NYFF Review #6: Another Year

I'm convinced. Actually, I've long been convinced. There is not a better filmmaker walking the earth right now than Mike Leigh.

Why else do movies, or any other art form, exist but to make the viewer feel something? So if you want to see movies that make you emote joy or discomfort or anger followed by joy again, then see a Mike Leigh movie. I defy any attentive person to witness Life is Sweet without giggling manically throughout and then breaking into sudden tears when jolly mother Allison Steadman confronts hard-hearted daughter Jane Horrocks about her disenchantment with the world. Why wouldn't one blanch at and then agree with David Thewlis' hope-murdering rants against existence in Naked? How could you not be moved by smirking Philip Davis and nurturing Ruth Sheen looking out for while making fun of the departing, clueless Jason Watkins in High Hopes? What jerk could fail to marvel at Jim Broadbent, as W.S. Gilbert, giving precise notes to his cast while building upThe Mikado in Topsy Turvy? What human can't understand the pain of husband Tim Stern as he suffers the sharp words of Allison Steadman's callous wife Beverly during Abigail's Party? And when Imelda Staunton's Vera Drake gets visited by the police, whose heart isn't thrust throatward? I must now offer some scenes:


David Thewlis and Peter Wight in 1993's NAKED


Allison Steadman, Janine Duvitsky, Tim Stearn and John Salthouse in 1977's ABIGAIL'S PARTY


Timothy Spall and Leslie Manville in 2002's ALL OR NOTHING


Jane Horrocks and Claire Skinner in 1990's LIFE IS SWEET


Sally Hawkins and Eddie Marsan in 2008's HAPPY-GO-LUCKY


Shirley Henderson in 1999's TOPSY-TURVY


Imelda Staunton and cast in 2004's VERA DRAKE

Mike Leigh has been making all sorts of movies--from features to shorts to TV movies--since his incredible 1971 debut Bleak Moments. In that film, he pretty much set the stage for what we could expect from him: exacting examinations of the less fortunate, or less wise, or more gifted, among the rich and poor denizens of London. He's never deterred from his station, because he knows when he's found a good and wealthy thing. And the stance has not yet betrayed him, regardless of time period or personage.

His newest film, Another Year, doesn't disappoint. In a way, it's kind of a Mike Leigh fan film, in that it includes a cast that he's well familiar with. Jim Broadbent, as the patriarch, marks his fifth film with Leigh; Ruth Sheen, as the matriarch, notes her fifth film as well; and lead Leslie Manville notches her seventh time out with the deviser/director.

Note that I used the word "deviser." Just in case you're not aware, Mike Leigh's movies are not written like other movies are. This is what makes them so special. You can never tell where they're going because the maker, and the actors, never know where they're going, either. In short, in the beginning stages of a project, Leigh arrives at an idea for a film, then asks a set of actors to join him, and then they together organize a story based on Leigh's idea. After a series of improvisations, the director later solidifies the results into a stolid script. Leigh, who has a deep and ongoing involvement in the theater, has in this way kept his ardor of the stage's surprising qualities kicking and has transmogrified them into his passion for cinema, too. This, I submit, makes him the most original filmmaker working today.

He's never operated in any other way. He's the modern originator of this process, and you can tell that his actors love him for it. At least, I could tell this, having attended the Q&A with Broadbent, Sheen, Manville, Leigh and producer Georgina Lowe following the screening of Another Year at the 2010 New York Film Festival (Another Year is dedicated to Leigh's longtime producer, the recently passed Simon Channing Williams). I have to say, the ovation at the fest was the most fervent I'd experienced. The film got a minute of applause, and each of the participant's got 30 seconds applause a piece. That's almost five minutes of love there.

And so deserved it was. Another Year is yet another masterpiece from Leigh. It's a film about aging, yes, and it's consequently about the quickening of time (this is a very important element of the film, and one I fear might be overlooked by younger film writers). It's also a film about the limits of friendship, and how much well-adjusted mates can stand before their less well-adjusted friends drag them down. Broadbent and Sheen play a happily married couple named Tom and Gerri ("That's brilliant," says another character). He's an engineering geologist, and she's a counselor at a hospital, where she works with a troubled Mary, played by Manville. Tom and Gerri are cheery and upbeat, with only Mary's continual troubles causing them consternation. The year in question--quartered into seasons--puts their relationship to the test, as it begins with Mary's breakup with a bloke, and continues with her desperate fascination with Tom and Gerri's son Joe (Oliver Maltman). We know where this is going to go, but Mary has no idea, because she's sodden by alcohol. (Mike Leigh's movies have a lot to do with the downsides of alcohol, because they're so attuned with their U.K. place in the world.)

Manville is a marvel here. Given her seven appearances in Leigh films, you'd never recognize her as the person who played the eye-shadowed new wife in Grown Ups, the snooty next-door neighbor in High Hopes, Gilbert's powdered spouse in Topsy Turvy, or the sadly deluded, depressed mother in All or Nothing. In Another Year, she plays a recognizable Leigh type, but she makes the role absolutely her own. Mary is a lady who was once sure of herself, but who has let life pass her by. The largely lighthearted Another Year catches this character as she begins to realize the horror of the nest she's built for herself.

There are four characters who help her to this point. Imelda Staunton (an obvious Leigh veteran) is a depressed housewife appealing to Gerri, and informing Mary that marriage isn't necessarily the answer. Peter Wight, unforgettable as Tom and Gerri's hardy friend Ken, is a overweight alcoholic who's romantic advances clue Mary in about what she really desires, to her terror. Karina Fernandez, as Joe's lover Katie, gently accepts Mary's scorn as the woman Mary never could have been. And David Bradley, in the last fourth of the film, as Broadbent's newly-widowed brother Ronnie, looks perplexed as Mary asks, after his wife's funeral, whether or not he'd like a cuddle (these are among the best scenes in the film).

Does this sound complicated? It's not. Leigh's movies, save for their characters' thick brogues (not in evidence here), are never hard to understand. They might be hard to WITHSTAND, but that's a great thing. They make you feel, and feel deeply. Another Year does so not only with its terrific acting and direction, but with its gleaming widescreen photography (by valued Leigh regular Dick Pope) and its unusually gorgeous music by Gary Yershon (I always love the scores to Leigh's movies, but this one is especially emotional, and I blieve Leigh thinks so, too, according to his comments to the NYFF audience).

I couldn't believe my great fortune to be in the same big room with the makers of Another Year. After it was over, I waited patiently to see what would happen. Manville, Sheen and Broadbent hung out in the lobby of the Water Reade Theater, talking eagerly to the press. I could have asked them a million questions. But I was most interested in saying something personal to Mr. Leigh, so I had to pick my battles. I didn't want to ask Mr. Leigh for an autograph (though I had a VHS copy of Life is Sweet in my pocket). I merely wanted to tell him something.

So, I guess some would say I was stalking him. Maybe. I called to him as he opened the door to go out of the theater.

"Mr. Leigh?" I called. And he stopped, as I'd hoped, right in front of the Walter Reade.

"Hi. I just wanted to tell you something." I took my place in front of him, and looked into his impossibly blue eyes. They really struck me; they'd never seemed so blue in all the photos I'd seen.

"I just wanted to tell you. I'm so happy to talk to you, and tell you how much your movies mean to me. They make me feel so many things all at once, and that's what I go to movies for." I had to hold back tears here. "There's really nothing like them. And I just wanted to tell you how much I love them. And I wanted to thank you for them."

"Well, thank you," he softly said. "Thank you very much. What's your name?"

And I realized I didn't have my pass around my neck. "My name is Dean Treadway, and I help with a podcast called Movie Geeks United, and I do my own blog called filmicability. I know you're busy, but I have a couple of questions. I've read you've never been satisfied with the look of Abigail's Party, given that it's shot on video. Have you ever thought of remaking it on film?"

"Oh, no. It so much a piece of its time, there'd be no point in going back to it. It is exactly as it should be. It's done."

"It is very much at home in the 1970s. I can understand that. I was wondering, there's so much of your stage work that I haven't seen. Is there any chance I can see some of it here in New York?"

"Well, I'm looking to restage a play I did called Ecstacy. Are you familiar with that?"

"No, not really. I've seen the title, though."

"Well, that's in the works."

And then I couldn't resist. I pulled out my Life is Sweet VHS. "I gotta do this. Could you sign this, Mr. Leigh? I usually prefer to get people to sign one-sheets, but I couldn't find a one-sheet for this movie. It's my favorite of your works."

"Is it?" he asked, as he signed. "Oh, yeah," I said, "It makes me feel great every time I watch it."

"Well, thank you..."

"Thank you, Mr. Leigh, for everything."

"Good luck to you, Dean." We shook hands lightly, and then the best filmmaker on the planet walked away from me, looking me in the eye, and I remain, still, to this day, dumbstruck.

NYFF Review #3: Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives

Until now, I had never seen an Apichatpong Weerasethakul movie on the big screen. In fact, I'd been holding off altogether on seeing one of Joe's movies (Weerasethakul prefers to be called "Joe" and I was thrilled when I heard a NYFF staff member call to him as such). But why had I abstained from his work? Well, the maker of two of the last decade's most reverentially loved movies Syndromes and a Century and Tropical Malady was, I had heard, a filmmaking giant. And, fittingly, I wanted my first experience with him to be in the theater, in the darkness and with those high ceilings. Man, did I get what I wanted.

On the second day of my dive into the NYFF experience, I caught the East Coast premiere of Weerasethakul's Palme D' Or-winning film Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives. At 9 am, and harried after a crazy subway trip from Brooklyn to the Upper West Side of Manhattan, and Lincoln Center's Walter Reade Theater, I think I took my seat with my lips pursed. Okay, genius. Impress me.

I held off giving over to Weerasethakul longer than I'd like to admit. I stubbornly thought not much of the gorgeous opening shot: an ox tethered by rope to a tree, with an elegant plume of smoke before him in the deep blue night. SPOILER ALERT: the ox breaks away, and escapes into the jungle. After a ranch hand leads the beast back to its post, Weersethakul cuts away to his film's most memorable image:

(this is an internet find, and though I darkened it, it's still not the image, in all its blues and greens and reds, that I recall from the film)

I did not expect this movie to worm its way into my dreams. I expect this of no movie, and as far as I can remember, no movie has ever achieved this status, at least not so soon after I'd first seen it. But Uncle Boonmee staked claim to at least one of my recent nights. And, upon awakening, I'm embarrassed to say I woke up practicing my pronunciation of a name I once found impossible: Weerasethakul.

I think it was that last freakin' scene. It goes over into another dimension, and I was then won over, totally--like IN LOVE won over. Nevermind the fact that, before, there was an unbelievable sojourn down into the depths of the earth, with the stars of the sky in evidence, and life in the smallest pond, too; forget that there was a princess adorned, and that blue-green Apocalypse Now forest; forget that there was the taste of tamarind-flavored honey, and please don't mention that spirit that appears--WHOA!-- before the eyes, at the dinner table, like the greatest special effect ever performed. (Really, it stunned me, like it does the characters onscreen, and the scene made me think Weerasethakul was a bonafide magician.)

Anyway, in my dream, I was skiing down a snowy slope with Joe Weerasethakul, and I only remember that it was night, and we hardly talked, even at the bottom of the hill. And then I remember seeing the LCD red eyes of the Monkey Ghosts, and I knew then I was in my bed, hardly asleep. I barely recall waking up, and here it is Uncle Boonmee can recall his past lives: maybe as an ox that broke away from the farm, or as an amorous fish, or as a healthy young man that killed Communists, and insects, for his country.

Hearing Joe talk after the movie, during the festival's Q&A, I learned there's much in Uncle Boonmee that's special to him, special to his culture. That stuff is alien to a Georgia boy like me. But that doesn't keep Uncle Boonmee from penetrating my subconscious, with its killer droning, chirping soundtrack lulling us into meditative territory. What, you might ask, is this phantasmagoric picture about? I might happily ask you the same thing after hearing you've seen it, while holding my own theories close to my chest. Ultimately, I'll now only say that Uncle Boonmee deals primarily with the glory of its own vision.

PS: I saw a friend talking to Joe, alone, after the movie. I wanted to join in, but I couldn't think of anything to say, so I let the opportunity go by the wayside. What does one say to a poet?

NYFF Review #2: The Autobiography of Nicolae Ceauşescu

In covering the NY Film Festival, I just couldn't do a review a day. Much less two reviews. This is not how I roll.

So I've decided to review the 2010 New York Film Festival as such:

My first day, I wandered into the Walter Reade Theater, not knowing what to expect. I'm seriously hurting for money, so my therapist thought I should come equipped with cards and resumes. But I've arrived with neither, and don't expect to be passing out either during my time here. It's just too weird, to be searching for a job in a place where people expect you to have one. So I keep to myself. The others here at the festival, they seem like they are of another Earth. And they don't bother getting to know me, so I'm safe.

And, in this spirit, my first film of the the 2010 NYFF is called The Autobiography of Nicolae Ceauşescu. I went in knowing only a few things about Ceauşescu: (1) he was the "dictator" of Romania from 1964 to 1989; (2) he squandered the country's money on a ridiculous, ego-boosting building project; (3) he and his wife, looking like your unsuspecting grandparents, were executed by his one-time public upon the fall of Communism.

Given this, The Autobiography of Nicolae Ceauşescu strikes me as a film about evil not knowing that it's evil. At least media-wise, Ceauşescu was forward-thinking: he made sure his filmmaking team was running at least an hour of every day he was in power. On many days, they were powered up five times that. But they were only recording that which he demanded they record. As a result, filmmaker Andrei Ujica has at his disposal, in the construction of this remarkable movie, thousands of hours of footage to pick through. Via choice and circumstance, he narrowed his overlook down to 240 hours of footage (all keenly shot, even including Ceauşescu's private hunting expeditions). From Ujica's notating eye, we get this portrait of a man who didn't bother to notice his steady slide into darkness.

The black-and-white footage, from behind the Comintern, shows Ceauşescu thinking he's doing a good thing for his people. He's freeing them from bondage. And, most importantly, he's making sure they are fed. From here, he goes on a road trip, on a tour through markets, sampling the breads and the meats available now to the Romanians. And, yeah, see how great I am? You can buy and eat this shit! (That is, until things got really bad, and the loaves of bread and the sides of meat were made of plastic, all for the camera to capture.)

But, later, when color bleeds into the scene, politics get into the mix. And after he visits China, and Mao, you start to notice a lot more portraits of Ceauşescu plastered up all over the place. Always a bad sign. Political rule #1: If you need to put your mug all over your country, then you're a dictator.

One of the biggest laughs I got at the 2010 NYFF was the phony-fied image of a Romanian parade, circa 1970 or so, highlighting the Romanian athletes soon to be displaying their wares at the Olympics. In this parade: a moving boxing ring, a moving volleyball court, each inching their way down the parade route. Ridiculous. Outlandish. One of the best laughs I've gotten from 2010 movies came from The Autobiography of Nicolae Ceauşescu.

Andrei Ujica, who's done two other films about Ceauşescu (CHOW-chess-cue, as I learned) before this one, has some feeling for his subject. The elderly Ceauşescu and his wife, Elena, are seen at the beginning and the end, mama and papa, basically pleading for their lives. And though we don't see their deaths (no one did; they occurred so quickly that even cameras couldn't capture them), we can feel the filmmakers' sideways remorse at their speedy trial (though he knows they're just, especially after the dictator ordered his armies to fire upon his protesting people). Interestingly, though, the film seems to be slightly as much an apologia as a damnation. Those of us not in the know--those of us not Romanian--have no idea, from only this film, why the man and his wife were dispatched so ignominiously. But we can get a good notion from the pointless 80-foot-high ceilinged palaces built on countless acres of land while regular Romanians were lucky to find a crust of bread. But, still, is justice done?

And is this an "autobiography?" Not a minute of this footage--and there's three hours of it here--failed being rubber stamped by the Ceauşescu camp (and this includes his meeting with Richard Nixon and Jimmy Carter, too). So maybe this is a filmed memoir. Yeah, the Romanian president didn't have the final cut, but The Autobiography of Nicolae Ceauşescu is the truest kind of document: one that's been, by image only, given the okay, and with all good things included, by its maker, and almost all good things included by the editor (the film nearly approaches travelogue territory). The only problem is, though he was surrounded by luxury, one extravagance this film's cherished and dirtied subject never could afford was the will to suss out who he was, really, in the larger scheme of the world. And I'm certain all the filming failed to help.

Notes on the 2010 NYFF: THE SOCIAL NETWORK press conference

The New York Film Festival has been kind enough to provide, for those of us without cameras, full coverage of the post-screening press conference for The Social Network, with writer Aaron Sorkin, star Jesse Eisenberg, director David Fincher, and stars Andrew Garfield and Justin Timberlake in the hot seats. I was there in the third row, middle seat, but I couldn't get my question in (I really wanted to ask about Erica Albright, the character played by Rooney Mara in the very first scene, and whether she was a real person and, if so, if she could somehow be considered the "inspiration" for Facebook). At any rate, I thought I'd provide the full press conference here on filmicability. By the way, I found David Fincher to be a very funny guy (there's a tiny bit that's cut out of the video below: at the beginning of the second part, a question is lobbed about Fincher's technical prowness, and the reporter mentions that Never Let Me Go director Mark Romanek said Fincher can recite the back page of any manual, and Fincher playfully said under his breath "What a dick!"). Anyway, here we go:

Notes on the 2010 New York Film Festival: 1

A couple months ago, I'd have slapped you and called you a loon if you'd have told me that, today, I'd be in the third row of the Walter Reade Theater, seeing the first public NYC screening of the Movie of the Now, David Fincher's The Social Network, with its writer (Aaron Sorkin), director, and three leads (Jesse Eisenberg, Andrew Garfield and Justin Timberlake) in attendance. But, indeed, this is the case. Crazy things do happen.

First off, let me say, The Social Network very much deserves to be the Opening Night offering for this country's most svelte, no-nonsense festival. It is, as of this writing, the film of the year. And when I first saw the now-legendary trailer (which is not echoed in the movie per se but is very much so represented emotionally), that goddang bell went off in my head. DING DING DING! This is the one! You should know, I get that bell going off every once in a while, when I see a sign of the movie of the year. Rarely is the DING DING DING wrong. And still I stop short of calling it a decade-defining movie, because its themes are too wide-reaching for such limited praise. The Social Network is simply too moving and smart, rich and suspenseful, to be pidgeonholed as movie of this time only. But I'll save my review for later, and I'll tell you why, at the personal risk of burying the "lead." But, THIS IS the lead, in my opinion:


About five months ago, I started listening to an absolutely, astoundingly great movie-related podcast on Blog Talk Radio.com called Movie Geeks United. Hosted out of Tampa, Florida by the inimitable Jamey Duvall and co-hosted, from Washington DC, by the super-knowledgeable and friendly Jerry Dennis, Movie Geeks United was nearly everything I had hoped to enjoy one day: a audio-only, free-form discussion of not only movies of the day, but also movies of the past. Instantly, upon hearing my first episode (about three years after these guys had started the project), I knew I'd met kindred spirits. But after catching my first installment of MGU, I was aghast that this uncommonly lively show--which invited us EVERYDAY listeners to call in--had almost no other voices out there chiming in on things cinematic. Confident of my ability to talk extemporaneously about any facet of the movie business (given my past experience), I began calling in on a weekly, sometimes bi-weekly, schedule.

I think Jamey and Jerry really dug talking to a caller who could converse intelligently with them about movies, even if said caller was sometimes too vociferous (I've learned to control myself and listen a lot more since my first shows). And so, at any rate, from my lowly flat in Midwood, deep in Brooklyn NY, I was soon contributing regularly, as a character of sorts, to Movie Geeks United in an unofficial capacity. I even started getting fans, and was namechecked by Jerry as the person that knows more about movies than anyone he could recall. And I killed on the on-air trivia contests. Plus, I was occasionally funny, and always well-reasoned, if not always armed with the popular opinions. And this leads to where we are now.


A little over 45 days ago, seeing that the 2010 New York Film Festival was coming up, I got the bright idea to offer Movie Geeks United my services as a representative reporter for the NYFF goings-on. I posed the idea to Jamey, and at first, he wasn't for it, mainly because he thought it would be a fruitless effort. I assured him that the festival's staff was very wise about the direction of online film criticism, and that they were quite accepting of people like us. It didn't take too much persuasion, because Jamey said, in effect, what the hell, as long as you, Dean, handle it. If we got in, good, and if not, no harm done.

I framed my letter of application as primarily one as representative of the internet's #1 movie podcast, which Movie Geeks United is certainly entitled to bill itself. In my writing, I pride myself on honesty and full disclosure, so I'll let you in on my sales pitch. Here, in part, is what I wrote to the New York Film Festival's press office:

MOVIE GEEKS UNITED is the leading movie-related podcast on the net. With over a million subscribers, host Jamey Duvall and co-host Jerry Dennis have created a unique and fun way for film fans to think and converse about films. Their show has been so successful, they've attracted an impressive line-up of past guests. Here's only a very partial list: James Cameron (on Aug. 25, 2010), Robert Duvall, Francis Ford Coppola, John Sayles, Paul Schrader, Brian DePalma, Joe Dante, Elizabeth Shue, Patricia Clarkson, Matthew Broderick, Jeremy Renner, Chazz Palmentieri, Jon Voight, Jeff Goldblum, Alan Rickman, James Toback, Ellen Burstyn, and Leslie Caron. Add to this mix an impressive number of character actors, newcomers, composers, editors, cinematographers, and film experts--you can see the list of guests on the website, and listen to any show you like. I, myself, have been appearing on the program for the past four months, on a regular basis, and both Jamey and Jerry are impressed enough with my knowledge of film to charge me with this assignment (I will be providing further coverage of the festival on my blog at http://filmicability.blogspot.com).

I'd love to say the the inclusion of the last bit--the URL to this lovely site--was the deciding factor in the NYFF's decision to let me attend. But I only rate about 9000 hits a month (and, by the way, you and your friends could change this). Meanwhile, Movie Geeks United, as far as I'm concerned, is an online titan, and I'm glad to do whatever I can for them free of charge, just because I love the show, and the people involved. Of course, I wanted to go to the festival, but it wouldn't mean nearly as much to me, somehow, if I were doing it only for myself and filmicability.

I knew we'd get in. I knew it. And when we did, I was not surprised, but still ecstatic. And so, as the magnificent Jamey Duvall requested of me (what a voice, and passion for film Jamey has), I'll be revealing my initial thoughts about The Social Network on the September 26th episode of Movie Geeks United, and immediately afterward, I'll be posting my full written review on filmicability, right in time for Monday morning surftime. So if you want a preview of what I'll be saying in "ink," (and that's a Social Network reference) and a host of other films playing at the 2010 New York Film Festival, dial up and tune in.

Specific to that September 26th show (which will also feature an interview with Little Children and Barry Munday lead Patrick Wilson), you should know, I'll also be reporting on what was said at the riveting press conference by the five major players involved in The Social Network. As well, I'll be offering my thumbnail impressions of the festival's offerings thus far. EXAMPLES: Oliver Assayas 5 1/2 hour quasi-gangster picture Carlos, Martin Scorsese's love note to Kazan A Letter To Elia (co-directed by Film Comment regular Kent Jones), the music doc LennonNYC, Russia's lovely Silent Souls, and Cannes champs Uncle Boonmee Recalls His Past Lives (Apiachapong Weerasethakul, Thailand) and Certified Copy (by Iran's Abbas Kierostami, starring Best Actress winner Juliette Binoche, who's a true stunner in the film).


And over the next 15 days or so, on filmicability, I'll be posting FULL daily reviews of each film that I've seen (to date, I've caught 14 out of some 35 features). That way, I'll be covering much more than even the estimable Movie Geeks United wants to handle. And, now, onto the next set of notes.

Now that I've gotten this intro out of the way, I can truly begin...


The Social Network is the Opening Night film for the 48th New York Film Festival, and is playing at 6 p.m. and 9 p.m. September 24th, at the Lincoln Center's Alice Tully Hall, 1941 Broadway (at 65th Street), New York, NY 10023.

For more ticket information regarding this or any of the festival's many other great offerings, go online here, or call (212) 875-5050

David Fincher's The Social Network opens nationwide on Friday, October 1st.