Whenever a great South Korean art-house hit like Oldboy, The Chaser, or Mother reaches the United States, American critics invariably offer a glowing assessment of that country’s “screen quota,” which legally requires theaters to play native productions for at least 73 days out of the year. This regulation has undoubtedly grown the Korean film industry and made some of the most distinctive films of the last decade possible.

Read on >>

While I have long contested the employment of the phrase “wait for HBO” among critics–as a staunch defender of the theatrical experience, I believe most films are either good enough to warrant a night out or aren’t worth seeing, period–but The Five-Year Engagement so perfectly fits the cliché that I may have to break with tradition just this once. Here is a film that is rarely compelling, but is usually diverting; you’d be upset if you made a date of it, but perfectly satiated if you watched it for free from your couch.

Read on >>

More and more these days, major movie stars are compelled to appear in low-budget independent projects because they want to flex their acting muscles — something that higher paying Hollywood productions often don’t allow them to do. As a viewer, I await these occasions because they show you what an actor is really capable of, unhinged by the constraints of the studio system.

Read on >>

Delicacy

Sans cake or pie, Delicacy is still pretty sweet, but not overwhelmingly so. The story comes right out of the romantic-comedy playbook — Nathalie (Tautou) loses the love of her life to a car accident, but by the end of the movie finds another. Even though we’ve seen this story many times before, however, it has never been told in quite this way.

For starters, the structure is unique enough that it keeps the pervading thought that the movie is utterly conventional–one of the most painful parts of watching the usual rom-com–at bay. The opening scene features a meet-cute between Nathalie and François (Pio Marmai), the soon-to-be dead husband. There is no question in one’s mind that the film’s love-story will be theirs — so when Foenkinos turns the tables 15 minutes in, it’s exhilarating in its unexpectedness. Furthermore, because we are just as stunned by François’ death as Nathalie (albeit in a more trivial way), her stunned flurry of emotions is all the more palpable.

Further, Nathalie’s second love interest is not what you would expect — Markus (François Damiens) is a scruffy Swedish co-worker who can barely hold a conversation. The implication, of course, is that after she has been destroyed by personal tragedy, Nathalie is able to appreciate Markus’ meekness, his delicacy. Only in a movie could the two actually be a match, but the way Foenkinos handles the romance–trips to the theatre and a dingy Chinese restaurant that carry a distinct undercurrent of Scandinavian-brand dark comedy–give Nathalie and Markus a quirky, cinematic chemistry.

Adding to the film’s pleasantness, nobody working on Delicacy seems to have tried too hard. Foenkinos and his co-directing brother, Stéphane, ensure that the emotional moments pack a punch, but otherwise treat the film as a leisurely stroll through Paris — just as it should be. Tautou has this role down by now, and she’s as charming as ever (if understandably not as substantive here as she was in the great Amélie). Rounded out by nicely composed, colorful cinematography and a breezy score, Delicacy is the type of rom-com that more Americans should try — if only they realized that reading subtitles is easier than putting up with Kate Hudson’s manufactured schtick.

* * *

Delicacy (2012, France). Produced by André Logie, Xavier Rigault, and Marc-Antoine Robert. Directed by David and Stéphane Foenkinos. Written by David Foenkinos, based on his novel. Starring Audrey Tautou, François Damiens, Bruno Todeschini, Mélanie Bernier, Joséphine de Meaux, and Pio Marmaï. Distributed by Cohen Media Group. Rated PG-13, with a running time of 108 minutes.

Unfortunately, since Far From Heaven, no theatrical filmmaker has tackled the genre in its original form (Haynes’ HBO miniseries Mildred Pierce and TV’s Mad Men were virtually the only places it was further explored). That is, until now. Terence Davies’ The Deep Blue Sea emerges out of the same tradition, equipped with a British accent – and it’s every bit as rousing as Haynes’ film was. In fact, The Deep Blue Sea may be an even more remarkable accomplishment, in that it is exclusively a character piece, whereas Far From Heaven additionally used the format to forge a commentary on the issues of homosexuality and race (a nod to Sirk’s keen ability to tuck progressive social commentary into material consistent with the Hollywood Production Code).

As is the custom in traditional melodrama, the subject is a 1950s woman in crisis. The viewer meets Hester Collyer (a radiant Rachel Weisz) as she initiates a suicide attempt, turning on the gas in her flat and downing a bottle of pills. “This time, I really do want to die,” she laments in a voice-over of the suicide note she has left for her significant other, former Royal Air Force Pilot Freddie (Tom Hiddleston). What follows—before we learn that the attempt fails—is a mesmerizingly economical sequence where we see the highlights of Hester’s adult life, as if they are flashing before her eyes. Before pursuing an affair with the younger Freddie, she was married to a man much her senior, Sir William Collyer (Simon Russell Beale). Sir William appealed to Hester’s desire for security, where Freddie appealed to her desire for passion (A circling overhead shot of their naked bodies wrapped together in bed is as sensuous and primal as cinema gets).

Writer/director Davies, adapting from a famous Terence Rattigan play, maintains the flashback structure throughout, as a distraught Hester remembers pieces of each deteriorated relationship while she goes about the rest of the day, post-suicide attempt. For as well told as the film is, its true power rests in Weisz’s lead performance, which (like Julianne Moore’s in Far From Heaven) commits to the internalized acting style of classical melodrama without sacrificing an ounce of grit or emotion. It’s never abundantly clear why Hester is in such dire straits—in fact, had the character been in a modern film, she’d be on meds for bipolar disorder—but Weisz viscerally captures her insatiable, perhaps impossible need for both protection and passion. This is, of course, accentuated by the male-dominated social hierarchy of the postwar West.

Speaking of the setting, Davies’ vivid characterizations of this time and place are special. The film is bookended by shots of a bombed-out home down the road from Hester and Freddie’s flat, reminding the viewer that while the war may be over, great damage remains on the home-front – a metaphor that may be overt, but works within the hyper-dramatized conventions of melodrama. Even more haunting is a flashback of Hester and Sir William taking shelter from the fire bombings in a subway tunnel where, along with dozens of others, they sing the chorus of “Molly Malone”. Needless to say, the period production design by James Marifield is spot-on, as is Florian Hoffmeister’s cinematography, which unlike most Sirkian productions is dreary and darkness-flooded, but somehow captures the same distinct glow.

For Davies, whose nonfiction Of Time and the City was praised by most but criticized as an old man’s “back in my day!”-yammering by a select few, the breadth of this achievement must feel like a sort of vindication – an affirmation that a method of filmmaking that piqued decades ago is still relevant. Everything about The Deep Blue Sea’s unique style—from the acting, well conducted not only by Wesiz but the entire cast, to the temperamental Samuel Barber violin concerto pouring over most scenes—is just right for the material. While one effects-laden picture after another crowds the megaplex, it is this old-fashioned “small movie” that stands the first masterpiece of the year.

* * *

The Deep Blue Sea (2012, UK). Produced by Katherine Butler, Eliza Mellor, Sean O’Connor, Kate Ogborn, and Lisa Marie Russo. Directed and written for the screen by Terence Davies, based on the novel by Terence Rattigan. Starring Rachel Weisz, Tom Hiddelston, Simon Russell Beale, Harry Hadden-Paton, and Ann Mitchell. Distributed by Music Box Films. Rated R, with a running time of 98 minutes.

Blunt plays the businesswoman charged with carrying out the Sheikh’s wild desire – Harriet Chetwode-Talbot, whose name was, it seems, conceived for the sole purpose of sounding funny. In practice, the moniker is mildly amusing the first time one hears it, but the fact that director Lasse Hallström and screenwriter Simon Beaufoy seize every opportunity to poke fun at its length and rhythm is a good indication of just how little actually goes on in the movie. Harriet teams up with British fisheries expert Dr. Alfred Jones (McGregor), who predictably tells her that transplanting salmon to the Yemen is impossible. Equally predictably, they somehow discover a way to make it work come the final act, with a few trivial hiccups (including an attempt on the Sheikh’s life, cleverly subverted by fishing pole) along the way.

Obviously, Yemeni salmon fishing, while a novel concept—and a true story, if you’re gullible enough to believe the film’s claim—is not enough to make an entire movie about. So Beaufoy, adapting from Paul Torday’s novel, interjects a frothy romance between Harriet and Alfred. Blunt and McGregor have a nice chemistry together, but their budding relationship is handled do subtly, it verges on irritating. They stare at each other with a sense of desire the entire time, but this goes largely unspoken, mainly because Harriet already has a boyfriend (who’s off fighting in Afghanistan). The payoff is not even a kiss, but hand-holding – which is admittedly daring in its rejection of genre convention, but completely unsatisfying nonetheless. The film is so chaste that it could actually play unedited in Yemen.

There is nothing overtly wrong with Salmon Fishing in the Yemen; it’s just so utterly lacking in flavor that it’s impossible to become involved in. Surely, the material would have been adequate for a Lifetime Original Movie, designed as background noise for lazy Sunday naps. But that the producers wasted the supreme likability of these two leads and the beautifully composed frames of cinematographer Terry Stacey on such blandness was truly unfortunate. Not to mention the work of Kristin Scott Thomas, who is the film’s sole source of energy in a rare comedic role as the British Prime Minister’s hyperactive assistant – why couldn’t we have experienced this surprising side of the actress in a film more worthy of our attention?

* * *

Salmon Fishing in the Yemen (2012, UK). Produced by Zakaria Alaoui, Guy Avshalom, Stephen Garrett, Paula Jalfon, Zygi Kamasa, Tim Van Rellim, and Paul Webster. Directed by Lasse Hallström. Written for the screen by Simon Beaufoy, based on the novel by Paul Torday. Starring Emily Blunt, Ewan McGregor, Amr Waked, Kristin Scott Thomas, Rachel Stirling, and Tom Mison. Distributed by Fox Searchlight Pictures. Rated PG-13, with a running time of 107 minutes.

Father Eliezer (Shlomo Bar-Aba) and son Uriel (Lior Ashkenazi) Schkolnik are both experts on the Talmud, but their attitudes toward scholarship could not be more different. The younger writes popular books based on a liberal understanding of the holy text, whereas the elder scoffs at such an approach, painstakingly studying the intricate differences between each version. On what the film tells us is the happiest day of his life, Eliezer is informed that he has won the prestigious Israel Prize, an honor he has worked toward for decades. But there is a big problem: the award was actually supposed to go to Uriel, who has no idea what to do when the committee explains to him that a clerical error caused the mishap, for his father’s entire livelihood depends upon academic recognition.

The film is filled with humorous ironies, all of which are taken with grave seriousness by the characters. (Many critics have rightfully compared the film to the Coen Bros’ A Serious Man in terms of the way it fuses dark comedy with Judaic sensibilities.) For instance, there is the fact that Eliezer’s entire existence seems to be affirmed by his winning the Prize, even though he long spoke out about its waning legitimacy (largely because he had been beat out by competing scholars). Few emotions are more distinctly masculine than Eliezer’s doubtless belief that he is the individual who should be recognized, and writer/director Cedar both works to understand the instinctual nature of this impulse and to poke fun at its absurdity. Even more amusing is Uriel’s inability to decide how to handle the committee’s error–should he convince them to let his dad have the Prize?–despite the fact that he has spent his professional life studying the Talmud, which deals precisely with ethical dilemmas.

Further, Footnote satirizes academia itself. Eliezer and Uriel’s absolutist desires for attention and recognition may be a product of their gender, but the construct of the Israel Prize speaks to much larger issues: Of what significance is such an invention? What level of academic objectivity can a committee achieve? Isn’t academia one big excuse for self-congratulation? The film’s title alludes to the fact that Eliezer’s most noted accomplishment was receiving a footnote in a prominent scholarly article and asks the viewer whether this is really a legitimate way to measure a man.

Footnote is technically no-frills and could just as easily be a play, but the filmmaking is handsome. Cedar shoots in long-take close-ups that focus on the great facial nuance in the lead performances of Shlomo Bar-Aba and Lior Ashkenazi. There isn’t a lot of plot, but you’ll barely notice — it is a delightful experience to simply get wrapped up in the characters and their motivations, and to cackle at the farce of it all.

* * *

Footnote (2012, Israel). Produced by Joseph Cedar, Leon Edery, Moshe Edery, Michal Graidy, Tamir Kfir, and David Mandil. Directed and written for the screen by Joseph Cedar. Starring Lior Ashkenazi, Shlomo Bar-Aba, Yuval Scharf, Edna Blilious, Aliza Rosen, and Alma Zack. Distributed by Sony Pictures Classics. Rated PG, with a running time of 103 minutes.

Director/cinematographer David Gelb indulges in the aesthetic beauty of each course that Jiro assembles, making the film a mouthwatering experience, even if you don’t eat sushi (I don’t). But Jiro Dreams of Sushi is about so much more than Jiro’s $300+ meal — it’s about the value of a strong work ethic (Jiro never takes a day off), the traditional order of Japanese families (Jiro trains his eldest son to take over the business, while his younger son starts his own sushi restaurant), and how incredibly passionate someone can become for what may seem like a mundane, mechanical trade on the surface. Even at a tight 82 minutes, Gelb packs as many rich themes into the film as there are flavors in Jiro’s precise, honed delicacies. (Speaking of which, you will hardly believe how steep the learning curve for his prep cooks is.)

For as idea-filled as Jiro Dreams of Sushi is, however, it never loses its sense of humanity. We don’t know a lot about Jiro’s past other than that he was kicked out of the house at age nine, during the Great Depression, and that this drove him to his craft. But Jiro’s admirable devotion is so distinctly human that it allows the viewer to forge a personal connection with him that makes the film feel intimate, sometimes poignant. Even if you don’t care the least bit about sushi, you will care about and look up to this master chef. For compelling filmmaking (from a first-time theatrical documentarian, no less) about a great subject, you will have a hard time finding better than Jiro Dreams of Sushi.

* * *

Jiro Dreams of Sushi (2012, USA). Originally reviewed at the 2011 San Diego Asian Film Festival (11.2.2011). Produced by Joey Carey, Ross M. Dinerstein, Kevin Iwashina, Chris Kelly, Stefan Nowicki, Tom Pelligrini, and Matt Weaver. Directed by David Gelb. Featuring Jiro Ono and Yoshikazu Ono. Distributed by Magnolia Pictures. Rated PG, with a running time of 81 minutes.

While its necessity will undoubtedly continue to be debated–those who admire the film will likely argue that its existence is justified, while those who do not will claim otherwise–there is no doubting that Fincher’s The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is its own movie. Even though the story has largely remained the same–save for certain details in the third act and the epilogue–the way that it is told could not be more different.

The primary difference is that, where the Niels Arden Oplev adaptation felt like pulp fiction (true to the reputation of the novel), Fincher’s version plays more like the dark serial killer procedurals he has become known for. Raw passion overflowed from the original, but here it is only found in Rooney Mara’s interpretation of the title character — the rest of the movie feels calculated, even cerebral.

In the tonal sense, I found the Oplev more engaging, because the source hardly lends itself to a complex masterwork. But Fincher and company’s artsier approach is often so commanding, you forget that it doesn’t match the material; their Girl with the Dragon Tattoo excels as a sheer tour de force of style. Clocking in at the quickest 2-hours-and-38-minutes you may ever experience, the economy of the editing alone is overwhelming, with such an attention to detail that you are often liable to forget that the narrative is that of a simple paperback mystery.

The other technical elements, many of them credited to the same team that worked on Fincher’s Oscar-winning The Social Network, are just as ace. Once again, cinematographer Jeff Cronenweth’s digital lensing is top-notch — the grey Swedish skies are penetrating and the green, blue, and amber hues of the various interiors are striking. Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross are equally successful in their sophomore theatrical score, kicking things off with an arresting cover of Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song” over the opening titles and sustaining the high level of intensity throughout.

The performances are strong, as well. While many will enter the new Girl with the Dragon Tattoo ready to judge whether Rooney Mara’s Lisbeth Salander stacks up to Noomi Rapace’s, this will likely become a non-issue as they watch the film, because Mara’s performance stands on its own. She is every bit as fierce, electric, and believable in the role as one could hope for, delivering a memorable interpretation of a character that has already become iconic. Daniel Craig fills her partner Mikael Blomkvist’s shoes just as successfully, with the perfect stoic charisma. Likewise, Christopher Plummer and Stellan Skarsgård are rock-solid as the primary members of the Vanger family, which Mikael and Lisbeth have been called upon to investigate.

The one element of the film that Fincher’s more serious approach doesn’t exactly jive with is the second-act rape scene, which was also the most controversial element of the first film. While Fincher’s film may not be as pulpy as Oplev’s, it is still primarily intended as a populist entertainment, as there is nothing narratively deep about it. This makes the severity with which Lisbeth’s rape (and her subsequent vengeance) is depicted all the more morally questionable. I’m not yet ready to pass judgment on whether or not it is unacceptable exploitation–to the contrary, perhaps it’s good that the act is even more unsettling here than it was in the original–but the scene will likely end up the most hotly debated of its kind since 1971’s Straw Dogs.

Rape scene notwithstanding, Fincher’s The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo towers above the “Was it necessary?”-debate because the film’s artistic merits make for a far more enriching discussion. Even though it is unlikely to generate emotional investment from all but the most diehard of Larsson fans, the film is one of the most technically accomplished of the year, and for that it deserves the attention of mainstream audiences.

* * *

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2011, USA). Produced by Ceán Chaffin, Anni Faurbye Fernandez, Malte Forssell, Ryan Kavanaugh, Berna Levin, Scott Rudin, Søren Stærmose, Ole Søndberg, Mikael Wallen, and Steven Zaillian. Directed by David Fincher. Written for the screen by Steven Zaillian, based on the novel by Stieg Larsson. Starring Daniel Craig, Rooney Mara, Christopher Plummer, Stellan Skarsgård, Steven Berkoff, and Robin Wright. Distributed by Sony Pictures Releasing. Rated R, with a running time of 158 minutes.

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

What is paradoxical about the film–and what I discovered on second viewing–is that it really isn’t about figuring out who the mole is, for all the viewer is encouraged to try. In fact, given the degree to which Alfredson and the screenwriters obscure information from the viewer in the first two acts, it is impossible to even make an educated guess. Instead, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is actually about what it is to be a secret agent — not the James Bond kind, but one charged with the difficult task of protecting his country from unseen threats during wartime. Given how heavily dramatized the film is, it can’t exactly be read as a deconstruction of the genre, but it certainly feels more authentic than the shoot-’em-up spy films that we’re accustomed to seeing.

For as insignificant as the details of the central mystery are to the film’s thesis, the act of trying to piece them together is nonetheless integral to it. The frustrating experience of trying to determine the mole based on incomplete intelligence–that is, the selected bits that Alfredson feeds us–puts the viewer into an agent’s shoes far more than a film that allows for immediately gratifying “Aha!” moments. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is largely about the constant paranoia and fear that pervade in (Cold) wartime, and there is no better way for Alfredson to simulate these emotions in the audience than to tell them there is a mole, but to not give them all the tools necessary to figure out who it is.

Oldman’s George remains cold and enigmatic throughout, but the audience forges a connection with him because they share in the figurative looking over one’s shoulder. This duality makes the character a unique achievement: even though he is the spitting, stone-faced image of the intelligence community–often the villain in Hollywood productions–he is a character the audience roots for because they share in his predicament. To some degree, this sympathy stems from the old-fashioned desire to root for the good guys (the Brits) over the bad guys (the Soviets), but it’s also important to credit Oldman’s nuanced performance. With so little dialogue, Oldman conveys much of George through the eyes resting behind his thick-rimmed glasses. As with the larger narrative, it is near-impossible to figure out exactly is going on inside George’s head, but we watch with a sort of admiration, and the exercise never ceases to be engrossing.

The supporting performances are equally distinguished, as you would expect from the accomplished British cast. John Hurt is especially noteworthy as MI:6’s Control, who is the first to theorize the presence of a mole, but dies before he can crack the case. Hurt is the perfect fit for the role — an old geezer who, having served in intelligence for so long, has a secret for every wrinkle on his face. Tom Hardy is also particularly strong as an agent who has wrongly been branded a defector, once again proving he can’t be ‘typed.’ Toby Jones, Colin Firth, Ciarán Hinds, and David Dencik round out the cast as the main mole suspects.

It should go without saying that the technical elements are all top-notch. Even those viewers who fail to comprehend all the details of the twisty plot should still find themselves sucked in by Maria Djurkovic’s impeccable period production design and Hoyte Van Hoytema’s goldish-grey scope cinematography. That said, provided they exert the necessary amount of effort, most adult moviegoers should be able to enjoy the true top-down excellence of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy.

* * *

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011; UK, France, Germany). Produced by Tim Bevan, Liza Chasin, Eric Fellner, Alexandra Ferguson, Ron Halpem, Debra Hayward, John le Carré, Peter Morgan, Robyn Slovo, Alex Sutherland, and Douglas Urbanski. Directed by Tomas Alfredson. Written for the screen by Bridget O’Connor and Peter Straughan, based on the novel by John le Carré. Starring Gary Oldman, John Hurt, Mark Strong, Toby Jones, Ciarán Hinds, Colin Firth, Kathy Burke, Benedict Cumberbach, Stephen Graham, and Tom Hardy. Distributed by Focus Features. Rated R, with a running time of 127 minutes.