"The Diving Bell and the Butterfly" (2007)

If there was a Guinness award for amassing the largest collection of POV shots in a single feature length film, "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly" most likely would have secured a spot in its new edition. The French have always been innovative filmmakers, and Julian Schnabel's ("Basquiat") third feature, which is based on a true story, is no exception. From the bulk of what I've viewed, "Diving Bell" is a well executed, original melodrama that keeps the viewer watching, which, for any film, is automatically a success.

The film opens with jerky, staccato slide show credits in an array of colors, and the audience subsequently finds themselves virtually inside the protagonist's (Jean-Dominique, former real life editor of Elle Magazine) head. The exposition comes in to disperse the cloud of confusion in the form of a long, intermittently out of focus first person perspective view, in which doctors forgo the difficult and uncomfortable job of enlightening our unfortunate hero with the horrific state of the union. He has suffered a stroke, and in a freak, rare occurrence, fell victim to the worst possible state of paralysis, dubbed "locked in syndrome". Our protagonist's brain is fully aware and functional, though he is physically paralyzed from head to toe; the only thing he can do is blink his right eye (I was hard-pressed to imagine that someone could be in a worse state than Christopher Reeve was). The filmmakers employ innovative, yet simple film techniques for certain actions behind the perspective of Jean, i.e., the camera shutter going in and out to represent Jean's very important single ability to blink his eye. In one creative and well executed sequence, Jean's one bum eye (which has the inability to close, thus enabling the inexorable danger of it completely drying out) is sewn shut by a doctor, and the perspective is from just behind the eyelid (as if a tiny, hidden camera was fixed deep into the eye socket of the main character) and we see the both the upper and lower lids sewn together in an awfully convincing manner.

The Diving Bell occasionally cuts away to flashbacks, which are not in the first person, and the only time we get a clear image of the protagonist pre accident. His being a former successful and handsome man only serves to enhance the dramatic punch and emotional impact of his abysmal state of being. The internal dialogue of this (rightfully so) cynical and sarcastic man who is admirably able to maintain a wry sense of humor at times is often entertaining and revealing. And the subtle personality nuances that are executed via basic camerawork, i.e, the use of the tilt to reflect Jean's wandering point of focus, with the camera tilting down towards the comely nurse's buxom as she is bent over in front of him, help further envelop us into Jean's psyche. People (especially males) would definitely be able to empathize with his frustration and plight. A man at his most helpless, pride-deprived and inadequate; how do you go on? The picture is an existential drama that (for the most part) manages to avoid the cliches of the "perseverance of the soul amidst extraordinary obstacle" type film. Its emotional punch and audience-hooking ability is undeniable, particularly during the intimate scenes between the nurse with the heart of gold who utilizes a clever letter/blink system as a means of communicating with Jean. I have not seen the film in its entirety, but without a doubt was left wanting more, an accomplishment on the part of the filmmakers considering their choice of shooting nearly the entire picture in first person perspective, was a risky and unorthodox one at best.

"A Very Long Engagement" (2004)

"A Very Long Engagement" is French director Jean-Pierre Jeunet's big budget, though generally overlooked and less successful follow up to his quirky, Oscar-winning 2001 comedy "Amelie". Both films star the petit overseas sensation Audrey Tautou, who's French A-list star power granted her a high profile gig in the good 'ole US of A to star opposite Tom Hanks in 2006's big screen adaptation of "The Da Vinci Code". Jeunet had garnered enough success in his home country as well by the mid 1990's, directing his first American film, "Alien: Resurrection" in 1997. It's quite hard to believe that this is the same director, but hey, the guy wasn't on home turf, and was working with the notorious Fox film corporation, who had seriously butchered the previous "Alien" entry in 1992 from then-newbey director David Fincher. So, back in the French saddle he goes and into his comfort zone; the quality of the filmmaking returns in the form of 2004's epic and sublime "A Very Long Engagement".

The film is based on Sebastien Japrisot's novel of the same title, and little seems to be compromised in the jump in medium, at least compared to what we're generally used to in book to film transitions. Set in France near the end of World War I, the story follows Mathilde (Amelie's own Audrey Tautou), a young woman of twenty who has lost her life-long friend and fiance, Manech (Gaspard Ulliel) when he was abruptly called off to war. Mathilde, in the novel, was paraplegic due to having been stricken with Polio at a young age, and mobilized via wheelchair. Here our heroine is not quite as lame; the filmmakers inhibit her with a pronounced limp instead. Her parents lost early on in life, she lives with her quirky aunt and uncle in the French countryside by the sea, eagerly awaiting the return of her lover. In war, there is only so much certain men can take, and knee deep in all its inglorious ugliness, Manech, at one point, pretty much mentally checks out after his fellow man gets blown to bits by an albatross bombing right in front of him, in turn decorating Manech in his blood and guts. Five soldiers in the regiment, including Manech, intentionally maim themselves in a desperate attempt at being discharged from the war. However, it's not difficult for the men of higher office to discover their wounds to be self-inflicted, and in turn the five soldiers are courtmartialed and exiled into No Man's Land (the area between French and German trenches) to die. This is where the mystery of Manech's fate begins.

Mathilde feels in her heart that her fiance is still alive, and, despite advice from her aunt and uncle to try to just accept it and let him go, she stubbornly embarks on her own investigation into Manech's regiment and the five men condemned to death that day. She hires a private investigator, and she soon acquires private documents and letters from the men to their loved ones, providing her with pieces to the puzzle and a complex trail that gets her closer and closer to the truth. An interesting side character among the few witnesses and surviving members of Manech's regiment that Mathilde discovers, is Tina Lombardi (played by the beautiful Marion Cotillard), a widow not unlike Mathilde, yet completely different in her approach, in that it is of sheer vindictiveness. She takes the role of the vigilante, killing those who had anything to do with the death of her man, and it is interesting when the two women eventually meet.

Mathilde is relentless in her quest, and those who have not read the novel are surely hoping (in vain) for the happy ending that most French films are so reluctant in providing. Her unwavering determination and perseverance is heartbreaking. This is your classic story of the endearing power of love and hope, and, set against the backdrop of the macabre brutality of war, creates an epic drama bathed in duality. Jeunet makes a genre blending war film here that, in beautifully and grimly orchestrated ways, highlights the inaneness and absurdity of war. He is lucky he has cinematographer Bruno Delbonnel, too, as he provides us with a gorgeous juxtaposition of the dark, drab misery of the frontline trenches, with the subtle sepia tones and golden glows of the peaceful, idyllic French countryside. The war scenes are rife with grit and grain, with a drab, greenish hue, and the scenes of violence are very well orchestrated. It's a French film after all; you're gonna get all the gourmet bells and whistles. Tufts of earth fly through the air, bullets whiz and zip by, occasionally piercing a soldier's clothing and flesh with a smacking thud, with blood subsequently spewing in realistic crimson mists. Whining bombs fly into the ground and explode, sending dirt (often concomitant with blood and body parts), literally flying right into the camera lens, in that gritty, under-cranked, "Saving Private Ryan" sort of look. Jeunet intermittently displays the horrors of war in a way that doesn't resort to shock value to get the point across. Yes, some of these scenes are violent, but they are tastefully and realistically done and do not detract from the mood and atmosphere of the film. It all simply works. Jeunet and Delbonnel grace us with some of the coolest shots in recent cinematic memory. There are a few impressive crane shots that track a whole bunch of things going on on different levels, often in one long, meticulously choreographed take. Tt all looks fantastic, and nothing is wasted within the frame. My favorite shot in the film is when one of Manech's fellow doomed soldiers, while in the middle of No Man's Land, tosses a grenade straight up into the air as an Albatross is on its way to make its killing rounds. The shot is a bird's eye view, and, through impressive use of CGI, we see the grenade come right up toward us, and suddenly the wing of the Albatross comes into frame and the grenade explodes right into its wing. Its sequences like these that really highlight not only the high budget of the film, but the time and effort that was put into it. And Jeunet doesn't use CGI the way many Hollywood blockbuster churners do, in making an eye-popping spectacle of it. In many scenes, CGI is used and you wouldn't even know it, as its implementation is subtle, serving to enhance the overall aesthetic in ways that would otherwise be impossible or extremely difficult. And that is how the use of CGI in film should always be.

"A Very Long Engagement", kind of hurts itself with its title, in that it is a very long film and, for some, could be a bit convoluted and confusing. The narrative does do a bunch of backtracking, and it does introduce many a character. Soon enough, we are not just overwhelmed with a multitude of characters once knee deep into the story, but many of these individuals have nicknames or alternate names, and some even more than one! I admit, it could be difficult to keep this tangled web of characters in check amidst Mathilde's quest, and one might easily become lost if their attention is diverted too often. That was the case with myself the first time, but upon repeated viewings, things I was confused about before suddenly became clear, and I discovered new things about the film. There is also a surprise cameo by A-list American actress Jodie Foster, who I didn't even recognize at first, especially considering she speaks French so fluently and flawlessly. Jeunet has really directed a fine film adaptation and a fine film unto itself. Hollywood should take note from this picture, as it is a very good example of smartly utilizing a very large budget in order to create a wonderfully crafted, great looking film.

"Tsotsi" (2005)

When you discover that this is the same director who gave us "X-men Origins: Wolverine", a little over a year ago, you may let out an extended "What?". Though you must give it to caucasian South African native Gavin Hood; he made it to Hollywood. Hollywood is where the money's at, and money is good, no matter what pretentious, self-righteous fledgling independent film artiste will tell you. Adapting the screenplay from the Athol Fugard novel of the same title, Hood's "Tsotsi" (translating to "thug" in African street) follows the titular South African character on his inadvertent adventure of reconciliation. It's not an original story, nor is it a particularly engaging one; it is merely a film that, depending on how deep you want to look into things, could have you rooting for the young man's subtle and gradual self-redemption.

Tsotsi (Presley Chweneyagae) is just one nasty son of a bitch. My assumption prior to the film was that we would be following the archetypal poverty-stricken young African male meandering around South African shantytowns trying to better his life in an ultimate means of cinematically highlighting the disparity between the rich and the poor. So surprised I was when the protagonist sinks a knife into the belly of a portly subway rider, flanked by his fellow thug chums. For some pocket money, this mother jumper shanks some random dude. I knew I wasn't in for a good time, as I tend to not do well with films in which the main character is one that I simply dislike or cannot connect with or both. We don't know anything about this "Tsotsi" except that he seems to live alone (initially using a giant pipe stack as a home), has this perpetual icy stare and a frown that never goes upside down, and lives a conscious-less life of petty crime. Sounds like the guy to bring home to mom and dad. Oh and it gets better when he caps an innocent mother of a young child.

Shortly after the subway stabbing, one of Tsotsi's buddies questions and lectures the 19 year old hoodlum, telling him he has no sense of morality or decency, which results in Tsotsi pouncing the lad and giving him a wicked beating. His friend's words may have hit close to home, striking a chord of some sort, and we know we are inexorably in for some suppressed sentiment and nature vs nurture character development. Tsotsi ventures outside of the ghetto for his next spontaneous no gooding, brazenly hitting some grand, rich abode, but his robbery is a botched one and results in him coldly shooting a woman point blank before taking off in her car. And in this car is the plot device that will serve as the catalyst for the film's gradual excursion into his inevitable redemption; an infant. The hardened bastard inexplicably decides to hold on to the baby, but how can he take care of it? The solution comes in the form of shapely widowed woman Miriam (in a similar, understated performance by Terry Pheto) who harbors a little one of her own. Tsotsi breaks into her house and forces her at gunpoint to breastfeed his illegitimate child. And so we awkwardly watch the poor woman proceed to do so, as Tsotsi just stands there, watching her.

Lots of questions at this point. Why does Tsotsi decide to keep the baby? What makes him think he can be, or wants to be a father, especially when he is so unfit to be and do so? Will he return the child to its rightful, biological parents? I was sure rooting for latter, particularly the mother of the child, who, unfortunately, became paraplegic as a result of Tsotsi's shooting. The police are now on the look out for the lowly thug, who curiously continues to return to Miriam, we suspect, not just to feed the baby. This child, perhaps, instills something in Tsotsi, stirring up some repressed memories (requisite character development time anyone?), and we get a flashback, a brief glimpse into a destitute home life, with a sick mother and a belligerent, drunken bastard of a father who winds up crippling the family dog during an angry rant against Tsotsi (who's real name is revealed to be David), setting the boy off to run away from home forever.

I've picked up a subtle, understated love story going on here between Tsotsi and Miriam as well, as Tsotsi seems to become increasingly drawn to her once she discloses to him things about her past relationships. Miriam convinces Tsotsi to have her look after the child (as it would obviously be in better hands growing up with an experienced mother who does not live a life of crime), with Totsi accepting on the condition that he can come see it whenever he wants, coldly reminding her that it's his. Now, does he want to come back to see her, or the baby? Or perhaps both? In a later scene, in which the two are alone in Miriam's house together, Miriam, after refusing cash from Tsotsi, lets him know that she knows who the child belongs to, and strongly suggests that he return the baby. "You won't be able to give her back her legs, but you must give her back her son." she says to him plaintively. Tsotsi sits on this, and at this moment we know what he is going to do. This will be his right of passage to the themes of the film; morality and decency, in his returning of the child. As Miriam watches him leave from her doorway, the increasingly humanized Tsotsi turns to ask her if he could come back even though the baby is gone. The subtle, shared smile then held between the two undoubtedly suggests feelings of affection for one another, and the possibility of a true relationship, something that would surely rehabilitate and ultimately save the troubled young man.

Tsotsi's return to the mansion of the mother and father of the child is the film's major pivotal point. We have watched this heartless thug gradually go through some sort of metamorphosis up until this moment; in his efforts to take care of another human being, we get a sense that perhaps Tsotsi's heart isn't completely stone cold, in that perhaps he would like to be the father to a child that he wished he had had. To be able to compensate for his terrible upbringing in being a good father for this baby, is what I gathered from his inexplicable attempts to raise this child. "I'll leave it here", mutters Tsotsi into the mansion's gate intercom, and we are soon into a tense standoff between the mother and father, Tsotsi, and the police. The baby cradled in his arms, he just stands there like a deer in headlights, staring back at the anxious parents on the opposite side of the gate, who are eagerly awaiting the handing over of their child. After a drawn out exchange of nothing more than what I had just described, the gates open and he finally hands over the little one. Now what? Prison, pretty much. Hands slowly raised up into the night sky, with tears welled up in his eyes, Tsotsi, amidst a spiritual reformation of sorts, is one step closer to achieving salvation, and then the credits roll.

A word of warning to anyone watching at home: The film is dark! So do anything you can to diminish glare; put down the blinds, up the screen brightness. The cinematography in "Tsotsi" is rich, deep, and underexposed, with a consistency in subtle shades of blues and tannish/browns. It's not particularly a pleasant film to look at, and I'm sure that's what the director intended, most likely to mirror the dark aspects of our antihero and the harsh despondency of the South African ghetto. I can appreciate the film's high production values, and the acting quality of the main actors in all of their subtly intense, nuanced emotion. As far as this Tsotsi character goes though, I couldn't care less for him and his "redemption" at the end. A harsh upbringing is no excuse to murder and steal. So he returns the baby to the woman that he shot earlier which in turn rendered her crippled. Wow, let's all just shed tears of joy over this valiant, selfless act. Please. At the end I still thought Tsotsi was an asshole and that prison is where he should have been from the very beginning. These types of films always seem to play to the whole poor country deal where we are forced to feel that we have to feel for less fortunate minorities, and that the bad that they do is simply because they are all victims of social injustices and whatnot. As a straight white caucasian male, I'm frankly getting tired of being blamed for things and being made to feel guilty all the time. I don't think that "Tsotsi" is in any way a bad film, I just could not root for nor feel for its protagonist, and that for me, just automatically takes me away from a picture.

"Children of Heaven" (1997)

First off, you gotta love the name of the director who helmed this little slice-of-life drama: Majid Majidi. Apparently, this feather weight gem of modern Iranian cinema pulled some serious clout overseas, getting the attention of the elitist Academy and their steadying inclination to reward smaller, more socially conscious, indie-style films (or what I call, "coffee table flicks"), over your more classic Hollywood fare. "Children of Heaven" became the first Iranian film to receive an Oscar nomination for best foreign language film. Based on what I saw, there must not have been much else going on in '98 in the foreign film world.

With "Children" in its title, its no surprise that a brother and sister in the single digit age are our two main characters. We start out with poor (literally) little nine year old Ali, in a dramatically affected performance by Mir Farrokh Hashemian, running an errand in the market to repair the shoes of his adorable little sister Zahra (Bahare Seddigi). Unfortunately, his endeavor goes awry when he sets off to pick up some fruit for his family. The bag of shoes accidentally gets swiped by a blind man as Ali sifts through some cartons. This dilemma is the basis for the entire story, and the plot from here on in simply centers around getting another pair. So you lose a pair of shoes, no big deal, right? Well, when it comes to Ali's family and their meager existence, living in a single room apartment in poverty-stricken Tehran, Iran (where Majidi grew up) with barely any creature comforts, that statement couldn't be more wrong. They are in debt, with the mother sick and the father overworked and massively underpaid. And what's equally sad is the two sibling's consciousness of this fact. This is why Ali's confession to his sister is like the end of the universe. He knows his family can't afford new shoes, and that his sister cannot attend school without them. Little Zahra is aware of this and is pretty devastated herself. Ali can't possibly tell mom and dad, knowing that they are in such dire straits, so, now facing this huge dilemma, the two siblings surreptitiously scribble notes back and forth to each other in the company of their parents, trying to devise a plan. Thankfully, they come to a solution. They can swap shoes, because they conveniently happen to have school at different times; Zahra has morning school, Ali afternoon. This seemed peculiar and all too accommodating a plot device to me at first, but then I thought about it; it is an entirely different and extremely poor country (at least in this part of it), with the schools sexually segregated, so it could and would be plausible that there would be different school times. So with their plan set, we watch the cherubic Zahra scramble out of school, darting through town and alleyways to rendezvous with her anxious brother to do the big switch. In the simple and large world in the eyes, heart, and soul of a child, this is a dramatic and tense affair. Ali throws the shoes on, home does lil' sis go and off to school does Ali make his hasty beeline. The only problem is, timing. There is no way Zahra can get to him early enough once she gets out, and so Ali winds up being late for class after every subsequent shoe swap. And the poor kid keeps running into the principal as he's sneaking through the empty halls to get to his class, and just look at the kid's face each time he's caught and being scolded; those emotional close ups are just too much. The kid sure does cry a lot, but he sure as hell tugs at your heart strings and make you feel for his plight. It's interesting how he diminutively holds up a finger when addressing elders or figures of authority. There seems to be a level of respect instilled in these children that seems to be becoming more and more lost in today's american youth.

Ali and Zahra's little system obviously can't continue for much longer. This is when Ali happens upon a foot race contest in which the prize for coming in third is a brand new pair of sneakers. Determined to enter the competition, Ali pleads with the gym coach when he's told he missed the deadline for the tryouts. It's heartbreaking to see desperate Ali beg from the pit of his tortured soul over simply obtaining a pair of shoes for his beloved sister. Tears in his eyes (for the upteenth time), he sways the teacher, gets his tryout and and passes with flying colors. So there it is, he's entered for the big race, and he breaks the news to his grateful yet skeptical sister. How can he be sure to come in at specifically third place? He promises her he will, and so we watch an epic, surprisingly nail-biting (if not a little drawn out) race of what looks like hundreds of boys. Ali holds his own up front with the fastest boys, one of whom cheats and pushes him to the ground. Undeterred, Ali is back up on his feet and doggedly pushes forth. We are subject to an overlong slow motion climax in which Ali inadvertently breaks the finish line in first place, and we're thinking, "oh no." First place, what a drag. Ali hangs his head in shame as the photographer snaps off some victory shots. The poor kid just wants a damn pair of sneakers. He returns home, and Zahra sees failure and shame written all over her brother's puppy dog countenance, and so sad is she as well. This is set up for one mighty downer of an ending. However, we do get some evidence of a happy one; Majidi inserts a short scene where Ali's father is out in town doing some shopping, and what we get a glimpse of in his box of purchases is two pairs of brand new shoes! So as the downtrodden Ali removes his dilapidated sneakers and soaks his blistered bare feet in shame, we know, that even when the ending credits abruptly show up, everything is going to be okay.

Under the strains of poverty, the extremes these two loving siblings go to in order to not create any more hardships for their struggling parents is testament to the grand content of their character. These second nature ideals of courtesy, love, and respect were once so commonplace in the youth of America, in simpler times when religion was not scoffed at and morals and values were high and held steadfast. It's sad that these things are consistently degrading in modern american youth. More than anything though, Majidi's film is great display of the appreciation of the little things, something else we all seem to be losing. These kids have next to nothing, but they make due with what they have, even when it's taken away from them. The difference between say, this film, which centers around children, and an American film, is that in the American film, it would be content to superficially exploit the precious charms of its young star(s), having him or her spew charming lines of dialogue. Here, we are getting a real performance from a child, where we see a soul in turmoil. Turmoil over something so simple, over things we all take for granted. How many American kids would think twice about asking daddy for another pair of shoes if they absolutely needed it, even if they know he couldn't afford it? Not many. When Majidi goes for those close ups, it's not for the sake of a gratuitous "cute shot", but to see a child who is genuinely suffering. Ali and Zahra are good kids, something we need much more of these days. Watching this film makes you realize just how badly the youth of America needs an enema.

"Children of Heaven", is a charming little film that says a lot about the positives of humanity amidst the confinement of poverty, the power of love and family and yada yada yada. These simple, "slice of life" films generally are not my cup of tea, and if it weren't for the two main child actors and those intermittent moments of pure, unadulterated cuteness, I'd have not sat through the film. At the same time, I'm surprised and not surprised that the Academy nominated the picture for best foreign film. Surprised because of how small and slight and delicate it is (and I mean that in a negative way), and not surprised because the Academy as of late has been getting hard ons for these types of films. On the other end of the spectrum, however, I've actually been quite jaded by the over slick, over edited, glossy Hollywood blockbusters of, say, the past six or seven years. And the pretentious indie flicks that can get easy Oscar buzz by simply throwing in left-wing fodder such as homosexuality and social/political issues, usually don't satisfy me either. It's just rare today when the happy medium comes along. I have nothing against "Children of Heaven", it's just that I feel it's a little too lightweight to have received a foreign best picture nomination and amount of general acclaim it had acquired at the time.

"Amores Perros" (2000)

A more than impressive feature film debut from Mexican director Alejandro Gonzales Inarritu, the gritty, violent and much controversial Mexican film can be said to be a catalyst in the resurgence of the country's film industry in the early 2000's, with the popular "Y Tu Mama Tambien" hot on its heals. "Amores Perros" (literally translated as "love of dogs", it's known in America as "Love's a Bitch") had garnered much critical acclaim by early 2001, winning festivals around the globe and making its way to American soil. The film had unsurprisingly garnered a fair amount of controversy amidst its international acclaim, due to its graphic portrayals of dog fighting, burning many a disturbing image of bloody, disfigured and deceased K-9's into audience's heads.

"Perros" Screenwriter Guillermo Arriaga was no doubt inspired by Quentin Tarantino, and his Hollywood reshaping use of the disjointed, non linear narrative. The titles used (another Tarantino staple) to introduce the three seemingly disparate yet interwoven characters and their stories, definitely elicit similarities to "Pulp Fiction". We are thrown right into and hit with a cinematic haymaker with the film's kinetic and portentious opening, where the first character of Octavio (played by the very talented Spanish actor Gael Garcia Bernal from "Y Tu Mama Tambien") is in the heat of a nerve-wracking car chase. The camera work here, could be said to be the catalyst for the edgy, anti-tripod flicks that have subsequently popped up everywhere by the early 2000's. And now this floaty, handheld trend seems to be standard procedure in contemporary film industry. This frantic chase (reminiscent of the opening of "Reservoir Dogs") and it's abrupt, disastrous end, is the tying event that connects each of the film's three characters and their stories, and one that the film often returns to, showing us something new and different each time. While not a wholly original concept, Inarritu definitely makes it work, and none of it feels ostentatious or forced, which it could have easily been in the hands of a lesser director.

The first chapter, "Octavio and Susana" follows the young and brash owner of a black Rottweiler named Cofi, who is in a situation replete with tension and drama; he is in love with his sister-in-law Susanna, who's spouse is his older brother Ramiro (Marco Perez), a real son of a bitch. A physically and verbally abusive hothead machismo bastard of a husband, Ramiro works a supermarket by day and robs drug stores by night. He also has Susana not only with a newborn child that they can barely take care of, but knocked up with another. Octavio's relaying to Susanna his plan to take off with her (baggage included) is met with incredulity and resistance, with an obvious obstacle in the way: money. It is after we follow a group of thugs involved in the town's brutal, underground dogfighting ring, who sick their own mut on a wandering Cofi in the streets, that Octavio discovers a new and unorthodox way of financing their escape. Cofi draws an upset victory, slaying the prize-winning dog, and when Octavio is dealt the news from some very angry dogfighters, that's when things start to get ugly. And ugly it is, as the film portrays, with frightening realism, the bloody aftermath of these bouts. After a string of victories from his lucky charm killer pooch, things seem to be going well. Now he's bringing home stashes of cash to his love, who remains skeptical, assuming he has been simply stealing like her rotten husband. What sets the stage for the pivotal car crash, is a bribe for one final fight by a dog fighting organizer, which Octavio of course accepts, and which is also of course, a huge mistake. Because shortly after the bout gives way, and while Cofi seems to be getting the upper hand, the thug pulls out a pistol and fires a shot into the dog. Forced to simply swallow it and leave, Octavio takes off with his friend, but in his blind rage, unsheathes his knife, about faces, and stomps back into the warehouse to sink it into the cheating thug's gut. Back into the car they go, with the bloody and dying Cofi in the back seat, and so the chase begins.

The film now takes a detour to follow a new melodrama, this time involving wealthy magazine editor Daniel (Alvaro Guerrero), who is not much of a faithful husband. We watch him settle down with his new mistress Valeria (Goya Toledo), a leggy supermodel with a vain and narcissistic buzz (Daniel gives Valeria's new apartment a great view of her giant billboard advertisement from across the street). However, their steamy affair is thrown into crisis once Valeria is the unfortunate driver that Octavio and friend slam into at 80 miles an hour. And as a result of the violent crash (which is shot shockingly well), Valeria's legs are severely fractured and she is confined to a wheelchair, putting her career in jeopardy and the two in an unstable frame of mind. All of this comes to a head when, interestingly enough, their own dog, Richie, winds up getting lost beneath their pad's floorboards via a large hole, and the remainder of their story is centered around getting the poor thing out of there, especially once Valeria suspects that there are hundreds of big, nasty rats scampering about down there. Tensions rise and tempers flare, and we soon see this is far from the same blissful affair. The melodrama culminates with Daniel receiving some alarming news while at work; Valeria is in the hospital. The doctor there must disclose some grave news: something went wrong in one of Valeria's legs, resulting in the spread of Gangrene, and they had no choice but to amputate it. Daniel, returning home in despair and desparation, with still no luck with Richie, starts taking it mightily to the floor boards, finally targeting the pooche's pained whines and bashing in a hole large enough to get him out. So he left his family for, this? We see a broken man doomed to contend now with his decisions in life.

Speaking of life decisions, we now move on to the mysterious, long haired, bearded old man that we saw assassinating the businessman earlier. The third and final story, "El Chivo and Maru", focuses on this seemingly homeless man who has a thing for dogs, as he's got lots of 'em around. But we now discover he dabbles in hired killings to support himself, and was once an educated, competent man who abandoned his family for a cause that only resulted in his incarceration. So now he tries in vain to reconnect with his estranged daughter, who views El Chivo as being simply dead to her. El Chivo's current means of obtaining dough, via deadly jobs for a crooked official, begins to take a turn once we discover his connection with the Octavio car crash. As the bloody and broken Octavio and friend are dragged from the wreckage, El Chivo takes it upon himself to rescue the dying pooch and nurse him back to health. And soon enough, another contract killing falls into his lap, which he accepts with much reluctance, but this is his time for some revelatory self-discovery, as he chooses not to kill his victim, instead pitting him and his hired killer against each other, left alone with El Chivo's gun, to their own devices. It is one of those, anti-hero, turning over a new leaf sort of things.

Like a day time soap opera merged with Tarantino, and condensed into a nearly three hour time frame, Gonzalez Inarritu gives us dark, complex dimensions of the human condition and love and suffering. We see a juxtaposition of lower class, inner city youth and the harm that love and lust could cause, just the same as it can with the rich and privileged. The overall theme and vibe of the film is nihilistic, grim and depressing. He takes these characters and stomps all over their lives, as well as their means to improve it. Also, Inarritu's use of dogs in the film, almost as a means of paralleling their owners, is quite clever. What kind of dog do they have, how do they treat them, and what does that say about themselves, as a human being? Also, what I've noticed is, through the use of the thematically prevalent dogs, Inarritu toys with the predictable, feeble minds of the audience, particularly through his implementation of the dog fighting. A student in my class objected to the film due to its bloodily realistic K-9 violence. This is to be expected, but did anyone object to any of the human violence? Of course not; we are greatly desensitized and indifferent to it. Juxtapose a scene in which a man is tortured and finally murdered, and one where a pooch yelps in pain from, say, a stab wound. You'll get nothing from the first scene, and a bunch of angry gasps and "awww's" from the second. Why is this? Because dogs are innocent animals who do not know any better, correct? But these dogs kill in the film, don't they? Oh, but that's just what they do and therefore don't know any better, so that makes it okay. Well, we can say the same about certain people who kill. There are some out there, who simply just, don't know any better. So take one of these human killers and have him killed; the audience hoots and cheers. A doggie killer is executed, and it's, "Aww, but he just didn't know any better." That's the problem I often have with us, as we seem to be losing touch with what it is like to feel compassion for our fellow man. I feel, that the more conscious, the more aware, the more intelligent the being, the greater the possibility of its suffering, because there is the mental aspect that everyone takes for granted. The more aware you are of the pain (why it's being done, how it's being done, countless combinations of factors), the greater it is. So in the film, and on this basis, with all the abuse, both mental and physical, that these human characters inflict on each other, the fact that most of the audience will only be gasping at the mere sight of a dead pooch, just seems a tad backwards. But that's just me. At any rate, if you're an uptight animal activist, avoid this film at all costs. But if you're not, and you want to delve into an overlong, overwrought Mexican-Tarantino soap opera with arguably the most realistic looking animal violence to ever be captured on celluloid, look no further than "Amores Perros".

"Bombay" (1995)

Two star-crossed lovers divided by two feuding families. Sound familiar? Of course it does, as this standout Bollywood film demonstrates, formula works. Especially the archetypal "Romeo and Juliet forbidden love affair", as is implemented here along with the familiar "futility of religious violence" territory. But at least, in the case of Indian filmmaker Mani Ratman's award-winning 1995 feature "Bombay", they both work. Though drenched in Bollywood cheese and cliche, "Bombay" is a well-made, well-rounded flick.

When the film opens, we get the look and feel of somewhat of an older picture than one that was shot in '94/'95. The picture is slightly washed out and grainy, as if it had suffered from one or two generational losses, but I figured this may be attributed to the more destitute country in which it was made. We are introduced to our not exactly classically handsome protagonist Shekhar (played by Arvind Swamy), a journalist studying in Bombay, who is son to a hardcore Hindu, and, as we soon see, Hindu tradition is uncompromising and unforgiving. Our Shekhar stumbles upon a most comely young woman, Shaila Bano (played by the very attractive Manisha Koirala) who of course, happens to be on the other side of the religious fence; she is Muslim. And in India, unfortunately, Hindus and Muslims DO NOT get together. And so hard does Shekhar fall, and we watch the mustached, husky man chase little-miss-play-hard-to-get around. And interspersed here are your obligatory random Bollywood music/dance number, replete with bad lip synching, extras in garish, wild wardrobes and high pitched Indi women's vocals. These dances are shot in a classic low budget music video fashion, and the singing and lyrics simply serve to parallel the story and current situation.

Now we enter the central conflict, when Shekhar aims to marry Tamil (must be a love at first sight thing, as the two really don't even know each other) but both families will not have it. Tamil is set up to marry a Muslim man, of course her father will not have it any other way, and pushes to expedite this forced union. And Shekhar's father, well, he will pretty much disown him. So what do you do in this situation? Take off, of course. Shekhar decides to flee their little seaside village to the big city of Bombay (known today as Mumbai), much to the chagrin of both families. But this is no matter, as they are happy and madly in love and starting a new life. Though Shaila is a bit overwhelmed by the city, she quickly adapts, and the two tie the knot. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby (or in their case, babies) in the baby carriage. The lovers twin boys are raised neutral, as both Muslim and Hindu. Shakhar and Tamil just have no idea just how complicated these two opposing Indian dogmas will soon pose for them.

The film's third act centers around actual events that occurred in Bombay from late 1992 into early '93. Our new family, after years of having settled down in their nice new apartment, with Shekhar continuing work as a journalist and Shaila at home raising the kids, now find themselves in the heat of religious extremism. Religious riots break out in Bombay, leaving hundreds of Hindus and Muslims dead. How utterly inane; civil war amongst the same people, with dead men, women, and children left in its wake. And now our loving, handsome young couple's livelihood is in jeopardy, a target of violence from both sides, and the safety of their two young boys is promptly at stake. The film takes quite a turn here, going from a relatively quiet love story, to dramatic chaos and violence. It is this latter half of the film that makes it border on epic; hundreds of extras in turmoil amongst the grimy Bombay streets. Gritty and realistic, well choreographed, convincing riots abound; mosques are set ablaze, people are beaten, trampled over, burned alive, and to add to the horror, Shekhar and Shaila's boys get swept into it all and wind up separated, not only from their mother and father, but from themselves. And it is all very dramatic, as the wildly distressed couple bravely venture out into the rioting streets to locate their separation-anxiety-ridden children, all the while not knowing if they are alive or dead.

It's the film's depiction of such inter-religious relations and religious riots that make it a much more significant film than what we expect from the outset. Ratman is criticizing and focusing blame on the very manipulative Indian government, who seems to be responsible for influencing such hatred between the Hindus and Muslims for their own greedy causes. This is evident in a final scene, where a hysterical, angry and despondent Shekhar throws himself in the midst of a group of rioters, aghast at the death and destruction they have yeilded, and ironically pleads with them to burn him alive. Shekhar subsequently rants and raves about the stupidity and futility of people of the same race and country fighting against each other, and how they've all been brainwashed by the government. "Politicians are taking advantage of you to serve their seats of power!", he shouts. It is a powerful scene, and very well acted by Swamy. Of course Shekhar and Shaila find their boys, and all is well in the end. The message here, of unity and hope, and for all to coexist in peace and harmony with one another no matter what religion, is pretty universal.

The film apparently enjoyed great success shortly after its release, and that does not surprise me, considering the overall quality and scale of the work, particularly in it's second half portrayal of the infamous Bombay riots. The film gradually moved away from the Bollywood romance cheese territory that had me smirking in amusement during its initial half hour, and I was subsequently impressed by the overall scale and quality of the production during its eventful third act. My only complaint was that, after a point, the high drama and musical-number moralizing pushed the film's message maybe once too many, and I quickly grew bored and wished for the film to start heading to a close. Overall though, I must say that "Bombay" is a fine gem of Indian cinema, and is definitely worth a look for any Bollywood fan or foreign film fan in general.

"Dreams" (1990)

Most famous for his 50's-60's era samurai classics such as "Shichinin no Samurai" (aka "The Seven Samurai"), legendary, late-great Japanese filmmaker Akira Kurosawa conceives a swan song art-house piece simply titled "Dreams" in 1990 at the ripe old age of 80. Apparently based upon the director's own actual dreams, "Dreams" is comprised of eight short segments, one for each dream. This is not a collection that gives us a cohesive story. It is simply an eclectic mix, generally, of what I would call "lesson" segments, only loosely tied together through similiar, recurring themes.

The first two dreams involve a boy (I'm guessing a young Kurosawa), and although they are two disparate adventures, they involve the same boy and a similiar structure. With these two segments we immediately get a taste for the film's style , which is a minimalist surrealism, with meticulous cinematography and a grand display of film school "mis en scene". Unfortunately, what we are also introduced to is, a painfully slow pace. Now film guru's are obviously accustomed to your typical snail-paced, indie arthouse fare, but here, it's well, flat and uninteresting. These two segments, involving a procession of dancing "foxes" (a parade of choreographed actors in mask and costume) slowly advancing in some strange, carefully synchronized movement through the woods, and another large ensemble of actors (this time representing tree spirits) in ceramic doll get up doing a sort of interpretive dance amongst stagey looking levels of land. These opening vignettes, though lacking in clarity and focus, seem to be an allegory of sorts in regards to the mystique of nature and the power it wields and the respect it commands, which paves the way for the latter half of the film's in-your-face motifs of mankind's recklessness and foolishness in regards to nature and the environment.

An interesting second-half segment involves its recurring thirty-something, perpetually bewildered looking Japanese wanderer. He is in an art museum, perusing a wall of Vincent Van Gogh paintings, and soon, courtesy of George Lucas's Industrial Light and Magic effects studios, gets sucked in to one of them and wanders through a succession of paintings in those familiar deep focus long shots that Kurosawa seems to be quite fond of in this film. The man eventually stumbles upon non other than Van Gogh himself, played by a virtually unrecognizable (both visually and sonically) Martin Scorsese, who goes off on a didactic babbling of the creative process, as the man just looks upon him in bewilderment and continues following him around (this pretty much sums up what this actor will be doing throughout every subsequent piece). If it weren't for Marty's entertainingly punchy delivery and a darkly pleasing piano score, this could have been the most trite, banal, and just god awful short of the lot.

After this, is simply a whole lot of cautionary preaching and long winded, didactic passages that honestly had my eyes rolling and mind wandering every so often. We have "Mount Fuji in Red", a 'fallacy of man harming the earth through technology' segment, where the dangers of nuclear power are brought to light. I definitely got the allusion to Hiroshima and Nagasaki and the not only immediate but more long term subsequent damage from the infamous WWII A-bomb attacks: "It makes monstrosities", and "Man's stupidity is unbelievable", says the one guilty surviving man to the other (none other than our lanky, perpetually bewildered wanderer). Then comes "The Weeping Demon", yet another cautionary tale on the hazards of nuclear power that puts us in a strange, post-apocalyptic wasteland with our bewildered meanderer. Again, we have a succession of deep focus long shots of the man wandering the barren, nuclear-afflicted terrain. And he eventually stumbles upon the "demon", who is in fact a former human turned horned monstrosity, a casualty of the supposed nuclear attack. Through the demon's subsequent lecturing of the horrific state of the union, we again get an allusion to A-bomb WWII. "The nuclear missiles", he says, and points to the gigantic "Monster dandelions". The preposterously enlarged flowers, as a result of the missile attacks, is definitely a play-off of Japanese post WWII fears of the effects of nuclear radiation (i.e., Godzilla). Again, the horrors of, mistakes and mishaps of man: "Stupid mankind did this", says the demon. And an interesting visual scene is where the two overlook a large group of suffering "demons", all tortured moans and wails, writhing and staggering in pain amidst a hellish valley. It is man condemned to see himself as the monster that he is in regards to the sins he has committed in life. They have nothing but the company of their rotten selves for all eternity, which is essentially what hell is. God is nature. Hell is the separation from god.

As if we aren't getting the message, Kurosawa relentlessly pounds these 'man against nature' motifs into these drawn out dream sequences. Man pays for their sins, their sins against nature and the environment. Yawn. And in the final, lofty (though welcomingly serene) sequence, "Village of Watermills", we recieve more criticism on humankind and technology. The recipe for what follows our perpetually bewildered recurrent wanderer stumbling upon the wise old man, is: Native American outlook mixed with a little 19th century transendentalism, and 60's hippie movement. Visually, we get some nice eye candy: lush greens and pastels, beautiful shot composition, and an overall Thomas Kinkade aesthetic. It truly is pleasant to look at. So, of course, the wise old village man utilizes nature the right way, out of respect for it. During his overlong monologue, he says, "We try to live the way man used to...that's the natural way of life", as the wandering man (guess who) just sits and attentively gawks, soaking in Wise Man's didactic preaching. He continues, "People today have forgotten they're really just a part of nature...yet, they destroy the nature on which our lives depend." Noted. And I think the audience gets the point by now. I sure did. And I sure as hell didn't want to get any more.

Overall, we know great directors tend to meander and experiment with age. And here, in the case of "Dreams" and Akira Kurosawa, is no exception. The film was a bit too preachy for me. The work as a whole comes across as self-indulgent and pretentious, and the moralizing could have been done in a more discreet, creative way, particularly in "Village of Watermills", which contained just a little too much sentimentality and preachiness. And the preceding "Mount Fuji in Red" and "Weeping Demon" both laid Kurosawa's sermonizing on thick as well, and "Village", hot on their heels, was a bit much to take. For me, a message loses it's affect once it has beaten me into submission. If you're going to lecture me, at least make it entertaining. And I believe Kurosawa has failed in that department.