Bear's Film Journal

Words and images with a focus on cinema.
July 31, 2009

The White Ribbon (Michael Haneke, 2009)

We are looking into the past, and that implies a future. We are haunted because we can already see the future reflected in the past. We are trapped because we know this is human nature and for all the good in the world there is just enough evil to wipe it all out. The setting of a small town dominated by religion and agriculture is perfect for Haneke’s examination of what he refers to as ‘the origin of every type of terrorism’. Scene after scene we watch as innocence is crushed; as one ‘accident’ becomes multiple atrocities. Through all of this we are gently guided by the voice over narration of the village school teacher, now an old man looking back on the strange events that transpired around him so many years ago. He builds the central mystery of the film and helps to weave all of the characters and their loose narrative threads together. Meanwhile his younger self is falling awkwardly in love with a young new arrival to the community, creating a warm, albeit difficult romance in the middle of the ever-growing shroud of darkness that is The White Ribbon‘s weighty thematic construction. This lofty morality play is made all the more successful and engaging by the adeptness of the craft, which is so piercing and succinct that it avoids being heavy-handed or contrived and instead elevates the serious quintessence of the story to a challenging, enthralling intensity.

I was lucky enough to view The White Ribbon in its original digital format, which provided the cleanest, sharpest cinematic experience of my life. Every insignificant facial hair, every tear drop, every wrinkle was right there, unmistakably real and visible on each worn and worried face. Wide shots filled with such fine detail and the exquisite use of vertical framing pushing characters and objects to both the top and bottom of frame simultaneously, forcing our eyes to roam about the exhaustive and rich world, creating a stark, meaningful transparency. Comparisons to the work of Béla Tarr seem fitting, not just for the use of black and white, but also the long tracking shots, which move like a silent ghost through the houses and lives of the characters. At times lighting would become so sparse that we would be left with nothing more than a fiery flicker, which would then, upon the arrival of winter, create an extreme contrast with the burning whiteness of the fresh snow. This scrupulously consistent aesthetic is more than just beautiful; it is an accurate, commendable representation of the internal functioning of the film. Still, I feel what will stay with me the longest is the performances of the children. Each one felt professional, authentic and mature, no doubt another testament to the excellent direction of Michael Haneke, who has created a film with absolute intent and potent execution.

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July 18, 2009

Bright Star (Jane Campion, 2009)

There are few experiences more rewarding than watching a film that knows precisely what it is and is able to flourish without restriction or compromise as a result of this. Without narrative pressure or contrived dramatics, Bright Star presents a deep and relatable romance, driven by a subdued intensity and sophisticated insight that burrows right down to the heart of love and loss. It is a remarkably unassuming film, which makes it all the more real and lingering as it allowed me to reflect on what is most important in life. There is a delicate balance between the organic and the cinematic, not just in the writing but also the aesthetic, which feels as much like a living painting as it does a carefully considered recreation of the time period. Glorious nature floods our eyes in each exterior scene, feeling boundless and profound in its beauty. The story follows suit, unfolding slowly and building upon itself cohesively; its world, its characters and its trajectory are all surreptitiously gripping. By the start of the second act I was hooked, unable and unwilling to let go. I did not perceive a single misstep as I became entranced with each wonderful shot, with each movement, with each flicker of an eye, each brick, each flower, each frivolous, lively hat or costume. It is, most suitably, visual poetry.

Jane Campion has found divine moments inside narrow spaces, often through the use of shallow focus or expressionistic yet naturalistic lighting. This wavering cinematography separates each layer of each frame to such a degree that they can be savoured almost as individual flavours. It is only later that they combine to form a complete image, then able to articulate a full, mature resonance. In these narrow spaces, which exist only for fleeting moments, intimacy is found. This is a heartbreaking intimacy, one that you can never hold onto and only stumble upon by sheer luck, or perhaps by sheer misfortune. Yet I have a feeling  that Campion looks at this tragic romance with an optimistic eye, able to appreciate that happiness, even if only for such a short spell, is worthy of a lifetime of emotion. Ben Whishaw’s performance is, just as I had expected, terrific. He carries himself with enough dignity to command respect and presence as a figure, and enough humour and tenderness to garner my affection for him as a man lost in love. However, Abbie Cornish, who plays Fanny, the central figure of the film, may have outdone him. Her performance is complex, animated and, much like her ever-changing wardrobe, fits the film adroitly. By and large Bright Star is quiet, elusive and collectively personal. It never goes out of its way or loses its modesty, and for that I am thankful. Set and costume design does not get any better, and rarely do films come across so effortless, so inspired and touching, so simultaneously genuine and elegant.

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