well sure they can. Lord knows the Soska Twins (American Mary), the Astron-6 collective (Father's Day), Brian De Palma, Roger Corman, etc. have proven otherwise, but their films are actually good.

Under the Skin plays in Toronto at the TIFF Bell Lightbox and Magic Lantern Carlton Cinemas via Mongrel Media. It's in similar limited release across the rest of the globe.

COME BACK, AFRICA - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Part I of a 2-part report on the Milestone Film & Video Blu-Ray

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Can you imagine making a film about Apartheid - in secret, in South Africa - while Nelson Mandela is, at the very same time, on trial for treason? Such a film was made and if one is able to declare that shooting a film can be an act of bravery, then legendary filmmaker Lionel Rogosin might be cinema's greatest hero of all. In fact, the risks taken by all those involved in creating the film Come Back, Africa were so fraught with danger that even now, it's impossible to look at it without gasping with awe and horror in equal measure. Created over a period of two years, Rogosin's film remains the most important film ever made to depict the horrendous regime of Apartheid. Available on the visionary Milestone Film and Video label - such a must-own item that if you were to buy only one movie this year, this would have to be it.

Miriam Makeba: one of South Africa's greatest female vocalists had never been heard outside her country until Lionel Rogosin managed to get her out to attend the film's World Premiere at the Venice International Film Festival.

Come Back, Africa (1959) *****
Dir. Lionel Rogosin, Starring: Zacharia Mgabi, Vinah Bendile, Miriam Makeba, Myrtle Berman

Review By Greg Klymkiw
"...the greatest documentary filmmaker of all time." - John Cassavetes

"...a film of terrible beauty, of the ongoing life it captured and of the spirit embodied by Rogosin and his fellow artists.” - Martin Scorsese on Lionel Rogosin's Come Back, Africa
Rogosin's footage was shot in secret.
A Child Labourer in the Diamond Mines
of South Africa under the Apartheid Regime.
Nobody made movies like Lionel Rogosin. His first feature film On the Bowery broke every rule in the book and in so doing, created a whole new set of rules that inspired and defined filmmaking for over half a century including the likes of John Cassavetes, John Schlesinger, Karel Reizs, Richard Lester and Martin Scorsese (not to mention a myriad of documentary directors).

Rogosin's brilliant approach - an amalgam of Flaherty, Italian Neo-Realism and his own unique method - resulted in what could be called docudrama, though even that word seems too inconsequential to describe how he made movies.

After seeing Vittorio De Sica's Bicycle Thieves (AKA The Bicycle Thief), Rogosin gave up his career as an engineer. He had to make movies - movies that captured the reality of the times and most of all, to give voice to the disenfranchised through the art of cinema.

On The Bowery (a link to my review is at the end of this piece) examined the harrowing Post-War existence of skid-row alcoholics on the Bowery of Manhattan. Come Back, Africa would employ his style even further to examine the lives of Black Africans in South Africa under the horrendous regime of Apartheid. Travelling to South Africa with his pregnant wife, Rogosin spent six months getting to know people - both Black and White - who could generously provide an opportunity for him to observe what life was like under Apartheid. (Rogosin took a similar approach with On the Bowery, spending months on skid-row.)

Lionel Rogosin on-set: making reality.
Based on people he met, locations he viewed, numerous shocking (as well as inspiring and positive) incidents he witnessed and generally just soaking up everything he could, Rogosin put together a treatment of what shape his film would take and eventually collaborated with two Black journalists/activists Lewis Nkosi and William Modisane on a screenplay.

Casting the film with non-actors who were as close in reality to the kinds of people written as "characters" (real domestics, diamond mine workers, unskilled general labourers, etc.) and continually bamboozling the White South African officials into thinking he was producing a travelogue, Rogosin began to shoot the film proper. Casting the White African characters was a bit trickier, but as he'd connected with numerous people who secretly despised Apartheid, he was able to get those actors as well.

What we experience is simply and utterly astonishing. There is no other film quite as extraordinarily detailed in the depiction of life under Apartheid - in the very country, amongst the actual locations, with real people and during the horrendous early years of a regime in which segregation and racism were actually legislated (and where men like Mandela were paying dearly for their human rights stances). In addition to shooting all over Johannesburg, Rogosin was afforded the amazing opportunity to shoot in the Black townships. In fact, much of these scenes are set in Sophiatown which was actually being levelled during the shooting to eventually build a swanky White-Only suburb.

ZACHARIAH'S DEVASTATION
The tale told is a simple one, but it reflects the actual events and experiences all Blacks lived through in South Africa. This "simple" story is our conduit into the very lives of the people during this time. We see a man forced to leave his wife and kids behind in their country village and work in a diamond mine. With wages withheld (and not very good to begin with), he's forced to ask his wife to sell some of their livestock so he can actually have money to live on. We experience what life is like as a domestic servant with a racist White housewife - screaming at the man constantly, using the most ugly racial epithets one can imagine. We're party to Black workers being fired by racists, endless demands by police for paperwork and passes, the "White-Only" and "Black-Only" segregation, squalid living conditions, brutal back-breaking work, child labour, raids and arrests upon those without the proper paperwork and even the rape and murder of a woman whose husband is stupidly detained by officials and not home to protect his wife.

There are, of course, wonderful things - the vibrancy and music of the people in the townships away from their oppressors and amongst each other, the late night gatherings of intelligent political discussion mixed with spirits, music and even dancing and yes, we even meet one White person who is a genuine, caring human being (though sadly and apologetically forced to do something he'd rather not do - yes, White people could be detained, beaten, jailed and/or charged with treason).

And here was Lionel Rogosin, his pregnant wife and a handful of European crew members living in this madhouse called South Africa and actually making a film that would secretly expose life under Apartheid for the rest of the world to see - working collaboratively with a local cast and crew who were risking EVERYTHING to make this film a reality. The shooting days began at 5AM and often didn't end until 11PM - everyday for well over a month, constantly shifting locales and working in secret. Every couple of days, Rogosin would make mad dashes to the airport to put his footage on airplanes to New York and one night, on a particularly treacherous road, was rammed head-on by another car. Miraculously, his wife didn't miscarry and their first child was born in South Africa.

I've watched this film several times since I received the Blu-Ray. During every single viewing I'm stunned. My jaw drops, my heart soars and my tears flow. All I will do now is reiterate:

Nobody, but nobody made films like Lionel Rogosin.

The art of cinema and indeed, the world, owes him a huge debt of gratitude. Come Back, Africa is a bonafide masterpiece - it's one of the greatest films of all-time.

Come Back, Africa is part of the Milestone Film and Video "Milestone Cinematheque" series and Volume II of the ongoing collection entitled "The Films of Lionel Rogosin" (Volume I is the aforementioned On The Bowery). This is an extraordinary two-disc Blu-Ray set, chock-full of valuable extra feature. Disc 1 includes the full feature film Come Back, Africa, restored by the Cineteca del Comune di Bologna and gorgeously transferred from the 2K restoration. The feature includes SDH subtitles and a wonderful Martin Scorsese Introduction. As if this wasn't enough, we get the outstanding Michael Rogosin/Lloyd Ross 64-minute documentary entitled An American in Sophiatown: The making of Come Back, Africa, an astonishing 20-minute radio interview with Lionel Rogosin discussing Come Back, Africa and the movie's theatrical trailer. Disc Two is just as extraordinary and I'll be reviewing it in separate article.

In the meantime, feel free to read my original review of Rogosin's On the Bowery by clicking HERE and if you do not own either of the Milestone Rogosin films, feel free to click on the Amazon links (options available for Amazon.ca, Amazon.com and Amazon.UK) below and order straight from here. Ordering from this site allows for modest returns that assist with the ongoing maintenance of The Film Corner.







RISE OF THE PLANET OF THE APES - Review By Greg Klymkiw

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In preparation for the July 11, 2014 release of
DAWN OF THE PLANET OF THE APES,
let us remind ourselves how dreadful
RISE OF THE PLANET OF THE APES is and hope the new film has
a script not comprised solely of putrid faecal matter on toilet paper.
At least RISE has a real director unlike the 2011 debacle.
Rise of the Planet of the Apes (2011) dir. Rupert Wyatt
TURD DISCOVERED BEHIND HARRY'S CHAR BROIL AND DINING LOUNGE
Starring: James Franco, Andy Serkis, Freida Pinto, John Lithgow, Brian Cox, David Oyelowo, Tyler Labine, David Hewlett

Review By Greg Klymkiw

I have absolutely no knee-jerk prejudice against remakes, reboots, sequels or prequels as the number of good and/or even great ones is impressive. I do, however, have a problem with bad and/or mediocre and/or (worst of all) unnecessary movies - whatever they may be. Rise of the Planet of the Apes, save for the millions of dollars it bamboozled out of moviegoers, has no real reason to exist, at least not in the pathetic form offered up like so much slop in a soup kitchen..

The movie is about NOTHING and rife with long, dull scenes that go nowhere. The screenplay, such as it is, has not (I suspect) actually been written, but assembled with alphabet blocks by chimpanzees - not very bright ones at that. The chimps deserving the blame for their less than stellar work are Rick Jaffa and Amanda Silver whose credits include - ahem - The Relic (a watchable monster movie), An Eye for An Eye (a watchable vigilante movie) and The Hand That Rocks the Cradle (a watchable thriller). The accent here is clearly on "watchable" - an achievement not attained by Rise of the Planet of the Apes. Not only have these two simian scribes delivered an inconsequential plot that's about nothing, but they've populated the landscape with the dullest roles imaginable. Oh, and if anyone thinks I'm merely picking on the writers - I am. They're also the producers of this thing.

Bottom line: This movie is not worthy of the Original Five (kind of like the National Hockey League's Original Six), a tough act to follow as far as movies go (and clearly never attained by members of the NHL post-Original-Six either). In contrast to the work generated by the writers (and I reiterate, producers) of Rise of the Planet of the Apes, the collective writing talents behind the five original Planet of the Apes movies wrote screenplays for the likes of Frank Capra, George Stevens, David Lean, Martin Ritt, William Wyler, Sidney Lumet, Franco Zeffirelli, John Frankenheimer, Roger Corman and Martin Scorsese.

This alone should be enough to rest my case.

In addition to the abominable screenplay, the writers (with their producer caps on) assembled a cast worthy of the monkey house of purported characters they created. Leading man James (Spring Breakers) Franco is one of my favourite actors, but here he sleepwalks through his part as a chemical manufacturing scientist who creates a drug meant to cure Alzheimer's that instead kills humans whilst creating a new super species of apes. John Lithgow goes through the motions of delivering a professional by-the numbers performance as Franco's addled Dad who is briefly revived by Sonny-Jim's chemical discovery before plunging into further madness and finally death. Frieda Pinto parades her vacuous beauty about whilst exuding intellect as blank as an unformatted floppy disk in the role of Franco's zoo veterinarian girlfriend; a real stretch unless one believes veterinary colleges are in the business of graduating animal doctors with less intelligence than their patients. Last, but certainly not least on this ship of fools is the non-entity that is David Oyewolo, who plays the least compelling corporate villain ever committed to celluloid. His performance is so bland that not even good writing would have saved him in the thankless role of the pharmaceutical company baddie who - wait for it - is more interested in profits than science.

Delivering exceptional work in spite of nothing resembling writing employed in the creation of his role as an animal shelter administrator, Brian Cox, one of the world's greatest living actors, might have actually benefited if something as unimaginative as a recognizable archetype might have been devised to allow for some virtuoso scenery-chewing. Alas, this was not to be. Then there are stellar performances from actors playing the supporting scum-buckets. They acquit themselves so well that one wishes they either had a better movie to be in (like Tom Felton as the vile animal shelter attendant) or David Hewlett as Franco's nasty next door neighbour who hates monkeys and berates old men with Alzheimer's. Hewlett's so good, he should have been cast as the central corporate baddie instead of the aforementioned bland loser they DID cast.

And Lest We Forget - Andy Serkis, the somewhat overrated CGI body double who previously and famously aped (as it were) the character of Gollum in Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings trilogy. Here he gets to play Franco's pet chimp Caesar who is more intelligent than Albert Einstein and leads a grand monkey revolt. Don't get me wrong, Serkis IS a good actor, but what he delivered for Jackson finally worked as well as it did because the writing was generally good and the CGI was stunning. In Rise of the Planet of the Apes, the non-writing, ho-hum direction and obvious CGI all conspire to give us so little to root for that the gymnastics of Serkis's apery is all for naught.

While a solid, simple plot can have considerable merit in providing a perfectly manufactured coat hanger to adorn with cool shit, this pathetic new sequel/prequel/remake/reboot or whatever the fuck it's supposed to be is so lacklustre that I struggled in vain whilst waiting for something - ANYTHING - of any consequence to happen. It didn't.

In a nutshell, here's the plot - or rather, grocery list:

Scientist discovers miracle drug to cure Alzheimer's.

Said drug turns chimp into Super Chimp.

Alas, same drug kills scientist's Dad.

Scientist raises chimp as own child.

Girlfriend pops in and out of movie to smile stupidly.

Chimp gets into all manner of shenanigans.

Chimp bites finger off next door neighbour.

Chimp is incarcerated in animal shelter full of apes.

Chimp leads ape revolt on San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge.

Chimp leads apes to freedom amongst ancient Redwood trees.

Next door neighbour, afflicted with deadly virus, casually goes to work as airline pilot, finger miraculously intact and spreads virus worldwide.

What again, I ask you, is this movie actually ABOUT?

The original 1968 Arthur P. Jacobs production of Planet of the Apes was dazzlingly directed by the great Franklin J. Schaffner (Patton), superbly adapted by Michael (Bridge on the River Kwai, Lawrence of Arabia) Wilson and Rod (The Twilight Zone) Serling from Pierre Boulle's brilliant novel "La planète des singes" and featuring a stellar cast that attacked their roles with relish. And what roles they were! The makers of Rise of the Planet of the Apes might have thought to take their cues from the original source for the necessary inspiration. In addition to having a great square-jawed hero in the form of the cynical, no-nonsense astronaut Taylor (Charlton "GOD" Heston) the original movie boasted a terrific array of colourful supporting characters that great actors like Roddy McDowell, Kim Hunter and Maurice Evans played to the hilt. The only thing the Rise team might have been influenced by was the role of Nova in the original, a staggeringly beautiful, but equally blank leading lady. Smartly, this character in the original was mute whereas this awful new reboot chooses to allow Freida Pinto to open her mouth - thus forcing the already leaden lines she's been given to thud to the floor with greater force than a body hitting the pavement from the top of the Eiffel Tower.

Planet of the Apes was, still is and always will be a great picture. Let's forget, however, that the moronic Tim Burton remake even exists. Though dreadful as it is, it's fucking Rembrandt compared to Rise of the Planet of the Apes.

The first time I saw Schaffner's Planet of the Apes was as a nine-year-old lad, sitting in the front row of Winnipeg's long-shuttered picture palace the Metropolitan Theatre (where Guy Maddin eventually shot Isabella Rossellini in the stunning My Dad is 100 Years Old). It was the first time I got gooseflesh in a movie. So profound was my experience that it was, indeed, the movie that compelled/condemned me to a life of servitude under the pleasurable shackles of motion pictures. I have seen the picture well over 100 times since and made a point of watching it with my then-10-year-old daughter during an Ape marathon prior to seeing Rise of the Planet of the Apes when it first opened in 2011. If truth be told, I was really excited to see the new picture which I suppose is what added profoundly to my eventual disappointment.

Schaffner's picture is a genuine classic. It holds up as powerfully as any great piece of superbly executed populist cinema should. Mysterious, thrilling, funny, intelligent, propulsive in all the right ways and a movie replete with thought-provoking thematic elements including that of religious fanaticism suppressing both science and new ideas, the topsy-turvy look at humans fulfilling the role of "dumb beast", notions of time and time travel and the devastating effects of war. Neither these themes nor the picture has dated.

I have always maintained that its cinematic storytelling techniques are so classical and finely wrought and its technical virtuosity so ahead of its time that the movie could be released virtually untouched and I suspect it could/would be as big a hit NOW as it once was. Most tellingly to me was just how compelling the original movie was for my little girl. She remained stapled into the chesterfield, her eyes transfixed upon my hi-def monitor and nary one bathroom break. The discussion we had about the movie afterwards centred on the IDEAS as much as it did about the story and how entertaining it was.

No similar discussion occurred after watching Rise of the Planet of the Apes because, frankly, it's really about NOTHING. The stakes for the characters in the original film were always tied to the issues it explored, whereas the stakes for all the characters in Rise are rooted in not much of anything - save for James Franco's selfish, whiny and somewhat unconvincing need to prove that his new drug will work.

As a kid in the years between 1968 and 1970 when the first sequel Beneath the Planet of the Apes finally appeared, one of the things that haunted me - nay, OBSESSED me! - was a lingering question I had at the devastating ending to the first film. When Chuck (Jesus H. Christ) Heston rides deeper into the "Forbidden Zone" and discovers (thanks to the writing genius that was Rod Serling for coming up specifically with the ending) that he is NOT on another planet, but a nuclear-war-devastated Earth in the future, I was chomping at the bit to learn what our astronaut would find in the wasteland AFTER he discovered a half-buried Statue of Liberty in the sand.

What Heston finally discovered (along with James Franciscus, a new astronaut who follows a rescue-mission trajectory to the monkey planet) was a crumbling Manhattan beneath the desert populated by Doomsday-Bomb-worshipping mutants with telepathic powers who were about to be attacked by an army of war-thirsty gorillas.

Jesus Christ Almighty, indeed!

Just the plot alone as penned by veteran screenwriter Paul (Goldfinger, The Spy Who Came in From the Cold, Murder on the Orient Express) Dehn was original enough to keep one riveted. More than the plot, though, was that - AGAIN - the movie was actually ABOUT something.

Even though the picture is a perfunctorily directed by Ted Post (Hang 'em High, Magnum Force and the genuinely wonderful Go Tell The Spartans) Post, Dehn's superb screenplay challenged us with notions of blind militaristic rage (including a peace march as reflective of the Vietnam War, which could have - in parallel contrast - provided a backdrop to the new picture with respect to America's idiotic "War on Terror"), religious fundamentalism justifying war (from both the apes AND the humans) and most terrifyingly, the whole notion of peace through superior firepower.

Rise of the Planet of the Apes has no such ideas. Though it's set in contemporary times and could have explored terrorism, blind militarism, rising fascism/fundamentalism, the financial crisis, the oil crisis - any manner of issues facing the world today, it chooses Instead, to focus upon the corruption inherent in pharmaceutical companies, Alzheimer's disease and cruelty to animals. These issues are not without merit, but they're just there to serve the non-plot, almost as a necessary evil to be touched upon and dropped quickly in favour of dazzling CGI.

Escape from the Planet of the Apes appeared a year after Beneath the Planet of the Apes and even at the tender age of 12 I remember thinking, "What is this shit? A sequel? They blew up the fucking Earth!" (I had a salty tongue even back then.) When I saw the picture - as a kid and even now after umpteen viewings - I was dazzled. The real star is again screenwriter Paul Dehn as opposed to actor-turned-competent director Don Taylor who, in fairness, DID direct a fine’ 70s version of The Island of Dr. Moreau with Burt Lancaster and the cult sci-fi classic The Final Countdown. But what a GREAT script! What first-rate sci-fi!!!

From a plot standpoint, Dehn delivered a perfectly plausible twist via a new character called Dr. Milo who, like Cornelius and Zira, was an ape scientist who defied the "law" of fundamentalism, resurrected and repaired Chuck Heston's spaceship and then all three simians of science followed a backwards trajectory just before the Earth is destroyed and wind up BACK in time. This was also a clearly fascinating way to utilize the notions of time and space and, in its own way, delve into quantum physics and the early postulations of parallel universe theory. This third official Apes sequel delivered up clever satirical goods, explored issues of women's' rights (plus animal rights - far more effectively than Rise), immoral interrogation techniques and most importantly studied the world of fanaticism/militarism within higher levels of government bureaucracy and how THIS is where the true power often lies and where sick, corrupt values run rampant.

What it does here so magnificently is how it offers up a great villain in the form of a German-born scientist/political advisor (a la Henry Kissinger) played by the wonderful actor Eric Braeden (who had a hugely successful career as a soap opera TV star, but most notably appeared in the great ‘70s sci-fi thriller Collosus: The Forbin Project from screenwriter James Bridges and the underrated director Joseph Sargent). Braeden is such a nasty, vicious, homicidal government bureaucrat and his great performance and superb characterization thanks to Dehn's writing puts the lacklustre aforementioned villain in Rise to complete and utter shame.

Conquest of the Planet of the Apes, is as sharp a sequel as the third instalment - replete with great writing from Paul Dehn and the added bonus of thrilling direction from J. Lee Thompson, the man who gave us the brilliant, original, utterly chilling Cape Fear as well as some of the greatest action epics of all time like North West Frontier, Taras Bulba and The Guns of Navarone. This particular sequel tells us about the rise of Caesar, the ape child of Cornelius and Zira who leads the simians in revolt against their human oppressors.

Conquest is the film Rise of the Planet of the Apes most closely resembles, yet pales most mightily against. Conquest deals head on with the issue that plagued (and continues to plague) America most doggedly - that of slavery and, includes good dashes of America's susceptibility to right wing government rule. A thoroughly effective repellent performance from Don Murray as the fascist California governor racing to eventually become President of the United States (he and his minions always wear black-coloured uniforms hearkening to both Nazism and Italian Fascism) is so politically charged - not just for its time, but like all great classics, resonates in a contemporary context. Rise has no such villain and virtually NO political context. I'll not speak too much about Battle for the Planet of the Apes, the fifth official sequel and perhaps the weakest entry in the series, but even still, in its exploration of the early beginnings of the fundamentalism that eventually grips even the apes, it makes the new film look so puny in comparison.

Rupert Wyatt is a dreadful director. The pace of Rise is herky-jerky and the final action set piece on the Golden Gate Bridge - which should be spectacular - is yet another madly constructed action scene from a director who couldn't helm action to save his life.

The worst element of Rise of the Planet of the Apes is in its over-reliance upon CGI. The effects are relatively effective, but they're not there to serve the story, but to merely serve themselves. The stunning makeup effects for the apes designed by John Chambers in the ‘60s blow ALL the CGI totally away. The makeup allows great actors - throughout the original Apes series to actually deliver real performances and, thanks to terrific writing, inject considerable life into the proceedings.

Rise from the Planet of the Apes is, in contrast, moviemaking at its most dreadful - bereft of ideas, good writing and direction from someone who has a vision and/or the virtuosity to create popular cinema of the highest order. Perhaps the most disgusting thing about the new film is that it fails to acknowledge the author of the original novel and the screenwriters (primarily Paul Dehn and Serling) of the original series in the head credits. This is ultimately a disgrace.

Do yourself a favour and either skip Rise of the Planet of the Apes or, if you feel you must see the picture at all, try to watch the original films first.

You'll see the difference!

Carré blanc - Reviews by Greg Klymkiw - Recent SciFi that makes Under the Skin pale in comparison

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Under The Skin, a film by Jonathan Glazer, is awful. I respect Glazer for trying to make a contemporary Science Fiction picture that isn't just a dumb action movie disguised as Science Fiction, but alas, it truly does fall flat on its face.

There is, however, a great film that made my 10 Best Films of 2011 list that hits all the right buttons that Glazer misses by several country miles. Harkening back to the great 70s science-fiction film classics, Jean-Baptiste Léonetti’s debut feature Carré blanc is easily one of the finest dystopian visions of the future to be etched upon celluloid since that dazzling decade.

The tale is, on its surface and as in many great movies, a simple one. Philippe and Marie grew up together in a state orphanage and are now married. They live in a stark, often silent corporate world bereft of any vibrant colour and emotion.

Philippe is a most valued lackey of the state – he is an interrogator-cum-indoctrinator. Marie is withdrawing deeper and deeper into a cocoon as the love she once felt for Philippe is transforming into indifference. In this world, though, hatred is as much a luxury as love.

Tangible feelings and simple foibles are punished with torture and death. Indifference, it would seem, is the goal. It ensures complete subservience to the dominant forces. Love, however, is ultimately the force the New World Order is helpless to fight and it is at the core of this story. If Philippe and Marie can somehow rediscover that bond, there might yet be hope – for them, and the world. It is this aspect of the story that always keeps the movie floating above a mere exercise in style and makes it an instant classic of science fiction. First screened at the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF 2011)

Love in Dystopia: Contemporary SciFi in a 70s tradition.
Carré blanc is a great film. I've written 2 pieces on it for the ultra-cool UK film magazine Electric Sheep - a deviant view of Cinema. The first is a review that can be accessed HERE and the second is a critical essay on the astounding score and soundscape. Here's a brief excerpt from the article which can be accessed in its entirety by click HERE:

When Score and Sound Design Become Indistinguishable: The Universality of Evgueni Galperine’s Music for Carré blanc

excerpt from Greg Klymkiw's
Electric Sheep article:


The goal of the Brave New World that Léonetti presents appears to be little more than indifference, and as such it’s especially important to make note of the astounding score by Evgueni Galperine [which is unlike] the horrendously bombastic ‘action’ scores so prevalent in contemporary science fiction films, with Michael Giacchino’s pounding notes in the J. J. Abrams reboots of Star Trek, or the wham-bam-in-your-face styling of Ryan Amon’s Elysium score and, lest we forget, any of John Williams’s sweeping orchestral noodlings in George Lucas’s Star Wars space operas.

If anything, Galperine successfully roots his music in a spare blend of electronic soundscape, eerie source music and very light orchestral background. In fact, it’s sometimes impossible to distinguish between score and sound design – something that was so integral to dystopian science fiction films of the 1970s, most notably, the creepy crawly work of Denny Zeitlin in Philip Kaufman’s immortal remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

Read the full article HERE and the review HERE.

PATHER PANCHALI (Song of the Little Road) - Review By Greg Klymkiw

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Uma Dasgupta plays the sweet, saintly & sadly doomed Durga.

Little Durga & Auntie: Birds of a Feather.
Pather Panchali (Song of the Little Road (1955) dir. Satyajit Ray *****
Starring: Subir Banerjee, Kanu Banerjee, Karuna Banerjee, Uma Dasgupta, Runki Banerjee, Chunibala Devi, Tulsi Chakraborty

Review By Greg Klymkiw

From childhood to adolescence, Durga (Runki Banerjee and Uma Dasgupta respectively) has always adored Auntie (Chunibala Devi), but to everyone else, especially Durga's mother Sarbajaya (Karuna Banerjee), the wizened, hobbling, hunched-over old "hag" is not only an annoyance, but a burden. Auntie's feisty, impish and individualistic nature has been a particular thorn in Mom's side as she believes the old woman's been a bad influence upon her first-born. On the surface, Auntie has always adhered to her Old World "place" as a woman in Bengali society, but deep down her spirit has always been modern - ahead of its time, really.

If Auntie can do anything for Durga's future, it's to impart a sense of wonder and adventure within the child (Auntie's a spirited storyteller), but to also encourage her happy, willing young charge to properly utilize her smarts - the kind that allow a woman a depth of understanding in a patriarchal world and to use every bit of cunning at her disposal.

However, the sword on this, cuts two ways.

Pather Panchali begins with the child Durga brazenly (and clearly for the umpteenth time) stealing fruit from the orchards belonging to the neighbours, who are blood relatives of the nastiest kind and as it turns out, have swindled the orchard from Durga's father Harihar (Subir Banerjee). Even at her young age, this isn't lost on Durga, but also, she's a child and as such, their home is surrounded with more than enough fruit for everybody. Most importantly, Durga doesn't steal the fruit for herself, but to give it to Auntie. Lord knows, this pays off in spades for the old gal since the kid is happily plying her with juicy mangoes, a far cry from the spartan slop served up at the deeply impoverished family dinner table. It also irks Mom to no end since she's concerned that Durga's thieving will reflect badly on the family and her upbringing.

For me, Satyajit Roy has always delivered movies with exceptionally varied female characters. Yes, all his characters have depth, but there's something so unique and compelling about his sensitivity towards women. In many ways, he might well be the Neo-Realist Indian equivalent to the great George Cukor in that respect.

Pather Panchali is the first film in a trilogy that focuses upon a male character called Apu and is based on a classical Indian novel rooted in the country's strong tradition of "coming-of-age" stories. In spite of this and a slight shift in the film's perspective when the character of Apu is finally born, it's always been Durga's character who I've been especially drawn to - possibly because Apu (Subir Banerjee), though always compelling to keep one's eye on is, in many ways a very reactive, witness-like presence in the tale, whereas Durga is so vibrant and active.

It's Durga's promise as a human being, as a beautiful, intelligent young woman that, in spite of so many alternately heartbreaking and joyous moments in the film (and threads in the story), is what finally seems the most poignant and tragic of all. For all her chicanery, Durga seems almost saint-like in wanting to use her wiles to assist others. At the same time, she has a curiosity in the ways of the world that suggest how much she desires to maintain her individuality. So many girls of her age have already been in serious training to satisfy their husbands-to-be. She delights in their happiness at attaining these skills, but has virtually no interest in acquiring them herself.

Durga also understands fully the desire of her little brother to see a train, a miracle of the modern world that seems so far removed from their little village. The train, of course, represents flight as well as progress and one of the most magical sequences ever committed to film is an odyssey Durga takes little Apu on to see the train. The train, alas, takes a strange backseat to the journey itself and later in the film, there's a moment where Durga promises Apu a better, more proper opportunity to see the train. (And never, EVER, will a big sister's promise to her little brother be as deeply and passionately moving as this one proves to be.)

Ray's film clearly threw the Indian film industry for a loop. This was no epic melodrama with song and dance routines set against mythical backdrops of the past and relegated to larger-than-life studio sets and backlots. Pather Panchali was born from two major influences - the first being Ray's acquaintanceship with Jean Renoir during the shooting of the French auteur's The River in India and the other being Vittorio De Sica's Bicycle Thieves (aka The Bicycle Thief). Ray was convinced more than ever that movies could be made in India that pulsated with the life of the country itself and as such, could utilize actual locations and even rely upon amateur actors. Though most of Ray's principal actors in Pather Panchali had a good taste of stage acting prior to their appearance in his film, screen success had eluded them and his supporting performers and even the lead role of Apu were played by "real" people.

The movie has the feeling of being loose and episodic, but beneath this "veneer" of Neo-Realist movie-making was a narrative as strong and solid as one would ever want. It's as if Ray used real life to instigate his film's story beats and though this was completely new for Indian Cinema, it was certainly a rare property in any films of its time (and most certainly in ours).

One astonishing moment where the film seems to literally meander from the narrative is when Apu watches an Indian brass band, adorned in Colonial fineries, ever-so spirited, yet hilariously out of tune as they blast out a goofy, but heartfelt rendition of "It's a Long Way to Tipperary". Here, the camera leaves the scene and we're afforded a beautiful montage delivering a variety of life (and lives) pulsating around them. This is no mere indulgence, but rather an extraordinary reflection upon the lives of all the people living near our family and as such, a reiteration of what affects them societally, culturally and emotionally, yet doing so to give us a sense that what the family is going through, is as profoundly disappointing and frustrating to so many in this impoverished country.

Throughout the film one senses that Ray is probably most entranced with Durga's character also. If anything, she feels closer to someone who'd be a worthy on-screen surrogate for the filmmaker. It certainly wouldn't be her father Harihar, a man of of letters and intelligence with a desire to be a great writer, but reduced to taking vaguely menial and/or administrative positions to support his family. We're constantly frustrated with this kindly man who is so obviously lacking in real motivation and gumption. His choice to locate the family in his ancestral home in the country instead of raising them in the city is one reason why they all live in such dire poverty, but even worse, why Harihar has wasted his gifts due to his endless procrastination. When he finally admits to his wife Sarbajaya that he gave up on all his dreams, we believe it.

A sequence which Ray handles exquisitely is a conversation between the husband and wife. Sarbajaya attempts to analyze where things went wrong, but to also provide a very solid, intelligent and well-reasoned plan for the family to leave this life of poverty and isolation behind. All Harihar can do is resort to the self-pity of it being too late to make dreams come true that he had abandoned a long time ago.

There's a moment and a manner in which Ray trains his camera on Sarbajaya that's so simple and yet so breathtaking. It's maybe the first time in the film where we see this "traditional" wife display the very vision that her own daughter and even Auntie have had.

"I had dreams, too," Sarbajaya declares. For the first time in the film we genuinely understand her attitudes towards both her daughter and Auntie. It's also a point in the narrative where she displays a shift in how she views her extraordinary daughter. Alas, as things turn out, it comes too late.

This, in fact, might be an especially poignant subtext to the entire film - making the right decisions at the wrong time, all of which seem to resonate with a powerhouse force - especially when characters begin to realize how huge an impact their decisions have had upon them and their family. Needless to say, there is heartache and tragedy to befall the family, but it's their own choice to make the concerted effort to move on. Moving on might be their only salvation and one that so many lives in this world will experience and acknowledge. Never, however, will they face and acknowledge this notion of life itself with the same force Ray delivers on film.

Auntie, of course, knows all about moving on. She sits alone one clear, starry night and sings about her death:

"Those who came after have already gone. Leaving me behind, the poorest of beggars. Night's mantle descends. Row me across to the other side. Oh, hurry, Lord of the Crossings."

It's the other side that not only offers rest to the weary, but hopefully, there's another other side in life, in the here and now - one that can offer contentment beyond eternal rest, but one that rather provides new beginnings. It's the least we can look forward to, strive for and to live out our small and seemingly inconsequential lives as we too embark upon that "little road".

Pather Panchali is presented with a RESTORED 35mm (yes, REAL FILM) PRINT at TIFF Bell Lightbox on July 3, 2014 at 6:30pm as part of the TIFF Cinematheque series "The Sun and the Moon: The Films of Satyajit Ray". This might be your only chance to see this masterpiece the way it was meant to be seen, so get your tickets NOW and GO. Visit the TIFF website for further details by clicking HERE.

DEVI (aka THE GODDESS) - Review By Greg Klymkiw

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Devi aka The Goddess (1960) dir. Satyajit Ray *****
Starring: Sharmila Tagore, Soumitra Chatterjee, Chhabi Biswas, Karuna Banerjee, Purnendu Mukherjee, Arpan Chowdhury

Review By
Greg Klymkiw


I stopped going to Brahmo Samaj, [the congregation of men who believed in Brahman, the supreme spiritual foundation and sustainer of the universe] around the age of fourteen or fifteen. I don't believe in organized religion anyway. Religion can only be on a personal level.” – Satyajit Ray (1982 Cineaste interview)

Great movies survive.

They survive because their truth is universal. Their compassion for humanity astonishes to degrees that are reverent, or even holy. Finally, they must weave every conceivable power of cinema’s vast arsenal of technique and artistry to create expression (narrative or otherwise) that can ultimately and only be realized by the medium of film.

Movies might well be the greatest artistic gift granted to man by whatever Supreme Intelligence has created him, and yet, like so much on this Earth that’s been taken for granted, cinema has been squandered in homage to the Golden Calf, or if you will, has turned Our Father’s House into a market.

Satyajit Ray (The Apu Trilogy) was a director who, on a very personal level (in spite of his occasional protestations to the contrary), infused his films with a truth that went far beyond the disposable cinematic baubles and trinkets that continue to flood the hearts and minds of our most impressionable.

Devi (The Goddess) is a film of consummate greatness. Its simple tale of blind faith springing from organized worship and leading the most vulnerable on a downward spiral into madness is surely a film as relevant now as it was in 1960. Upon its first release it was initially condemned in India for being anti-Hindu. If it’s anti-anything, it’s anti-ignorance and anti-superstition, but even this puts far too much weight upon the film having a political perspective rather than on moral and emotional turf – which ultimately is where it rests.


Set in a rural area of Bengal in 1860, the movie tells the story of a young married couple whose love and commitment to each other is beyond reproach. When Umaprasad (Soumitra Chatterjee) must leave his wife Doyamoyee (Sharmila Tagore) to finish his university education in Calcutta, she begs him to stay and questions his need to leave. Though he comes from a wealthy family, he seeks intellectual enlightenment in order to provide him with a good job so he does not have to rest on the laurels of mere birthright. Doya, so young and naïve, cannot comprehend his desire to leave her for any reason.

During a very moving and even romantic exchange, he informs her – not in a boastful way, but more as a matter of fact and with a touch of dashing humour that she is indeed endowed with an extremely intelligent husband. He is proud of this, as he is equally proud of how much his teachers value his intellect. He seeks to impress upon her that this is a trait that makes him a far more desirable husband for her – more than his money and more than his good looks. His intelligence is part and parcel of the very being that can love such a perfect woman as Doya.

When he leaves, however, things take a very bad turn. At first, Doya goes about her simple, charmed life in the same house they live in with Umaprasad’s father Kalikinkar (Chhabi Biswas), his brother Taraprasad (Purnendu Mukherjee) and sister-in-law Harasundari (Karuna Banerjee) and their sweet, almost angelic little boy Khoka (Arpan Chowdhury). She proves to be a magnificent in-law and aunt – a friend to her sister-in-law, a respectful servant to her father-in-law and a loving playmate for nephew Khoka.

Alas, Doya’s father-in-law has a prophetic dream wherein it is revealed to him that Doya is the human incarnation of the Goddess Kali. While Kali is often viewed as a symbol of death, many Bengalis viewed her as a benevolent mother figure, which Doya’s father-in-law and those who live in this particular region of Bengal most certainly do. This turns Doya’s life completely topsy-turvy – especially once she is forced to sit in the shrine to Kali whilst the denizens of the region pay homage to her and eventually expect her to grant mercies and miracles. In one sequence in particular, an old man brings his dying grandson to her threshold and pleads that she bestows upon him the ultimate resurrection.

Strangely, this sequence – so gut wrenching, suspenseful and yes, even touching on a spiritual level – had for me a similar power to the climactic moments of Carl Dreyer’s immortal classic of faith and madness Ordet (The Word) where a madman who believes he is Christ questions the faith of the devout and instead, places all the power of faith in that of a young girl to resurrect her dead mother. (This, by the way, would make for one truly amazing double-bill – the parallels are uncanny.) Hell breaks loose for Doya when those around her genuinely have immoveable faith in her lofty, hallowed position and eventually, it is up to her husband to attempt a rescue – using his powers of intellect over superstition to bring back the sweet young woman he married.

Where director Ray takes us on the rest of this journey and how he achieves this is exactly the reason why he is revered as one of cinema’s true, undisputed greats. There are moments of such exquisite truth with images so gorgeously composed and lit that the combination of this indelible pairing can and, indeed does evoke a series of emotional responses - so much so that you may find yourself weeping with a strange amalgam of sadness and joy. The manner in which Doya is lit at various points is especially evocative.

Ultimately, though, it is Ray’s humanity that prevails and seeps into every frame of this stunning picture. This movie MUST be seen. To not experience Devi is to not acknowledge the magnitude of cinema as the premiere art form of our time.

It's a heart breaker!

Devi is presented with a restored 35mm (yes, real FILM) print at TIFF Bell Lightbox on July 13, 2014 at 3:45pm as part of the TIFF Cinematheque series "The Sun and the Moon: The Films of Satyajit Ray". This might be your only chance to see this masterpiece the way it was meant to be seen, so get your tickets NOW and GO. Visit the TIFF website for further details by clicking HERE.

APARAJITO (The Unvanquished) - Review By Greg Klymkiw - #2 of The Apu Trilogy by Satyajit Ray

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When a mother and child must face the world alone.

When a mother must face the world alone.
Aparajito (The Unvanquished) (1956) Dir. Satyajit Roy *****
Starring: Smaran Ghosal, Pinaki Sen Gupta, Karuna Banerjee, Kanu Banerjee

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Some movies sneak up on you. Aparajito is such a picture. This sequel to Satyajit Ray's Pather Panchali and second entry in his Apu Trilogy most definitely delivers the new beginning promised at the end of the previous film. Having left their rural village behind in favour of big city life in Benares, The Roy family are still living in poverty, but existence doesn't seem quite so tenuous. Harihar (Kanu Banerjee) continues his work as a priest and delivers prayers on the banks of the Ganges River while his wife Sarbajaya (Karuna Banerjee) tends to her homemaking chores.

Though the family is more secure than back in the sticks, it's Apu (Pinaki Sen Gupta) who seems especially satisfied with his current lot in life. With an entire city as a playground and the joy he clearly expresses whilst tearing about the teeming populace, Apu seems the happiest of the three, with one exception, one definite want and need. They family lives too far away from a school and Apu does indeed express a desire for an education.

If anything, literacy and education in Apu's life are the real driving forces behind the film's narrative. Interestingly, Ray was always disappointed that there was one key role he had to write out of the film at the last minute due to casting issues, but if truth be told, it's a role that's completely unnecessary and in fact strengthens the education factor in Apu's life and how it transforms the movie into a kind of transcendence one doesn't expect - at least not in the early going.

And, of course, this is one of the ways in which the movie sneaks up on you.

The first chunk of the film is extremely amiable on all fronts. Though Harihar continues to work his butt off for not much more than he was making before, the dough is at least steady and given the tragic events that befell the Roy family in Pather Panchali, it's a relief seeing these three people peacefully living out their lives in the city Sarbajaya always regretted leaving (and in fact, begged Harihar earlier in the previous movie to return to). If Sarabajaya isn't quite living out her "I had dreams once, too" lament from the first of the trilogy, this is still a far cry from the repressive life in Harihar's ancestral home in the country.

Then, like the snakes wending their way mysteriously through every corner of India, we are thrown for a loop narratively as tragedy strikes when we least expect it. Illness takes Harihar from the family in a manner that echoes sweet Durga's passing in Pather Panchali. Mother and Son are forced to leave the city behind and take up new positions in a new home with an affluent family in the country. Sarabajaya works as a domestic while Apu apprentices with an old uncle as a priest.

Life is once again lonely and quiet as before the move to Benares, but Mother and Son bond even closer and at least they aren't subject to the daily trials and tribulations of meddlesome neighbours and nasty relatives. On his way home from his morning chores at the Temple, Apu gazes longingly at all the young boys attending the local school. With his mother's cautious permission, he continues working the Temple by morning and going to school by day.

From leaving the city to this point in the narrative, Ray delivers one stunning emotional and/or poetic set piece after another - all very different in tone from Pather Panchali, but just as stirring and original. The train journey from Benares to the countryside takes on significant resonance for both Apu and his Mother. In Pather Panchali, the train was this distant thing that Apu desperately wished to see properly, but also represented flight and new beginnings.

Certainly, the opening images of Aparajito lead us into the city from the inside of a train's window, but at this latter juncture, Ray affords us an evocative montage of what Sarbajaya sees through the window - gradually diminishing vestiges of civilization and increasingly, endless fields and forests stretching out far and wide under a big, clean sky. This is a new beginning, alright, but one which transforms Sarbajaya's face from resolution, through to deep sadness and finally to a kind of blankness that's the most heartbreaking expression of all.

On a more joyous note, Ray crafts several great sequences involving Apu's education at school and with Sarbajaya, the tone jettisons into a kind of stratospheric elation. The pure jubilance with which Apu explains matters of science, nature and the world to his Mother fill her with pride, amazement and even the thrill of learning new things from her own son.

Eventually, Aparjito moves us into the adolescent years of Apu (now played by Smaran Ghosal) and we begin a new chapter in the lives of Mother and Son. It is here that Ray (as if we didn't already know it with Pather Panchali) firmly establishes his innate gifts as a filmmaker. The turn in the story alternates between joy and sadness. As the young man moves to Calcutta to begin college life and a new job at a printing press business, his mother remains behind in the rural farm where she continues to toil as a domestic and pines for every letter and increasingly infrequent visit from her son.

Eventually, our Apu truly becomes the unbeaten young man of a poverty-stricken existence. Knowledge not only fuels him, but so to does life in a place like Calcutta. As life is wont to do, an empty nest results in both parent and child facing a whole new life, but separated by distance and priorities, they will both be entering these worlds alone. One world yields opportunity, but for an illiterate widow living alone in the middle of nowhere, her world will offer what, sadly, it is only able to. The last third of the film is devastating to say the least, but with devastation comes rebuilding anew.

Once again, surrounding himself with his team of loyal creative crew, including composer Ravi Shankar (who manages to create an equally haunting score as he did in Pather Panchali) and cinematographer Subrata Mitra, Ray was able to generate yet another masterpiece and this time with a production fraught with numerous setbacks. In addition to the aforementioned casting difficulties (an actress who was to play Apu's Calcutta love interest and buggered off when her Old World hubby started giving her guff about having to hug and kiss her leading man), then financing issues (money falling in and out of place), a prolonged two-year on-again-off-again shooting schedule and the threat of monsoons scuttling a major already-planned series of sequences. To the latter, it was the brilliant Mitra who came up with the plan to match the neorealist look of the film by insisting they shoot on a soundstage and recreate sun pouring into a courtyard arrangement with a bit of cheesecloth and bounce boards. Nobody would ever notice the difference.

With his second film, Satyajit Ray proved conclusively that he was already a genuine Master with filmmaking hard-wired into his DNA. Way ahead of his time, he ultimately rendered this haunting tale with maturity, artistry and deep humanity. It turns out, Ray was just like that. As such, Aparjito is just like that, too. It keeps sneaking up on you, lifting you to the Heavens in one fell swoop, then slamming you to the ground the next, knocking the wind out of you, but always offering a hand-up from the misery and suffering, as if to always remind you of life's infinite delight, wonder and mystery.

Aparajito is presented with a restored 35mm (yes, real FILM) print at TIFF Bell Lightbox on July 4, 2014 at 6:30pm as part of the TIFF Cinematheque series "The Sun and the Moon: The Films of Satyajit Ray". This might be your only chance to see this masterpiece the way it was meant to be seen, so get your tickets NOW and GO. Visit the TIFF website for further details by clicking HERE.

DON'T FORGET TO BUY YOUR SATYAJIT RAY MOVIES FROM THE LINKS TO AMAZON.CA, AMAZON.COM and AMAZON.UK, BELOW. DOING SO WILL ASSIST WITH THE ONGOING MAINTENANCE OF THE FILM CORNER.

*BUYERS PLEASE NOTE* Amazon.ca (Canadian Amazon) has a relatively cruddy collection of Satyajit Ray product and generally shitty prices. Amazon.com has a huge selection of materials (including music and books) and decent prices. Amazon.UK has a GREAT selection of Satyajit Ray movies from a very cool company called Artificial Eye (second these days only to the Criterion Collection). Any decent Chinatown sells region-free Blu-Ray and DVD players for peanuts. Just get one (or several - they can be that cheap) and don't be afraid of ordering from foreign regions. The fucking film companies should just merge the formats into one acceptable delivery method worldwide. Besides, you can order anything you want from any country anyway.

AMAZON.CA:


AMAZON.COM:



AMAZON.UK:
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