In Bruges - A Review (because all the puns for this film are so 2000 and late)

My first official film review! On the internet! On our blog! Ok, maybe not so official, but still paralyzingly exciting. I’ve been a little bit more hesitant than the other judges to throw this up (proverbially) on here. Nevertheless, shall we? For my first feat: an analysis of In Bruges.

The film centers around two hitmen who are stuck in (spoiler alert) Bruges, Belgium. After Ray’s (Colin Farrell) first foray into the industry ends horribly, Ken (Brendan Gleeson) takes him to Bruges on the instructions of their tyrannical boss, Harry Waters (Ralph Fiennes). Without ruining anything, I’ll simply say that they’re sent to wait for the considerable fallout from Ray’s actions.

As far as waiting is concerned, it seems that writer and director Martin McDonagh’s theatre roots show themselves. Like an updated Vladimir and Estragon, Ray and Ken’s verbal tousles quickly progress from the mundanely comedic to questions of redemption and the after-life. A sight-seeing expedition, headed by Ken and followed by an unwilling Ray, takes them to a church that’s supposed to house some of Jesus’ blood. This seems rather significant, given what Ray has done. So Ken gets quite worked-up explaining that the blood is said to have turned back into liquid at various times of great stress in history. He says that most people touch the blood, to which Ray replies, “do I hafta?” Ken responds “do you hafta? Of course you don’t hafta. It’s Jesus’ fucking blood isn’t it? Of course you don’t fucking hafta!”

The glorious thing about In Bruges is that absurdist comedy goes hand in hand with heavy philosophical discussions. In the same breath Ray cries about the moral consequences of his actions then marvels at midgets. Nothing is clearly defined as good or bad in In Bruges. Everything means two things; there is no singular definition or perspective that the film argues.

The clearest example of this is the way McDonagh tackles the big question that’s posed: is redemption in this life possible? The act Ray commits prior to Bruges is heinous. It’s possibly one of the worst things a person can ever do. Yet there is no clear moral way to respond to it. The characters then represent the different schools of thought: Ken, who brought Ray into the hit-man trade, is convinced Ray is still young and salvageable, while Harry believes he must bear the consequences of his actions.

Bruges itself means two different things to Ray and Harry. Harry looks on it fondly as a fairy-tale town, the last place he was happy as a child, while Ray thinks it the asshole of Europe. I’m not going to give away too much, so I will simply say that this becomes epically meaningful when more of the plot is revealed.

One of the few things I recall from university is the idea that the parts in any true work of art are all necessary. Nothing should be extraneous, nothing should be purposeless. In Bruges is one of the best examples of my dimly remembered idea. It’s rather miraculous to see how capably McDonagh makes all the sub-plots and minor characters mean something. What I thought were throw-away jokes, placed simply for laughs, added more meaning to the plot.

Also, I have to say that the casting director deserves a Peabody. I would never have connected Colin Farrell to the role of Ray. Yet after watching it, I can’t stop thinking about his portrayal. This could easily have become a trite caricature of an asshole on the road to redemption. But Farrell’s emotional restraint and amazing comedic timing was, frankly, surprising after the list of shit movies he’s been in. Gleeson was a solid straight-man; I would expect nothing less. And Ralph Fiennes, to use the common vernacular, brought it. His performance reminded me of Peter Capaldi’s character, Malcolm Tucker, in the film “In the Loop” and the T.V show, “The Thick of It.” (For those who aren’t in the loop, that comparison is meant as a compliment of the highest order.) Even the supporting actors, Clemence Poesy and Thekla Reutern were spot on in their delivery. They made me want to stay ‘in Bruges’ for much longer. YEAH I DID, I WROTE THAT THING.

(Let me say it first, I don’t know how to conclude this. However, maybe there is redemption in this life, and the next review shall conclude properly.)

The Hours: Not "The Weeks" afterall?

Greetings blogophiles! This is Rana (rhymes with Banana! Unless you're British...then it doesn't...)

Having briefly discussed the magnificent film, The Hours, with the other two blunt judges, and conducting a brief analysis of the noises and facial expressions this movie inspired in them...well let's just say those two aren't big fans. I on the other hand, beg to differ sir...(I do that a lot, you'll see!) I shall try with all the might of this figurative pen to persuade you that The Hours is definitely worth one hundred and fourteen minutes of your time.

Here are a few things you should know:
The film was directed by Stephen Daldry (Billy Elliot, The Reader)
The screenplay was written by David Hare (who also wrote the screenplay for The Reader). The screenplay is based on the 1999 Pulitzer-winning novel by Michael Cunningham.

And the cinematographer (amazing amazing amazing) was Seamus McGarvey whose work we have seen in Atonement and High Fidelity (heads up judges, that's right!). I am a huge fan.

I'll start things a little out of order: For me as a movie-watcher and now movie reviewer, cinematography is truly of utmost importance. Even if everything in the movie is an absolute disaster, a masterful cinematographer can give me a film worth watching. Most often though, the cinematography is the icing on an already delicious pastry (Amelie much!). I cannot quite say that this is the case here, The Hours would lose a lot of its value without the brilliant work of the brilliant Mr. McGarvey. His use of contrasting colours made for stark and stirring imagery. Unsettling close-ups of the faces of lead and supporting characters at times gave the movie an eerie and suspenseful nature, making one distinctly aware, from the start, that this film is one about tragic existences.

As for the cast, well, first I must attempt to explain the plot.
The film revolves around three women, each from a different generation, whose lives are connected in time through the novel Mrs. Dalloway . Each woman suffers a sense of desperation and perplexed restlessness, grappling with the mental and physical health of herself and those around her. In 1923, Nicole Kidman portrays Virginia Woolf who is deeply involved in writing her novel, Mrs. Dalloway, while struggling with mental illness, isolation and fear.
In 1951, Julianne Moore portrays Laura Brown, a pregnant housewife and mother, feeling trapped and confronting her identity and her lack of satisfaction with her life vis a vis her duties as a mother and a wife. At this stage of her life, she is engrossed by Mrs. Dalloway.
In 2001, Meryl Streep plays Clarissa Vaughan, a woman living with her lesbian partner, consumed by throwing an award party for her long-term friend, a poet, played by Richard Harris. Clarissa faces the task of coming to terms with the nature of her relationship with this friend and ultimately with herself.

While I originally found myself criticizing the film's extremely shallow, undeveloped and peculiar take on sexuality, unlike most critics I don't take issue with the 'dispassionate lesbianism' seen in The Hours (Richard Schickel of Time Magazine). Upon further reflection on the treatment of sexuality, it seems to me that the awkward, misplaced or simply jaded same-sex encounters in the film bring an air of reality to...well the reality that is sexual encounters. Rather than watching compelling, intense (and most often reciprocated by both parties) moments of sexual passion, one faces fleeting moments of uncomfortable, uncertain, timid and weary interactions. I appreciate this watered-down, reality-akin experimentation with sexuality, while I also admit that the screenplay leaves the audience hanging in a major way by failing to give direction to, or develop, the plot as it relates to love and sex.

Daldry captures each era in the film beautifully even as the movie weaves in and out of three extremely different decades. One of the most intriguing things in the movie is the sense of foreboding that dominates the film from the very beginning to the very end. You continually have that feeling that makes your eyes slightly narrow, your neck slightly tilted forward, distantly wondering "am I reading into this?" and "where is this movie going exactly?" - but in a good way, oh in a delicious way!

If You Believed They Put a 'Man on the Moon'…

You might recognize the title of this review as the chorus-opening lyric for R.E.M.’s ‘Man on the Moon.’ Michael Stipe goes on to sing, “If you believe there’s nothing up my sleeve, then nothing is cool.” I had listened to this song dozens of times. I had heard Andy Kaufman mentioned throughout. And yet it was not until I finally sat down to watch Milos Forman’s 1999 biography of Kaufman named after the R.E.M. song that the significance of those words dawned on me. The lyric perfectly captures the essence of Kaufman’s brilliance, and Jim Carrey’s performance as the comedian – nay, song-and-dance man, as he liked to call himself – complements it flawlessly, if you are as curious and fascinated by his life as I was.

The film opens in black-and-white. Andy walks into frame, speaking as his foreign man character, announces that the film is over and plays a record as the credits roll, then walks off. He returns and, using his normal voice, says he had to “get rid of the people who don't understand me, and don't want to try." The film then starts proper, with Andy using a film projector to show us his childhood home, which we are then thrust into. This opening could not be more befitting. It establishes right at the outset that this will not be a typical biopic, as its subject is not a typical comedian or, in fact, a typical man. Kaufman even says in this opening scene that "all the most important things in my life are changed around and mixed up for dramatic purposes."

Andy was not a comedian in the traditional sense of the word. He did not tell jokes, and when he did do impressions, it was not about the impression itself, but rather about playing tricks on the audience and observing human behaviour. He would come on stage as his foreign man character, do a terrible impression of Jimmy Carter and, just when the audience had written him off as a hack, would do an Elvis impersonation so brilliant that the audience didn’t know whether to laugh or cheer or feel like fools because they had been duped. He had a character called Tony Clifton, a Vegas lounge singer who berated the audience and insulted everyone he came across. As Andy and his friend and creative partner Bob Zmuda took turns playing Tony, many believed him to be a real person, and an incident involving him throwing a tantrum on the set of Andy’s TV show ‘Taxi’ was reported in the newspapers, much to Andy’s delight. It’s hard to imagine how someone who looked at entertainment from such a unique and original perspective became as successful and lauded by the mainstream as he did, and this film follows the trajectory of his career and makes it clear that someone as talented and full of creative energy as Andy was destined to become a star.


Carrey’s performance is phenomenal. He won a Golden Globe for Best Actor in a Musical or Comedy for the second year in a row, after having won it for The Truman Show the previous year. Although the film has many hilarious moments, it is at its core a drama, as Carrey himself mentioned in his acceptance speech. Andy’s life was tragically cut short, when he was diagnosed with lung cancer, and he died shortly after at the age of 35. Carrey has made a career out of playing outlandish, over-the-top characters, and has been successful enough at it to demand $20 million a picture. Because his characters are often so far from the realm of reality, it can be hard to fathom that he can act, let alone infuse a character with as much depth and sincerity as he does in this film. Although his comedic talents help him nail Andy’s many voices and mannerisms in a way that not many could, his quiet and introspective moments are the most fascinating to watch in the film, especially a truly powerful scene towards the end, when Andy goes to the Philippines to try an experimental cancer treatment known as ‘psychic surgery’ and realizes that it is a ruse, much like the ones he performed on audiences all his life. His moment of realization and his subsequent laughter is truly a spectacular scene in a spectacular film about a spectacular man.

Cue These Judges Who Judge Film Bluntly

Yes, there are many blogs on the interweb. We will concede this. But this one, we have plans for this one. ‘We’ being the self-appointed blunt judges. It may seem like being a judge, blunt or otherwise, should be a position appointed by someone besides oneself. It may seem like it, but not so. The only prerequisites to this position are an inordinate knowledge and passion for film…and a willingness to equate it with breathing. And we do. We’re like the fatally attracted Glenn Close to film’s Michael Douglas. The basically instinctive Sharon Stone to film’s Michael Douglas. But not the disclosed Demi Moore to film’s Michael Douglas. No, definitely not.

Roger Ebert wrote about how quality film criticism in daily newspapers is being swallowed up by the thirst for celebrity gossip. While we’re hardly setting ourselves up as the answer to this problem (Ebert is a saint of film criticism, all praise and glory be unto him. Two blunt judges were able to bask in his glory while sitting behind him at a TIFF screening), the intention behind this blog is simply to extend the conversations we generally have about film onto a wider forum. Between the three of us, we’ve watched a shitload of films (technical term). So as of now, we’re ready to move onto the next level. We’re ready to take it to second-base, to grope that proverbial breast and fearlessly share our ideas and insights with our faithful internets audience, who will hopefully include more people than those googling ‘grope breast.’

So boldly we go, like Michael Douglas in You, Me and Dupree (that’s right. We went there), into the realm of film criticism. Expect to see reviews, news, festival and awards show coverage and other film shizz.

So, here’s to film and discussing it and fucking loving it and also Michael Douglas is good too.