Vancouver International Film Festival 2007

Review by John Packman.

Few musicians in recent history have been as influential, or as reclusive, as ex-Walker Brother and current avant-garde composer Scott Walker. Stephen Kijak's documentary Scott Walker: 30 Century Man traces the trajectory of Walker's career from teen idol to refined torch balladeer to dissatisfied cover artist to dauntingly introspective experimentalist. Kijak is granted more access to Walker than anyone probably has been in 20 years, and the singer is refreshingly verbose regarding his aesthetic and professional choices, especially for someone who has demurred the spotlight for so long. There are a lot of blanks in Walker's story that he seems uninterested in filling in, so Kijak turns to the musicians who claim him as an influence - including David Bowie and Damon Albarn - and has them tell their own Walker stories.

Admittedly, all this can get a bit mundane, as when we are treated to the audiovisual spectacle of watching other people listen to Walker's records and scratch their muso chins accordingly, or when Walker's music simply plays over trippy-screensaver renditions of his cover art. What redeems this deficit in structure is the music itself, which is astonishing: Walker possesses a booming, unearthly tenor, and his compositions, whether Jacques Brel-inspired ballads or the dissonant operatics of his later work, are appropriately cinematic. Here is the rare film that is just as vivid if you watch it with your eyes closed. The man himself comes across as humble and thoughtful, one of the few avant-garde artists eloquent enough to provide insight on his work to the uninformed. Notes for a sequel: More Walker, less of everything else.

Scott Walker: 30 Century Man
Stephen Kijak | UK | 2006 | 95min

Sun. Sept. 30 | 6:20pm | Empire Granville Theatre
Tue. Oct. 2 | 11:30am | Empire Granville Theatre
Thur. Oct. 11 | 4:15pm | Empire Granville Theatre

Review by John Packman.

Given the world's near-total disapproval of the Bush administration's ongoing campaign in Iraq, John Pilger's documentary The War on Democracy could not be more timely. An extended rumination on the U.S.'s lamentable history of replacing democratically elected foreign leaders with puppet governments, Pilger's film (with co-director Christopher Martin) may focus on Latin America, but the parallels are there. The bulk of the film is drawn from talking-head interviews with citizens and politicians from several Latin American countries, as well as some key figures in the shaping and execution of American foreign policy. Chief among these interview subjects is Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez, who functions as Pilger's chosen avatar for sensible reform in a region plagued by years of corruption.

Pilger is a charismatic narrator and a talented polemicist, and therein lies a considerable problem with his film: he is rarely content to let the facts speak for themselves, choosing instead to telegraph his sympathies so broadly that his message is obscured. At times The War on Democracy veers dangerously close to hagiography; during his interviews with Chavez, I half-expected Pilger to superimpose a glowing halo atop the president's head. Chavez, without any help, comes off as an eloquent intellectual with great concern for his country's welfare, so Pilger's near-constant veneration of the man seems grasping and redundant. Likewise, any and all criticisms of Chavez' consolidation of his own executive power and his questionable record in fulfulling his promises are dismissed as the self concerns of an ivory-tower upper class, a few members of which Pilger actually interviews with almost Waiting for Guffman-style condescension. Shame, really, because Pilger is fully capable of exposing American imperialism without resorting to such lily-gilding. His most effective sequence is an interview with former CIA chief Duane Clarridge that really has to be seen to be believed; Clarridge states in no uncertain terms that the U.S. has carte blanche to do whatever it wants for whatever reason it wants, and who the fuck are you to argue? Bone-chilling stuff. The War on Democracy is a flawed film, but it remains an important one.

The War on Democracy
John Pilger/Christopher Martin | UK | 2007 | 95min

Sun. Sept. 30 | 9:15pm | Ridge Theatre
Sat. Oct. 6 | 1:00pm | Empire Granville Theatre

Review by gloria wong.

Perhaps the most frustrating thing about watching Adam Curtis as a reviewer is knowing how difficult his work will be to encapsulate. The Trap could correctly be described as documentary on reigning notions of freedom and how they came to be. But that would rather be like describing War and Peace as a book about the comings and goings of a group of Russians - not wrong, but hardly to the point. Perhaps one of the greatest documentarians in the world, Curtis is also responsible for the landmark BBC mini-series Century of the Self (2002), and The Power of Nightmares (2004). In many ways, the three series can be read together as different facets of Curtis' on-going dissection of Western (specifically, British and American) society. Drawing connections between applied mathematics, philosophy, politics, commerce and psychology, Curtis' vision of the world runs from tragi-comic to downright bleak, seeing major historical (and current) events as the result of ideals and ideas reaching their inevitable conclusions in context rather than people in power enacting plans (in Curtis' world, even elaborate conspiracies don't produce their intended effects).

The central argument in The Trap is that our current interpretation of 'freedom' was born out of a Cold War mentality which reduced all human behaviour to then de rigeur paranoid self-interest - in essence, Cold War paradigms are still being applied to a Post-Cold War world. Drawing in particular on the work of Nobel Prize-winning mathematician John Nash and his contemporaries at the RAND Corporation think tank advancing game theory, the notion that human beings invariably act in their individual self-interest, began to pollinate in other disciplines (as far reaching as genetics) eventually reaching the popular imagination as presupposition rather than theoretical model. This school of thought lead to a radical revisioning of the public sphere in both the US and England beginning in the 1980's under Ronald Reagan's Republican administration and Margaret Thatcher's Conservative leadership, respectively.

Curtis' work is unsettling, in part because his well-structured arguments are often slyly entertaining - giving a master of the ironic montage full access to over 60 years of BBC archival footage makes for a dangerous combination. But also because watching them is like wiping down a steamy bathroom mirror - where once we could only see vague shapes we instinctively knew were there, we now see ourselves reflected back with obscene clarity.

The Trap: What Happened to Our Dream of Freedom
Adam Curtis | UK | 2007 | 180min

Thur. Sept. 27 | 10:00am | Empire Granville Theatre
Tue. Oct. 4 | 8:45pm | Empire Granville Theatre
Sun. Oct. 7 | 3:15pm | Empire Granville Theatre

Review by Cameron Maitland.

We are together, a documentary by Paul Taylor about AIDS in South Africa, will undoubtedly be used in classes for years to come. I’d assume the hundred or so junior high and high school students were brought from South Africa to England to put a face on the AIDS crisis, but while the film exposes that, it also serves as a cautionary tale about the hardships of documentary filmmaking.

Ostensibly the film follows Slindile, a young girl living at the Agape orphanage with four members of her family. Her parents died of AIDS, and the older siblings could not afford to take care of the younger ones so they send them to Agape, an orphanage “known for its singing”. Though Slindile remains the film's mouthpiece, the film's focus shifts to Agape’s plan to have the children sing in England to raise money, the impact of AIDS on the youngest children, recording a CD of Agape’s children singing, and on Slindile’s brother Sifiso’s slow decline at the hands of AIDS.

It is clear as circumstances changed and reality overtook potential storytelling, Taylor got lost in the shuffle. The film presents many emotional episodes surrounding Slindile’s life but never quite manages to hang it all around a cohesive story or point. I am already having trouble remembering the various things that happened within the course of the film as they mostly present themselves as randomly and inconsequentially as they would in real life.

Storytelling aside, Taylor chose an amazing subject in Slindile, and her humour, singing ability and grace make an easy emotional connection with an audience and you feel much of her joy and pain. Adding on to that a soundtrack of the breathtaking singing of the Agape children and you have a film that will touch you, even if you may not be sure why or how.

We Are Together
Paul Taylor | UK | 2006 | 86min

Fri. Oct. 5 | 1:00pm | Empire Granville Theatre
Sat. Oct. 6 | 7:15pm | Empire Granville Theatre
Tue. Oct. 9 | 10:00am | Empire Granville Theatre

Review by Cameron Maitland.

Paul Andrew Williams' film London to Brighton marks another entry into the United Kingdom’s recent resurgence of thrillers. Following Andrea Arnold (Red Road) and Shane Meadows (who made the brilliant Dead Man’s Shoes), Williams is the next in the line of filmmakers who grew up with Mike Leigh as much as with the British thriller boom of the 70’s. These new films seek to revitalize a genre built on easy plots with naturalism and realism in their portrayals of crime and violence.

The film follows Kelly and Joanne, a prostitute and a child runaway fleeing from brutal but as-yet-unnamed violent circumstances. Williams weaves their stories with that of their pursuers, specifically Kelly's pimp and a young man attached to the unknown incident. As their escape progresses, we simultaneously learn the circumstances leading up to the event and the secrets each character hides. The story attempts to make no clear judgement, showing shades of evil, desperation and goodness in every character and their choices. In the guise of a thriller, Williams finds a place to comment on the hopelessness of lower class life in the UK that drives people to acts of violence.

Though London to Brighton does indeed thrill and surprise as it unfolds, it doesn’t quite match up to its contemporaries in its attempts to flower beyond the restraints of its genre. The plot, especially the ending, tapers a bit too cleanly into convention, and the mysterious young man, on whose reactions and emotions most of the plot hangs, is a bit disappointing in his finale. Further, the brutal naturalism present in the acting is often lost in the generally conventional visual style. Even with all that said Paul Andrew Williams has made a film that - even while sticking to convention - is leaps beyond most recent thrillers and manages to add enough experimentation to cement a place among the United Kingdom's brightest new filmmakers.

London to Brighton
Paul Andrew Williams | UK | 2006 | 90min

Mon. Oct. 1 | 9:00pm | Empire Granville Theatre
Wed. Oct. 3 | 4:00pm | Empire Granville Theatre
Mon. Oct. 8 | 7:00pm | Ridge Theatre

Review by gloria wong.

For his feature film debut, photographer-turned-director Anton Corbijn wisely chose familiar ground. As the ‘eye’ for New Music Express (and also bigger rags like Spin and Rolling Stone) from the late 70’s on, Corbijn was around for the real thing when Joy Division burst onto Manchester’s thrilling (post-)punk scene (also dramatized in the very different though extremely entertaining 24-Hour Party People). Based on the book "Touching From a Distance", Control is the story of the remarkable singer-songwriter Ian Curtis, his rise to fame with Joy Division, and sudden suicide at age 23 in 1980 (widow Deborah wrote the book and served as a producer on the film).

Like most any biopic of a famous songwriter, Control has requisite scenes of Curtis' personal life turmoil, turning real life situations into poetry, and putting depressing songs into their depressing contexts. But several things make this film feel fresh – not the least of which is its gorgeous, high-contrast black and white cinematography; the film is quite impossible to look away from, filled with images that are simultaneously beautiful and raw, perfectly composed but with the immediacy and intimacy of a great snapshot.

Performances are also impressive all around. Relative unknown Sam Riley (himself a singer) is entrancing as Curtis. He doesn’t just mimick Curtis’ distinctive stage presentation (which, if you’re too young to remember or never cared to learn, was the desperate, gangly progenitor of Michael Stipe’s bad dancing in the “Losing My Religion” video), but really embodying Curtis’ ambiguity about success and love, as well as his wide-eyed disbelief in the world coming up around him. (Joy Division went from first gig to ready-to-take-over-America in about two years). Riley also does an impressive job of singing all the performance scenes himself. Though his voice lacks Curtis’ eerie, deep resonance, it’s a remarkable facsimile that adds another layer of realism to the film. Samantha Morton does a typically fine turn as Curtis’ widow Deborah. And, despite the sadness that surrounds the Joy Division story, there are wonderful moments of tossed-off humour that remind us that so many of these mythologized figures were barely into their twenties when they hit big.

Control
Anton Corbijn | UK/Australia/Japan | 2007 | 121min

Fri. Sept. 28 | 9:00pm | Empire Granville Theatre
Sat. Sept. 29 | 2:30pm | Empire Granville Theatre