I just saw Reservation Road, a Terry George film released in 2007 starring Mark Ruffalo, Mira Sorvino, Jennifer Connelly, and Joaquin Phoenix. I’m not sure how to best categorize this movie, whether as suspense or as a psychological study. One thing is for certain: The film depicts every parent’s worst nightmare.

The catalyst occurs early in the film: Mark Ruffalo’s character, an attorney and divorced dad, is driving down a rural road with his son late at night and swerves to avoid oncoming traffic. The swerve, an event that occurs in a blink of an eye , sets off a horrifying chain of events that haunt Ruffalo along with Joaquin Phoenix’s character (and his family) for the remainder of the film.

The film could have been maudlin and depressing to watch. However, it’s impossible to see this film without empathizing with each character. They each struggle to come to terms with what’s happen, to find meaning in their lives that have been forever changed.

I had seen trailers for Reservation Road last summer. I’m glad a friend urged me to see it – it is a very moving film. Highly recommended.

"Melhor ser julgado por 12, do que ser carregado por 6."

Após assistir um filme onde civis urbanos se acham no direito de fazer justiça com as próprias mãos (Aliás, um que não devem deixar de ver: "Zona do Crime")... Fiquei com vontade de ver um com policiais versus bandidos... Entre tantos, escolhi esse. E não me decepcionei.

O que temos nesse filme? Numa Nova York de 1988, mais precisamente no Brooklyn, a máfia russa leva grande vantagem sobre a polícia. Com várias baixas de Tiras. E no meio de tudo isso, dois jovens se despontando nas carreiras que escolheram.

De um lado, temos Bobby Green (Joaquin Phoenix), gerente de uma casa noturna, El Caribe. Que pertence a uma família russa. Carismático, Bobby cai nas graças dos donos. Que pelo sucesso que ele conseguiu com essa Discoteca, o querem para gerenciar uma outra. Para Bobby, é começo de um sonho: de estar a frente de uma no coração de Manhattan. Para ele, tudo estava indo bem. Até que...

O outro jovem, é Joseph Grusinky (Mark Wahlberg). Ainda recente na polícia, mas querendo muito mostrar serviço. Até para não ficar à sombra do pai, Burt Grusinsky (Robert Duvall), um dos oficiais mais respeitados da Polícia. Ele é meio fechadão, mas também um pouco do tipo pavio-curto.

Ambos, são irmãos. Mas poucos sabem disso. Principalmente, os com quem Bobby convive. Apenas sua namorada, Amada (Eva Mendes) sabe disso.

A polícia, fica ciente da chegada de um novo carregamento de drogas. Mas não sabe quando, nem como. Dai, numa de "tragam os suspeitos de sempre"... Partem para uma blitz no El Caribe. Nessa, até o Bobby é levado para a delegacia; sendo solto por seu pai. O que queriam de fato: que alguém contasse sobre o carregamento que está para chegar. Mas os tiras nada conseguiram. E as desavenças que já existiam cresce, entre os dois irmãos.

O peso maior está nos ombros de Bobby. E ele não vai poder ficar mais tempo neutro nessa história. Com os rumos dos acontecimentos, dificulta mais esconder que tem pai e irmão na polícia. Há uma cena, onde um russo conta o que ele fez... Tem que ter muito sangue-frio para não esboçar a menor reação. Até por conta do que o cara fez.

Enfim, é um bom policial! De ver com tempo e calma. Eu gostei"

Por: Valéria Miguez (Lella).

Os Donos da Noite (We Own the Night). 2007. EUA. Direção e Roteiro: James Gray. Elenco: Joaquin Phoenix, Mark Wahlberg, Robert Duvall, Alex Veadov, Eva Mendes, Danny Hoch, Oleg Taktarov. Gênero: Policial. Duração: 117 minutos.

The credits were still rolling, the lights came up, and the brewing desire to release the pressure valve fell on everyone's lips as opinions increasingly became secret confessions of an anxious reader to an absent author.  The film in question is James Gray's Two Lovers, best described by Andrew O'Hehir as "a romantic drama about Leonard (Gray regular Joaquin Phoenix), a damaged 30ish Brooklynite living with his parents, who must choose between a nurturing, socially appropriate girlfriend (Vinessa Shaw) and a drugged-out, unavailable shiksa goddess (Gwyneth Paltrow)."   The ensuing discussion skipped the usual interpretative dance of grasping connections to the human condition, or what's left of it.  Instead, superficial assessments were the preferred format of the day, ranging from Gwyneth's miscasting to "ugly" Manhattan lawyer types to hatred of the Jewish father.  Even worse, "authentic" portrayal of NY life and "believability" of the characters' psychologies and emotions were buzzing in the air as indicators of artistic honesty.  Then again, if we take the director's word for his work (neither a good nor bad idea), we would be stuck with Gray's meditative study of love as a solipsistic projection, in which the dictum "save one person, save the world" isn't that far from the religious upbringing of the main character and his impulse to save the messed-up girl, and his fiancee's impulse to save him.  Would that be the measure of success, when a filmmaker fully translates every feeling and meaning to his audience?  Gray admits to be reading Jacques Lacan and Louis Aragon during the film production, but how are we supposed to notice his subliminal projections in the final product?

These points are not moot in any shape or form, they reveal surely the film's immense ability to elicit a spectrum of responses beyond the original intent of the filmmaker in demanding a serious consideration of his work as some lasting examination of modern relationships and their discontents.  There will always be a gap between intention and reception, encoding and decoding, and generations of old and young.

Interview with James Gray courtesy of Salon.com

[audio http://media.salon.com/mp3s/2008/may/conversations_gray.mp3]

Perhaps, Paltrow's "miscasting" was not an error in judgement but an indication of an actress's failure to escape her extradiegetic persona, in which she constantly inhabits her offscreen self or play variations on an established theme whether she wanted to or not.  However, this doesn't mean she fails within the level of the film itself, rather the aura of Gwyneth forever haunts and complements the blonde bimbo shell that is Michelle.  In short, Gwyneth plays Gwyneth really well, and O'Hehir is acute in pointing out that she is the quintessential femme fatale, desirable but never tangible, her first appearance in the film marks the arrival of fantasy rather than flesh, the ghost of her former role transported to a different film.  As much as I despise the God-given wisdom of the auteur, his final say as our final say, the "oh jeez, we got it now, thanks mister," I have to credit Gray for being his own best analyst in regards to the doomed lovers' last encounter.  He mentioned that he wanted Gwyneth (ooops, i mean Michelle) to appear as if she's floating in the dark alleyway before she emerges in front of Leonard.  An inevitable farewell to an ideal woman, a Hollywood construction more real than real.  And a side rebuttal to one vocal commentator:  Vanessa Redgrave in a Joe Wright's film is not the same as Gwyneth Paltrow in a James Gray's movie.  It's like saying Judi Dench's cameo in Pride and Prejudice was also his desperate ploy for funding.  Get it straight.

Moreover, the overrated focus on a film's capacity to mimic reality, to capture an imprint of life, as if it could've existed, eventually leads us to a dead end in the art of film criticism since it means fantasy narratives are playing another deck of cards to make us believe otherwise.   In the case of Two Lovers, destiny is laid out like a minefield, there will be causalities, there will be survivors, a  safe pathway is painfully visible.  Keeping in mind that there are two separate occasions where Michelle and Leonard  stare straight into the camera, knowing all too well that their intimate embrace is one stemming from vulnerability rather than potentiality.  Only Vinessa Shaw's character is out of this loop.  What we have forgotten when it comes to cinema is neither illusion or realism, but the creation of microcosms, of fictions passing off as realities (rather than REALITY), distinct in their individuality, but always in dialogue with each other, eventually cementing into transparent codes and conventions we take for granted.  It's appropriate that critics have labeled Gray as an old-fashioned craftsman, producing films they used to make in the old days, because in the very tone of that nostalgic sentiment lies the truth of their words---he's doing something that WAS done before, just reassembled into new permutations.  That familiarity tells us more about how we as moviegoers have deeply ingrained cultural memory into our consciousness of history and our perception of everyday reality.

In laying out the above expositions on the multi-faceted experience of watching Two Lovers, I want to probe into the wider phenomenon of film reception, which encompasses more than just watching, but all the tactile senses and more.  I admit that I was giggling at particular moments in the film because those were the scenes that retreated from the overall cumbersome trajectory, moments where the characters would exhibit ludicrous behaviors such as demanding an inscription on your arm as a lullaby, displaying your naked breast to a pathetic man across the hall, or asking your son if he needs help using Expedia.  At other times, I'm simply amused by the physical pleasure of seeing Joaquin doing breakdancing or Gwyneth with smeared mascara.  Spoutblog writer, Karina Longworth even cites that she was asleep for the first half of the film until that nightclub scene captivated her to the end. Her review fluctuates between adoration and ambivalence; she clearly enjoyed the film, but was uncertain on how to judge it as a critic. Does it always have to funnel down towards a recommendation for yourself, or for others?   Film historian and cinephile, David Bordwell, performs an admirable job categorizing the nature of reception into these two components that make for competing rivals and strange bedfellows:

I can like films I don’t think are particularly good. I enjoy mid-level Hong Kong movies because I can see their ties to local history and film history, because I take delight in certain actors, because I try to spot familiar locations. But I wouldn’t argue that because I like them, they’re good. We all have guilty pleasures—a label that was coined exactly to designate films which give us enjoyment, even if by any wide criteria they aren’t especially good.

The difference between taste and judgment emerges in this way: You can recognize that some films are good even if you don’t like them. You can declare Birth of a Nation or Citizen Kane or Persona an excellent film without finding it to your liking...There aren't any fully “objective” standards, but they are intersubjective—lots of people with widely varying tastes accept them.

What Bordwell is hinting at, though he never mentions explicitly, is the ongoing transformation of taste into judgement, of elitist proclivities becoming the gold standard.  Taste is always shifting from one person to another, but judgement is harder to change, it requires an informal consensus with time as an overseer.  In my agreement with O'Hehir, Two Lovers continue to diverge reactions because it's a successful failed experiment, fascinating, frustrating, and inherently fictitious to its bittersweet finale.  Everyone left the room with something to say instead of a forgettable nod of acceptance. Tolerance would've been boring!

I will not conclude with a report on film appreciation, for a simple call to arms is much more bearable and easier to administer in the realm of critical reception and pleasurable enjoyment.  Broadening of one's taste (the inclusivity principle) and a cautious judgment of judgment will keep any filmgoer from being too satisfied and too picky with his meal.  Without reverting to archaic rules of appropriateness, when to laugh, when to cry, when to tremble in suspense, it would be better to refer to these selected musings of Susan Sontag in her seminal essay Notes on Camp rather than just grouping everything under that misused umbrella term, camp.  It shouldn't be a label, but a contentious neologism to be argued for and against.

18. One must distinguish between naïve and deliberate Camp. Pure Camp is always naïve. Camp which knows itself to be Camp ("camping") is usually less satisfying.

41. The whole point of Camp is to dethrone the serious. Camp is playful, anti-serious. More precisely, Camp involves a new, more complex relation to "the serious." One can be serious about the frivolous, frivolous about the serious.

Just one minor exception to social propriety:  Don't ever holler at the screen unless you're at a sing-a-long.

Would he have played Batman? Oh god, can you see it? River Phoenix as Batman and Heath Ledger as the Joker? How gorgeous and nuanced and amazing would that have been? I mean, nothing against Christian Bale, but he is just an actor delivering lines. Sure, he says them nicely, but I'm beginning to think that I want all my superheroes to have struggled with addiction. Maybe that's what helps them truly understand the battle of good vs evil, of responsibility vs standing idly by, of carrying a heavy weight on your shoulders that you cannot shake.

Or maybe I just wish I could see River Phoenix in a Batman costume.

Regardless, I decided it's time to learn a little about the Phoenix family, as they are/were a fascinating bunch.

(thanks to river-phoenix.org!)

The Phoenix parents were from opposite ends of the country, and met while hitchhiking in 1968. Mom, Arlyn Dunetz, started hitchhiking because, as she said, "I was just a clone, totally unconscious. I didn't know that the air was polluted and I didn't care. I just went to work and thought that everything the Government told me was right and true. It took some time before I awakened. I became aware." So she met John Lee Bottom and they fell in love and got married in 1969. Their first son River was born in 1970, and then they joined the religious cult called The Children of God. They toured this hemisphere in poverty as Christian missionairies for a few years, and River's parents renamed themselves Jochebed and Amram.

They left the Children of God in 1977 because the cult got kinda weird and sexual (isn't that what cults always do?). River later claimed in an interview that he lost his virginity at age four, "but I've blocked it out... I was completely celibate from 10 to 14"^. His representatives reportedly pressured him to later recant the comment, claiming it was "a joke". He later said of Children of God- "They're disgusting... they're ruining people's lives". It was in the cult years that mom and dad had Joaquin, Rain, and Liberty. Joaquin changed his name to Leaf as a child, but then changed it back. Joaquin also, by the way, doesn't have a cleft palate, but simply a birth mark on his upper lip.

Post-cult, the family moved to Florida and mom gave birth to Summer, the final daughter of the family, and this is when they adopted the last name Phoenix. They all became vegans. They moved to California and Momma Phoenix got a job at NBC, which eventually led to her getting an agent for her children to get all of them acting work.

We all know what happened next- fame, fortune, acting kudos, and eventual overdosing in front of Johnny Depp's nightclub for River, and fame, weirdness, and Johnny Cash portrayal for Joaquin. The rest of them are just out there somewhere, waiting for their family's story to be made into a movie.

*sigh*

I'm not advocated a tortured lifestyle for anyone, but I do pine for the days when a tortured lifestyle helped to make performers' talents richer and more textured. Now the tortured lifestyle is the talent.

So, last night, after eating some left over gumbo at Meg and Evan's house, Evan and I decided to go watch Mr. Shyamalan's newest movie, "The Happening" starring Mark Wahlberg and Zooey Deschanel.  Admittedly I was a little skeptical about seeing this movie because I have been disappointed with something about every other M. Night Shyamalan movie I have seen.  Here is the thing though, I've never left watching a film by Mr. Shyamalan and said, "that was an awful piece of shit, I can't believe I just spent time watching that!"  But I have responded to all his movies with a general feel of dissatisfaction and after watching "The Happening" and thinking about it over a night's sleep I think I may finally have found what it is that bothers me about Mr. Shyamalan's films.  Of course this is all a matter of personal opinion and y'all are more than welcome to agree, disagree, claim that Shyamalan is the greatest director of all times, or say that his work is little more than colorful dog shit . . . anyway, let's see if I can write this so that I am making the most sense.  Allow my friend Haley Joel Osment to express the idea for me:

This is exactly what I believe.  It isn't that M. Night Shyamalan can't come up with some pretty good movie premises.  It isn't that he can't get the audiences to jump at certain times.  It isn't even that the acting or the cinematography in his films seem all that bad.  But what it comes down to in the end, I think, is that he just kind of cops out for mediocrity and ultimately this pisses people off.  

Allow me to discuss further by considering a couple of his films.

First off, Mr. Shyamalan has three films that he directed/wrote that I have not seen.  They are, "Praying With Anger" "Wide Awake" and "Lady in the Water."  Of these three Shyamalan films that I haven not seen I know absolutely nothing about the first two and so can pass no judgment.  Of "Lady in the Water" all I can say is that it received such god awful reviews even I was not interested in the least bit.  Beyond that I have seen every other movie that Shyamalan has directed.

Let's start with the movie that really put M. Night's name on the board, that of course being 1999's "The Sixth Sense."  Personally I think that of all of Mr. Shyamalan's movies that I've seen this has to be my favorite.  It is a good ghost story that is creepy enough to freak you out but not so scary that you will loose a ton of sleep over it (though, seeing it in theaters when I was 15 years old, it did make having to take a piss at night a little bit freaky for a few days).  Haley Joel Osment and Bruce Willis both do a really fantastic job acting in the film.  But here is my criticism.  I honestly didn't know what was going to happen in the movie before going to see it (I hadn't heard about the twist or anything) all I knew is that it was a ghost movie that was getting some pretty descent reviews.  But within the first ten minutes or so of the movie I had figured out that Bruce Willis' character was obviously a ghost himself (first spoiler right here for any of y'all who haven't seen "The Sixth Sense" though by now, even if you haven't seen it, you probably have heard about the twist).  I didn't need to watch over an hour and a half of the film to figure that out.  I guess what really got me is how many people, upon seeing "The Sixth Sense" were like, "Wow, I didn't see that coming!"  Seriously? I don't know, maybe people are not as perceptive as I was at 15, but I thought the fact that Bruce Willis' character get shot right in the beginning of a movie about ghosts was a pretty good clue that he was dead, further supported by the fact that the only person who ever talks to him throughout the rest of the movie is the kid who just so happens to be able to see said ghosts.  All and all it wasn't a bad film but I just felt that the "twist" was kind of weak and predictable and considering the relative quality of the rest of the movie this left a bit of a bad taste in my mouth.

Next we have "Unbreakable" again with Willis but this time also including Samuel L. Jackson.  "Unbreakable" is yet again a rather original premise focusing on two characters; one who seems to be invulnerable to harm and have a strange ability to know what people have done when touching them (Willis) and another man who is incredibly frail and harm prone (Jackson).  The story kind of takes a super hero type of twist with Jackson urging Willis to use his powers.  In the end it turns out that Jackson has caused a whole slew of disasters in hopes of finding a person just like Willis to be his "nemesis."  It has been quite a while since I last saw "Unbreakable" but I just remember thinking, "Okay, kind of a cool plot, but just so nihilistic and all around disinterested."  Samuel L. Jackson is definitely the highlight of the movie in my opinion but beyond him it just struck me as kind of meandering and not really giving a flying fuck about existing.  Quite essentially it just seemed "half-assed."

Moving on.  2002's "Signs" starring Mel Gibson and Joaquin Phoenix.  Of all of M. Night Shyamalan's movies that I've seen, "Signs" is my least favorite because I think it the least creative.  Sure it has it's moments of suspense and a few good jumps here and there but I just wasn't all that struck by a sense of originality.  And then there is this whole background story about the death of Mel Gibson's character's wife and some jazz about Joaquin Phoenix and baseball and it all just kind of sucked.  Really I can't put my finger on a specific detail beyond saying, again, that the movie just seemed pretty half-assed and kind of a poor rip off of H. G. Wells' The War of the Worlds (the aliens in The War of the Worlds were vulnerable to Earth microbes and in "Signs" they were vulnerable to water.  There were other weak similarities too).

After "Signs" we had 2004's "The Village" again with Joaquin Phoenix and introducing Bryce Dallas Howard, the daughter of Ron Howard.  Next to "The Sixth Sense" I think this is my other favorite film by M. Night Shyamalan.  "The Village" really did (does) have an originality to it.  The premise of a secluded village bordered by a forest supposedly inhabited by unknown monsters is quite captivating.  The look and feel of the movie is also rather good.  But, like "The Sixth Sense" I had kind of seen the plot twist coming from afar and this annoyed me.  The spoiler is that there are not really any monsters, it is just the village elders in disguise to keep the other villagers from asking too many questions or trying to leave.  The village it turns out is in the modern world, just hidden in a giant nature reserve.  Okay, great, neat twist jackass.  I would have been much happier if there really had been some strange creatures in the woods and if it really was a secluded village in say either some post-apocalyptic world or a whole different world.  Why?  I don't know that just seemed more appealing than the twist.  It was another "Really, that is what you are going to pull?" moment in Shyamalan films.

Skip M. Night. Shyamalan's next movie, "Lady in the Water" and that brings us to "The Happening."  Again, like most of his films (except maybe "Signs") we are given a pretty interesting premise and two good actors (well one is an actress).  The images of people offing themselves in various ways for unknown reasons is quite creative and even the eventual possible explanation, that plants are producing some chemical that is causing people to commit suicide, is intriguing.  All around the basic plot makes for a rather different look at the apocalyptic film (no huge violent natural disasters or invasive somethings or others like zombies, aliens, or robots) but, as has turned out to be status quo with Shyamalan at this point, the movie just seemed weak and not really all that driven with itself.  I think both Wahlberg and Deschanel are very good at acting but even they seemed a bit lost and weak in "The Happening."  All around I left the movie, last night, feeling like there had been a potential good idea with a relatively good start that just kind of fizzled out.  It seemed like there were a number of options where the movie could have really kicked it up a bit (like some more on the need for groups to separate or the crazy recluse lady) but never did.  Again it just fizzled.

So, what is my suggestion to Mr. Shyamalan?  Personally I think he has the ability to think up some pretty descent premises and plot ideas but he lacks skill at carrying them through to full fruition.  Also, while his directing isn't horrible I have seen similar movies done much better.  What I would suggest is that M. Night Shyamalan sticks to producing.  He hires himself a few talented young writers and he brainstorms some plot ideas with them but lets one or two of them handle most of the writing end.  Then he finds a director, somebody who will really embrace a project and not cop out (and also won't over do the whole special effects thing) and lets them go with it.  Hell Shyamalan can even still make his stupidly vain cameos in these movies if he wants to, but all and all let others handle them because chances are some people can do a better job than he can.

There, I've said it, I think M. Night Shyamalan creates half assed movies that could have been good if somebody else had been handling them.

Post Notes: 1).  I'd love to hear what people think about my conclusion and M. Night Shyamalan, just keep it respectful (to me, I could care less if you want to rip Shyamalan a new one).  2).  I feel like I deserve a thank you card from IMDb for the number of hotlinks to their site that I've included on this post. 3). This is definitely on of the longest posts I've written in quite some time, it was real fun!

Muito se disse sobre A Vila, sexto filme de M. Night Shyamalan, ser uma metáfora sobre a cultura do medo instaurada nos Estados Unidos depois dos atentados de 11 de setembro, ou uma constatação sobre a impossibilidade de acabar com a violência, ou uma história sobre as verdades e mentiras dentro de uma família, ou uma junção dos três temas e mais alguns. Mas, antes de — e mais importante que — ser tudo isso, A Vila é uma espécie de revisão, ou ainda desconstrução, que Shyamalan faz do seu próprio cinema (ao menos pós-O Sexto Sentido).

Nessa revisão, o que norteia o diretor é exatamente a noção de acreditar (em algo, sejam fantasmas, superpoderes ou milagres), que já era importante nos filmes anteriores; no entanto, o que diferencia A Vila de seus predecessores é que aqui, pela primeira vez, Shyamalan coloca o espectador no centro da brincadeira. Antes, crer em alguma coisa era reservado apenas aos personagens; agora, quem assiste também é chamado a tomar parte nisso, e o que o filme faz é levar a questão até o limite, culminando na sua principal cena, em que a protagonista é perseguida por uma criatura que, minutos antes, tínhamos descoberto que não existe. Tudo o mais, o enredo, os personagens, os subtextos (supostos ou não) não são mais que mero McGuffin para se chegar àquele momento na floresta.

E isso torna A Vila não só um jogo com o estilo de Shyamalan, mas, além disso, com as bases — que também passam pela questão da crença — do cinema fantástico: o espectador vai ver disposto a admitir o que quer que seja como possível, compra a idéia das criaturas, para logo descobrir que não passam de uma farsa, e então vem o confronto: a aceitação inicial da existência dos monstros contra a informação dada pelo filme de que eles não existem. Óbvio que a cena não funciona com muita gente — seja pelo tal confronto simplesmente não se concretizar (“já falaram que não tem criatura nenhuma, que bosta é essa?”), por não envolver, ou por milhares de outras razões —, mas deu certo comigo, e não só comigo. E só pela coragem, ou arrogância, que seja, de ser pôr à prova de tal maneira, tentando criar uma cena de suspense baseada num elemento descartado por ele próprio, e que fatalmente iria fracassar com parte do público, Shyamalan já mereceria elogios.

A revelação da farsa, além de servir ao jogo que é o centro do filme, também é outra semi-piada que Shyamalan faz com o rótulo que meio que lhe colaram, e ele meio que atraiu de ser o-diretor-dos-filmes-com-finais-surpresa — dessa vez a reviravolta vem com quarenta minutos ainda pela frente. Mas lá vem outra surpresa depois, opa, tem mais uma reviravolta, essa sim no final, o que demonstra a habilidade de Shyamalan em mexer com as expectativas da platéia, e aqui de maneira ainda mais genial por se aproveitar da imagem que as pessoas criaram dos filmes dele, e por usar a desconstrução do próprio estilo, antecipando a grande revelação, para reconstruí-lo depois, entregando outra.

Também é natural que, dentro da proposta de revisão, A Vila seja o filme do diretor em que mais se destaca a parte visual (fotografia genial de Roger Deakins), incluindo o talento na manipulação da câmera (as constantes tomadas através de portas, janelas etc., a aparição das criaturas na vila, o esfaqueamento, toda a parte na floresta), e em que o suspense criado por Shyamalan mais mostre a influência hitchcockiana, com direito até troca brusca de protagonista, como em Psicose.

No começo, disse que, mais importante do que ser ou não um filme sobre todos os temas que atribuíram a ele, era A Vila ser um filme em que o diretor revia o próprio estilo, zoava um pouco com ele, demolia e remontava em questão de minutos. No entanto, mais importante do que ser uma revisão ou coisa do gênero, é A Vila ser um belo exemplar do hoje meio em baixa cinema fantástico. É feito às antigas, com confiança total na disposição do espectador de se deixar levar por uma história fora da realidade, sem medo de mandar as regras que regem o lado de cá da tela ao escambau. E por isso é tão bom: é como ler um conto do século XIX numa daquelas velhas coletâneas, grossas, com as páginas amareladas e cheias de poeira, num dia de chuva.

4/4

Robson Galluci

A iminência de perigo sustentada pela casa envolta de um imenso milharal é mantida num nível que serve de base pra toda arquitetura visual de Shyamalan em Sinais. Nem em A Vila, mesmo num ambiente amplificado pela época em que o diretor situa o lugar, a sensação de isolamento e abandono é tão forte, tão depressiva e angustiante.

A mim pouco importa a sub trama da reconquista da fé e de uma unidade familiar anteriormente toda amputada e espalhada pelos cômodos de uma única casa. Porque Sinais é um filme em que todos os elementos são coadjuvantes uns dos outros, desfilando sob a égide escravizante de uma atmosfera de tensão que Shy resgata dos panos de fundo e traz a primeiro plano, exibindo seus personagens não sobrepostos a este lençol, mas detrás dele, por sua vez trespassado de uma mera sombra do que em tese precisaria ser o epicentro apenas iluminado pelos efeitos taquicárdicos da ambientação que M. Night Shyamalan consegue tecer. E apesar da historinha do padre ser bem boazinha e em algumas vezes até tocante, ela mesma serve de degrau para momentos de verdadeira claustrofobia cinematográfica.

Sinais tem algumas das melhores cenas de Shyamalan, halos de redemoinhos sensoriais aos que um espectador pode experimentar, limitadamente, em alguns poucos filmes organizáveis nos dedos. O modo absoluto com que o diretor compreende a sensação sufocante de alguém circundando a casa é o catalisador de todos os grandes momentos dessa obra-prima de essência do suspense. O local por si só já pressupõe uma vaga ameaça (o milharal dá ao mesmo tempo uma noção de amplitude e de lugar gradeado num contraste entre a imensidão do nada por vários quilômetros – reforçando a idéia de que não há ninguém por perto para ajudar – e a sensação terrível de não haver para onde fugir).

Se a silhueta no telhado é quase paralisante, o que se faz posteriormente provoca olhares para os lados em quem assiste, apenas no uso do som e da sugestão de que qualquer coisa está prestes a saltar sobre o personagem, que no caso, é você mesmo, já que aqui não apenas testemunhamos uma família numa casa, mas fazemos parte dela. Shy isola o espectador jogando-o na ilusão de um ser invisível sujeito a tudo quanto é possível neste universo fílmico, tornando todas as câmeras subjetivas, numa das mais eficientes imersões que eu já vi. Sinais me engoliu pra dentro dele nos seus cento e poucos minutos, e eu escapei nem sei como.

Tem umas coisas especialmente perturbadoras. Graham com a lanterna no milharal é a representação exata de um pesadelo no qual, por mais que se corra, você parece não sair do lugar. E o grande centro de gravidade de Sinais, a cena no porão, é apenas daquelas poucas indizíveis e inexplicáveis às quais temos o prazer de nos render. A melhor coisa que o indiano já fez na carreira, e uma das cenas mais opressivas e movediças já criadas (e preciso me lembrar disso pra um próximo top! do gênero), na precisão da coreografia, na simetria de cada micro composição enquadrada nos limites claustrofóbicos daquele porão, e na utilização incisiva de elementos de cena por interferência direta no arranjo da própria cena, como pode ser visto nas variações de luz planejadas por Shyamalan e que parecem transcorrer ao acaso, num processo orgânico que, repito, encarna e aprisiona o espectador num personagem impotente dentro do filme.

Na verdade, o terceiro terço todo de Sinais é inesquecível. O próprio trecho que precede a cena do porão é matéria bruta do ‘alguém rondando a casa’ citado anteriormente, e do som como lâmina do suspense, pelo qual Shy representa a progressão dos invasores entrando no lugar. É também no som que a simples presença do monitorador de bebês como indicador de proximidade de perigo traz boas lembranças de Silent Hill (o game) e aquele ruído aterrorizante do radinho. Aliás, o filme do Christopher Gans só não deu certo pela ausência do elemento.

Sou do bloco do eu sozinho que considera Sinais um dos maiores suspenses de todos os tempos. É um dos poucos filmes que conseguem me prender pelos ombros, me arrastar e me mergulhar completamente no seu universo, atingindo aquele efeito limite, o ponto mais alto até onde o cinema pode chegar, a justificativa mais sintética para a existência desta arte audiovisual teoricamente tão limitada no que tange à produção de sensações que fogem à superfície do contato sonoro ou visual: me fazer despencar para dentro de um outro mundo.

4/4

Luis Henrique Boaventura

Auf dem Weg zum Kino kam uns ein ehemaliger Schulkamerad (auch wenn die Formulierung stimmt, ist es komisch, so kurz nach dem Abitur diese Wortkombination in den Mund zu nehmen) entgegen. Erste Reaktion von ihm:"Na, geht's zum Fußball gucken?" Die Tatsache, dass es sich bei dem einzigen in Frage kommenden Spiel um die Partie Griechenland gegen Schweden handelte, die nicht wirklich Unterhaltungswert verspricht, lasse ich jetzt mal bei der Beantwortung der Frage außen vor. Wichtiger war doch zu dem Zeitpunkt, dass das Spiel schon eine gute Stunde lief. Also haben wir die Situation geklärt, immerhin gingen wir ja nicht zum Fußball, sondern zur Sneak Preview (Vorpremiere). Der einzige Kommentar dazu:"Ja, da war ich auch schon zweimal drin." Wie blöd, was müssen die denn bitte auch jede Woche diese Sneak Preview wiederholen, jeden Dienstag der gleiche Film. Aber dann gleich zweimal reinzugehen? Muss ja ein spannender Film sein, ich war also frohen Mutes. (Kenner sollten wissen, dass man im Voraus nicht weiß, welcher Film vorgeführt wird. Es soll allerdings echt Leute geben, die denken, dass diese ominöse Sneak Preview nichts anderes als ein Film mit eben diesem Namen ist)

Jetzt aber zum Film, selbst. Es handelte sich um "Ein einziger Augenblick", die Inhaltsangabe klau ich frech bei Wikipedia (wer den Film noch sehen will und nicht unbedingt im Voraus schon Wert darauf legt, die Handlung zu kennen, sollte die nächsten drei eingerückten Absätze ignorieren)

Der Professor Ethan Learner, seine Ehefrau Grace und seine Kinder kehren von einem Konzert heim. Unterwegs halten sie an und der zehnjährige Sohn des Professors Josh wird in einem Verkehrsunfall getötet als er unachtsam eine Straße betritt. Der Fahrer des Autos, von dem Josh überfahren wurde, Dwight Arno, flieht.

Der geschiedene Arno ist unsicher, ob er sich bei der Polizei melden soll, weil er fürchtet, dass er das Erziehungsrecht für seinen Sohn Lucas verliert. Der niedergeschlagene Ethan Learner vernachlässigt seine Familie und sucht den Täter. Er wendet sich zufällig an die Anwaltskanzlei, in der Dwight Arno beschäftigt ist. Arno wird der Fall Learners übergeben. Währenddessen lernt die Tochter der Learners, Emma, Klavierspiel bei der Ex-Ehefrau von Dwight Arno, Ruth Wheldon.

Learner identifiziert Arno als den Fahrer des Unfallwagens und greift zur Schusswaffe.

Den Kommentar werde ich bewusst kurz halten, eigentlich kann ich den in einen einzigen Satz fassen. Kurz gesagt zeigt der Film die gesamte Bandbreite des Wirrwarrs menschlicher Gefühle so wie die Inkonsequenz des Handelns jedes Einzelnen. Was einem aber spätestens nach dem Film klar sein sollte, womit ich noch mal den Titel aufgreifen möchte, ist die Tatsache, dass ein einziger Augenblick im Leben reicht, um selbiges komplett umzukrempeln und durcheinanderzuwerfen. Im Falle des Films verständlicherweise im negativen Sinne, eine Familie, die am Tod ihres Sohnes fast zerbricht und einen Täter, der mit seinen Schuldgefühlen zu kämpfen hat, der dauernd von den Bildern des Unfalls verfolgt wird. Das der Film ohne wirkliches Ende aufhört und die Sache mit der Schusswaffe auch inkonsequent beendet wird, spricht für die, im Gesamtkontext betrachtete, Konsequenz, mit der der Film versucht, dem Publikum die Gefühlswelt der Protagonisten nahezubringen. Leider gelingt das trotz teilweise mehr als guter Schauspielkunst der Hauptdarsteller nicht immer, das Gesamtwerk wird trotzdem glaubhaft an den Mann/die Frau gebracht.

Insgesamt hat mir der Film relativ gut gefallen, auch wenn er nicht unbedingt meinen Geschmack getroffen hat. Die Vorraussage, dass Hulk kommt, hätte mir persönlich besser gefallen, aber der "Großmeister der Sneaks" (Zitat Michi) sollte dann im Endeffekt doch Recht behalten mit "Ein einziger Augenblick". Und so schlimm war es dann auch nicht...

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