How to die

The Farewell Party, or Mita Tova, its original title, is a small miracle. It takes place at a retirement home in Jerusalem, but could happen in many other places. It is about death and euthanasia, but is not a downer. It contains many heartfelt moments, but is often very funny as well. It even has the courage to feature a musical number.

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The movie works because none of the cast are over-playing their scenes, and none of the scenes stray too far away from the main story. It starts with Max, who is so ill and in pain that he wants to die. His wife Yana wants his suffering to end. Yehezkel, a friend of theirs, is a bit of an inventor; he invents a small machine out of spare parts like a bicycle chain and a digital readout. Daniel, a former veterinarian, provides the medication. Max presses a button, and within a minute, he is asleep. He won’t wake again.

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Yehezkel’s wife Levana is strictly against euthanasia, on moral principles, but also because it’s her husband supervising the procedure. Yehezkel, Yana and Daniel want to keep their machine a secret, but Levana finds out. So do others: they are approached by an old man at Max’ funeral. His wife is very sick, and would they please consider helping her? The movie tackles a few questions with great grace: to what degree is euthanasia moral – or immoral? How much self-determination is there in a dying person’s decision? How about the law? How about Elohim?

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The most powerful image is the gang standing in the corner, wearing blue rubber gloves, watching someone press the button. On the other hand, there is gentle fun in some of the scenes. The gang is meeting in the greenhouse at night, chain-smoking and discussing the loved ones they lost to cancer. Their car is stopped by a policeman who wants to book them for speeding, but has to deal with five maudlin and tearful senior citizens all at once. He thinks they just want to avoid the ticket.

The secret of the movie is in its cast: they stay themselves during the death scenes as well as the comedy. It’s refreshing to know that the end of our days can be a comfort. Mita Tova seems to claim that euthanasia is the right thing to do if it is an option at the right time. It’s up to you to determine when and if the right time has come, but think about how it affects others. In both senses of the term, you are not alone. That is a comfort as well as a responsibility.

More attitude, yo.

I wanted to like Straight Outta Compton, but the movie made it hard for me. When the credits rolled, I asked myself why I didn’t like it more. The answer: it’s not angry enough.

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To be clear: it’s angry when it absolutely needs to be. There is a scene where a young, disappointed Ice Cube is smashing the gold records and glass furniture of his white record company connection. There are three or even four scenes where the Compton police cuff each and every black guy they see standing on the sidewalk just because they are black and therefore suspicious. The concerts are atmospheric and dense; you don’t need to know any N.W.A. song to realize that these are angry young men. But the rest of the movie is steeped in mild nostalgia instead of a stubborn feeling of resistance or… well, attitude.

Hip-Hop is essentially hate music, in the best sense of the word. It’s about how badly black neighbourhoods are treated, and how that can piss off men who are not musicians, but find a way to play their stuff, which in turn is powered by their anger. It’s smarter and more nuanced than most of heavy metal. Hip-Hop is also hate music in the worst sense of the word because of its rampant sexism. If you think young black males in Compton had it bad, you may be right, but there are always young black females who had it worse. And they didn’t even have a voice until later.

The movie gets the casting right. Ice Cube (O’Shea Jackson Jr., playing his real-life dad) and Eazy-E (Jason Mitchell) are immediately recognizable; same goes for Snoop Dogg and Tupac, both in minor roles. Dr. Dre (Corey Hawkins) less so; I kept confusing him with the actor playing MC Ren (Aldis Hodge). No matter – the acting is spot-on.

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But there are unexplained lapses, mostly due to the screenplay. Consider the scene where Dr. Dre learns that his younger brother Tyree has died. The tour bus stops, and the group gets out onto the sidewalk to mourn his death. It’s a heartfelt scene, but nobody mentions how Tyree has died. Was he killed? What happened? Is that a piece of N.W.A. lore that everybody knows anyway?

On the other hand, if you know a lot about N.W.A., you might get confused during the very first scene where Eazy-E wants to sell his drugs. There is a woman called Tomica pointing a shotgun at him. Tomica is also the name of Eazy-E’s widow. They didn’t have their meet cute on opposite ends of a gun barrel, did they?

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There are scenes of undisputed power, too. N.W.A. take a break from recording their debut album and are standing on the sidewalk, eating and talking. Police cruisers pull up and start insulting and harrassing them, forcing them to lie down (note that the officer telling them to do so is black). They don’t get arrested, but return to the studio and write Fuck Tha Police, their most famous track. If it’s not true, then it’s very well invented.

I accept that N.W.A. started a rap band, not a social movement, but some scenes are tinged with an atmosphere of those good old times that jar with the concert clips or the moments when Suge Knight takes his security job way too seriously. Why does their white manager (Paul Giamatti) start to cry when confronted with syphoning off money? Why isn’t mysogyny adressed properly? Eazy-E died of Aids, after all, caused by his womanizing. If you’re doing a biopic of the most dangerous group in the world, you need to go out there and let at least some of that shine through.

Longing for that paper moon

For all the imagination that goes into creating new worlds and fantastic creatures on screen, film and TV are predominantly beholden to naturalism. For these media, suspension of disbelief means being able to accept wholeheartedly what is on screen as real, at least for the purpose of the story you’re watching. Directors, VFX crews and CGI artists need to keep happy the twin deities of Spectacle and Realism: that dragon, that lizard the size of a building, that planet that no one has ever set foot on, they all need to fool us into believing that they are real.

Infinithéâtre's Kafka's ApeI am not immune to the lure of big screen spectacle, and I like a well made special effect as much as the next geek. I too get pulled out of a film if the greenscreen fakery is too obvious, if the orcs, goblins or giant worms look like My First Photoshop. At the same time, there is something limiting to the extent to which we’re conditioned to expect a narrow, superficial expression of naturalism. There is something liberating to forms that are overtly unreal: even at their most real-seeming the animated worlds of, say, Hayao Miyazaki are made rather than found, and the audience is aware of this, whereas the Pandora of James Cameron’s Avatar needs to look as much as possible as if Cameron and his crew had filmed on location. And the more what we see is removed from the Real Thing (or the Convincing Fake), the more we as audiences are tasked with co-creating these worlds in our imagination. Continue reading

Why did the chicken go down into the basement?

Men & Chicken is a bit of a letdown. It has good things in it, but on the whole, it’s not as good as Adam’s Apples, the 2005 film by the same Danish director Anders Thomas Jensen. I had high hopes for this one: it is the fourth collaboration between Jensen and Mads Mikkelsen. Jensen also has written the brilliant After the Wedding, Wilbur Wants to Kill Himself (both movies also starring Mikkelsen, but not directed by Jensen), and Red Road.  Continue reading

Making love out of thin air

Love Island wants to entertain in the best way it knows how. It’s at times clumsy and hackneyed, with a very short attention span, but it is sweet, goofy and sensuous, and it is hard to dislike it. Reader, I was entertained. It consists of standard scenes making up a flimsy summer comedy about a love triangle in a holiday resort under the Croatian sun called… well, Love Island. It’s a movie like filo pastry: you like it, sometimes you crave it, but it’s not anybody’s favorite food. There’s Liliane (Ariane Labed), beautiful and pregnant, and her husband Grebo (Ermin Bravo), a lovable dork. Liliane and Grebo seem to look forward to being parents. But there is Flora (Ada Condeescu), who works at the resort as a diving instructor and animator, and she and Liliane were a couple once. Continue reading

Strong Woman vs. Gruff Man

For more than an hour, The Homesman is one of the best-told films I can remember. It is directed by, and starring, Tommy Lee Jones, based on a screenplay co-written by him. The secret prime mover, however, is a woman named Mary Bee Cuddy, played to perfection by Hilary Swank. Miss Cuddy, unmarried, devout and outspoken, lives on her own farm on the Nebraska Territory. The year is 1837, and this is the frontier. If you go West, you will find disease, hunger, isolation and hostile Indians. There is nothing but flat grassland as far as the eye can see. No villages, just huddled groups of little colorful houses crouching under an overwhelming sky.

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Best Before

Das Ewige Leben (German for eternal life), the latest instalment in the Simon Brenner movies from Austria, starts with the usual slight comedic misunderstanding. Brenner, forever unshaved and in his shabby green jacket, wants to get social security, but has no job, no fixed address, no money, and no ID on him. “You’re homeless,” the woman behind the counter tells him. Maybe that has not occurred to Brenner.

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Mad to the Max

I am either the ideal or the wrong person to review Mad Max: Fury Road. I like my movies simple but suspenseful, on the realistic side, with weight and witty dialogue, with rounded, believable characters. Mad Max doesn’t have any of this. Instead, it’s a loud, shrill, monomaniacal high-speed romp through a barren, deadly post-apocalyptic landscape. Reader, I loved it. Movies like this elicit one of two likely responses: you either want to get off that hellride, or you cry for more. I cried for more. What doesn’t truck with me is complaining about the action and violence; that would be like jumping into a pool and complaining about the wetness. You’ve been warned.

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Kurt Cobain will have his revenge on all of us

It’s the darnedest thing with Kurt Cobain: Montage of Heck. I can see that it’s a good documentary, but I have no idea what it wants to do or where it wants to go. It latches on to the biographical details as a red thread, and everything in it – the music, the drawings, the puppets and statues – is by, or at least featuring, Kurt Cobain. A bio-pic would feature a lot more interviews. Ok, so maybe it’s all about Kurt Cobain as an artist. Hardcore Nirvana fans will appreciate that, but all others must be warned: Cobain’s artwork is as uncompromising as his music. Since the movie is 130 minutes long, that means a lot of monsters. I grew slightly tired of exploding entrails and erected penises.

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Love and war – same thing

Les combattants is essentially a love story, but the movie is at its best when it forgets that. There’s Arnaud, a carpenter who helps his older brother build pergolas in other people’s gardens. He looks on as the daughter of their latest customers fills a backpack with roof tiles and jumps into the family pool. He fears she might drown. “It’s combative swimming,” she replies, as if she did that every day. She does. Later, he will give her a ferret as a pet.

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She also puts a whole fish in a blender and drinks it all. “I have to prepare for the end,” she says, although she doesn’t know exactly what that end might look like. Madeleine is not a gun-toting tomboy, nor a pessimist, but a young woman who thinks it’s her best choice to enrol in the French territorial army. She can be outgoing, but chooses to stay silent because she is not too good with people. She seems constantly on the brink of exhaustion, what with all that survival training. When Arnaud sees her, he is not love-struck at first, but curious enough about her to enrol alongside her. Madeleine has not much of a clue that he might like her. She takes his tagging along with a shrug.

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Almost none of the scenes play out the way you think. There is a very tender moment where they paint each other’s face with camouflage colors. Another scene shows raindrops on her naked skin. Arnaud is fascinated, but all Madeleine wants is for him to punch her. Madeleine realises that the military is actually not hard-core enough for her, so she and Arnaud desert into the woods. There is a surreal scene at a gas station where they seem to grow apart, but actually find something out about each other. Arnaud doesn’t have much interest in joining the army, Madeleine wants it far too much.

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The film avoids almost all of the clichés of boy meets girl or of the army. By the end of the movie, the two of them have grown closer together – in what way is for you to decide. Les combattants shows you fresh faces and an unusual story, told in an unusual way. Arnaud is played by Kévin Azaïs, slightly dorky and clueless about who he wants to be; Madeleine is played by Adèle Haenel, and I have a hunch that she might go on making good to great movies.