NYFF: A Tiger and a Princess (or Two) Walk Into a Cafe...

NYFF continues. Here's Nathaniel with brief takes on three films...

Allow me to break a rule of film criticism. Rather than wag fingers at directors/films and call them "pretentious!" (a common and near-useless criticism for films with ambitions) or "opaque" (a beautiful adjective, less judgmental but still descriptive of the "ummm..." effect), I shall simply admit that sometimes I don't get it. I think we all have these cases, whether it be films/genres or even entire filmographies that are headscratchers to us whilst others drool. Most people are loathe to admit it lest they seem dumb but I don't have time to worry about that. Way too busy for that particular insecurity. Especially with all the room in my schedule I make for the other ones.

I'm pairing these three films (Ming of Harlem, The Princess of France, and Hill of Freedom) for that reason and also because they all have "of" in the title. Deep reasons. Here we go...

MING OF HARLEM 
Ming is a tiger. Harlem is Harlem.

This documentary is about a 400 lb tiger that was once living in a Harlem skyrise not too far from where I live. My cat lives with me in a Harlem skyrise, too, but he's only 11 lbs. The film is part of the "Projection" series at NYFF. That's a potentially less offputting title for a swath of moviegoers than "Views from the Avant Garde" which is what it used to be called. Having seen the picture, I'm not sure I understand what's avante garde about it?

Perhaps it's the lack of talking heads projecting emotions on to animals OR explaining the psychology of the man who housed them until he was sent to prison for doing just that. Perhaps it's the very sparse insertion of local and national news footage from the time of the scandal, of which there is surely a lot more. The movie is, in part, more of a meditative look at two animals; the tiger shared his apartment with a full grown alligator albeit not in the same room...

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NYFF: Out of Sight, Time Out of Mind

NYFF continues. Here's Glenn looking at Richard Gere in 'Time Out of Mind'.

“The Richard Gere homeless movie” is a bit of a glib way to describe Time out of Mind, but that is the moniker that Oren Moverman’s third feature has found itself labelled with. I mean, it’s not like it’s without merit; Richard Gere does indeed play a homeless man, something far removed from the type of roles we’re more typically used to seeing the 65-year-old actor portray – and something one critic at the post-film Q&A attempted to allude to by asking the actor to compare this role to that in Paul Schrader’s American Gigolo, much to the actor’s and the crowd’s confusion.

I wish I could say there was more going on in Oren Moverman’s film, but I’m not sure I can. At least outside of the formal aspirations, which are admittedly very impressive and the sort of thing that made me wish for a meatier film to support them.

Moverman’s third film after the Oscar-nominated The Messenger and the contemptuous Rampart is a simple one, preferring to simply observe rather than truly examine the plague of homelessness. Large chunks of the film play out at a distance both emotionally and physically as Moverman’s camera stares at him from across the street, through windows, behind doors and in crowds, a visual concept that works technical wonders. In comparison to another homeless-on-the-streets-of-New-York film at NYFF, the Safdie brothers’ Heaven Knows What, which favored intense close-ups and bleak 16mm imagery, cinematographer Bobby Bukowski views from afar and when coupled with the enveloping diegetic sound design helps create a spellbinding technical achievement that is far beyond the film’s otherwise meagre we-are-the-world aspirations.

Politically, Time out of Mind has the same sort of goals as Bob Dylan from whom the film gets it title. Shining a light on a shameful part of American (and indeed global) society, but doesn’t really go far enough. On a dramatic level the film works better when Gere is allowed to share the screen with and interact with others. Jena Malone as the daughter he follows while she’s on a date and at work at a dive bar. Bob Vereen as a fellow shelter-seeker. And most impressively Kyra Sedgwick who is virtually unrecognizable as a woman of the streets who pushes around a cart of cans, sharing a moment of emotional and physical intimacy with the lead character that speaks to the universal nature of wanting to connect.

The film’s style will undoubtedly frustrate many who would likely favor something more immediate that would allow Gere the chance to scream and yell about the plight of being homeless. While I certainly don’t quite want that, more an emotional anchor would have been appreciated. As it is, Time Out of Mind is too long for something with such a slim emotional trajectory. As is common with films of this type, the moment it ends is perhaps the moment it gets the most interesting dramatically. As a technical demonstration, however, Moverman and his crew have achieved something special. It’s an awkward balancing act that doesn’t always work, but there’s a lot here to admire. B-

Time Out of Mind screens on Sunday Oct 5 (6pm) and Thursday Oct 9 (8.45pm)

NYFF: Pasolini, or One Day of Sodom

Our coverage of the New York Film Festival continues - here is Jason tackling Abel Ferrara's biopic Pasolini with Willem Dafoe.

This is a review of Abel Ferrara's Pasolini, but let me just start by saying that I loved Bertrand Bonello's Saint Laurent. Nathaniel reviewed Saint Laurent and he was more measured in his appreciation of it than I would be - I was bowled over by its style and its sex appeal. I loved it. I went into it with next to no expectations - I'm usually indifferent to fashion bio-pics, I haven't seen Bonello's other films, and Gaspard Ulliel's left me cold up to now - but near to three hours later I was a disciple. Saint Laurent tells the story of a gay man, a creative force to be reckoned with, whose flirtations with reckless sex in the 1970s led him to a muddy field, beaten bloody...

the real Pier Paolo Pasolini... which brings us to Pasolini, the story of a gay man, a creative force to be reckoned with, whose flirtations with reckless sex in the 1970s led him to a muddy field, beaten bloody. I took the long way around but I got there, bridging the two, and I bring up the way the two films shadow each other for more than superficial purposes - it's in the part about "a creative force to be reckoned with" where I see Bonello's film sparking to life while Ferrara's remains curiously distant.

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NYFF: From Russia with Love and 'Pomegranates'

New York Film Festival isn't just about the new. Here is Glenn on the restoration of Sergei Parajanov's 1968 avant-garde classic 'The Color of Pomegranates'.

Conversing at a bar last Friday night after the premiere NYFF screening of David Fincher’s Gone Girl, I mentioned to Nathaniel that I knew what shot I would choose for “Hit Me With Your Best Shot”. I’m not sure about you, but I frequently find myself attempting to work out what my selection would be when I watch a movie. As I’ve mentioned previously, I am very much into the visual and formal aspects of a film so whether it’s a cheap horror movie or a prestige epic my eyes attempt to scope these things out.

Which brings me to the restoration of Sergei Parajanov’s The Colour of Pomegranates (also known as Sayat Nova). This, quite frankly, is a film in which it would be impossible to find just one single piece of imagery to label the best.

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NYFF: Saint Laurent is Über-Stylish but...

Our NYFF coverage continues with Nathaniel on France's Oscar submission Saint Laurent.

If you're going to make a biopic of one of the great fashion designers, it better damn well be stylish. Saint Laurent one of two new biopics tackling the iconic French designer Yves Saint Laurent assures you of its gifts in this area almost immediately. There's nary a frame, at least for the first two thirds of the film, that you couldn't frame and admire for aesthetic reasons: rich decadent colors, gorgeous actors as gorgeous people, carefully composed shots in elaborately decorated homes, dark exclusive clubs, and interiors of stores that that are so beautiful in their rigidity that they look more like institutional museums after hours, free of consumers but full of art. Even the daring full frontal nudity is stylish, whether it's employed for confrontational queer desire or for humor as in a memorable sequence late in the picture between a clothed woman and naked one. The scene plays like unintentional comedy for a moment until you discern that it's actual comedy, a meta joke about overdetermined STYLE and the fashion world's self mythologizing nature within a movie positively dripping with style and self-mythologizing.

The director Bertrand Bonello (House of Tolerance, The Pornographer) has chosen the right form for his movie -- at least in part, telling the story visually first and foremost, and lushly and creatively at that. Would that I had a photographic memory to recount the many fine choices but there are three that stuck with me, all from the first and second acts...

dangerous gay players & beautiful dress-up muses after the jump...

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