Kosmos (2010) - dir. Reha Erdem - 4 stars
"The funny thing about life is that everybody has the same fate" declares Kosmos, Reha Erdem's latest protagonist. As one of the first lines of dialogue in the film, this quote profoundly captures the essence of what Erdem is trying to convey with his creation. Sufi ideals, shamanistic rituals and a lot of frantic running dominate Kosmos and defines its visuals, sound, rhythm and mise-en-scène, which combine for a worthwhile experience albeit a bit long.
Seemingly to appear out of nowhere, a stranger named Battal finds himself in the middle of a snow-covered landscape. As soon as he approaches a town, he ends up saving the life of a boy drowned in the river. Immediately, he becomes a local hero, but his enigmatic speeches make the locals weary. Battal claims that he's looking for love and nothing else, as nothing else matters in the world, which is greeted with laughter and ridicule. Soon, strange events take hold of the town from mysterious robberies to a crashing satellite. The stranger becomes a loved and hated prophet as suspicions grow. On top of it all, he falls in love with the sister of the boy he had saved, who chooses to name herself Neptune. It is poignant that in reaction Battal names himself Kosmos, as the quest for love is as old and infinite as the universe itself.
Sufi ideals such as the quest for true love take center stage in Kosmos' language and are introduced via various scenes. The main argument is that, regardless of good or evil, the same fate awaits everyone. Therefore, it is vain and useless to try and define oneself as superior by comparison to other people or animals. At the end of the day, we're no better than a duck, a cow or a bird. As such, many visual juxtapositions are made between humans and animals in the film. Multiple close-ups on cows' eyes are interspersed with other tracking shots of ducks running away. There are many lines in the script that consistently refer to how humans define themselves in relation to animals, which is problematic in principal. We are not as special as we think we are, and the more special we think we are, the less we can understand the world and our place in it. Kosmos patiently explains this in various dialogues he has with other characters.
Sufi elements are further strengthened with shamanistic rituals that fortify the fantastic aura of the film. Firstly, Kosmos heals people in a ritualistic manner, but more prominently, his mating calls with his lover, Neptune, are striking. Throughout the film, Neptune and Kosmos call out to each other like birds. They tease, flirt and play as if they're animals. The constant mating calls reach a crescendo when they almost literally transform themselves to birds perched on the bed frame. The euphoria of requited love is enough for both as no sexual release takes place. Erdem pulls together the sounds and visuals of this scene in such wizardry that this seemingly unnatural act appears to be completely natural and plausible. Goosebumps abound.
On the topic of sound, Erdem's attention to the soundscape of the film is constant throughout, which extends the suspension of disbelief. The soundscape is full and vibrant, pulling in the audience to the environment of the film and complementing the ominous visuals.
All things considered, Erdem delivers a powerful punch with Kosmos. The cinematography and sound design both picked up awards at the Antalya Golden Orange Film Festival along with Best Film and Best Director awards. The script, written by Erdem, is fairly mature and well-written; however, the film could probably be trimmed to be tighter and shorter. Regardless of its fantastic visuals, engrossing sound and overall impressive vision of its world, it will be hard for the film to reach to the mainstream as distributors are likely to shy away from it due to the above sticking points. Let that not be a hindrance though as it deserves a place in the cinephile's library.
Copie Conforme/Certified Copy (2010) - dir. Abbas Kiarostami - 5 stars
The last film from Kiarostami I had seen was Shirin, which had forced me to think about where Kiarostami saw his work presented - in the cinema or in an art gallery. Shirin had pushed the boundaries of what's expected in cinema with its construction whereby close-ups of 114 Iranian women, mostly theatre and cinema actresses including Juliette Binoche framed the entire film. The film they were watching could only be heard by us. Our eyes were voyeuristically fixated on the women's faces and their reactions to the story they were being told. It seemed more suitable for an art gallery rather than a cinema. With Copie Conforme, Kiarostami leaves no doubt. The film belongs in the cinema as long as it can stay. With its timeless story and extraordinary acting, this is a film that will stay in my heart.
The film follows a mother as she tries to grapple with her life while her son and husband are at odds with her desires. She wants to feel the connection and the excitement she felt before and is now lacking. At times she forces the others to see her way, and at other times, she just lets life trickle down the cobbled streets. Juliette Binoche really deserves the best actress honors she received at the Cannes Film Festival as the mother. Her portrait of the mother is touching, mature and sensitive. It's so natural to identify with her fears, insecurities and beauty. Kudos to la Binoche for a fantastic performance.
Long term collaborators, Binoche and Kiarostami are a pair to watch out for. While Kiarostami really shows he understands the European mindset, Binoche enforces it with her acting. From the ungrateful, independent child to the fussy couple, Kiarostami shows virtuosic control over the content and establishes his authority as a filmmaker that can traverse borders and be successful in any context, not just as an Iranian filmmaker making Iranian films. This spells good tidings for us all as I'm sure we're bound to see more excellent films from the pair in the future.
The tale of Icarus gets a "science in fiction" overhaul as Brian Greene's book is transformed into a multimedia experience.
Narrated by David Morissey, featuring a film by Al + Al and an original score by Philip Glass, the European premiere at the Royal Festival Hall started with the Dr. Atomic Symphony by John Adams. It was a fine start, fit for the main event, as it is an opera about the life of Dr J Robert Oppenheimer, who is behind the atomic bomb. Considering the heavy physics behind the concept of the event, there was a quick lecture on how black holes function and what effects they produce given Einstein's theory of relativity, and then it was time for the main event.
In Greek mythology, Icarus uses the wings constructed by his father from wax and feathers to escape from Crete. His curiosity gets the better of him when he flies too close to the sun and his wings melt away. As such, Icarus falls to the sea and drowns. Brian Greene's book, published in 2008, reworks the myth and situates it in deep space. Icarus is the son of the captain of a ship sent out to deep space to investigate alien life forms. On their way, they encounter an unchartered black hole. Icarus, overtaken by his curiosity and eager to try his prototype spaceship, flies out to the black hole to show his father that he can make it there and back. He does achieve this fantastic voyage, but he fails to factor in the effect of the black hole on time, slowing it to such a degree that a second near the black hole translates to hundreds of years in the normal fabric of space-time.
The premise of the story deserves a lot of interest as it's scientifically accurate, hence "science in fiction", and yields great dramatic value. There are undertones of personal struggle as well, as Icarus slightly disdains his ancestors for making the decision for him to be born into this spaceship only to ensure continuity of the mission since it takes many generations to reach its destination. Philip Glass' original score has the right tones and intensity to deliver this emotional weight of the story. However, I can't say the same for the film, which lacks the artistry of the music or the narration.
As the main drawback of the event, the film simply comes off as unprofessional. The simple geometric shapes and the use of flashing colors may all be well intended, but the experimental approach taken in the production of the film unfortunately diminishes the overall effect and clashes with the narration, which is rather straightforward. It almost seems like the different elements of the production are at odds with each other. An unsettling aftertaste.
Film is the right medium to tell Icarus' story, especially with Glass' fantastic score, but it needs more maturity especially considering the fact that there is narration involved. A better way to present this story though would be through a feature length film where the director can really explore the emotional depth of being born into a traveling home with a mission. Having that huge decision made for you would anger anyone, and a kid would most likely respond in the manner Icarus does. It propels him towards the black hole, from which there is no return even if you survive. Black holes can warp time and slow it down, but time always travels one way - into the future. And what awaits at the end of your journey is even more fantastical.
Please Give (2010) - dir. Nicole Holofcener - 3 stars
It's been a while since I saw Friends with Money (2006), the film that introduced me to the Holofcener name. I hadn't realized until then that I had already seen her work before, alas on TV. She had directed many episodes, some for Sex and the City and Six Feet Under, but it was with her 2006 film that I came to connect the dots between her TV and film work. Her focus on female protagonists, wry humour, money and generosity coupled with her fascination with actress Catherine Keener all resurface with Please Give.
Kate (Keener) and her husband own a vintage furniture shop in NYC, where most of their stock comes from families trying to get rid of furniture owned by their passed-away relatives. They are embroiled in the quest to make big profits, as they enjoy the thrill of the thought of money. While their teenage daughter gets further obsessed with her looks and skin, they continuously make plans to expand their apartment, which depends on the old tenant dying. Andra, the old tenant, is taken care of by two sisters, one of whom is devoted, shy and introverted whereas the other is self-centered, shallow and mean. All characters in the ensemble suffer from some sort of guilt, and as such Holofcener is able to show guilt and how we deal with it in its many shapes and forms. Some try to counter it by forcing themselves to be charitable while others keep their guilt at bay by ignoring it or even drowning themselves in it.
The film's intricate story connects these characters in a higher emotional level than any of them expect. Sense of resolution is abound throughout the last 20 minutes of the film. This, in a way, dispels the plausible atmosphere created all along as it feels a bit too good to have everything come full circle at the end, but then I've gotten very used to expecting films to drop me off a cliff so take it with a grain of salt. All things considered, Friends with Money also ended in a similar fashion so it says more about Holofcener's storytelling habits than anything else.
Holofcener is rather good at developing her scripts and keeping a nice pace throughout her films, despite several approaches that harken back to her TV work. The film mostly consists of short scenes and punch lines, which feel episodic, but they also add a sense of realism as if we're watching reality TV. Her characters tend to understand themselves at the end and accept what they need to do to change. This sense of self-realization is very central to Holofcener's scripts and provides very low-key, quiet moments of epiphany.
Unfortunately, this results in a low-key feeling at the end of the film as well. Holofceners' films never engross the viewer in deep emotion. At the most, she tickles our feelings and makes a dash for resolution. So, even though the film is rather good, it makes you feel a bit underwhelmed at the end.
As I soaked in the famous opening fanfare of Strauss's Also sprach Zarathustra performed live by the London Philharmonic, I saw the beautiful image of the Earth rising over the Moon with the Sun following suit in alignment. I then read the words appear ominously on the screen: 2001: a Space Odyssey. Attending the world premiere of Kubrick's definitive science fiction epic with live music accompaniment at the Royal Festival Hall on 25 June 2010, I was reminded once again of his genius. Kubrick's attention to detail, his love of music and his meticulous research into his subject material all shine through to make this film as mysterious and sublime today as it must have been when it was released in 1968.
As Kubrick's wife, Christiane, mentioned at the event, Kubrick had wanted to show people that by 2001 space travel would have been a piece of cake. We are in 2010, and we are nowhere close to hibernation or inter-galactic travel, let alone creating artificial intelligence that is capable of emotion. In many aspects, we failed Kubrick's trust in mankind's evolution. But what Kubrick really accomplished with 2001 is that he set the standard for many other science fiction films that followed it. The design, the story and the predicted future technology all became common place in our minds. We accepted Kubrick's vision to be reality, almost fate, that we now expect pressured sliding doors, video calls, miniaturized food, hibernation, enhanced computer intelligence, humanoids, aliens, white and sterile environments, etc. We expect the artificial intelligence that we create to overtake us, fueling our self-doubt.
What Kubrick doesn't do is get carried away with his vision. As anyone will notice, none of the space scenes have any diegetic sound whatsoever. There are no engine noises, laser sounds, or any sound at all. Since there is no air in space, sound cannot travel. Space is not only black, but it's also mute. Kubrick takes advantage of this by filling in the gap with non-diegetic music. He purposefully picks Johann Strauss' waltz, the Blue Danube, to accompany the motions of the space station. He emphasizes the slow, rhythmic movement of the space station and likens it to ballet. With this choice of music, Kubrick not only stays true to scientific reality but also enhances the cinematic experience, signifying an almost royal air to space travel and making the cinema experience more like an opera. As a matter of fact, the film's road show release in 1968 included a musical prelude akin to how operas and musical theatre productions start. The blank screen musical intro was immediately followed by the MGM logo and then the film. I was lucky enough to experience that original idea at the Royal Festival Hall, and I must say it does amplify the experience and harken back to Kubrick's love of music. For more on the use of music in the film, I would highly recommend this Wikipedia article.
The story is also well polished. Arthur C. Clarke and Kubrick wrote the story and the book together, but Kubrick wanted to keep the film a bit more mysterious. He keeps the film in four parts that are divided to outline human evolutionary steps, each one highlighted with Strauss' Also sprach Zarathustra in the background. However, he denies the viewer any direct explanations as to what the black monolith is that ties them all. The four main parts are:
I. The Dawn of Man
II. TMA-1
III. Jupiter Mission
IV. Jupiter and Beyond the Infinite
In the first part, a herbivorous ape discovers the use of bones as a tool and weapon. Subsequently, the apes learn to stand up on their hind legs, hunt and eat meat and defeat other tribes. As such, humans begin, and Kubrick gracefully transitions to millions of years later with a match cut from the bone to the spacecraft in TMA-1. The humans also discover the black monolith, but this time on the surface of the Moon. The monolith seems to be a living thing that reacts, purposefully buried there.
A cut to the Jupiter Mission introduces us to HAL-9000, the iconic artificial intelligence onboard the spacecraft. HAL-9000 is most definitely the basis for many other representations of AI and robots in subsequent films. Their mathematic logic somehow presents a danger to our human way of thinking, and as such, they become our enemies made by our own hands. Kubrick's take on the subject is thrilling to say the least, as he introduces potential emotional capabilities. HAL-9000 may not only be designed to display emotion to make communication with the astronauts more natural but may actually exhibit emotion. HAL's last words are striking and are no different than a man who knows he is dying. Regardless of his actions, HAL ignites sympathy and pity from the audience as his voice gets lower and he loses his mind. "[He] can feel it."
The final chapter has been the most mind-boggling and left open to debate. As the final astronaut, Bowman, approaches Jupiter, he encounters another monolith. On contact, he is taken through a "star gate" as Clarke calls it. He finds himself in an enclosed space with a bedroom and bathroom, suspiciously decorated and fitted almost as a lit cage. It's almost as if aliens have captured him and are keeping him alive to study him. At the end, Bowman transforms into a "Star-Child" as an image of a fetus bound in a glittering bubble travel around the Earth. It's as if Bowman gives birth to himself as he dies or the aliens have found a way to clone him. Or it could just be death.
When everything is said and done, there is still one question that doesn't fully get explained. What is the black monolith? Is it an alien or an element that we have not discovered so far? Does it matter? It could as well be that little synapse which creates moments such as those presented in the film and pushes us to our next evolutionary phase. Throughout the film, the monolith is used as the agent for further evolution. Without the monolith's interference, we are essentially not moving on the evolutionary ladder. It takes that little unknown something to push us through the boundary and create another chapter in our collective history.
