Uruguay, 79 minutes, Spanish
Director: Gustavo Hernandez
Cast: Abel Tripaldi, Florencia Colucci, Gustavo Alonso and Marìa Salazar
“La Casa Muda” (The Silent House) is a suspense thriller that uses impressive camera stylization to enhance its stereotypical plot. Uruguay successfully created a minimalist horror film that was all shot in one take. A film that spans 78 minutes and uses only a digital camera for filming, “La Casa Muda” is a reminder to audiences that cinematic achievement can be reached using nothing more than the essentials.
I went into this movie knowing that its’ bold way of filming. I was expecting a long, drawn-out approach full of cliché haunted house illusions, very shaky camera motions that would only make me nauseas, and zooms simply sought out to impress me. Fortunately, none of the above was validated.
The film begins with a young woman, Laura, looking around a seemingly abandoned, boarded-up house with her father, Wilson. She appears very quiet, and the two enter with the house’s owner. He is allowing them to stay in the house that he is planning to sell. The house has an eerie presence which is first seen outside through the gray skies. This personification is shown inside the house as well through a lack of power. Once the owner leaves, Wilson decides to take a nap while Laura explores the rooms with a lantern.
She hears a loud, ominous noise coming from the upstairs. Laura wakes up her father to check out the noise. She finds a knife to protect herself. She discovers her father’s body, and manages to lurk around the house in search of her father’s killer and some answers. She is haunted by a radio that gets mysteriously turned on and a noise from a doll that continues to appear. Throughout the film, the audience learns more about this mysterious house and its former and present inhabitants.
Although it was filmed this risky way, each sequence made sense and did not feel forced or false. In fact, the camera movement was very fluid. Only once did the filmmakers use the camera in an amateur way, but even then they had their reasons.
Laura is running away from the house after the man has grabbed her, and the camera follows her, seemingly running behind her. This scene had that nauseating “Blair Witch Project” effect, but the director’s decision to film only this scene in this style was relevant. This scene, in particular, perhaps because of the camera’s shift from steady to shaky, connected the audience closer to Laura, allowing them to feel and sense her fear and desire to escape her fate.
Along with using only one take, the actors and scene set-up had to be spot-on to escape any continuity errors. I was watching with a skeptic eye, but not once did I notice a shadow-flaw or even a minor slip-up.
The filmmakers made another conscious decision with their lighting techniques. Throughout the film, since the house is seemingly abandoned, there is no usage of electricity, including the house’s lights. The filmmakers strategically use only the illumination from various candles, two lanterns, camera flashes, cracks of sunlight and occasionally a flashlight to light the scenes. Anyone with a digital camera, or even a camera for that matter, knows the important impact that lighting has on the outcome. This was an intense risk that the filmmakers went through to make such a drastic decision in congruence with the plot.
But they succeeded—like the one-shot technique, the lack of unnatural lighting only enhances the horror and suspense within the plot. Sometimes when the scene goes black entirely, the audience gets more wrapped up in what they are missing – creating a further connection to the characters when they are on screen.
While Laura’s character transforms throughout and the audience grows more and more curious about her, the house which reigns as a true character, remains the same. The house still holds valuable relics from the past including furniture, photographs and books. As we discover the house along with Laura, scoping out its personality, we connect that like the human characters, this boarded-up house is isolated as well. When Laura runs from it, the house has symbolized fear for her and we see how desolate it is from an outside perspective. The audience questions the house’s past from the beginning with question of how it seems so empty and yet so alive.
The film’s addition of sound is also fitting. At the start, the sound is often mute or very slow, much like Laura’s quiet self. The soundtrack begins to combine with her emotions, ranging from fear to shock to rage, increasing volumes and intensity with each sequence. The instrumentation was relevant as well, never too over-exposing or unnecessary.
From someone who would never intentionally see a horror movie, this film is more of a suspense thriller in its creation – it is pieced together more lyrically and appropriately because of its essentialist method of production. “La Casa Muda” is gripping as well as admirable for Uruguay because of the accomplishment that they were able to achieve.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
A Screaming Man
Chad, 92 minutes, French
Director: Mahamat-Saleh Haroun
Cast: Youssouf Djaoro, Diouc Koma, Emil Abossolo M’bo
Set in war-torn Chad, “A Screaming Man” visually explores a complex relationship between a washed-up father and his ambitious son. The film portrays a dramatic message that spans beyond standard loving familial relationships by exploiting themes of jealousy, expectation and dishonor. The film’s establishment of such ideas is both provocative and emotionally stimulating for the viewer.
As a hotel swimming pool attendant, Champ is validated by his job and place amongst society. This pool signifies everything from freedom to income to a sense of drowning in isolation – but it mostly remains a source of solitude throughout the film for Champ, creating a catalyst for an abyss of distance between the father and his son Abdel.
Although the film feels draining at times through its long periods of silence, this silence is what captures Champ’s personality best. He is a man of few words, whereas his son is a man of many. The contrast of the two men is first shown when Abdel is adamant about taking pictures throughout his day, chronicling his simple lifestyle. Abdel is approachable and smiling, completely in contrast of his distant, straight-faced father.
Abdel is also a pool attendant at the hotel, but lacks the responsibility his father feels toward his job.
“Pool attendants wear white,” the disapproving veteran Champ tells his color-laden son.
The dialogue between the two men, particularly in this scene, represents their opposition in lifestyle and opinion in a quick way, but the film focuses more on deciphering visual differences to show their differences.
This white uniform, signifying a sense of pride in Champ, is blatantly disregarded by his son.
Abdel is seen as an even bigger disruption to his father’s life when he is out of uniform amongst the poolside’s white umbrellas and white-clothed chairs.
The true animosity and jealousy amongst these two is not portrayed because Champ is switched over to be a gate keeper and Abdel to become the sole pool attendant, but through the way this scene is filmed.
The narrative structure is basic – Champ is confused to be shunned at the entrance gate, meets with his manager about his job, gets moved to a different area and sulks.
But the visual complements with this great shift in Champ’s life are the better
foundation for the audience.
Instead of his crisp white uniform, Champ must don a dark suit complete with a matching hat. The sleeves and pant-legs are too short. The uniform is not fitting, much like the job.
As we watch him jump back and forth opening and closing the gate for a surge of honking cars, the close-ups of his sweating head and the continuous effort he makes to keep cool enhance the plot much better than any dialogue could have attempted.
He had recently used the pool as an outlet, the river as an endless means of solitude. When his life is shaken by a job shift, he shakes his home life as well, forfeiting his son over to the war effort.
The film’s visual style of framing is also vivid. Champ, an accomplished yet quiet man, is often framed alone, isolated amongst his family and his peers. He is isolated in his thoughts by not talking and therefore secretive about his own fears.
Youssouf Djaoro portrays this resentful, shy man with poise; his acting is not stressed and his reactions are believable. He has captured the essence of silence through his character, and uses his stance to better express Champ’s personality without words. In this, Djaoro creates reason between the silence and the narrative.
The lack of dialogue between the Champ and Abdel makes an even greater point about their relationship – they have nothing to say.
Beyond the scope of the men are the wife and the girlfriend, both of which do little to advance the plot. They are mainly used to portray the greater indifference between the generations. Abdel’s girlfriend is equally ambitious as Abdel, whereas Champ’s wife is yearning for validation on her cooking from her silent husband.
One scene in particular that helped explain the father/son dynamic in this film was when Abdel says to his father, “You are like an old lion.” Once this connection was told, I could see Champ as a lion – watching his pride (family) with a passive eye and sacrificing his cub. He watches the armies take him away through a dimly lit window, perched upon the bed motionless.
Champ’s lack of emotions toward his son was disheartening to watch, especially when it takes him as long as it does to seek any kind of justice for him. The way “A Screaming Man” is told, in that his silence is as deafening as screaming, is what sets it apart. If anything, even less dialogue could have made it even more visually stronger. This film succeeds in its use of silence, reminding the audience that the connections shown on screen between people can stretch beyond a sea of words.
Director: Mahamat-Saleh Haroun
Cast: Youssouf Djaoro, Diouc Koma, Emil Abossolo M’bo
Set in war-torn Chad, “A Screaming Man” visually explores a complex relationship between a washed-up father and his ambitious son. The film portrays a dramatic message that spans beyond standard loving familial relationships by exploiting themes of jealousy, expectation and dishonor. The film’s establishment of such ideas is both provocative and emotionally stimulating for the viewer.
As a hotel swimming pool attendant, Champ is validated by his job and place amongst society. This pool signifies everything from freedom to income to a sense of drowning in isolation – but it mostly remains a source of solitude throughout the film for Champ, creating a catalyst for an abyss of distance between the father and his son Abdel.
Although the film feels draining at times through its long periods of silence, this silence is what captures Champ’s personality best. He is a man of few words, whereas his son is a man of many. The contrast of the two men is first shown when Abdel is adamant about taking pictures throughout his day, chronicling his simple lifestyle. Abdel is approachable and smiling, completely in contrast of his distant, straight-faced father.
Abdel is also a pool attendant at the hotel, but lacks the responsibility his father feels toward his job.
“Pool attendants wear white,” the disapproving veteran Champ tells his color-laden son.
The dialogue between the two men, particularly in this scene, represents their opposition in lifestyle and opinion in a quick way, but the film focuses more on deciphering visual differences to show their differences.
This white uniform, signifying a sense of pride in Champ, is blatantly disregarded by his son.
Abdel is seen as an even bigger disruption to his father’s life when he is out of uniform amongst the poolside’s white umbrellas and white-clothed chairs.
The true animosity and jealousy amongst these two is not portrayed because Champ is switched over to be a gate keeper and Abdel to become the sole pool attendant, but through the way this scene is filmed.
The narrative structure is basic – Champ is confused to be shunned at the entrance gate, meets with his manager about his job, gets moved to a different area and sulks.
But the visual complements with this great shift in Champ’s life are the better
foundation for the audience.
Instead of his crisp white uniform, Champ must don a dark suit complete with a matching hat. The sleeves and pant-legs are too short. The uniform is not fitting, much like the job.
As we watch him jump back and forth opening and closing the gate for a surge of honking cars, the close-ups of his sweating head and the continuous effort he makes to keep cool enhance the plot much better than any dialogue could have attempted.
He had recently used the pool as an outlet, the river as an endless means of solitude. When his life is shaken by a job shift, he shakes his home life as well, forfeiting his son over to the war effort.
The film’s visual style of framing is also vivid. Champ, an accomplished yet quiet man, is often framed alone, isolated amongst his family and his peers. He is isolated in his thoughts by not talking and therefore secretive about his own fears.
Youssouf Djaoro portrays this resentful, shy man with poise; his acting is not stressed and his reactions are believable. He has captured the essence of silence through his character, and uses his stance to better express Champ’s personality without words. In this, Djaoro creates reason between the silence and the narrative.
The lack of dialogue between the Champ and Abdel makes an even greater point about their relationship – they have nothing to say.
Beyond the scope of the men are the wife and the girlfriend, both of which do little to advance the plot. They are mainly used to portray the greater indifference between the generations. Abdel’s girlfriend is equally ambitious as Abdel, whereas Champ’s wife is yearning for validation on her cooking from her silent husband.
One scene in particular that helped explain the father/son dynamic in this film was when Abdel says to his father, “You are like an old lion.” Once this connection was told, I could see Champ as a lion – watching his pride (family) with a passive eye and sacrificing his cub. He watches the armies take him away through a dimly lit window, perched upon the bed motionless.
Champ’s lack of emotions toward his son was disheartening to watch, especially when it takes him as long as it does to seek any kind of justice for him. The way “A Screaming Man” is told, in that his silence is as deafening as screaming, is what sets it apart. If anything, even less dialogue could have made it even more visually stronger. This film succeeds in its use of silence, reminding the audience that the connections shown on screen between people can stretch beyond a sea of words.
With Love...from the Age of Reason
“With Love…from the Age of Reason”
2010 – France – Comedy
Director/Screenwriter: Yann Samuell
Producer: Christophe Rossignon
Cast: Sophie Marceau and Jonathan Zaccai
“With Love…from the Age of Reason” (L'âge de raison) is a light-hearted chick flick that poses the question, what would my 7-year-old self think about who I have become? Reminiscent of “13 Going on 30” but without the magic dust, this French film shows the contrast between the kid and adult version of the same woman. Filled with mostly innocent memories and sugar-coated depictions, “L'âge de raison” only lightly touches on the hardships Margaret (Sophie Marceau) went through that same year. Despite its unrealistic nature, the film is whimsical in its approach to remind audiences what they once believed in. The movie’s heart and humor will connect well with viewers wishing to overlook reality along with Margaret for 90 minutes.
Margaret is first shown on screen as a regal business woman who reached the top of her firm. One day, an old man whom she does not recognize randomly shows up to bring her several envelopes mystically carrying letters she wrote to herself 33 years ago. She was meant to open them on her fortieth birthday, an age which she then considered, “the age of reason.”
Throughout the film, we see several of these letters played out as flashback memories. We get to know the softer side of Margaret, someone who once cared about life and had an imagination. This contrasts the high-strung coffee addict who we first saw commanding attention with her clacking heels and business suit. The letters are each delivered in planned segments, each time delving more and more into Margaret’s past. We learn about her family life, her best friend Peter and even a buried treasure. The audience picks up on the juvenile “treasures” of trading cards and ribbons, all of which contained meaning to a young girl. The skeptical Margaret eventually comes to terms with her young self, realizing that she had understood “the age of reason” more at seven than at 40. Margaret reminds herself and the audience to remember a time when the idea of treasure spanned beyond the scope of wealth and power.
Probably the most fascinating letter that Margaret receives involves a series of letters regarding her 7-year-old self’s idea of a proper career. She gave herself five options ranging from “princess” to even “cake maker.” Showing her intelligence, she even gave herself the choice of “other”. Since Margaret’s choice as a career woman was not one of the ambitious choices, she reluctantly has to open this letter. It is this acceptance that affects her the most, eventually tying the film to a touching close.
The dialogue is often cheesy and lacks any kind of ingenious substance. The stand outs in the script are found in the 7-year-old’s written letters that are read in voice-over. They are remarkably profound and honest – two qualities the adult Margaret has lost sight of scheming on money-making business plans.
This film often used colorful and crafty ways of illustrating the childlike drawings and dreams found on the letters. The filmmakers were bold to delve into artistic qualities like the use cut-out animation. The original elementary art-class style of artistry was fitting and helped enhance the hum drum dialogue. This format successfully connected the viewers to think about their own childhood, reminiscent of the days of innocence, sticky fingers and make-believe.
Filled with self-realization and personal ambition, Margaret responds on screen to connect with the skeptical viewer. Once we get the childlike memories of her, we learn the merit behind her personality and actions. While watching, I could see my creative 7-year-old self too, and wondered if she would be disappointed or satisfied with who I am.
Stylistically, this film stayed basic in its filming techniques outside of the letter illustrations. The film luckily strayed from fancy camerawork it could have used to be more obvious. Fortunately, the filmmakers stayed away from a Scrooge-like montage of time as well. Instead, the sense of time was easily conveyed through the set designs. In the flashbacks, vivid colors were used to mirror the happier times in Margaret’s life. As the audience discovers Margaret’s troubles from the year she was seven, the colors become duller. The set often mimics the costumes of the different decades as well. As a business woman, Margaret has forgotten the use of color in her wardrobe, constantly wearing black. When she was a young girl, printed and colorful dresses were prominent.
Although the scenes between the kids were all loveable, the most “aww” evoking scene for the romance junkies in particular was the innocent “marriage” between young Margaret and her childhood best friend Peter. The young Margaret captures sincerity with her simplistic acting and naïveté. Unlike the 40-year-old Margaret, she is less vulnerable and more admirable as a character, therefore more approachable for the audience.
This film was a nice break from the tear-jerker dramas and ridiculous comedies. Its playful attention to detail stayed true to the childlike fantasy it sought to portray. Its’ themes were obvious but not obnoxious in their delivery. The growth of Margaret’s character is easy to follow, as well as intriguing and pleasurable to watch. The audience learns, with Margaret, that the letters and memories are not meant to criticize, but to inspire the continuation of the dreamer within ourselves.
Protektor
Czech Republic, Germany – Czech – 98 minutes
Director: Marek Najbrt
Screenwriter: Robert Geisler, Benjamin Tuček, Marek Najbrt
Cast: Marek Daniel, Jana Plodkova, Jiři Ornest, Simon Schwarz
Styistically pleasing, the Czech film “Protektor” dances around the traditional Nazi/Jew themes during World War II to show a rocky marriage that gets seemingly worse as the war continues. While the use of lighting and coloring is top-notch, the plot’s excitement surprisingly dwindles as the war rages on. The main characters are both obnoxious and ignorant of their surroundings and each other. Their bickering does little to connect with the fascinating aspects of their relationship, and instead makes the plot more confusing. They both turn a blind-eye toward the bigger issues they face and lack any believability. The film had potential at first, but throwing in random affairs, binge drinking and bicycles does little to connect to the audience.
The film starts off in 1942 with a Hitler quote. Being half-Jewish, for some reason, World War II movies fascinate me; automatically I am expecting a terrific World War II portrayal of Prague and a sweet romance film about a husband protecting his Jewish wife, like the description depicts.
Although the description refers to what this movie could have been about, the movie chose to focus on less interesting aspects and left much to be desired.
Hanna (Jana Plodkova) is a beautiful young actress who is just beginning to make a name for herself within the industry and to audiences. Her simple husband Emil (Marek Daniel) is a radio reporter who is jealous of his wife’s admirers and fame. Emil seems to still care for Hanna, but Hanna has deeper desires to run off with another actor. Once the Nazis takeover Prague, Hanna is forced to leave her job as an actress and go into hiding because of her Jewish heritage. Emil is promoted to be the main radio announcer for Hitler propaganda, in return for keeping his wife’s identity hidden. The situation sounds simple and romantic enough, but the idea of isolation is too much for the egotistical Hanna to accept.
Hanna pouts over losing her job more so than potentially losing her life to Nazis. She is beyond whiny, continuously having self-pity. She sneaks out of her house during dangerous hours to go to the cinema, a very public place. But according to Hanna, “the cinema is quite a safe danger.” Okay, so why is your husband risking his life for you to go out and be stupid?
She puts on her blonde wig to get out of the house and pretends to be her old self. Plodkova succeeds at making the audience dislike Hanna, whether that is the goal or not. She is completely selfish and ignorant to the amount of danger she puts Emil and herself in. She becomes jealous of her husband’s newfound broadcaster success, much like he was jealous of her movie star success.
But Emil is equally appalling. He is no longer in love with Hanna towards the end, but he feels obligated to keep her safe, despite her continuous obstructions to his rules. He is a pathetic character and gets more and more unlikable with his boosted ego as the film continues. For instance when he is approached by a fan he says, “I’m no star but my voice is a different story.” To be contradictory, he obviously starts to like to hear himself talk once he gets Hanna to stop talking about herself.
The director Marek Najbrt is known for his professional audiovisual projects. Luckily, he still used these ideals in this film. In fact, the film’s only saving graces are the advanced visuals and audio alignment. The use of lighting is naturalistic. There is a great use of soft light to enhance Hanna’s angelic appearance, despite her opposite personality. The sound is also fitting. It is never unintentional or meritless when it is used. The use of color or lack of color is appreciated as well. Hanna’s way of transforming with her blonde wig plays a great significance onto her insecurities. When she is putting red lipstick on, she feels like she belongs. When she is makeup-less, sitting in a closet waiting for Emil, she feels insignificant. Najbrt’s use of exploiting her characteristics in this way does more to advance the plot than the confusing undertones or emotionless dialogue.
There is a heavy symbolism involving bicycles for some reason throughout the movie. At the beginning, Hanna is on a stationary bicycle on a movie set. Later, there is a black and white montage of Emil and Hanna both on stationary bicycles. The montage sequence in particular was beautifully shot. It carried simplified music that complemented the action well. It evoked the idea that these two, like the bikes, are never going anywhere. Their marriage, like the bikes, is in stasis regardless of Emil’s protection or Hanna’s need for him.
In contrast, the most confusing part of the movie is when Emil leaves a lover’s house and steals a bicycle; on the news, he hears about a man who tried to kill the Reich Deputy Protector and escaped on that exact bike. This last sequence seemed so rushed, yet it was crucial for the story. Without this man alive who knew of Hanna and Emil’s situation, she would have been sent to a concentration camp with the other Jews. For Emil to possess the bike would have meant grave danger for both of them. I felt like these scenes must have been important, but their delivery did little to portray the severity at hand. These sequences were bogged down with distractions of other plot twists like Hanna’s relationship with a theater operator, Peter. Peter did nothing to advance the story besides boosting her ego and keeping her in danger, despite Emil’s life-risking job to keep her safe.
“Protektor” took an interesting story and made it about a self-contained woman and her over-bearing husband. While it would have been refreshing to see a different way of living during a Nazi-filled Prague, this film dismissed that opportunity. The main characters gave the audience very little to latch onto or to sympathize with, regardless of the dangers they faced. The film’s attempt to introduce lackluster minor characters failed as well. If the plot played out as fluidly as its visual presence, it would have been more appealing.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
"I Am Kalam"
87 minutes, India, 2010
Director: Nila Madhab Panda
Produced by: NGO Smile Foundation
Cast: Harsh Mayar, Hussan Saad, Gulshan Grover, Beatrice Ordeix
The NGO Smile Foundation production puts an Indian spin on the classic tale of “The Prince and the Pauper” with its film “I am Kalam.” Inspired by India’s former president Abdul J. Kalam, “I am Kalam” is a heart-warming story about a poverty-stricken boy who befriends a well-to-do Prince. The boys’ camaraderie defies their societal pattern, but their charming age of innocence keeps from seeing the importance of wealth and class that reigns so highly in their culture. The film provides a powerful and inspirational message for the audience through this unlikely duo’s dreams than span beyond their cultural normalcy.
Set in modern day, the film begins by showing the differences amongst the two boys’ lives. The rich, shy Prince Ranvijay is seen in his elaborate mansion. His room is filled with countless toys and is immaculate. Although he was born into immense privilege, he never comes across smug or self-centered like his family. As he peers out of his window, his only way of viewing the outside world he is sheltered from, he makes a noise directed toward a boy who is about his age.
This boy is unkempt, riding through town on top of a camel delivering tea from his Uncle’s road-side restaurant. He is the young boy seen at the start of the film who was washing dishes and sleeping outside. He is commonly called Chhotu, which is a name given to a servant who does not merit an actual name.
This boy’s poor appearance seems to not affect the young prince who is amazed by the boy’s freedom from high society. This first encounter marks the beginning of the two boy’s friendship, which they try to keep secret from their disapproving elders.
Chhotu is inspired by the Indian President named Kalam that he sees on tv who pushes for education, and insists on being called Kalam instead of the demeaning Chhotu. The hopeful Kalam wishes to go to school, but his ranking in society does not allow him such education. Throughout the film, his love for knowledge and his wish for equal education make him stand out against other boys in his societal class. For instance, when the Prince shares his books with Kalam, you would think those books were laced with gold. But most memorable is the affect that the pauper has on the Prince— an unconditional friendship.
Other relationships explored as those between Kalam and his home life. He lives with his Uncle and Godfather, and his mother is seen in a different town. Kalam gains respect from his Uncle by remembering how to make his famous tea, whereas his Godfather is an excuse of an adult. His Godfather plays a “big brother” type who is always picking on the young boy. In turn, Kalam enjoys playing tricks on the gullible young adult complete with fake ghost sounds. The scenes between the two are one of the most amusing parts of the film. The Godfather’s over-the-top reactions toward the young boy are humorous considering how much more mature and wise Kalam is in retrospect.
The film reflects heavily upon the difference of classes, most importantly between the servants and those who receive the service. Once the boys’ friendship becomes public toward their family, they are constantly being torn apart for no other reason but ignorance. In their case, the young boys can look past trivial traits such as class and realize that they actually can learn a lot from each other. The film’s apparent reflection of this translates over to the adults in the film who only see one another for their rank in society as opposed to who they are as equals.
Certain framing in the film enhances such classification. The young Prince is framed between the two ropes that hold up a swing in his front yard. This type of framing is just one of the film’s examples that shows the Prince’s necessary isolation because of his status, but obviously by his friendship with Kalam, he wants something different.
The film used traditional Indian music that connects well with the narrative. Many lush colors help establish wealth and power as well. The inside of Kalam and his Godfather’s room was very drab, whereas the Prince’s room was colorful. The city where the palace is located has colorful banners and trees that line the streets, whereas Kalam’s side of town only has hints of color that are shown in the traditional Indian garb. The set design and the costume design works in congruence with the film’s contrasting protagonists and social rankings.
Beyond social aspects, the film delves into other relationship issues for the audience members seeking a romance. A former visitor to the town, Madame Lucy, returns and Kalam’s Uncle’s infatuation with her is made obvious. She supports Kalam’s love of learning and even helps the young prince with his French studies. The Uncle learns of Madame Lucy’s current marital status and turns to rage toward Kalam instead of dealing with his feelings, once again showing the older generation’s ignorance of dealing with their trivial issues.
Like Kalam’s misfortune of not being able to attend school because of his social standing, his Uncle lacks the chances with the beautiful Lucy because of her marital standing. These two parallel stories show that the characters have many bouts of wanting what they cannot have, whether it involves education or love.
The film’s story instills an emotional message onto viewers through its angelic and fresh approach of dealing with generational problems and society issues. Its’ refreshing delivery left the audience with a feeling of pride for the boys and a feeling of encouragement because of their friendship.
Director: Nila Madhab Panda
Produced by: NGO Smile Foundation
Cast: Harsh Mayar, Hussan Saad, Gulshan Grover, Beatrice Ordeix
The NGO Smile Foundation production puts an Indian spin on the classic tale of “The Prince and the Pauper” with its film “I am Kalam.” Inspired by India’s former president Abdul J. Kalam, “I am Kalam” is a heart-warming story about a poverty-stricken boy who befriends a well-to-do Prince. The boys’ camaraderie defies their societal pattern, but their charming age of innocence keeps from seeing the importance of wealth and class that reigns so highly in their culture. The film provides a powerful and inspirational message for the audience through this unlikely duo’s dreams than span beyond their cultural normalcy.
Set in modern day, the film begins by showing the differences amongst the two boys’ lives. The rich, shy Prince Ranvijay is seen in his elaborate mansion. His room is filled with countless toys and is immaculate. Although he was born into immense privilege, he never comes across smug or self-centered like his family. As he peers out of his window, his only way of viewing the outside world he is sheltered from, he makes a noise directed toward a boy who is about his age.
This boy is unkempt, riding through town on top of a camel delivering tea from his Uncle’s road-side restaurant. He is the young boy seen at the start of the film who was washing dishes and sleeping outside. He is commonly called Chhotu, which is a name given to a servant who does not merit an actual name.
This boy’s poor appearance seems to not affect the young prince who is amazed by the boy’s freedom from high society. This first encounter marks the beginning of the two boy’s friendship, which they try to keep secret from their disapproving elders.
Chhotu is inspired by the Indian President named Kalam that he sees on tv who pushes for education, and insists on being called Kalam instead of the demeaning Chhotu. The hopeful Kalam wishes to go to school, but his ranking in society does not allow him such education. Throughout the film, his love for knowledge and his wish for equal education make him stand out against other boys in his societal class. For instance, when the Prince shares his books with Kalam, you would think those books were laced with gold. But most memorable is the affect that the pauper has on the Prince— an unconditional friendship.
Other relationships explored as those between Kalam and his home life. He lives with his Uncle and Godfather, and his mother is seen in a different town. Kalam gains respect from his Uncle by remembering how to make his famous tea, whereas his Godfather is an excuse of an adult. His Godfather plays a “big brother” type who is always picking on the young boy. In turn, Kalam enjoys playing tricks on the gullible young adult complete with fake ghost sounds. The scenes between the two are one of the most amusing parts of the film. The Godfather’s over-the-top reactions toward the young boy are humorous considering how much more mature and wise Kalam is in retrospect.
The film reflects heavily upon the difference of classes, most importantly between the servants and those who receive the service. Once the boys’ friendship becomes public toward their family, they are constantly being torn apart for no other reason but ignorance. In their case, the young boys can look past trivial traits such as class and realize that they actually can learn a lot from each other. The film’s apparent reflection of this translates over to the adults in the film who only see one another for their rank in society as opposed to who they are as equals.
Certain framing in the film enhances such classification. The young Prince is framed between the two ropes that hold up a swing in his front yard. This type of framing is just one of the film’s examples that shows the Prince’s necessary isolation because of his status, but obviously by his friendship with Kalam, he wants something different.
The film used traditional Indian music that connects well with the narrative. Many lush colors help establish wealth and power as well. The inside of Kalam and his Godfather’s room was very drab, whereas the Prince’s room was colorful. The city where the palace is located has colorful banners and trees that line the streets, whereas Kalam’s side of town only has hints of color that are shown in the traditional Indian garb. The set design and the costume design works in congruence with the film’s contrasting protagonists and social rankings.
Beyond social aspects, the film delves into other relationship issues for the audience members seeking a romance. A former visitor to the town, Madame Lucy, returns and Kalam’s Uncle’s infatuation with her is made obvious. She supports Kalam’s love of learning and even helps the young prince with his French studies. The Uncle learns of Madame Lucy’s current marital status and turns to rage toward Kalam instead of dealing with his feelings, once again showing the older generation’s ignorance of dealing with their trivial issues.
Like Kalam’s misfortune of not being able to attend school because of his social standing, his Uncle lacks the chances with the beautiful Lucy because of her marital standing. These two parallel stories show that the characters have many bouts of wanting what they cannot have, whether it involves education or love.
The film’s story instills an emotional message onto viewers through its angelic and fresh approach of dealing with generational problems and society issues. Its’ refreshing delivery left the audience with a feeling of pride for the boys and a feeling of encouragement because of their friendship.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Molière Review
Laurent Tirad’s 2007 film Molière succeeds as a witty period piece and romantic comedy. Most notably, the costume and set design is elaborate and authentic enough to excite the Jane Austen fans. One of the film’s most unique aspects of setting up its romance sequences is the film’s general satirical approach to love. In this specific set-up, love is largely linked toward the tragic and comic pairing in dramatic arts, a skill set that the film thrives on.
Based on Molière's two plays “Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme” and “Tartuffe,”the film intricately intertwines love, success, misfortune, greed and death through the likable protagonist Jean-Baptiste Poquelin (Romain Duris), better known as Molière. He is an actor and a playwright who relates to Moulin Rouge’s Chrisitian as a lovestruck artist who wishes to document his own pessimistic quest with love. He is shown as the ringleader to his own acting troupe. Molière begins the film in 1645 as an established playwright who returns to Paris with his troupe after a touring absence. He admits his desires toward changing his typical comedic writing style to one of tragedy. His decision surprises a few who only expect his charismatic comedic affluence to illuminate the stage.
After receiving a mysterious letter from a young girl, the film jumps back thirteen years to a time when Molière was a less than admired figure. It is here where the audience learns of his change from tragedy acting to one of comedic relief when he is taken to jail for immense debts. Monsieur Jourdain (Fabrice Luchini), a wealthy man in the audience at this theater agrees to take Molière out of jail if he will in turn help the married man gain the love and affection of the widowed, self-centered Célimène (Ludivine Sagnier) through a one-act play he has written. Once Molière obliges, Monsieur Jourdain insists he hide his discrepencies by acting as a religion tutor for his young daughter and going by the name of “Tartuffe.” Through helping Monsieur Jourdain, another kind of love triangle ensues for the talented Molière with Monsieur Jourdain’s driven but neglected wife, Elmire (Laura Morante).
Molière’s reactions towards the insipid Monsieur Jourdain is a highlight within the film, especially in a scene where Molière teaches Monsieur Jourdain how to best express himself through acting, by having him pretend to be a horse. Yes, a horse. That stand-out scene is just what sets Molière apart from other films of its genre by keeping the laughs relevant and well-executed instead of overly-saturated and pretentious in producing a comedy. Although some might find Molière’s character a little too sympathy-evoking, the film’s overall message and delivery of love is respectable.
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