Side by Side





Side by Side 
Directed by: Christopher Kenneally
2012



Side by Side battles nostalgia and respect for film with a real curiosity for the possibility of the digital world.

Are we close to the mourning of film? If so, is it for better or for worse? This seems to be the question at the core of Side by Side. The documentary opens with a strong, bustling, contradictory series of statements on film and digital, coming from the most revered names in the film industry – among others, Martin Scorsese, David Lynch, James Cameron, George Lucas, Christopher Nolan. Tracing the development of the digital in parallel to film and tackling the technical differences between the two media, Side by Side captures the exciting, controversial and fast-tracking change cinema technology is undergoing at the moment. Instead of focusing on the ‘visible’ effects of digital, Christopher Kenneally’s documentary focuses on the ‘invisible’ technical, artistic and almost political consequences of this change in medium. Keanu Reeves’s hosting is lively and intelligent, as he acts as the voice of nostalgia. Side by Side offers the viewer’s a peak behind the screen, into the battling ground of art and technology.

The strength of the documentary is in its in-depth, clear exposition of the technical characteristics of the digital medium. Kenneally is not afraid to dwell on the chemical processes of film or on the technical advances of digital cameras throughout recent years – and the audience can be grateful for that. This close-up on media and their possibilities evokes one of the major questions in art: do the medium’s limits provide an incentive to the artist’s creativity or do they act as a hindrance? Is the digital just another way of doing cinema, or will it ultimately change cinema and story-telling as we conceive them today?

If we cannot yet know whether digital will change cinema itself, certainly the medium is changing who does or rather who can do cinema. Democratisation is a strong argument on the side of digital. Costs are lower, equipment is more approachable and editing can be done on a laptop. On this regard, the Danish avant-garde group Dogme 95 is presented as the trigger for this democratisation of the medium. Yet one wonders if it tales only a cheap digital camera to become Lars von Trier.

What is most certain – and here the documentary is at its most ferocious in portraying an industry in upheaval – is that the digital is shifting, among other things, that subtle relation of power between Director and Director of Photography, and that the latter’s role is splitting into a series of post-production manipulations of the digital master image. Are DPs an endangered species? When light, colour and contrast will only be a matter of a click, will there be any value left in the understanding of light, lenses and shade of what is captured? And will this ultimately make the image lose all visual contact with ‘reality’?

As with any question entailing the idea of progress, there are those who enthusiastically embrace it to push it even further and those who are more cautious, maybe more nostalgic about the magic – and authority – of the past. In that way the documentary places ‘side by side’ not only film and digital, but also – and most of all – the people for and against one or the other medium. Perhaps the prosperity of cinema lies in this disagreement, more than in the mere technical possibilities of each media. In its deepest implications, Side by Side questions, almost in an ethical way, the essence of cinema. And the final message of the documentary is confident: what matters in cinema are the stories we are told, the how is just a mean to an end. 

fiamma

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Mea Maxima Culpa: Silence in the House of God





Mea Maxima Culpa: Silence in the House of God 
Directed by: Alex Gibney
2012


It has been said that a thunderbolt struck St. Peter just moments after the Pope’s resignation. But the real thunder to strike the Catholic Church these past weeks is probably Mea Maxima Culpa: Silence in the House of God.

It took four deaf men to break the silence surrounding clerical sex abuses. Mea Maxima Culpatells the inspiring story of Terry Kohut, Gary Smith, Arthur Budzinksi and Bob Bolger as they set out to expose the sexual crimes of Father Lawrence Murphy, who repeatedly abused them and other 200 deaf children, in a school under his control. As the documentary progresses, the scope of the issue broadens and Alex Gibney ambitiously ventures into the secretive structure of the Vatican, uncovering its perverse mechanism of power, loyalty and omertà which obscures its responsibility vis-à-vis sexual crimes. The at-the-time-Cardinal Ratzinger appears as an ambivalent figure, informed and concerned about clerical sex abuses – in particular about the horrific actions of Marcial Maciel Degollado – but too loyal to the Vatican institution to take action.

Alex Gibney’s Mea Maxima Culpa strikes for its depth, rhythm and ambition. The documentary maintains throughout an incredible clarity of exposition and an objective journalistic approach to the issue, carefully selecting and effectively editing surprisingly varied sources of materials - news footage, photographs, a series of tremendous Super-8 videos, graphs, newspaper articles, archive documents and some recreated scenes. Amid the speeding rationality of the evidences, however, the strongest voice remains that of Terry, Gary, Arthur and Bob – their mute signing conveying anger, pain and emotions with overwhelming intensity.

Leaving religion and faith aside, Gibney’s approach to the issue is realistic and pragmatic. Clerical sexual abuse is a crime and should be handled as such, but because the Church encourages secrecy about these matters in order to protect its reputation, it has created the perfect environment for paedophilia to thrive unpunished. Gibney was subtle enough to leave the question of celibacy – and the much debated issue of clerical marriage – outside the picture. The Church’s omission of sexual abuses and its unwillingness to take action against priests who have been sexual offenders is the ‘lay’ problem – and civil crime – that Mea Maxima Culpa tackles. 

Ultimately, the question Mea Maxima Culpa poses is a question of justice, of responsibility: why is no punishment imposed and who is to blame? What appears through the series of scandals is a troubling image of the Vatican, whose belief in its own infallibility and righteousness ultimately becomes the justification to its own corruption. Society, by granting to the figure of the priests an innocence that needs no proof and a trust that needs not to be earned, has contributed to create this undisputed image of an infallible Church. By the same token, the documentary seems to argue, people have an incredible power: that of forsaking this misconception and that of demanding justice and punishment for clerical sexual abuses.

Mea Maxima Culpadoes not advocate a change in faith; it advocates a change in culture. And it seemed a telling - maybe inspiring? - coincidence that, as the documentary had its first screening, a Pope stepped down from its position. 

fiamma

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Bullhead

Bullhead
Directed by Michael R Roskam
Written by Michael R Roskam
with Matthias Schoenaerts, Jeroen Perceval, Jeanne Dandoy
2011

A frustrating film, only about half of which is the melancholic semi-tragedy it wants to be. Jacky (Matthias Schoenaerts) works on his family cattle farm in Flanders. His huge frame is pumped as full of hormones as the cattle he breeds, a compensation for the fearsome damage done to him when he was a boy. The memory of this is suddenly rendered all the more clearly and painfully when he and his associates embark upon a new deal with Marc de Kuyper (Sam Louwyck), a feared beef trade gangster, and Jacky is brought face to face with Diederick Maes (Jeroen Perceval), a figure inextricably linked to that childhood nightmare. Although he now wants nothing to do with the deal, his friends insist on going through with it, and despite his continuing, fumbling attempts to live normally Jacky’s life starts to spiral downwards through the shame and regret brought to the surface by this chance meeting.

The “chance” of the meeting is important, as in reality we are not watching a crime thriller but a very emotional drama about an individual whose condition and circumstance have forever been beyond his control. He lives and works where he does because that was where and how he was brought up, and his childhood trauma prevents him from moving on while his brother has gone away and started a family; the crime committed against him was a senseless act of violence by a person against whom he cannot even take satisfactory revenge; and the web of surveillance the police have upon the people he ends up in business with begins to close in on him based on a series of coincidences and irrelevant personal resentments. Another character may refer to him as “Bullhead” due to his colossal stature, but it doesn’t take too much insight to see his real similarity to the cattle he raises.

It should be clear that the basis is there for a sad and powerful film, and Schoenaerts has a natural ability, also seen in Rust and Bone (which was actually made after Bullhead, but released here first), to be terrifying and pitiable all at the same time. The mis-step occurs not in his story exactly, but in the depiction of the surrounding events. The way writer-director Michael R Roskam’s screenplay works means that we are constantly cutting away from Jacky to see how things are getting on elsewhere, in the criminal underworld or the police operation, in scenes which ultimately are only there to set up the conditions for Jacky to meet his fate. This is fine in principle, except that too much time is spent on them considering none of the other characters are as interesting or well-acted as the lead, and furthermore there is a small but very noticeable discrepancy in tone between them and Jacky’s story. The quiet yet imposing Schoenaerts, acting mainly with his physical presence, feels like he is in a completely different film to when we cut away to see the slightly unconvincing gangsters or the unlikeable police investigators. Worst of all are a pair of comic-relief Walloons, who not only feel out of place but end up playing a pivotal role in the whole affair in a bumbling, comedic way that saps the final segment of most of its power. The result is a slightly schizophrenic experience that doesn’t fit together properly, and to be blunt just isn't as sad as it should be. It’s all the worse in that you can see exactly what Roskam is going for and truly want it to work, because it’s clear how good it would be.
Tom

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Zero Dark Thirty

Zero Dark Thirty
Directed by Kathryn Bigelow
Written by Mark Boal
with Jessica Chastain, Jason Clarke, Kyle Chandler
2012

It might sound weird to say that it’s too soon to make a film about killing Osama bin Laden, but that’s more or less how I felt watching Zero Dark Thirty. It’s not that the man’s death is a tragedy too recent to be sensitively dealt with, but it’s still less than two years since and they obviously started preparing a movie version pretty sharpish. In the same way World Trade Center (out in 2004) just felt like another opportunity for Oliver Stone to continue his self-appointed role as the chronicler of modern America, there’s a definite sense that the impulse to make a movie about the event overrode any considerations of the best way to do so. Of course, it’s consummately produced and performed, but overall seems blunted by uncertainty as to how to approach the search-and-destroy mission. Loathe to be gung-ho, yet unavoidably stemming from that same vengeful impulse: why else would it have appeared so quickly?

Dramatically speaking, the screenplay doesn’t overcome the problems of condensing a ten year manhunt into a feature length movie, and any sense of storytelling has been enslaved to bringing the audience through an incredibly slow moving and intricate process. When a proper set-piece comes up it is inevitably well done, but because these essentially consist of al-Qaeda’s greatest hits of the 2000s they still come across as part of a trudge towards a payoff you know is coming, or else you wouldn’t be watching the film. A lot of effort has been put into accuracy and realism, which is admirable on one level but means we have to put up with the fact that most of the manhunt was a lot of waiting, watching and listening, and not a whole lot of action. People may say with a patronisingly rueful chuckle that “real-life spying isn’t really like a James Bond film, you know”, and they’re right. But guess why there are barely any realistic spy films. Occasionally we get a token glimpse of the personal toll the decade-long search took on the lead agent, here named Maya (Jessica Chastain), but certainly not enough to power the film as a personal story. So much time has to be spent detailing the ins and outs of how bin Laden was located that there’s no room at all for character, other than brainstorm words like ‘feisty’ and ‘driven’.

The much-criticised moral neutrality with which torture is presented in this film wasn’t really a problem for me. Through the aforementioned realism the torture is self-evidently horrible, and the unreliability of information obtained in this way and the moral shakiness of asserting it as a necessary evil are both addressed far more noticeably than any real benefits the manhunt might have gained from it. The key piece of information provided after the lengthy torture scenes at the start isn’t actually gained through the torture itself, but from having kept the prisoner in isolation, unaware of goings-on in the outside world. To me, that studied neutrality was more a problem for the film as a whole, as it was difficult to get behind the manhunt as a just cause. I think the filmmakers relied far too heavily on a gut reaction to 9/11 (the film is introduced through recordings of phonecalls and recordings from that day) to get the audience rooting for the endeavour, and if that reaction isn’t there the film comes across as an efficient but essentially soulless production of an Important Event. It doesn’t help that, for all the critical plaudits she’s receiving, Chastain doesn’t make the character very likable at all; even though you know she’s right, you still feel more sympathy for the people approaching the situation with caution. I mean this in terms of the film, casting no aspersions on the work of her real-life counterpart, but if it hadn’t happened that her instincts were correct (which they could easily not have been), she would be nothing more than an obsessive irritant endlessly prodding everyone into taking a massive risk.

Kathryn Bigelow is a very good director; not exactly an auteur, but an expert handler of environments and action. Her depiction of the assassination (once we finally get to it) is particularly brilliant, all shadows and night vision until the deed is actually done, and visors are removed as though the soldiers are finally coming up for air. She and her cast deserved a better script to work with, instead of this rushed-out technical exercise. It’s not as if there isn’t an interesting story here, but when the real events lasted ten years you have to pick a theme – be it obsessive revenge, personal conviction versus bureaucracy, hell even just make it a patriotic celebration – because it simply isn’t going to work as a straight retelling.
Tom

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