Archive for March, 2009

Sweet Smell of Success

Posted in Reviews with tags , , on March 31, 2009 by babydylan

A man sits in a jail cell, shackled at both the arms and legs. He leans forward slightly and his nose protrudes into the light, taking up the entire frame. He sniffs once and his barely visible eyes glow briefly. We hear the sounds of approaching footsteps, the jangle of keys and the scarcely audible roar of an angry mob outside. Our protagonist Jean-Baptiste Grenouille is dragged to his feet to face the livid crowd chanting euphorically as his death sentence is read.

It is a foreboding introduction for Grenouille in Tom Tykwer’s 2006 film, “Perfume: The Story of a Murderer”. The audience is immediately thrust into a world full of hate for the lead, a sequence that contrasts vividly with the penultimate scene of the film, taking the definition of climax to new levels as Grenouille observes a giant orgy, a result of his phenomenal sense of smell.

Perfume reaches its climax in more ways than one

Perfume reaches its 'climax' in more ways than one

Set in 18th century France, Tykwer’s world is a visceral delight for the audience. The stench and muck of the fish markets where Grenouille is born is conveyed with fastidious detail. John Hurt’s seductive narration describes Grenouille’s birthplace as being “the most putrid spot in the whole kingdom”. Demonstrating this, the camera lingers on the decaying animal carcasses, fish heads, unwashed Parisians and the general filth of 18th century life. As Grenouille’s mother is accused and sentenced to death for the attempted murder of her son, he begins his life displaying both a penchant for surviving and a remarkable sense of smell, making his transition from lonesome orphan-boy to hackneyed tannery worker effortlessly.

Ben Whishaw’s portrayal of the angelically emancipated Grenouille is at times both chilling and fascinating. Given scarcely any dialogue yet the majority of screen time, Whishaw uses his emotive body to effectively portray the mind of a junkie, and an obsessive one at that. As Grenouille enters the streets of Paris for the first time Tyker allows the mise-en-scene to take over as the audience is bombarded with the super-saturated colours of copious amounts of flowers, handfuls of fresh coffee beans, darkly coloured spices, steaming vats of laundry, freshly cooked food and powdered wigs that leave trails of dust to tickle Grenouille’s sensitive nose.

Grenouille's obsession begins

Grenouille's obsession begins

He stumbles euphorically through the throng, eyes unnecessary as his nose directs his feet. It becomes evident that Grenouille can barely function as a human without being constantly distracted by the odours around him, leading ultimately to become a dispassionate murdering machine. His first scent of the red-headed ethereal Plum Girl taints his perception of the world and in his eagerness to posses her scent he murders her.

Thus Grenouille’s purpose in life becomes clear both to himself and the audience. To find a method of capturing scent, so as never to let such a tragedy befall him again. He and the audience take a crash course in the art of perfumery both on a small scale with the aging perfumer Giuseppe Baldini and on a much larger scale as the film progresses, ultimately honing his craft in the birthplace of perfume, Grasse. Grenouille has no desire to sexualise the women he kills, his desires are purely olfactory, wanting only to bottle their purity and virginity. Thus killing his victims is an effective means of capturing what he needs with minimal resistance.

Grenouille learns the ropes

Grenouille learns the ropes

As Grenouille leaves Paris to expand his knowledge, the tone of the film shifts dramatically. Whereas the death of The Plum Girl was an ardent accident, Grenouille now actively seeks out his victims, dispassionately obtaining their scents, watching his collection grow with the look of a loving zealot. It is here that the film fails to live up to expectations. Where in reality Grenouille’s mounting murders and emotionless existence are a horrifying prospect, it comes across as a kind of vaudevillian pastiche with the audience feeling little to no sympathy for the murderer or his victims. The “perfect” Laura certainly looks the part with her masses of Medusa-style red locks and impossibly blue eyes, yet the emphasis Grenouille places on her olfactory desirability falls short of the audience’s expectations. His perusal of her to complete his ultimate perfume thoroughly tests the audience’s suspension of belief with a beautiful yet unconvincing “smell-cam” shot.

Dealing with the oft forgotten sense of smell, the filmmakers are somewhat limited in portraying the sheer delights Grenouille encounters. Yet the beautiful use of colour and richly packed frame is enough to overshadow the fact that we cannot share the sensory experience. As the film delves deeper into the murderous side of Grenouille’s psyche, we can’t help but wish he had of stayed in Paris where although everything was rotten, it was delightfully so.


Fashion Victims

Posted in Reviews with tags , , , , on March 31, 2009 by babydylan

When one thinks of recent mainstream German films, titles such as ‘Run Lola Run’, ‘The Lives of Others’, ‘Goodbye Lenin’ and ‘Downfall’ spring to mind. Nazi’s, East/West division and unification, crazy running red-heads. Ingo Rasper’s 2007 film ‘Fashion Victims’ is refreshingly free of such well-trod storylines that we have come to expect of German Films in the past ten years and manages to be a convincing comedy with memorable characters. Did we hear you gasp? 

It also challenges the definition of what a queer film is. ‘Fashion Victims’ doesn’t follow many of the more typical queer-coming-of-age and coming-out films. Lead Karsten Zinker, played by the offensively handsome Forian Bartholomai (Germany’s answer to Zac Efron but less plastic) is 17 and although he hasn’t come out to his parents, he accepts the fact that he is gay in the same way one accepts they have size eleven feet. In an adorably simple scene between Karsten and his father Wolfgang his father asks, ‘How do you know you like men if you’ve never tried with a woman?’ to which Karsten inquires, ‘How do you know you know you like women if you’ve never tried with a man?’

Roman Knizka as Steven and Florian Bartholomäi as Karsten as the offensively handsome young lovers in 'Fashion Victims'

Roman Knizka as Steven and Florian Bartholomäi as Karsten as the offensively handsome young lovers in 'Fashion Victims'

A postmodern take on the ‘coming-out-of-the-closet’ queer genre where the entire plot does not centre around this, it merely slots it into the storyline along with other dramatic plot points.

The main focus of the story is not in fact Karsten but his father Wolfgang, an aging women’s clothing sales rep who is about to be usurped by a younger, sneakier model – who in an only-in-the-movies twist of events becomes Karsten’s lover. The impression the audience has of Wolfgang seamlessly merges from ‘worlds worst dad’ (forcing Karsten to cancel his Spanish holiday in favour of driving him around to various clothing outlets after he loses his license) to needing an enormous bear hug when he inadvertently bankrupts the family and partakes in epic life fail. Having his wife leave him, his son fall in love with his completion and crashing the one true love of his life, his shiny new Audi car, Wolfgang decides to take the reins in the hilarious climax of the film. This is where the true star of the film finally has her ‘let me shine’ moment. One of the supporting characters, Karsten’s mother’s sly best friend Brigitta, reveals her secret love for Mrs. Bartholomai and in the melodramatic showdown steals the show wielding a shot gun and intent to kill.

Although the ‘Fashion Victims’ plays it safe in some sections, opting for some clichéd scenes and plot points you will see lumbering up the hill in front of you, the pay off is substantial in the last twenty minutes of the film making you leave the cinema with a small grin on your face and a look at the way new queer cinema is heading in the next five years.

We’re on the air!

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , on March 26, 2009 by babydylan
Alex (the smarter half of babydylan) has got herself a small gig on radio and is broadcasting her film love to Melbourne on 90.7 SYN FM. Every Sunday from 3pm Alex (or Lexie as she is known on air) is doing a 10-15 minute film slot talking about recent festivals, film genres and general filmy chitchat. It might not be all that insightful, but lend us your ears for an hour if you get the chance.

Mister Lonely: Or why Harmony Korine is a cut above his contemporaries, ala Asia Argento, Chloe Sevigny, Michael Pitt and Gus Van Sant, although its important to note that since starting this article Van Sant made Milk, which is probably his finest picture, although he did try to remake Psycho, which cancels out anything good he will ever achieve.

Posted in close analysis with tags , on March 9, 2009 by babydylan


It is easy to question the intent behind art films if the filmmakers involved are young – I am not saying it is right, I am just saying it is easy – because if they are then we are quick to assume that they are just being pretentious. Harmony Korine is only 32, yet it has been said by Bernado Bertolucci that “he has created a revolution in the language of cinema” and when he saw Gummo (Korine’s first film) for the first time, Werner Herzog said that Korine has a “very clear voice in a generation of filmmakers that are taking a new position”. Yet when I asked a lady in JB if she had Mister Lonely on DVD, she told me that she “hated” Harmony Korine, I asked her why, and she didn’t answer, she just said again that she “hated” him (perhaps she is jealous of the respect he has at such a young age, that is an easy thing to give into, my respect for Michael Pitt is a combination of both love, and jealously at how effortlessly cool he is for someone whose 27…it is mostly love though).

Korine’s artistry as a filmmaker has been a gradual process, from having been a screenwriter for other filmmakers, to directing his own, fairly unconventional debut feature, to directing a vivid and compelling second feature that suited its subject matter, to creating a third film that is poignant, symbolic, and arresting, whilst being genuinely entertaining. It is not just me who thinks this (although I’m sure I love it more than others). It was greeted with applause at the Melbourne International Film Festival, and one IMDb user described it as being similar “to the time Dylan went electric”. Love it or hate it, it remains compelling.

Sometimes I’ll see a David Lynch film, and I’ll be thinking after it, and I’ll be thinking and thinking and thinking and then I’ll wonder, is there a meaning in this film? Am I looking for something that isn’t there? Does David Lynch have his tongue planted firmly in check, and are some people to afraid to admit that they think his pictures are pointless and overrated ala The Emperor’s New Clothes (he has said that he understands his films, but I have heard also that he writes each page of dialogue the day he shoots it). It was great to see that people in a class I had last year were not afraid to admit their contempt for Lost Highway, but that’s just one class, and that’s just one of his films. Despite not liking his work, I do find that his pictures have that element that keeps the audience transfixed, that makes them leave the cinema discussing his work, an element similar to a Mister Lonely (Obviously the lady in JB disagrees with me).

As mentioned before his filmmaking has been a gradual process. Kids (which Korine wrote) takes place over one day in New York City where Jennie (Chloe Sevigny) is trying to find Telly (Leo Fitzpatrick), so as he can be told that she has contracted AIDS from him. Gummo concerns strange, offbeat characters living and working in the town of Xenia, Ohio, a place that never fully recovered after being completely destroyed by a tornado. Julien Donkey-Boy – visually, Korine’s most original and arresting film – concerns the schizophrenic Julien and his relationships with his war obsessed, abusive father, his wrestling obsessed brother, and his pregnant (possibly with Julien‘s child) sister.

Mister Lonely is the latest in a series of films that have all had a preoccupation with identity, despite how differently they have all explored this idea. His previous work has portrayed various levels of deranged characters living and acting in a sad environment, Korine has never took a moral standpoint on their actions, nor has he question their motives. It could be said therefore that he has made – perhaps unintentionally – a subtle comment on the influence of our surroundings on our identity. Mister Lonely does not make the same kind of literal comment, rather it asks a deeper question about ourselves and who we are by including characters who lack any identity, and who have latched onto another persona.

Shortly after the film begins a quiet, soft-spoken voice asks the audience if we know what its like to truly dislike ourselves, and to wish that we were another person. We are shown scenes of Nuns, living and working in a secluded Mission. Some are walking, some are playing sport, some are smoking, and one is baptising a newly born baby. A Michael Jackson impersonator – who narrated the start of the film – wonders the streets of Paris, busking and performing for the public (who we suspect think ‘Michael’ is a real busker). He meets a Marilyn Monroe impersonator whilst performing at a nursing home. They chat and he learns about a Castle in Scotland, or a commune, which is occupied only by other impersonators, who help work the land together and perform for each other. Marilyn lives there, as well as her husband Charlie Chaplin, their daughter Shirley Temple, and an assortment of friends including James Dean, Madonna, The Pope, The Queen, The Three Stooges, Abraham Lincoln and Sammy Davis Jr: In short, some of the most iconic entertainers and historical figures ever. Marilyn begs for Michael to go to the Castle with her (“We need a Michael, we don’t have a Michael”), shortly thereafter he agrees to go.

Once Michael is at the Castle it becomes apparent to the audience just how ‘completely’ the characters embody the celebrities they are impersonating. They introduce themselves as that person – “Hi, I’m Shirley Temple. Hi, I’m Sammy Davis Jr, etc”, and they always wear the costume, or some form of it, that is synonymous with the character, i.e. James Dean always wears the red jacket and white t-shirt combo, Madonna always wears that weird pointy bra.

As the film progresses it becomes apparent that the impersonators are not as happy as Marilyn had made them appear to Michael, despite how perfectly they embody the celebrity they are impersonating. We can assume that Michael’s monologue at the beginning of the film is applicable to all the impersonators, therefore their efforts to become another person stems from both a dislike for themselves, and a desire to be someone else. By highlighting Marilyn and Charlie’s unhappy marriage, and by gradually increasing the friction between all the characters – especially as they gather together to rehearse their final show – Korine suggests that issues are commonplace, despite whether you are being yourself or someone else. This is highlighted by the three main celebrities all having being embroiled in their own real life disasters. Charlie Chaplin – along with William Randolph Hearst, the inspiration for Citizen Kane – was involved in a murder upon a yacht (it was portrayed in the excellent Peter Bogdanovich film, The Cat’s Meow). Marilyn Monroe was found dead after an overdose of sleeping tablets (rumoured by some to have been orchestrated by the CIA because of her affair with JFK), and Michael Jackson……say no more.

Cut in with this main storyline is a subplot involving the nuns at the beginning of the film, who are working in a mission overseen by an eccentric erratic priest, played by the equally eccentric, erratic filmmaker Werner Herzog. While flying across a secluded village – the nuns are throwing the villagers bags of grain – the aircraft does a sharp turn and one of the nuns falls from the plane. Whilst falling through the air, her voice is heard praying, asking that God save her from death. She falls to the ground, yet stands up and walks away, completely unharmed. The mission has become witness to some genuine real life miracles. After this happens for the first time, the nuns begin to take advantage of the ‘miracles’ by repeatedly jumping out of the aeroplane because their faith in God will guarantee them a safe landing each time. Juxtaposed next to the impersonators foolish attempts to leave their old selves behind, is the real, genuine intervention of God on the lives of those who have devoted themselves to him. Their faith in God is as passionate as the Michael’s efforts to be Michael, and Marilyn’s efforts to be Marilyn.

As well as the points mentioned before, the picture is also suggesting that we are only ever familiar with the surface of the person – despite how well we think we know them – much like image of the celebrities in Mister Lonely (Recently I read a speech made by Abraham Lincoln that was so much more racist and dogmatic than anyone would expect from him. I was shocked). Marilyn – and all the characters – has occupied only the body of one of the most famous actresses ever, not the mind, and her mind remains a mystery until the harrowing finale when she commits suicide. After this happens, Michael leaves the Castle and returns to Paris, where he day dreams a conversation between him and the deceased Marilyn. He asks why she left, to which she responds that she didn’t leave, she succeeded at being an impersonator. This could mean that her suicide was an attempt to completely become Marilyn (who some believe committed suicide), it could be that she thought that suicide was the final step in being an impersonator (because they were completely leaving behind their real selves) or finally, she may have felt melancholy because her personal problems had not escaped her, despite her efforts to be someone else. The choice of title would support this, although the conversation between her and Michael would imply otherwise. Is she in denial? The ideas explored in the picture would suggest so.

The film ends with Michael no longer being Michael, the same character wonders the streets of Paris once more, this time without make-up and in casual dress, looking and commenting on the banality of being normal. Of being like the hooligans who are surrounding Michael in the final frames, those who work, go home, and on the weekends, ply themselves with alcohol and run around like crazy singing the French National Anthem with the vague hope of getting laid being permanently fixed in the back of their minds (this is not just a weekend thing). Michael is angry and frustrated at the thought of being normal (he wants us to be angry to) and when he ‘gives up’ it is as though he is resigning himself to an unhappy life, a boring life. While at the Castle, the impersonators pet sheep fell ill and died. Sheep graze together, and ‘sheep’ is a term used to describe those who band together and follow one another. To Michael the thought of dying is as threatening as the thought of being a ‘sheep’, of being like those who surround him in the final scenes. Whoever these people are they are happier than Michael has ever been.

The final, harrowing frames of the picture shows the flaming wreckage of a plane that the nuns and the priest have used to fly to another country, a plane which has crashed and killed all on board. The nuns lie dead on a beach, a startling image to accompany Michael’s final speech on normality. Have the nuns payed the ultimate price for taking advantage of the generosity of God? The film concerns those who are hoping for a miracle, and those who have seen miracles. The deaths can only be a statement on the value of human life and the need for both the audience and the impersonators to appreciate it.