Munich Film Festival II
There is always a retrospective for one specific director at the Munich Film Festival, along with the new program. This year, it's for Stephen Frears. Considering that I've seen My Beautiful Laundrette, Dangerous Liasons and even The Queen repeatedly, I went for films of his I hadn't known, which so far meant:
Gumshoe: Frears' first feature film from 1971. Homage/Parody of a film noir with the action set in Liverpool, starring Albert Finney, Frank Finlay, Billie Whitelaw and Carolyn Seymour. (As I had just recently seen the later as a Romulan commander when I rewatched the TNG episode Face of the Enemy, it was a bit eerie to see her as a naive young thing.) It's enjoyable enough, though nothing outstanding; what struck me most was the music because I went from thinking "hang on, this is a clever parody of 1940s Hollywood music" to "wait a minute, I know that theme; that's from Andrew Llyod Webber's musical version of Sunset Boulevard, the title melody, no less. ZOMG, does that mean ALW stole it from this movie?" Then, after the film ended, I saw the credits. One young turk named Andrew Llyod Webber was responsible for the score. (Stealing from yourself is okay.)
High Fidelity: based on a Nick Hornby novel though set in the US, this one proves the role that you can't go wrong if you employ the Cusack siblings in the same movie and give Joan Cusack one scene where she gets to chew John Cusack out in a sisterly fashion. Fun movie, if you're in the mood for one about fanboys and their dating problems, which I luckily was.
The Hi-Lo Country: Western which was supposed to be Sam Peckinpah's last project and which Stephen Frears took over at Martin Scorsese's request. He got a silver bear at the Berlinale 1999 out of it, and it's very well directed, but unfortunately, enjoying it depends on you finding Woody Harrelson's character, Big Boy, a charming force of nature, whereas I felt he was a smug bully. Seriously, between the constant verbal humiliations and the physical bullying, I was only surprised his brother waited so long, not that what happened did happen, and I all but cheered. (Similarly, my sympathies were with Mona's husband, the much put-upon Les, and when Big Boy started with the boasting about comparing dicks, I had the killing urge myself.) I appreciated Mona wasn't demonized to make the ode to the unbreakable male bond between our narrator Pete (Billy Crudup) and Big Boy stronger, which was tricky to do given the narrative, but Frears pulled it off (not least with some close-ups to Mona's face at crucial moments which gave her more ambiguity than the story did), but as I said - enjoying the film really depends on you liking Big Boy, and I loathed him.
Not from Stephen Frears but an European premiere:
The Bomber, by Paul Cotter. A small road movie about an old Englishman who returns to the German village he had bombed as a pilot during WWII, together with his wife and son. The first feature-length film of this director who was there (together with his proud family), shot with a crew of seven, only three professional actors (and a lot of German extras), and the results are very watchable. The family locked in a car together/ tourists abroad comedy is never cheap, and scenes like the stoic old Alistair finally talking about the night of the bombing, or his wife talking to their son about finally having enough are genuinenly touching.
Gumshoe: Frears' first feature film from 1971. Homage/Parody of a film noir with the action set in Liverpool, starring Albert Finney, Frank Finlay, Billie Whitelaw and Carolyn Seymour. (As I had just recently seen the later as a Romulan commander when I rewatched the TNG episode Face of the Enemy, it was a bit eerie to see her as a naive young thing.) It's enjoyable enough, though nothing outstanding; what struck me most was the music because I went from thinking "hang on, this is a clever parody of 1940s Hollywood music" to "wait a minute, I know that theme; that's from Andrew Llyod Webber's musical version of Sunset Boulevard, the title melody, no less. ZOMG, does that mean ALW stole it from this movie?" Then, after the film ended, I saw the credits. One young turk named Andrew Llyod Webber was responsible for the score. (Stealing from yourself is okay.)
High Fidelity: based on a Nick Hornby novel though set in the US, this one proves the role that you can't go wrong if you employ the Cusack siblings in the same movie and give Joan Cusack one scene where she gets to chew John Cusack out in a sisterly fashion. Fun movie, if you're in the mood for one about fanboys and their dating problems, which I luckily was.
The Hi-Lo Country: Western which was supposed to be Sam Peckinpah's last project and which Stephen Frears took over at Martin Scorsese's request. He got a silver bear at the Berlinale 1999 out of it, and it's very well directed, but unfortunately, enjoying it depends on you finding Woody Harrelson's character, Big Boy, a charming force of nature, whereas I felt he was a smug bully. Seriously, between the constant verbal humiliations and the physical bullying, I was only surprised his brother waited so long, not that what happened did happen, and I all but cheered. (Similarly, my sympathies were with Mona's husband, the much put-upon Les, and when Big Boy started with the boasting about comparing dicks, I had the killing urge myself.) I appreciated Mona wasn't demonized to make the ode to the unbreakable male bond between our narrator Pete (Billy Crudup) and Big Boy stronger, which was tricky to do given the narrative, but Frears pulled it off (not least with some close-ups to Mona's face at crucial moments which gave her more ambiguity than the story did), but as I said - enjoying the film really depends on you liking Big Boy, and I loathed him.
Not from Stephen Frears but an European premiere:
The Bomber, by Paul Cotter. A small road movie about an old Englishman who returns to the German village he had bombed as a pilot during WWII, together with his wife and son. The first feature-length film of this director who was there (together with his proud family), shot with a crew of seven, only three professional actors (and a lot of German extras), and the results are very watchable. The family locked in a car together/ tourists abroad comedy is never cheap, and scenes like the stoic old Alistair finally talking about the night of the bombing, or his wife talking to their son about finally having enough are genuinenly touching.