Category: Art House

The White Crow

Rated: MThe White Crow

Directed by: Ralph Fiennes

Written by: David Hare

Inspired by the book “Nureyev : The Life” by: Julie Kavanagh

Produced by: Gabrielle Tana p.g.a., Ralph Fiennes p.g.a., Carolyn Marks Blackwood, Andrew Levitas,  François Ivernel

Composer: Ilan Eshkeri

Starring: Oleg Ivenko, Adèle Exarchopoulos, Chulpan Khamatova, Ralph Fiennes, Alexey Morozov, Raphaël Personnaz, Olivier Rabourdin, Ravshana Kurkova, Louis Hofmann, with Sergei Polunin and    Maksimilian Grigoriyev, Andrey Urgant, Nadezhda Markina, Anna Polikarpova, Nebojša Dugalić, Anastasia Meskova.

Based on the true story of the Soviet Union ballet dancer, Rudolf Nureyev (Oleg Ivenko), The White Crow is a film that shifts in time, from his time during the cold war, visiting France as a member of the Kirov Ballet Company in the 1960s, back to his lessons, showing his determination to be the best, the most expressive male dancer, back to the time of his childhood and his birth in 1938 on a crowded train as it travels through the snowy countryside – all his past leading to his ultimate defection from the Soviet Union to France where in a dramatic scene he seeks asylum while under the careful guard of the KGB.

We see the contrast of the oppressive days living in the Soviet Union in the 1930s, the scenes leached of colour, to renewed hope after the war where the people living under the communist regime feel the bad days are over, only to see the vigour and freedom of Paris and the gorgeous be-jewelled costumes and stage-craft of lights and dancing, chandeliers and standing ovations.

The film shows the background of this famous performer, giving insight into his infamous temper and demands.  He explains to his friend and French supporter, Clara Saint (Adèle Exarchopoulos), his nickname, White Crow: the unusual, the extraordinary, not like others: an outsider.

To be able to express and give all of himself in the dance, his drive must remain pure, his soul free.

Ralph Fiennes, has directed with restraint, giving the tone of the film a quiet power.

It was the silence of the soundtrack that absorbed, to hear the scraping of ballet shoes on a hard wooden floor cutting to Rudi’s admiration and observation of paintings and statues in the Rembrandt Room of the Hermitage museum in St Petersburg, showing his aspiration to be as perfect as a statue himself.

The layering of the story makes the film more than the defection of Rudolf Nureyevilm, this is about the determination of a driven and abrasive, spectacularly brilliant dancer, as he explores a world he’s only dreamed about, filled with intellectual conversation, acceptance, art, adoration and freedom.

As his long-time supporter and teacher Alexander Pushkin (Ralph Fiennes – directing and also starring) explains to the KGB about Rudi’s defection – it’s not about politics, it was more an ‘explosion of character’.

Yet it’s the love of his mother and his childhood, the flashes back to his father returning in uniform, his mother searching for firewood in the bitter cold, that gives him the strength to fight through any fear of performance.

It’s a classically, beautiful film filled with the grace of ballet and violins, the tap of piano, the production team determined to show the story with respect with the cast made-up of native Russian actors, the lead, Oleg Ivenko also an award winning ballet dancer.

What I appreciated as a viewer was the cast speaking Russian instead of English with a Russian accent.

And the setting is filmed in France, and Russia, the artwork of Géricault’s painting ‘The Raft Of The Medusa’ used to show the beauty of Rudi’s internal torment and ability to see the beauty in the tragic.

Like Rudi tells Clara Saint, if you have no story to tell, you have no reason to dance.

A White, White Day (Hvítur, Hvítur Dagur)

Rated: MA White, White Day (Hvítur, Hvítur Dagur)

Written and Directed by: Hlynur Pálmason

Produced by: Anton Máni Svansson

Music by: Edmund Finnis

Cinematography by: Maria von Hausswolff

Film Editing by: Julius Krebs Damsbo

Starring: Ingvar E. Sigurdsson, Ída Mekkín Hlynsdóttir, Hilmir Snær Guðnason.

WINNER

Best Actor, Cannes International Film Festival 2019 (Critics’ Week)

WINNER

Best Actor, 2019 Transilvania International Film Festival

Opening the Scandinavian Film Festival, A White, White Day (Hvítur, Hvítur Dagur) is a slow, bold and at times beautiful film, the outstanding performance from Ingvar E. Sigurdsson the centre piece to the background of Icelandic scenery.

I was drawn into the landscape of this film, the interest of change while the centre remains the same; the boldness and cheek of a granddaughter, the roar of a monster – it’s a film about grief but shown in images and movement and stillness, showing the process of grief rather than the narrative.

Time is shown as frame, by frame, an old farm house remains static, as each frame shows wind, snow, wild horses, a full moon at night, to daylight and green grass, and eventually, former police chief and grandfather, Ingimundur (Ingvar E. Sigurdsson) arriving with granddaughter, Salka (Ída Mekkín Hlynsdóttir).

They wander around the old house, turning on taps, finding one of the horses in the kitchen.  Laughing together, the scene shows the relationship between grandfather and granddaughter; the natural companionship and exchange between them, the love.

Slowly, we realise that Ingimundur’s wife has died.  He’s a widow.  He used to be a cop.  We see a counsellor ask him not to be so hard on himself.  Not to self-criticise.

To ask: ‘What would be a perfect day?’

We receive no answer, the film cutting to Ingimundur in a rowboat with his granddaughter after they’ve caught a fish.

The editing (Julius Krebs Damsbo) sets the tone of the film, the story shown through image and object to depict the way a retired police chief’s mind works: Ingmiundur plays soccer in his purple boxes with the sea slowly rippling in the background.

He’s found out his wife was unfaithful.  He didn’t know while she was alive. Now, he has questions.

The sea churns.

The film’s a mysterious family drama that revolves around the quiet strength of this man, Ingimundur, who loses his grip as he investigates the infidelity of his beloved wife.  But instead of revenge, his quiet anger shows the depth of this love.

And the mystery of his love is set in the strangeness of fog and snow, as he tells scary tales to his granddaughter, while he quietly grieves.

I was absorbed into that quiet and open feeling like a strange day can create – that’s why the film’s title is, A White, White Day – where the sky and land are both white so they blend, allowing the dead to speak.

The Man Who Killed Don Quixote

Directed by: Terry GilliamThe Man Who Killed Don Quixote

Written by: Terry Gilliam and Tony Grisoni

Produced by: Mariela Besuievsky, Gerardo Herrero, Amy Gilliam, Grégoire Melin, Sébastien Delloye

Starring: Adam Driver, Jonathan Pryce, Stellan Skarsgärd, Olga Kurylenko, Joana Ribeiro, Óscar Jaenada, Jason Watkins.

Thirty years in the making (and unmaking), director and writer, Terry Gilliam (The Fisher King, 12 Monkeys, Brazil, The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas) was determined that, The Man Who Killed Don Quixote would be made.

Based on the famous classic novel, Don Quixote (The Ingenious Gentleman Sir Quixote of La Mancha) written by Miguel de Cervantes (in two parts in 1605 and 1615), the film echoes the metafiction view, where the fiction both creates and lays bare that illusion.

Lead Toby (Adam Driver), the director of the film, ‘The Man Who Killed Don Quixote’ (that’s just one of many circles within circles here in this film of the same name), wipes the English subtitles literally from the screen, announcing they’re not required – there’s that laying bare the illusion.

Here, we have a film about making a movie about Don Quixote while combining elements of the classic novel in Tody’s present.

No wonder the script was written and re-written for thirty years.

There’s even a documentary about the difficulties of making this film, ‘This hellish adventure […] captured in great detail in the documentary feature film, Lost in La Mancha (2002),’ if you’d like to explore further.

I myself was dubious setting out on this adventure, thankful the flashbacks weren’t an attempt to hark back to the 1600s.  That would have felt pat.  Instead we have a man driven insane by Tody’s college film, yep, ‘The Man Who Killed Don Quixote’, casting an old shoe-maker, Javier, (Jonathan Pryce), working in the small Spanish village, Los Sueños (Gallipienzo), where Toby decides to film his college project using real villages to avoid being cliché.

When Toby returns, years later, as a famous slick director, he finds the people of Los Sueños damaged after his last visit; the young and beautiful fifteen-year-old Angelica (Joana Ribeiro) broken while searching for the promise to be made a movie star, the shoe-maker cast as Don Quixote mad, with the belief he is the real, Don Quixote.

With events that range from amusing to the ridiculous (hence my initial dubious take of the film), Tody ends up in the unfortunate position of becoming the present day’s Don Quixote’s (AKA the shoe-maker) loyal squire, Sancho Panza.

This is where the movie starts to get somewhere: the slick director sitting atop a donkey, commanded by a crazy old man not afraid to hit him with a stick turns the ridiculous and amusing into outright funny.

Adam Driver as Toby bouncing off Jonathan Pryce as the mad pseudo Don Quixote make for some hilarious moments.  Only Jonathan Pryce could have pulled-off such a character, his theatre background pronouncing itself in the twinkle of a cheeky eye.

Then, as Tody gets more absorbed into his role as Sancho, the more dramatic and romantic the story as Angelica returns as the beautiful girl who needs saving from a Russian oligarch, Alexei Mishkin (Jordi Mollá) who ends up hosting a spectacular costume party in an ancient castle to celebrate Holy Week.

The setting of the film was shot in locations from Spain, Portugal and the Canary Island of Fuerteventura; ruins and castles including the Castillo de Oreja, Almonacid de Toledo and Monasterio de Piedra giving that Spanish flavour of Cervantes’ classic.

There’s also the addition of the Spanish guitar in the soundtrack and flamenco dancing with costuming that lift the film beyond the ridiculous into something more fantasy then drama or even comedy.  It’s all of it, rolled into an interpretation of the novel that mirrors Cervantes’ introduction of metafiction into the literary world, giving us that extra layer where the fiction is able to take a look at itself from the outside.

Not that the film dwells in this extra layer – this is more, a circle within a circle storyline that if you can get through the awkward moments at the beginning (Adam Driver helps here), then the reward is a film that successfully pushes the boundaries of cinematic perspective.

The Sisters Brothers

Rated: MA15+The Sisters Brothers

Directed and Created by: Jacques Audiard

Based on the Book Written by: Patrick DeWitt

Screenplay Written by: Jacques Audiard, Thomas Bidegain

Produced by: Alison Dickey, Michael De Luca, Pascal Caucheteux, Michel Merkt, Megan Ellison, Gregoire Sorlat, John C. Reilly

Starring: John C. Reilly, Joaquin Phoenix, Jake Gyllenhaal, Riz Ahmed, Rutget Hauer, Carol Kane, Rebecca Root.

Set in America, circa 1851, guns-for-hire, The Sisters brothers, Eli (John C. Reilly) and Charlie Sisters (Joaquin Phoenix) work on the request of The Commodore (Rutger Hauer).

The brothers are sent to rob, track and kill – if necessary, or if it’s just easier – Riz Ahmed (Hermann Kermit Warm).  A man who has created a formula to find gold.

The killing doesn’t seem to be personal with the Sisters brothers.  For the brothers, it’s just life.

But Riz believes life is worth examining; and a life worth examining, is a life worth writing about.

We see Riz hurl his hat at a chicken, to see the bird captured underneath.  All the while observed by another tracker, the subtle John Morris (Jake Gyllenhaal) hired to find the chemist and keep him in place until the Sisters arrive – a bit like the chicken under the hat, l guess.

Morris also thinks about life.

When tracker Morris and the chemist, Riz meet, it’s like a meeting of the minds.

But as is the nature of this film, there’s duplicity; the lying to one’s self to not be afflicted by gold fever but to want to create a better society by panning for gold.

That’s what Riz writes about.  He wants to create a better society.

And because he’s found a formula that separates gold from water, a chemistry that makes the gold glow, the Sisters brothers have been sent to find him.

The use of light is the common threat used by director Jacques Audiard to piece one scene to the other, one thought to the next; from the light reflected from stolen pearls hanging from a saddle bag to the sun reflected off a snowy mountain.

There’s nothing electric here, only fire light, candle light, sunlight. Yet the film doesn’t dwell on being set in the 1800s. This is more a story of character.

Based on the book written by Patrick DeWitt, we get this intricate thread of people just being who they are: killers, brothers, chemists, intellects.  The truth of each character is revealed by circumstance; to convey the subtleties that show a killer to be too nice for a whore, for a drunk to have ambition, a philosopher to have greed.

There’s so much to think about with this film, I’m still unpacking as I’m writing.

We get moments captured in fevered dreams; the nightmares that cry out, the one crying out only to laugh at the helping hand to lighten the idea of safety as the brothers sleep at night, hand on revolver.

It’s incredibly subtle, the quiet touch behind the powerful performances made it feel like no performance at all.

I was particularly impressed with John C. Reilly as Eli Sisters.  There’s something genuinely adorable about this guy.

To have layers peeled back from this character, Eli, was the drive behind this intricate film.

Superficially, this is a Western, a classic tale of two bad guys going after the man who’s found the secret to finding gold.  But underneath all the killing and gold fever is a delicate tale of humanity.

The Guilty

Directed by: Gustav Möller

Screenplay by: Gustav Möller & Emil Nygaard Albertsen

Produced by: Lina Flint

Starring: Jakob Cedergren, Johan Olsen, Jessica Dinnage, Omar Shargawi, Jacob Hauberg Lohmann, Katinka Evers-Jahnsen.

2018 Sundance Film Festival

WINNER: World Cinema Dramatic – Audience Award

Opening on a blank screen, the phone rings.

Asgar (Jakob Cedergren) answers, ‘Emergency Services.’

Set entirely in the room housing the work spaces for those answering and directing the urgent calls incoming, the film focuses on the mysterious Asgar as he shows the classic signs of burn-out: a short temper, the wringing of hands as he attempts to help yet another drunk and abusive caller.

When he receives the call from Iben (Jessica Dinnage) he soon realises she’s been kidnaped, as she pretends to be calling her young daughter while Asgar attempts to find out where she is to send help.

The jaded Asgar comes to life as the tension rises – he makes a promise to Iben’s daughter he’ll get her mother home, even if he has to go off-book to help her.

But there’s something not right with Asgar.

He says he’s a protector, ‘We protect people who need help.’

He’s also a mystery.

The Guilty is a tense psychological thriller as we’re taken down a dark road of murder, fear and the frustration of being on the end of the phone trying to get to the person on the other side.

Director Gustav Möller states, ‘I believe that the strongest images in film, the ones that stay with you the longest; they are the ones, you don’t see.’

Möller has used this concept to build the suspense and mystery as Asgar tries to piece together the crime unfolding on the other end of the line.

We don’t see the crime; what we see is the warning of a red light switching on when the call is taken; the staring into space as aspirin dissolves into bubbles; the ringing of hands as they shake.

The silence is broken by the phone ringing, the soundtrack of the film, as the mystery of the caller and Asgar are revealed like, ‘A big blue silence.’

This is a gripping film that’s more a character-driven story who’s mystery is revealed in the suspense of solving a crime we can’t see.  What we hear is the fear in a voice, a knocking on a door, the traffic in the background and the sound of tyres on a road taking the unwilling somewhere Asgar needs to find out if he’s going to save the person on the other side of the call.

Let The Sunshine In

Directed by: Claire DenisLet The Sunshine In

Screenplay Written by: Claire Denis & Christine Angot

Produced by: Olivier Delbosc

Starring: Juliette Binoche, Xavier Beauvois, Philippe Katerine, Josiane Balasko, Sandrine Dumas, Nicolas Duvauchelle, Alex Descas, Laurent Grevill, Bruno Podalydés, Paul Blain, Valeria Bruni-Tedeschi, Gérard Depardieu.

I wrote my thesis on, A Lover’s Discourse – Fragments (Ronald Barthes (1977)), using Hemingway’s writing in, The Garden of Eden (1986), Across the River and into the Trees (1950) and also his short fiction piece, Hills Like White Elephants (1927) as an illustration of Ronald Barthes theory:

That love cannot be expressed through language, that love is expressed through the ‘nothing’ that is not language, that it is the actions and gifts given because of love that signpost to the reader that the characters in the story are in love, or conversely, not in love.  Because of the nature of writing love, I have utilized Hemingway’s writing as a basis for Barthes’ theory – it is Hemingway that writes love and it is Barthes that writes of love.

Let the Sunshine In was originally based on the Discourse then evolved into a screenplay written by Claire Denis (also director) & Christine Angot where Isabelle (Juliette Binoche) falls in love, only to have her heart broken, to love again… and again…

Divorced and the mother of a ten-year-old daughter, we only see briefly as a face behind the window of a car pulling away, Isabelle mirroring the outline of her hand on the other side of the glass.  The love of her child is not what this film’s about.  This is a series of moments as Isabelle opens a dialogue with the men she means to love and all the complications and baggage finding love at an older age brings.

She’s not old; she’s not young.

Isabelle laments to a friend that she feels her love life is behind her.  The impossibility of each relationship revealing itself in complicated exchanges, each trying to find a way towards or away from the other.

The camera pans back and forth from the cheating husband who bluntly describes his extraordinary wife he will never leave, to the realisation on Isabelle’s face when she can’t find a way back to the love with this man after his blatant denial – no matter how charming he finds her.

We’ve all been there, the wondering of how much to give, how much to take.  For love.

Here, we see the pulling apart of feelings that are there, or not.  And the language, the limit of language as the lovers try to get past all the talk to find the physical connection.  And then, to keep it.

It’s a complicated film that manages to avoid melodrama, replacing physical expressed emotion with words.

I wonder how much was lost in the translation from French to the English subtitles, yet Barthes’ Discourse is what’s being translated with the depth of meaning still conveyed.

Putting love into words is a difficult conversation.

The expertise and experience of Juliette Binoche shines here.  I couldn’t imagine another actress portraying the vulnerability of Isabelle, the willingness to follow the reasoning behind the emotions from the other.  A heavy burden but a successful one.  Like reading a play because it’s all about the dialogue and the tears and expression and never-ending search for love.

Let the sunshine In isn’t a love story, nor a drama; it’s not sad.  It’s a lover’s discourse.

Roma

Rated: MA15+Roma

Directed and Written by: Alfonso Cuarón

Cinematography: Alfonso Cuarón

Produced by: Nicolás Celis, Alfonso Cuarón

Starring: Yalitza Aparicio, Marina de Tavira, Fernando Grediaga, Jorge Antonio Guerrero, Marco Graf, Daniela Demesa, Carlos Peralta, Nancy Garcia, Diego Di Cort and Verónica Garcia.

The 75th Venice International Film Festival, Golden Lion winner

Based on the semi-autobiographical upbringing of writer and Academy Award winning director Alfonso Cuarón (Children of Men (2006); Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2010); Gravity (2013)) in Mexico during the 1970s, Roma feels like a legacy left as a gift that we all get to share.

It’s not often I see a film that speaks to the heart of things with perfect balance; a sigh at the end because there’s a kind of sadness it’s finishing but also a happy sigh because it all feels complete.

From the opening scene, Roma slows everything down with the flow and splash of water used for cleaning the concrete squares of a courtyard with the reflected image of an aeroplane flying overhead.

Here, we’re introduced to the family: wife, Sofia (Marina de Tavira) and husband Antonio (Fernando Grediaga) and the children, Paco (Carlos Peralta), Pepe (Marco Graf), Sofi (Daniela Demesa), grandma Teresa (Veronica Garcia).  And the two nannies, Adela (Nancy Garcia Garcia) and Chloe (Yalitza Aparicio).   But really, the two young nannies are part of the family.  As is the ever-pooing on the courtyard squares, Borras the dog.  And the galaxy car that fits into the courtyard-come-garage by a mere centimetre each side…

I love the humour of the film, mounted heads of previous pet dogs included.

And the love and tragedy of the characters is perfectly captured in black and white moments so although a quiet film about life and family, I was mesmerised by a story shown by an observer with a particularly knowing eye; from the heart of a wise and old soul like young Pepe talking to Chloe about his past life as a pilot, ‘back when I was old’.

The film is just full of wonderful treats like the hills that look like they have skirts and the rubbing of vinegar on sunburnt shoulders so the children smell like salads.

We’re shown this deeply personal story of a family that managers to subtly open a door on the rarity of life captured that goes deeper than an emotional level.  There something spiritual here as Chloe is shown with the love of a young boy who sees her soul so clearly.

Even with the tragedy of heart break, there’s strength; even through earthquakes and government seizing land, the Indigenous population living in slums, and fathers leaving their children, there’s an ever evolving resilience where keeping close helps get through all the scary; where scenes of baby bottles amongst the wine and ashtrays are a sign of the times and forest fires alight on New Year’s Eve: there’s always the slow drone of an aeroplane overhead.

I loved this film, the quiet, the sad, the love, the beauty, the simplicity of people living their lives shown with amusement and a rare honesty that fills you up.  Now that’s film making.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fp_i7cnOgbQ

McQueen

Rated: MA15+McQueen

Directed by: Ian Bohôte

Co-Directed & Written by: Peter Ettedgui

Produced by: Nick Taussig, Andee Ryder & Paul Van Carter

Composer: Michael Nyman

Featuring: Alexander McQueen

Alexander McQueen became a fashion icon for his confronting sabotage of tradition, his haute couture fashion shows exhibiting the visions from his tortured soul.

Bruised, battered and embraced by the industry, McQueen rose from humble beginnings growing up as a lad in Leeds to become head designer for Givenchy which led to backing from Dior; his label, McQueen rising as much from infamy as from his genius to create.

His shows were made to provoke emotion: revolt, repulsion, revelation.  As long as there was a reaction: “I would go to the end of my dark side and pull these horrors out of my soul and put them on the catwalk.” ― Alexander McQueen.

McQueen is a documentary pieced together like tapes from his life.  Recordings of old footage taken by friends and McQueen himself to archived interviews of the designer and those closest to him: his mother, his industry supporters such as his mentor Isabella Blow close like family, to current interviews made for the film from his older sister and nephew and colleagues including stylist Mira Chai Hyde and assistant designer Sebastian Pons.

We’re given a back-stage pass into McQueen’s life from his beginnings as a youngster obsessed with drawing dresses to his drive to succeed in a world shockingly different to the tubby, shabbily dressed boy who used his dole money to buy fabric while going back to his parents for tins of bake beans.

I’m not a fashion obsessive but it was fascinating to see the man work, to see his process and gain insight from those closet to him.  But more than anything I enjoyed seeing his creations, his fashion shows like theatre, his work like sculpture, his vision unique.

McQueen’s ability to turn garbage bags into dresses by waving his magic hands was absurd and genius.

And he was cheeky: As Detmar, Issie Blow’s husband, remembers McQueen telling the models, “You’ve got to put your pubic hair in Anna Wintour’s face. It was just very naughty behaviour.”

The film follows his life through the themes of five major works, displaying his morbid fascination of the dark with titles like, “Jack the Ripper Stalks His Victims,” his 1992 graduate college collection and “Highland Rape.”  His shows were inflammatory and macabre.

McQueen rose to fame because he didn’t care what people thought.  He rose because he took risks.

As one model states of his finale in his collection of beauty and madness in, “Voss”: ‘Fat birds and moths – isn’t that Fashion’s worst nightmare?!’

But when he became famous, that’s when his personal life began to unravel.

Director Ian Bohôte (producer of, 20,000 Days on Earth) gives us a documentary that allows the work of McQueen to speak for itself by focussing on his life through each collection – his anger after, “Search for the Golden Fleece,” his first collection designed for Givenchy, to his rebellion in, “Voss”.  We see his grief in “Plato’s Atlantis” and we see his final show before his death.

We see the tortured soul of the man as he reveals everything in his work.

As the timeline of his life moves forward, his rise to fame equals his personal downward spiral as those close to him discuss what they could see happening to McQueen.

Yet, his expression continued to amaze – his honesty and grief sometimes ethereal.

The documentary takes you on that journey showing the sensitivity of what made the man.

It’s a sad story that challenges while informing – not a celebration but more a documentation of his life: honest, like the man.

Hearts Beat Loud

Rated: PGHearts Beat Loud

Directed by: Brett Haley

Co-Written by: Brett Haley, Marc Basch

Produced by: Houston King, Sam Bisbee, Sam Slater

Original Songs/Music: Keegan Dewitt

Starring: Nick Offerman, Kiersey Clemons, Ted Danson, Toni Collette, Sasha Lane, Blyth Danner.

 

Hearts Beat Loud is one of those films that can really go either way – a father and daughter who write songs and play together in a band?!  Cheesy!

But when I saw Nick Offerman was starring, I knew I was in for a treat.

Featuring the original songs and music by Keegan Dewitt, there’s an indie flavour as one-time musician and record shop owner Frank plays melody on guitar while his daughter, Sam sings and plays keyboard.

When they record a song and Frank uploads the track to Spotify, suddenly becoming a band for real is now a possibility when their song is selected to be part of the ‘New Indie Mix’, reaching thousands of listeners – a success at a time when Frank’s future at the record store looks bleak while Sam’s about to leave to study Pre-Med at college.

Director Brett Haley wanted to make a musical where the songs are grounded in real-life situations, so it’s not narrative made of song but rather the music being a mode of communication.

Rather than an awful saccharine musical, the soundtrack makes the film work because the music is gold.  As Frank (Nick Offerman) says of Sam’s (Kiersey Clemons) song and hook for the film, Hearts Beat Loud, ‘it just has to have a feeling – this has feeling’.

Sure, OK, it does get a bit cheesy near the end with enthusiasm as ‘We’re Not A Band’ plays their first ever performance… But I was already pretty emotional by that stage with Frank’s store, Red Hook Records about to close and seeing him struggle with a resistive teen daughter on his own and an ailing mother Marianne (Blyth Danner) and the acceptance of what will never be…

And there’s some gems here like Frank telling Sam, ‘When life hands you conundrums you turn them into art.’

It’s all very life-affirming and inventive and creative and sweet.

We see the relationship between father and daughter and their community of friends from bar-owner, Dave (Ted Danson), landlady Leslie (Toni Collette) and Sam’s girlfriend Rose (Sasha Lane) all part of the growing process of father and daughter as they look to their next stage in life while remaining close.

It’s an accepting, bitter-sweet story that had me, I admit, crying happy tears because it’s hard to move on and grow and change.  But it’s also healthy and good.

Director and co-writer Brett Haley states, ‘Given the level of anxiety in the world right now, it was very important to make a film that makes people feel good, and that reminds people of the simple goodness in the world and in ordinary life.’

You Were Never Really Here

Rated: MA15+You Were Never Really Here

Directed by: Lynne Ramsay

Screenplay by: Lynne Ramsay

Based on the book by: Jonathan Ames

Produced by: Rosa Attab, Pascal Caucheteux, James Wilson, Rebecca O’Brien, Lynne Ramsay

Director of Photography: Thomas Townend

Music by: Jonny Greenwood

Starring: Joaquin Phoenix, Judith Roberts, Ekaterina Samsonov, John Doman, Alex Manette, Dante Pereira-Olson, Alessandro Nivola.

Winner of Best Actor & Best Screenplay at Cannes Film Festival, 2017, there’s already a buzz surrounding the release of this film – and, You Were Never Really Here went beyond expectation.

This is a grisly and astounding crime film where director and screen writer, Lynne Ramsay (We Need To Talk About Kevin (2011)) has brought together disjointed elements of different sounds and disjointed time to create something more.

Note the music by Jonny Greenwood AKA lead guitarist and keyboardist of, Radiohead and creator of the soundtrack of, Phantom Thread which I also gave five stars.

Flashbacks and hallucinations show the fragile mind of Joe (Joaquin Phoenix), ex-military, gun-for-hire, as he works jobs as an enforcer – ‘brutally’ if necessary.

With hammer in hand Joe delivers a fatal blow to henchmen who get in his way like he’s striking a blow at the demons who continue to haunt him.  He’s like an avenging angel – a theme built upon through-out the film.

This is a brutally beautiful film based on the book by Jonathan Ames where little girls need to be rescued from very bad men.

When Joe’s asked to meet a senator whose daughter, Nina (Ekaterina Samsonov), has been taken, we see just how brutal Joe can be and how deep the darkness reaches from the men who hide evil behind power.

This is a visceral and gritty crime movie with a magnetising performance from Joaquin Phoenix – I just couldn’t look away from this guy.

There’s something fascinating about Joaquin as he perfectly imbodies this hitman haunted by his past.

I was tempted to draw comparisons with, Léon: The Professional (1994): the older assassin who befriends the young girl.

But You Were Never Really Here is more than the relationship between a bad guy doing good and a troubled young girl who understands – this is more about Joe haunted by his past; about the mother he cares for (Judith Roberts) and a mind lost in memory.

With the dislocation of time, the past and present blur only to be brought back into focus with Joe grounding himself by asking, ‘What the fuck am I doing?’

Images sign-post the story: the dilated pupils of a girl’s blue eyes; the silence of a black and white security camera video; broken glasses, the eye glass with blood-stained jagged edges; the disintegration of a green jelly bean, the fracture of sugar a signal of the darkness to come.

There’s a crime story here but the weight of the film lies in the showing of how Joe sees the world as we look at him as his eyes are reflected in a car window looking back.

Astounding performance, gritty story and visually, brutally poetic.

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