This marks Tian Zhuangzhuang's return to directing after a nine-year ban by China's authorities. Zhichen visits old school friend Liyan in a bombed-out town in post-war China. Though welcomed by the household, Zhichen's relationships with the family break down when he rekindles a romance with his childhood sweetheart—now Liyan's wife. Exceptional cinematography and sensitive performances are let down by a clumsy screenplay and drawn-out pacing. Shame.
Ten months, twelve pupils, one teacher, one documentarian and 300 hours of footage are mixed and tweaked to produce 100 minutes of gripping observational drama set in a rural French classroom. Here, the avuncular Georges Lopez instructs his students and dispenses wisdom in equal measure, while his soft baritone rolls from day to day, season to season, like the voice of God.
Made between 1930 and 1933, these four films (Horse Feathers, Animal Crackers, Duck Soup, Monkey Business) represent the Marx Brothers in their first flush, prior to moving to Hollywood. Although occasionally marred by musical routines and the over-familiarity of the zaniness, these outings are immortal—the missing link between the lost, tumbling traditions of vaudeville and the surrealist hipster comedy of the present day. Introducing quickfire Jewish wit and an anarchic insolence for authority into the mainstream, these seemingly slapdash movies are cinematic milestones.
At a provincial asylum, a down-at-heel doctor agrees to shelter an anonymous patient for the US government; soon his village is swarming with international spies, all trying to discover the new inmate's identity. This minor but hugely odd 1957 effort from Henri-Georges Clouzot has none of the suspense, nor the thrills, of his incredible Wages Of Fear or Les Diaboliques, but the atmosphere is strangely compelling.
William Friedkin's original was dazzling, intelligent and scary; John Boorman's train wreck of a sequel is none of the above. Richard Burton is at his hammiest as the priest investigating the death of Father Merrin at the end of the first movie, Louise Fletcher plays Regan's psychiatrist, and the screenplay is one of the worst ever committed to paper. Avoid.
Mike Figgis' brilliant experiment spawned many imitations, some by him, none as good. Against a quartered screen, four cameras show—in real time—a multi-strand narrative, played out among Tinseltown wannabes and has-beens. There's sex, murder, moral vacuums and a huge cast including Stellan Skarsgård and Saffron Burrows. Figgis' own music ices the cake. Genius.
Tom DiCillo's offbeat comedy is a blend of cop thriller and romance which may confuse the uninitiated, but diehards will lap up his calmly twisted humour. Denis Leary's an NY cop with backache, recently widowed, who's lousy on the job till chiropractor Liz Hurley shows him love and partner Steve Buscemi questions his sexuality. Factor in many cinephile in-jokes and it's an intelligent, cynical joy.
A welcome release for three Akira Kurosawa classics from the BFI. In Ikiru, Takashi Shimura delivers a fine, understated performance as a dying bureaucrat. Sanjuro stars longtime Kurosawa collaborator Toshiro Mifune, playing mostly for laughs as the eponymous hero, a slovenly but experienced samurai who teams up with nine younger, idealistic warriors to defeat corruption in their town. The climactic duel shows the great Japanese director at his controlled, no-frills best.
She walks on stage looking pale and enervated, like a ghostly image of heroin chic. Just what have they done to Thea Gilmore? Then two songs in she reveals she's "got the lurgy, big time". It turns out she's been taking nothing stronger than herbal tea to keep the flu at bay.
