as seen on screen (3)
10 October 2006. Inspired by this month's non-essential viewing.
Just when you thought it was all over, this month my occasional 'these are not the films you are looking for' column popped up again in InMadrid. It was a strange month; after seeing the Ken Loach film, and watching the man himself talk in the press conference (the only thing I could think of to say was asked by someone else, so I just watched from the sidelines), I walked around the corner and was accosted by what turned out to be some kind of low-rent Candid Camera. I'm not sure that's what Ken meant when he spoke of liberating filmmaking for the people.
Reviews and the like down below.
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Do you want some? It's a cinematic punch up this month, and everyone's invited. We've got bullying Brits, bruised boxers, the battle for the Oscars (yes, already) plus some Japanese snow to cool you down. Now sit back and take it like a man.
First in the ring is The Wind that Shakes the Barley, aka the film that surprised everyone by winning the Palme D'Or at Cannes (particularly rude as Pedro had already cleared space on his mantelpiece).
In truth, Loach probably needed it more, as he's a socialist British director who's popular here on the continent but banished from the multiplexes back home. Fortunately, his new film is one of his best, scripted by long-term collaborator and Lavapiés-resident Paul Laverty (see InMadrid, June 2006). It tells the story of a small gang fighting for an Irish republic against the British occupation. Humiliated, tortured and senselessly brutalised by troops who don't want to be there, our heroes are early IRA fighters, striking back against the occupiers.
Sympathies are wholeheartedly with the oppressed, which caused a few tabloid headlines but actually isn't a problem. There are at least two sides to every event - and yes, this film is firmly on one of them. So what? You don't like it, stop whinging and make your own film from the other point of view. For two-thirds of this one, we're caught up in the fight, cheering on the boys (who include great performances by Cillian Murphy and Pádraic Delaney). However, as the battle turns their way, divisions open up in the rebel forces. Once victory is in sight, the question arises: they know what they're fighting against, but do they know what they're fighting for?
If you've seen Loach's Spanish civil war piece Land and Freedom, you'll know where this is going. Both films have battles that reach their climaxes in near-identical town hall meetings, where farm boys suddenly become eloquent about socialist idealism and land distribution - causes that are then (inexplicably to our Ken) discarded by the struggle.
But it's in the final 45 minutes that this semi-political film soars, the divisions created by a half-baked settlement literally forcing brother against brother in a dark, perfectly poised final act.
The film was begun before the Iraq invasion, but the metaphor fits as smoothly as a Vaseline jigsaw puzzle. This is a story about the struggle of insurgents who want their country back, and the pointlessness of an occupying army. Even Big Bird wouldn't need that one spelling out.
There's fighting too in La Distancia, a should-have-been-made for TV thriller that's about as twisty as a lamppost and as original as a Madrid advertising campaign involving people drinking coffee in Plaza Mayor.
A boxer is in jail, where he's blackmailed into killing a man he doesn't know. On release, said boxer falls in love with the widow of the man he killed. Meanwhile, he returns to the gym where his old trainer reminds him that he could have been a contender, he just lost that one big title fight. Give me a chance, boss, I want one more shot in the ring. No son, you had your chance. Please, I know I chnhashduyccccccccc. Sorry, your correspondent just fell asleep at his keyboard. Meanwhile a bent (in more than one sense) copper is fighting for justice against a system that's got him beat. The big crime boss however issssbbqqqqqqqq. Oh God, please let it end. The actors do well enough, not least in hiding their shame at the stillborn script. But my advice with La Distancia is to keep yours.
Happily, there's far better fodder available at Madrid's cutest cinema, the Pequeño Cine Estudio (Metro: Quevedo). In a rare and welcome piece of adventurous programming, the sala has just started a season called "Cine en 14 Días" - two-week runs of great international films that never got released in Spain. They're all shown in VOSE, and the line up has a strong Japanese bias - so it's a rare chance to see some of the best Asia has to offer. They're all 24-carat cinema gold, and if you really like what you see, the DVD is on sale in the foyer - your ticket brings a discount to the value of your entrada.
The opener to this month's Pequeño line up is Cartas de Amor, a delightful and whimsical tale by Shunji Iwai from 1995 about love, loss and childhood sweethearts, set in the haunting Japanese snow. It's far less saccharine than it sounds, being an artfully shot and well-scripted piece that asks how much you really know about the early lives of the people you love. If you enjoy the novels of Murakami, then this should be right up your cup of tea. And if you miss out on that (but really shouldn't), the next film is the classic 1955 French/German story Lola Montes.
Finally, a word about Spain's Oscar selections. The Spanish film industry has chosen its shortlist for the American Academy's Best Film That's Not From Round Here statuette. The three throws of the dice are Ala-overpriced Mogodon-triste, Salva-not bad but like the Americans would bother to watch it-dor and Vol-already in the envelope-ver, with Penélope Cruz a decent outside bet for Best Actress (because they've heard of her). After Amenabar's triumph with Mar Adentro in 2004, it's probably Almadovar's turn again. Now where did I put last year's "Pedro vs Alejandro" article?
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