Death Proof

Is it worth wading through ninety minutes of dreary chit-chat to see the most thrilling car chase ever filmed? That’s the question to ask before checking out Death Proof. Writer/director Quentin Tarantino’s sharp ear for dialogue deserts him in this sluggish tale of a group of young women who sit around and talk for close to forty minutes until stunt-car driver turned serial killer Stuntman Mike (the excellent Kurt Russell) finally and fatally runs them off the road in his specially modified ‘death proof’ car. Then another four girls come along and we start all over again.

Staggering from the wreckage of Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez’s failed Grindhouse feature (where two short trashy films and fake trailers were combined into one box-office flop), Death Proof is a love letter to 70’s exploitation films. Unfortunately, Tarantino gets the details right but forgets to make things interesting – until the final car chase, featuring Mike versus a car with New Zealand stuntwoman Zoe Bell (playing herself) tied to the bonnet. This CGI-free sequence is astounding, nail-biting stuff. It’s Tarantino’s best film-making to date, trapped inside (probably) his worst film.

Anthony Morris
(This review first appeared in edition #291 of The Big Issue Australia, 5 November 2007)

Outsourced

Todd Anderson (Josh Hamilton) leads a bland life as manager of a Seattle call centre. Then he’s told that his job is being outsourced to India. If he wants to keep his stock options he’s going to have to go there and train the new workforce.

Cue Bombay’s heat and chaos, and an encounter with some dodgy ice confectionary. Still, Todd’s Indian hosts prove charming, and his new employees are quirky, resourceful and eager to learn the American accent. Sweetening the brew is the lovely Asha (Ayesha Dharker), a spirited Indian girl who’s not afraid to laugh at Todd and tell him that he needs to learn ‘the Indian way’.

Written by George Wing (50 First Dates) and directed by newcomer John Jeffcoat, Outsourced gently and humorously addresses our worst fears about globalization and the people whose voices we hear on the other end of the line; suggesting that if our third world cousins are this generous and enterprising, surely they deserve the work .Yes, it’s romantic comedy, and presents an almost too sweet view of the world, but it’s a colorful trip to a friendly place that’s well worth visiting.

Rochelle Siemienowicz

(This review first appeared in edition#291 of The Big Issue Australia, 5 November 2007)

The War on Democracy

When the United States talks about ‘bringing democracy to the world’, other countries have good reason to shiver with fear – especially if they happen to possess significant oil reserves. In this chilling documentary, journalist John Pilger investigates the sinister political activities of the US in South American countries like Bolivia, Venezuela and Chile. Here history tells of democratically elected governments toppled in favour of US-friendly dictatorships. It’s shocking to learn that Pinochet’s torture squads where even trained in the USA.

A lot of the material here is familiar, but Pilger puts it together in a cohesive and convincing fashion, and his interviews with swaggering ex-CIA operatives are frightening and funny at the same time. “World, get used to it!” drawls one old boy.

The film’s mood is hopeful, however, with a strong focus on recent People Power victories in Latin America, like Bolivia’s reclamation of its water resources. Topping-and-tailing the film is a somewhat adulatory interview with Venezuala’s beaming working class president, Hugo Chavez. Perhaps this was misjudged, but it’s highly entertaining and inspiring. Pilger’s evangelical style may irritate some, but his message is a timely and important one.

Rochelle Siemienowicz

4 Months, 3 Weeks and 4 Days

The winner of this year’s Palme d’Or at Cannes, 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 4 Days is a grimly thrilling film about two young Romanian women trying to obtain an abortion. The film is set in 1987, in the dying days of Ceausescu’s Communist regime, when abortions are strictly forbidden, with severe jail sentences hanging over anyone who defies the State’s official ‘population increase’ policy.

But Gabita (Laura Vasilu) is a poor, single college student. She seems almost stupid with animal fright. She can’t think straight. She just needs to get rid of this growing ‘problem’. Luckily her room-mate Otilia (Anamaria Marinca) has a calm head on her shoulders – and a true loyal heart of gold.

The film begins slowly, as the two women shave their legs, argue about money, and perform complex negotiations to buy soap and cigarettes from black marketeers. If it’s this hard to get soap how hard is it going to be to book a hotel room in which to perform an illegal medical procedure? And what price will the abortionist himself (a chilling Vlad Ivanov) extract from these pretty young innocents? To complicate matters, Otilia’s boyfriend wants her to come to dinner tonight, to meet his parents for the first time. Buses must be caught in the dark, surly hotel porters evaded, and a fetus disposed of before midnight. It’s no wonder Otilia can barely force down her desert; she’s wondering if her friend is bleeding to death on the other side of the city. And when her boyfriend tries to score a quickie in the bedroom, well, it’s bad timing to say the least.

Written and directed by Cristian Mungiu (Occident), and lensed by Oleg Mutu (The Death of Mr Lazarescu), the film is a triumph of sober simplicity. Long single shots are utilised, with a colour palette that’s Soviet grey, reflecting the crumbling concrete of an oppressive State. Naturalistic acting, with the kind of short-hand dialogue that real people use, enhances the empathy we feel for these two scared girls as they inhabit their nightmare. And when it’s all over, you feel that you’ve lived it, been there, been afraid. So whatever your beliefs or feelings about abortion – or about Communism, for that matter – the success of the film lies in its ability to make us feel deeply for the plight of these women and their limited, life-threatening, essentially female choices.

Rochelle Siemienowicz

(This review first appeared in edition #290 of The Big Issue Australia, 22 October 2007)

The Brave One

When radio host Erica Bain (Jodie Foster) and her boyfriend take an evening stroll through New York’s Central Park only to end up mugged, bashed and - in the boyfriend’s case – killed, you could be forgiven for not knowing what’s next. When Erica is so scarred by the experience the only way she can feel safe is to buy a gun, things start to become a little clearer. And when she shoots a crazed gunman in a convenience store, there’s no doubt about it: you’re watching a good old-fashioned vigilante movie.

Director Neil Jordan ticks all the boxes in this gender-reversed Death Wish clone: crime rules the streets, rape-crazed gangs prowl the subways, and only one woman with a gun dares to put things right. The vigilante genre has lost some of its social relevance in these law-abiding times, but its taking-out-the-trash cliches still pack a punch and they’re well-handled here. Foster is the one who makes this straight-to-DVD material live, with a powerfully heartfelt performance that is often simply too good for the cheesy script she’s working with. And how does she get to be such a good shot?

Anthony Morris

Superbad

More a prime example of the “one crazy night” genre (anything from Adventures in Babysitting to Martin Scorsese's After Hours) than a teen sex romp, Superbad still presents audiences with some of the flat-out filthiest dialogue heard outside of an episode of Deadwood. And yet there’s enough insight in its depiction of dorky high school boys and the girls who might like them to keep it from ever being merely crude.

With high school nearly over and different universities awaiting them, best friends Seth (Jonah Hill) and Evan (Michael Cera) seize on a surprise invite to an cool kids party as their last chance for some serious fun. Their invite depends on them bringing booze; being underage, this proves to be way more difficult than anyone could have predicted.

Some might say that the freewheeling subplot involving two unbelievably nutty cops (Bill Hader and scriptwriter Seth Rogen) undermines the otherwise emotionally resonant depiction of a couple of friends about to be torn apart by adulthood. Others might question all the dick jokes. They’re both wrong: with great performances, classic scenes, and plenty of heart, Superbad is a brilliantly hysterical comedy.

Anthony Morris

The Final Winter

Despite Australia's passionate love affair with all forms of sport, we don't seem to make all that many movies about sport - presumably because in Australia culture you either love one or the other. That's their loss: rough around the edges The Final Winter may be, and with it's fair share of clumsy scenes and two-d characters, this still manages to be one of the more down-to-earth entertaining local efforts of the year. It's the early 80's, and Sydney rugby league club The Jets is in turmoil: crowd numbers are down, the old style of bash-heavy play is out of favour, and new club CEO Murray 'Colgate' Perry (John Jarrat) thinks the only way to keep the club alive is to take it down a more professional path. One man who disagrees is Grub Henderson (writer Matt Nable), a 200 game man and old-school thug who solves his problems by hitting people or ignoring them until they go away. In the week that follows Grub will finally realise that his playing days are be behind him - but he's not going to bow out without a fight. Stories about the end of an era always have a resonance, and even though this is perhaps too heavily weighted in Grub's favour - Colgate is an a-grade creep, even though pretty much everything he says and does makes a lot more sense than Grub's stubborn bull-headedness - the rugby stuff turns out to be a lot more universal in terms of the global corporatisation of sport than you might think (and the games themselves are filmed with bone-jarring impact like a widescreen Nutra-grain commercial). Likewise, Grub himself isn't that likeable, but his slow realisation that time is passing him by is one that even non sports fans can identify with. The Final Winter isn't going to win any awards - but who goes to see the Australian films that do?

Anthony Morris

(this review appeared in Forte#410)