drama

No One Killed Jessica

mandy — Tue, 01 Feb 2011 08:00:00 +0000

In 1999 model/waitress Jessica Lall refused to serve drinks to a rowdy man in a crowded bar, who then shot her point blank in a fit of rage. That man turned out to be the son of an influential politician, but with 300 witnesses it seemed like a straightforward case. However, in an unfortunate example of the rot in the judicial system and rampant corruption, all the witnesses were either threatened or paid off, and the evidence was tampered with, leading to the release of the killer. No One Killed Jessica by Rajkumar Gupta follows the initial courtroom campaign relentlessly pursued by Jessica’s sister, Sabrina (Vidya Balan), and then the news media battle for the reopening of the case led by fictionalized reporter Meera (Rani Mukherji).

No One Killed Jessica remains obsessively loyal to the central plot of the real events; the film is about the murder case and nothing else. There are no romantic tracks snuck into the narrative, no diversions, and no subplots. Every scene is in some way connected to the main story, and this loyalty becomes the film’s greatest strength. For just over two hours, Gupta sucks you into the minute details of the case and, even if you know how it all turns out, the film makes you feel disgust for the guilty parties and root for justice. The bigger message here is the immense power of a democratic movement leading to a change in the system. As Meera questions at one point, “What would happen if power is truly given to the ordinary man?”

The structure of the film is intriguing. The two protagonists hardly have any screen time together and there is a reason for it. The first half of the film is focused more on Sabrina and her fight to ensure a solid case against the accused, Manu Sharma. Meera’s life runs parallel to provide a wider news context of the time (i.e., Kargil war, Indian Airlines flight hijacking), but she doesn’t really have a role to play in the Jessica case at that stage. The first half also moves at a somewhat slow pace, fitting in well with the simpleton personality of Sabrina’s character. The second half then sprints into more sensational and glamorized action where Meera comes to the forefront and takes on the cause. Sabrina’s role then diminishes until the latter parts, and the very moving climax.

Mukherji’s portrayal of Meera is by far the more interesting character, whereas Balan’s Sabrina becomes so understated that she comes off as dull. The most memorable performance, however, is by newcomer Myra Karn who plays Jessica. She is simply a revelation. She injects such charm and vivaciousness into Jessica that you instantly fall for her.

Hindi cinema has traditionally had a very overbearing approach to advocating social change. With No One Killed Jessica, Gupta walks a fine line between making a hard-hitting realistic film and a commercial political thriller. As a result, he tends to slip on a few occasions. However, considering that every detail of the case is already so well known, Gupta delivers his retelling in such an engaging manner that you get pulled into the chaos of the moment. No One Killed Jessica is a brave film that picks a battle and fights it until the end. It’s not just a promising start to the films of 2011, but with all the corruption scandals plaguing India these days, the timing seems even more appropriate.

Read the full review at The NRI

Written by: Pulkit Datta, February 1st 2011

Parenthood

admin — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 17:01:00 +0000

By Jason Katims

NBC

Based on the 1989 Ron Howard movie Parenthood, writer Jason Katims has revised the premise into a modern day, one-hour drama that explores the many facets of being a parent. The stellar cast includes Lauren Graham (Gilmore Girls), Craig T. Nelson (Coach), and Erika Christensen (Traffic). The intertwining of the many characters is organized by the family connection of the parents, their two sons, their two daughters, plus the in-laws and grandchildren (though the storylines focus primarily on the bloodline brood). It’s the complexity of moderate dysfunction and typical family dilemmas with many points of view—from parents raising young ones, to raising teenagers, to being an adult child dealing with their parents, to being the grandparent that struggles to transition into a new realm of parenthood, and negotiating each of the relationships in the midst of it all.

The pilot episode provides a fast-paced introduction to the characters by diving right into their lives. It immediately builds character development and emotional attachment, and is a surprisingly perfect balance that is sure to leave the audience wanting more. During the opening, you find Sarah Braverman (Lauren Graham) has recently divorced her deadbeat husband. She’s moving back in with her parents and bringing her two teenage children, though first she has to retrieve her daughter and insist she come with her. It’s a refreshing change from the single mother Graham previously played (Lorelai Gilmore), who was more of a friend and less of a mom. Upon Sarah’s arrival back home, you quickly see her place within the family and begin to understand the dynamics at play in the relationships.

The character that intrigues my feminist sensibility the most is Julia Braverman (Erika Christensen), a highly successful lawyer and mother of one, whose husband is a stay-at-home dad. It is clear in this episode that while she enjoys her triumphs within her career, she is saddened that her young daughter is much closer to her husband. Sure, women are capable of doing it all, but the question is whether doing it all makes women happy.

As much as it is great to have all of the options the world can offer, what is often overlooked is the inner turmoil that comes from making sacrifices, especially when it comes to motherhood. It will be very interesting watching how the over-achieving, controlling, people pleasing Julia Braverman navigates her life and deals with her inner conflict.

Parenthood will provide an insightful look into the joy, pain, frustration, and self-discovery that comes with being a parent. After all, no parent or child is perfect, but with a lot of love and striving to do the best with what you do know, parenthood can be a rewarding adventure. And from the looks of it, this new show has the potential to help viewers gain insight as children and parents themselves.

Written by: Sarah Eve Nichols-Fulghum, February 15th 2010

Mutluluk

admin — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 09:00:00 +0000

Directed by Abdullah Oguz

First Run Features

In his first few shots, all very wide angles and washed-out greens, Abdullah Oguz shows his cards as an ambitious, technically brilliant filmmaker. In the Anatolian countryside, a flock of sheep turns a slow circle as the camera, peering down on a girl’s body, does the same. A melody—composed by Zülfü Livaneli, who also wrote the book on which this film was based—hums through the valley. A shepherd picks up the girl, and so begins Mutluluk.

The characters in a village drama are executing by rote what, as a character glibly explains later, circumstances demanded: Young Meryem (Özgü Namal) has been raped. Her father reluctantly submits to cousin Ali Riza Amen (Mustafa Avkiran) insistence she be killed to mitigate the family’s shame. When Ali Riza’s son Cemal (Murat Han) returns from military service, he begrudgingly takes the girl to Istanbul in order to carry out his father’s sentence. But he can't carry it out, and after his last-minute change of heart, Cemal and Meryem flee Istanbul and Ali Riza’s henchmen. Aimless after a stint at a remote fishery on the Mediterranean, on a whim the young cousins join a stranger named Irfan (Talat Belet), who has fled his wife and professorship for a yachting joy-ride around the Aegean.

From there, the film devolves into maudlin lectures on beauty, purity, and love, giving its stars little room to develop their broadly drawn characters; Cemal swings between stoically surly and jealously unhinged, Irfan acts predictably free-spirited, and for the most part Meryem hangs back meekly. Fortunately, the lectures are lent some credence by the wide-angle attention that cinematographer Mirsad Herovic pays the seascapes and craggy shores and by the adaptable actors’ still game performances.

However, some of Mutluluk most powerful scenes become its most disappointing because the dramatic confrontations they stage prove neither earned nor transformative. Oguz saves the identity of Meryem’s rapist as a minor and unnecessary shocker for the end, and he pulls too many tricks to convey intensity: sped up tracking shots, sudden switches to black and white, barrages of extreme facial close-ups.

Such clutter is doubly frustrating because Oguz is a gifted storyteller with a knack for expansive imagery—fenced-in fishes, an elevated expressway—and an affection for his characters. Thanks to the tenderness with which he imbues even mundane exchanges, Mutluluk develops almost imperceptibly from a tale of sheltered villagers struggling with imposed moral codes into one of dear friends negotiating their personal senses of duty. While Meryem stumbles headlong past the sites of her rape and would-be murder, the film moves gorgeous and delicately alongside toward some seafaring redemption.

Written by: Sam Schulz, December 7th 2009

Thirst

admin — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 10:08:00 +0000

Directed by Park Chan-Wook

Focus Features

Some say the mark of a great film is that it defies our expectations. If that's the case, then Oldboy director Park Chan-wook's latest should be considered one of the best. Thirst is the story of a Catholic priest who becomes a vampire, and has thus earned the label of a horror flick, but the film itself is virtually genre-proof. Sure, the experience of watching it was somewhat similar to that of any slasher, in that I had to cringe and turn my head away from the gore from time to time (an embarrassing admission for a film reviewer). But the sheer variety and complexity of the thoughts and emotions Thirst conjured makes it much more than just "horror" and, frankly, much more than just another film.

Appropriately, Thirst is a feast for the senses, Park's sound and visuals quickly tumbling toward the operatic as priest Sang-Hyun (The Host's Song Kang-ho) surrenders more and more to his vampiric desires. Sang-Hyun's addictive relationship with the young Tae-Joo (Kim Ok-vin) nearly puts him—and us—on sensory overload. Park acknowledges—or rather, foreshadows—that this isn't necessarily a good thing, making their sex scenes alternately titillating and disgusting.

What's most startling, though, is how such carnality is often meshed with a hyperbolic, almost slapstick sense of humor. When Sang-Hyun "feeds," we find him lying on the floor of a hospital room, taking pulls from a patient's IV like he's sipping a milkshake through a straw. And when he and Tae-Joo sleep together for the first time, she literally has to pry his stubborn virginal legs apart to make it happen.

Park has dubbed his own film a "vampire melodrama," and there is definitely a strong classical Hollywood influence at play here. Tae-Joo is a modern update on the femme fatale of the '40s, right down to the way she convinces Sang-Hyun to murder her husband, clutching his shoulder a la Norma Desmond. And as in the best traditional noir films, it is she who steals the show and whose story we ultimately remember most. This is due in no small part to Kim, who is both classic and creative in her journey from a ghost of a young girl to a delightfully manipulative monster of a woman. To think that this young actor's career has only just begun is truly exciting.

Certain viewers may find it jarring to watch Thirst seamlessly shift from horror to dark comedy to suspense thriller to romance, but its themes of morality, guilt, and redemption are consistent and utterly powerful. For this reason alone, it is worth seeing, preferably on the big screen for the sake of Park's meticulous compositions, and if you're anything like me, you'll crave a second viewing as soon as the end credits roll.

Written by: Caitlin Graham, August 18th 2009

Small Gods: Elena's Elegy

admin — Sat, 28 Mar 2009 22:59:00 +0000

By Dimitri Karakatsanis

Potemkind

Small Gods, a film by Dimitri Karakatsanis, is described as being part of the Belgian new wave film movement. What that means, I'm not sure, but I'm absolutely in love it. While shot on a dismally cheap budget, you would never be able to tell with the gorgeous visuals that play out on screen. The film opens with a teary-eyed David, kidnapping Elena from the hospital after she has lost her son in a car crash. Elena awakes in David's mobile home and little dialogue passes between the two of them. David and Elena become travel partners rescuing a young mute, Sarah, from the side of the road. The three characters are a motley crew, who refuse to fit into the roles given to them by society. David is a compassionate man who goes around hugging people, because he can feel when they need the contact, while Elena does not adhere to gender stereotypes, working the forklift in a factory and being known for her quick, bullish temper. Sarah, whose past is revealed towards the end of the film, has taken a vow of silence and refuses to speak.

The film unravels slowly, switching back and forward between Elena being interviewed by a lawyer, and clips of what happened between she, David, and Sarah. The film is stunningly beautiful. Karakatsanis uses Belgium's hazy landscape and overcast grayness to only deepen the colors and mood of the film. Some of the most beautiful shots between the actors are in silhouettes, where you can only make out the seemingly watercolor painted sky behind them, as their blackened shapes move in and out of the frame.

The only part of this film that isn't fantastic is the soundtrack, which is sometimes it is a little too upbeat for the particular scene it is describing. While the film is slow-paced, Karakatsanis' cinematography is what keeps you interested in each frame until the surprising twist ending. It's nothing like anything I have ever seen before.

Written by: Chrissie Thornburg, March 28th 2009

Fay Grim

admin — Thu, 10 May 2007 18:28:00 +0000

Directed by Hal Hartley

Possible Films

Fay Grim is the sequel to Hal Hartley’s 1997 film Henry Fool, in which Queens garbage man Simon Fool (James Urbaniak) was befriended by the eponymous hero (Thomas Jay Ryan), who encouraged his literary ambitions. Simon wins the Nobel Prize for his poetry, Henry marries Simon’s sister Fay (Parker Posey) and they have a son, but at the film’s conclusion Henry flees the country to avoid arrest, leaving Simon to take the rap for aiding him. This back story is skillfully established in the first 20 minutes of the film, which is set seven years after Henry’s disappearance. Fay is a single mother, her son Ned (Liam Aiken) is 14 and in trouble at school, and Simon is in prison for his role in Henry’s escape. These parts are all reprised by the original actors.

The plot is set in motion when Angus (Chuck Montgomery), Simon’s publisher, tells Fay that he would like to find and publish Henry’s “Confessions,” a series of notebooks he wrote and claimed were a literary masterpiece. While everyone who has read them views them as garbage, Angus and Simon now believe that the books are in code and that Henry was a former secret agent. This theory is confirmed when two CIA agents (Jeff Goldblum and Leo Fitzpatrick) ask her to help them retrieve two of the notebooks from Paris. In exchange, Fay demands that Simon be released from jail. Soon she is engaged in a game of cat and mouse with agents from Israel, France and the U.S., and wondering whom she can trust. Along the way she meets Bebe (Elina Löwensohn), whom the CIA claims is a spy, but who tells Fay she is merely a stewardess who fell in love with Henry as he escaped the United States.

It’s difficult to categorize this film: part comedy, part drama, part spy caper. The tiff, disjointed dialogue at the beginning and the constantly tilting camera angles make the viewer slow to enter the world of the film, but as the film progresses, the engaging story and the strength of Parker’s performance draw the viewer in. Ultimately, it’s a well-done film, but won’t appeal to a mass audience.

Written by: Karen Duda, May 10th 2007