French

White Material

mandy — Fri, 21 Jan 2011 20:00:00 +0000

The title of this grave work derives from Black African slang for Whites and for the objects Whites own, e.g., a gold cigarette lighter (an important symbolic prop in the film). Maria Vial (Isabelle Huppert) is the main white material here, a middle-aged woman trapped by the colonial past and present civil war in an unnamed African country.

Maria married into the Vial coffee plantation founded by her ex-father-in-law, Henri (Michel Subor). Her former husband, André Vial (Christophe Lambert), divorced Maria to marry a young Black woman, Lucie (Adèle Ado). Maria stayed on with her son—a slacker who transforms into a shotgun-toting skinhead—and she is now the farm’s major domo. She remains in Africa because she loves the country, knows the plantation work, and can’t go home. The family is outlawed in France, for reasons never made clear.

The crisis that propels the plot and radically changes Maria’s life and everyone’s life around her is that civil insurrection. The Vial farm lies in the path of an advancing rebel vanguard that will expropriate White-owned property and kill the Europeans. The Vials must flee, but Maria won’t. She needs a week to finish the coffee-berry harvest. Complicating her predicament, Maria’s employees, afraid the rebels will kill them for working with Whites, abandon the farm. Undaunted, she hires a ragtag crew desperate enough to work for her. So the race is on. Will the crop be in before the rebels arrive? Will the Vials escape?

Although the context of the narrative—Black/White conflict in Africa with its attendant sufferings, violence, and privileges—could become cliched, White Material never seems so because it avoids ideological simplifications and etches its characters and circumstances mostly in complex shades of grey. Maria is grim but likable; determined and brave, but heedless. She hides the rebels’ leader (Isaach De Bankolé) because he’s wounded and needs help, though the rebels would kill her if they could. We do empathize with Maria; yet for all her pluck and decency you can’t forget that she’s a favoured landowner. In this equation, we likewise empathize with the Blacks.

The film’s complexities extend to the internecine struggle between the country’s opposing indigenous soldiers. The rebel cadre turns out to be composed of children. It’s hard to believe that a bunch of disorganized, ragamuffin orphans could create so much fear. Yet they’re armed to the teeth and ready to kill, which one girl does in a powerful, frightening moment. For their part, the government troops seem to be saviours, a force for order, but their ruthlessness becomes more repellent than the children’s.

The film’s editing sometimes creates confusion because it’s not always immediately obvious from scene-to-scene where the narrative line is being picked up. This aesthetic device works because it reflects the gathering disturbance of Maria’s mental balance. The intercutting of past and present can make it difficult to grasp the temporal context and sequencing, thus also abetting the sense of dislocation (hint: a pink dress is the Ariadne’s thread). The washed-out, sun-baked cinematography matches the countryside.

Though all the actors in White Material acquit themselves well, including the non-professionals, the film depends on Huppert’s lead performance. She has starred in more than fifty movies, in English and French (she’s fluently bilingual). Now, like Meryl Streep, she is of a certain age, and like Meryl she never lacks for new projects. Lucky for us. In this film, she has a lot to do: It’s instructive to watch her work; she’s absolutely convincing as a woman with too much courage for her own good, a staunch soul who can’t be cowed but who is nonetheless lost.

Written by: Neil Flowers, January 21st 2011

Le Refuge (The Refuge)

priyanka — Sun, 10 Oct 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Francois Ozon

France 2 Cinéma, FOZ, Eurowide

A film like Francois Ozon’s Le Refuge could only be French. It is beautifully shot, populated with complicated and not and entirely likable characters, and deals with taboo subject matters in a nuanced fashion. The film centers on Mousse (Isabelle Carré), a sharp-tongued young woman who struggles with heroin addiction. When her lover Louis (Melville Poupaud) dies from and overdose and she finds out she’s pregnant, she decides to keep the baby against the wishes of Louis’ aristocratic mother and escapes Paris for a beach-getaway in rural France. Later, Louis’ brother Paul (Louis Ronan-Choisy) joins her there and the movie evolves from that point.

While this subject matter sounds overly dramatic, Francois Ozon treats the story and his characters in a matter-of-fact manner and lets the movie center around the characters, their dialogue, and their internal struggles. This is what makes this film so French—there’s no drama and moralizing around subjects like sexuality, pregnancy, abortion and drugs. Mousse is allowed to develop into a multidimensional character, something that often feels like a luxury for American actresses.

Carré is glamorous and sullen. There are plenty of lingering shots on her heavily mascaraed eyelashes to recall French starlets of French New Wave films. Especially striking is the scenes of Mousse on the beach with a graffiti cover seawall behind her and dancing under pulsing strobes in a dance club. Ozon is an equal opportunity director and he also lets his camera linger on Paul and his lover Serge, whom he meets in the town. Music also serves to advance the plot of the film and key scenes are underscored with songs by Texas, Superpitcher, and Louis Ronan-Choisy.

This film is not one that would appeal to mainstream American audiences, which is why they should make an effort to seek it out. It is as unsettling as it is beautiful. It does not make a political or moral statement, but is daring, complex and unconventional and visually striking.

Written by: Eleanor Whitney, October 10th 2010

Eleanor the Queen: A Novel of Eleanor of Aquitaine

admin — Tue, 22 Jun 2010 07:00:00 +0000

By Norah Lofts

Touchstone

I have to say... I feel a little duped. There is nothing in the book's presentation to suggest that Eleanor the Queen is a reprint of a 1950s novel by Norah Lofts. Apparently Lofts was a prolific and best-selling author known for her "authentic use of period detail." I hadn’t heard of her, but I don’t follow the historical novel market, I just read them. I did not, however, finish reading this. I forced myself to finish Part One of four, but I just could not go on.

Eleanor of Aquitaine was a remarkable woman. She was born in approximately 1122, and became the sole heir to her father’s vast property when he died in 1137. To protect her and her land, she was married to Prince Louis VII of France, who soon became king. When he rode to the Crusades, Eleanor went with him, bringing a coterie of other women with her. She was admired and compared to the Amazons. But the marriage became strained and ultimately ended. (And that’s just Part One—Eleanor went on to do a lot.)

Research tells me that Eleanor was intelligent, strategic, and ambitious. Norah Lofts tells me that Eleanor sat around waiting for things to change, twiddling her thumbs. She tells me Eleanor is intelligent, but somehow this "politically savvy" young woman didn’t know how big her land was until her uncle showed her on a map. Like in so much mediocre fiction, the writer makes statements about the character, setting her up to be admired, only to have the character's actions completely undermine those statements.

People always argue about historical fiction’s (lack of) accuracy. A scenario set in the tenth century is patchy enough that it’s possible to build an excellent story while sticking to the few known facts. Either Lofts did not have good information, or she ignored the facts completely.

Worst of all, the book is incredibly poorly written. The dialogue is hackneyed, the characters are just names and voices, downright boring passages drag on forever, and interesting events aren’t developed. The style is reminiscent of books written between 1700 and 1900, but it rings false, and is just an irritant. The narrative is aware of its own grandeur, wallowing in description without letting people or their actions speak for themselves.

I was so astounded by how poorly written Eleanor the Queen is that I began doing more research into the book and its writer. It was confirmed that Norah Lofts still has a devoted fan base. It was also confirmed that her facts are just wrong, totally contradicting that line on the back cover about her use of period detail. When I discovered that Lofts was born in 1904, I forced myself to rein in a bit. Older books do have a different style. That style doesn’t always appeal to modern readers, including me. But then I saw that Eleanor the Queen was written in the 1950s. It ain’t that old.

Margaret Mitchell wrote Gone with the Wind in 1936 and it blew my socks off; there’s no excuse for Norah Lofts.

This book would never make it out of a writing workshop.

Written by: Richenda Gould, June 22nd 2010

Le Code a Changé

admin — Sun, 13 Jun 2010 16:01:00 +0000

Directed by Danièle Thompson

IFC Films

The French comedy of manners conjures up for me, an Anglophone, a bitchy Restoration drama rather than Molière. Jean Renoir’s heavy 1939 film The Rules of the Game, the iconic update of the genre, greatly dilutes the comic elements. Now, Le Code a Changé (Change of Plans) offers a lighter brew with only a dash of melancholy. The aristocracy is replaced by the bourgeoisie, the country house and servants disappear as a more modest yet comfortable life appears, a weekend becomes a dinner party, and women (and men) have real jobs. Nobody gets murdered, though there is an “accident” and a death from cancer. Importantly, the central characters—and there are quite a few of them—emerge relatively unscathed, as do the “rules” underlying the genre. In short, as director Danièle Thompson wished, I went away happy.

Because I tend to upend rules rather than deftly observing them, life has taken me, thankfully, to almost as few dinner parties as on full-fledged dates. This film might change my mind, since this dinner party includes a surreptitious kiss by the bathroom door rather than a strained date. A dinner has functioned before as a plot device for getting things moving (think David Hare’s Wetherby). In the current film, the characters knew each other at school and do not roll around on a stair landing, at least not on camera. Here, the dinner sets off quite a display of romantic fireworks, though miraculously only one divorce.

ML, a high-powered divorce lawyer, has people over partly to show off her new kitchen. Six of her guests are married couples, and her sister and the sister’s older co-worker are another, though ML doesn’t know it. Besides the kitchen designer, the other single guest is ML’s flamenco dance instructor, invited at the last minute because ML is down a woman. (No gay couples at this soiree.)

During the year after the dinner, ML’s unemployed husband—who makes bigos, a Polish meat stew, for the meal—starts working with the kitchen designer. A gynecologist-oncologist couple is headed toward the marital rocks way before the get-together. The wife is already having an affair and her irritation with her Jewish husband, the archetypal mensch, takes an ethnic turn in a conversation with the host, who drives her home from the party. Lucas, another attorney, who has driven his wife to dysfunction, comes to the party to recruit ML into his firm to beef up its divorce practice, and ends up “changing plans” for the good of all.

Some viewers will take away the message that innate humanity that can still emerge in capitalist relations, traditional marriage, and the economy’s privileged class, here more professional and managerial than haut. For me, the fun of this film comes from guessing which of the relationships survive and how this comes to pass. Just enjoy the mash up of professional discretion, romantic relationships, white lies, and intergenerational conflict.

I could have done with less self-referential film industry stuff—Roman Polanski’s recipe for bigos appears in the film credits. The film’s director, daughter of film director Gérard Oury and actress Jacqueline Roma, wrote the screenplay with her son Christopher Thompson (who plays Lucas), so maybe they are entitled. And, the film fulfills the critic Kenneth Burke’s criteria for the “comic frame,” which tells the viewer: “What he should try to get, how he should try to get it, and how he should ‘resign himself’ to a renunciation of the things he can’t get.”

Written by: Frances Chapman, June 13th 2010

Micmacs

admin — Fri, 21 May 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Jean-Pierre Jeunet

Sony Pictures Classics

After running through a gauntlet of elevators and security guards at the Sony Tower in midtown Manhattan, I entered a small screening room to see the French film Micmacs. Micmacs follows a group of ragtag junkyard denizens as they attempt to help a newcomer in their midst get revenge.

The story opens with Bazil (Dany Boon) receiving word that his father has died after stepping on a landmine in the Moroccan desert. Bazil is effectively orphaned, as his frail mother winds up institutionalized. Several decades later, Bazil is working his shift at the local video store when a random act of violence gets him a bullet in the head.

Bazil returns home from the hospital—bullet in skull—only to find out that he has lost his housing and his job. Suddenly homeless, Bazil scrapes by as a street performer. He crosses paths with Slammer (Jean-Pierre Marielle), a life-long criminal who was pardoned after the guillotine failed to take his head off. Slammer takes Bazil to the junkyard run by Mama Chow (Yolande Moreau). Bazil becomes part of a group that includes, amongst others, Remington (Omar Sy), a Congolese ethnographer; Buster (Dominique Pinion), a man desperate to make it into the record books; and Elastic Girl (Julie Ferrier), a contortionist with more than a friendly interest in Bazil.

Shortly after his “adoption,” Bazil happens across two gigantic buildings that bear the logos of the weapons that destroyed his life. Vowing to get even, Bazil and his new friends work to deceive two unscrupulous arms dealers (Nicolas Marie and Andre Dussolier).

While I watched Micmacs, I couldn’t help but compare it to an earlier Jeunet film, Oscar-nominated Amelie. Both films have a zany charm, presenting gentle dreamers given to surrealistic fantasy sequences. Bazil and Amelie lost parents at tragically young ages, like old movies, distract themselves with silly questions, and anxiously avoid romantic attachments. The plots of both films are driven by coincidences and fortuitous events, have quirky characters who achieve their ends by (repeatedly) breaking into other people’s homes, and present comical sex scenes. In fact, three of Micmacs' cast members also appeared in Amelie.

Unfortunately, Micmacs doesn’t work as well as Amelie did, which I chalk up to an inappropriate tone. While Amelie was basically a romance, Micmacs touches upon corporate greed, international arms dealing, terrorism, and even genocide. To make matters worse, the arms dealers come off like caricatures, despite Jeunet’s efforts. A much darker tenor would have been more suitable for this film.

Micmacs was funny, but not hilariously so. The word that kept coming to mind during the screening was “cute,” and I found myself fidgeting despite the 104-minute run time. I anticipate that Micmacs will have a respectable run in certain American theaters; however, I would suggest that anyone interested in this film wait for the DVD.

Written by: Ebony Edwards-Ellis, May 21st 2010

Things Seen

admin — Sat, 15 May 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Annie Ernaux, Jonathan Kaplansky

Bison Books

From the baby carriage to the grave, life unfolds more and more between the shopping center and the television set. – Annie Ernaux

Born in 1940, and a published author since 1974, Annie Ernaux is known for writing in depth about her own life: her parents, her marriage, her abortion, and later, her breast cancer. In Things Seen, Ernaux turns her gaze outward, both to Paris and the world.

Written as a journal, the book feels as though it traveled in a coat pocket, pulled out to pass the time in train stations and grocery stores, riding on the Metro and eavesdropping in cafes. The writer states the journal is a result of the “simple habit of putting life into words.”

Events are recorded through the initial reaction felt by the writer. Refreshingly absent is the expected self-examination and excuses made for the content of the reaction. We hear the writer’s thoughts as she thinks them, without editing. There is no need to place additional weight on any one topic, as one would in conversation; the narrative flows over war, racism, and homelessness as swiftly as it does hair appointments, grocery shopping, and visits to the dentist. This does not render the writer shallow or uninterested; it reminds the reader of all the passing commentary we also make to ourselves in our day-to-day lives. The commentary doesn’t need to make sense to anyone else. In fact, upon reflection it might not make sense at all.

The idea I found most resonant in the book is that while one may feel they are the only true individual in a crowd, to each other person, one is just part of the nameless crowd. The writer’s viewpoint is that of a passive audience, watching other people's lives unfold in front of her with little more emotion than one would actors on a stage. A memorable example is that of the many different beggars encountered on the Metro; the writer finds it easier to give change to someone playing music than to someone who might actually be starving. It is easier to give the same coin for pleasantry than to accept the concept that someone might literally die without that help.

The writer is distanced from actual events, and this makes the book speed along, as we do not stop to analyze the thoughts themselves; we simply follow the words at the pace of life, just as the writer recorded them.

Written by: Melissa Ruiz, May 15th 2010

Dark Heart of the Night

admin — Sat, 08 May 2010 23:59:00 +0000

By Leonora Miano

University of Nebraska Press

The gross reality of genocide brings one’s spirit to feel a deep sadness for groups and individuals who don't understand different cultures. Delineating a brutal world of power and defeat, the author of Dark Heart of the Night doesn't hold back and the shocking truth of this topic engenders an incredulous curiosity in the reader: how can a village not support their people, even those who are related to some in the village? How can the world be so out of kilter that more energy is spent killing while refusing to understand others? The power of violence resonates throughout and accompanies the overriding story.

The author depicts the harshness and pain of this specific village to help us understand the ongoing brutality of a small tribe of people. In reading Dark Heart of the Night, a person may see parallels to oppressed groups through history. The sheer stubbornness and defiant attitudes of particular individuals in the village overpower the mass of followers in the village.

Nightmarish in its intensity, the novel opens with the brutal acts of a rebel force taking place within the country. As readers, we observe protagonist Ayané, who returns to her Central African village from France to assist her dying mother; she is continually an outcast—not understood nor understanding this culture to which she returns uneasily. As a more "worldly" individual, she confronts the local leader of the village after witnessing killing in her mother's village from afar.

Throughout Dark Heart of the Night, the author depicts an ongoing conflict within the self, among others, and in the overall world. Her stark imagery brings to light gruesome and harsh experiences. Deftly utilizing only minimal words, Leonora Miano shapes the storyline with the sheer power of her writing. She elaborates on the human aspects of communication and being misunderstood in a cross-cultural situation. All character interactions bring ideas of human survival to the forefront.

Miano is originally from Cameroon, and she lives in France. Both Tamsin Black and Terese Svodboda translate Miano’s work into English for their readers. Overall, Miano presents a hearty and challenging novel to surely move the reader to action to demand fairness for those people who find themselves under the proverbial oppression of misplaced power.

Written by: Carolyn Espe, May 8th 2010

King Kong Theory: A Manifesto For Women Who Can’t Or Won’t Obey The Rules

admin — Sat, 08 May 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Virginie Despentes, Stephanie Benson

The Feminist Press

King Kong Theory is most easily my favourite read so far this year; it packs a punch and voices everything I feel about our oppressive patriarchal society. This work is completely free of any hesitation to say what is really going on in the Western world today. Virginie Despentes blew me away with her fresh and honest analysis of what women (and men) struggle within their half-baked, destructive gender roles. She uses research combined with her own gritty experiences to prove her points (of which there are many): silence rots and speaking heals, men exist and women are the negative to the male positive, and what we (both men and women) really feel and need have been smothered by glossy mainstream duct tape.

Yes, this slim tome covers the King Kong story. Despentes points out that the beast has no sex/gender, and is in fact, asexual. He gets along with the beauty, but in the end, he is killed off (nothing but heterosexual relationships here, so bye-bye King Kong!). Poor beauty, like so many other women out there, she is forced to leave the security of King Kong and go back to the dissatisfying and unsafe patriarchal realm.

Currently stuck in a broken system that benefits nobody (do rich white men count?) is angering. I’d forgotten how angry I am that I’m a sole supporting parent (the result of forced sex) without family support (the male predator is always right, so they, like society, stand by him), but King Kong furiously reminded me of how I’ve buried it over the years as yet another maladaptive coping mechanism. Violence against women and children today remains mainly unspoken.

King Kong Theory is not for those in denial or the fainthearted or the apologists; it’s for real men and women who want to change the landscape of power or who simply want to be included, validated as self-actualising individuals with agency. There are many people out there who have been silenced and have similar stories. Unfortunately, as Despentes notes, feminism represents more than just women; it represents a whole system of injustice that rests on gender differences.

This is a book I believe every woman and man should read, even if it means buying, borrowing, or begging for it. If Despentes' provocative films are anything to go by, a prospective reader can expect a powerful polemic that intends to shake up the female and male consciousness, and forces one to recast a blade-sharp view on the continuum of gendered violence permeating in society.

Written by: Nicolette Westfall, May 8th 2010

Miss Don't Touch Me

admin — Sun, 12 Jul 2009 23:08:00 +0000

By Hubert & Kerascoet

NBM Publishing

Miss Don't Touch Me is the story of a girl, Blanche, who works with her sister, Agatha, as a live-in maid in Paris at the turn of the twentieth century. When Blanche witnesses her sister’s murder, her world is destroyed. People think Agatha committed suicide, and nobody will believe Blanche. She goes on a mission to avenge Agatha’s death, which takes her into a realm of prostitution, murder, and deceit.

It is both hard to believe and a relief that Agatha can manage to work at a brothel and not even have to take off her clothes. She is a virgin and does not want to “sell [her] virtue” (emphasis mine). So she presents her conundrum of sorts to the madam boss, who offers her the ideal position: a “virgin of steel” dominatrix who “whips, but [is] not to be touched.”

This setup, however, reinforces the virgin/whore duality in the novel. Blanche’s virginity is the main characteristic that differentiates her from every other woman from this point forward, something that even induces hatred toward her from some of the “whores.” One of them even cuts off Blanche’s long dark hair in her sleep, thickening the line that separates them. Blanche only gets along with the two other “special girls” in the brothel: Annette, who looks stereotypically angelical but harbors a dark secret, and the “madame/monsieur” Miss Josephine, her gender-bending confidante and the only other prostitute in the brothel with short hair. The authors have made it clear that Blanche does not belong on the “whore” side of the dichotomy through her asexuality, her appearance, and her very name (“blanche” means “white” in French).

Does this graphic novel stretch the virgin/whore dichotomy to create a new space? What’s for sure is that Blanche is gutsy, clever, cunning, and even cruel. She’s good-looking enough to be a prostitute but has chosen another route. She’s also goal-driven and steadfast. But, her character is not very believable. Not only is her character an amalgam of her aforementioned traits; there are also problems in the narrative that affect her credibility as a character.

The novel reads quickly, and it is enjoyable. But something feels amiss throughout. The authors at times skip from one crucial scene to the next. For example, when Blanche's sister Agatha is murdered, Blanche's life suddenly changes drastically. Blanche, naturally, cries over her dead sister following her murder—and then never does it again. We aren't even told why this is; is Blanche the kind to bury her feelings? She does not seem to be that at all. What’s more, she’s impulsive precisely because she can’t seem to control them. So what gives? These missing feelings and thoughts—which are ostensibly the very engine behind the plot—make Blanche seem at times incongruous and even robotic. Something important is lacking. While she does think about Agatha and does all she can to avenge her death, Blanche lacks the corresponding depth. And while no other characters display notable depth either, one would think that at least the main protagonist of the novel would. Alas, this is not the case. When she sheds blood, she doesn’t even blink.

The illustrations are sketchy but defined; each character is visually unequivocal from the next. Nudity is ubiquitous, as is to be expected, as well as uninhibited, which shows in the casual lines traced by Kerascoet. There is much play between light and shadow, and although sometimes there are so many details in one panel that you must squint to find what you’re looking for, overall the drawings are sharp and witty.

In the end, this novel is a sassy and even controversial murder mystery that will entertain. It would be even more pleasing if it finished what it started.

Written by: Natalia Real, July 12th 2009

Back to the Roots

admin — Thu, 07 Jun 2007 19:00:00 +0000

By Zera Vaughan

When I saw the cover art of Zera Vaughan’s Back to the Roots, I was struck by the image of a dramatic-looking female ice dancer. Her body was painted shades of brown with ridges and lines of what looked like tree bark. I knew I was in for something expressive and heavy.

The first track, “Almaz,” is rich and bewitching. It leads off with a lovely moan. Vaughan’s voice is haunting and reminiscent of early Sarah McLachlan. As the tracks progresses, the swells of the new age and world influences wash over me. Traces of Indian, Eastern European and French music can be heard in the instrumentation. Some songs are sung in English, but most are in French.

On a few tracks, Vaughan pulls the listener along through a verse in one language and then the chorus in the other. “Sweet Home” is a pumping French song that makes you move and could easily become the album’s first single “The Crying Moon” winds into “The Moon Track,” closing the album and leaving the listener lost in an echoing trance. This collection of songs is a fusion of cultures that grow, curve and bend like a tall tree.

Written by: Jill M O’Malley, June 7th 2007