Art Smitten: Reviews - 2016

Cattle, contemporaries and canapés, Eddie Perfect’s play; The Beast, promises to touch you inappropriately in all the right places.

By challenging a lifestyle that conceals itself behind a facade of authenticity, the show wastes no time in establishing a humorous destabilisation of friendships; stripping characters down to their inauthentic cores.

With sensitive subjects used as punchlines to boot, it’s no lie to say that The Beast works to attack and offend, although this may not be a bad thing. The larger than life caricatures seek to hold a mirror up to those who consider themselves elite in society. They grow organic vegetables and purchase “ethical” cattle in an attempt to reduce their eco footprint, although this lifestyle definitely comes at a cost when the six friends find that they’ll have to kill their own dinner.

The play embodies almost each and every one of us that invests in a false perception of class. Whether it’s the food we eat, or merely the ways in which we live our lives, Eddie Perfect has constructed a hilariously self-critical comedy in which nobody is safe. No stone is left unturned, and no bourgeois attitude remains uncriticised. The play succeeds in drawing out what we hate most about ourselves and one another in the race to achieve perfection in the modern world.

After having survived a fatal boat accident, Simon (played by Rohan Nicole), Baird (played by Eddie Perfect himself) and Rob (played by Toby Truslove) vow to undertake a life of ethical living. In pursuing a tree change with their respective partners, friends become neighbours and their dislike for one another hastily develops. By conveying a critical view of urbanites seeking to escape the hustle of city-living for the tranquility of the country, these characters embody every stereotype of upper-class suburban snobbery. Despite their best efforts to live an ‘authentic’ country life, their obsession with consumerism and being on-trend shines through the minimalist avant-garde architecture of their homes, acting as a comedic contrast to the regional setting. A general unlikability plagues most of the characters within the play, as they embody a misguided approach to healthy living and cultural superiority that comes all too naturally for those most arrogant in society. What could otherwise be pursued as a humble and positive approach to living is corrupted by the elitism inherent in The Beast’s subjects.

Rob and his wife Sue (played by Heide Arena) are the last to make the move to the country, following Rob’s emotional breakdown from the trauma of the accident. Their arrival acts as a catalyst for the welcome dinner from hell, set up by the other characters. Attempting to face the harsh realities of ‘going bush’ the six are presented with the need to slaughter their own nose-to-tail cuisine, resulting in a bloody and horrifically hilarious display of gushing arteries and wealthy white people trolloping around in the blood of an Angus calf by the end of the first act. Struggling with the ideologies of taking responsibility for what you eat and holding a concern for animal welfare, the cast simultaneously kill and attempt to save the calf after bungling a ‘humane’ slaughter.  

Undeterred by the cattle related events, the characters barely manage to regroup before the darker scenes in the second act unfold. As the narrative progresses, the characters become increasingly uneasy, eliciting a similar response from the audience.

Each of the relationships presented are rife with cringeworthy ignorance, portrayed with a certain uniqueness by each individual character. Struggles with mental health are swept under the rug in a flippant display of uncaring, whilst misogynistic expressions are entirely left unchallenged. Although it could be argued that topics such as these should not be discussed with comedic aspects attached to them, it is important to realise that the humour running alongside the narrative seeks to soften the impact of the harsh reality portrayed. Despite trust and honesty being discussed in abundance between couples, the audience gains a sense of what an unhealthy relationship consists of. These characters inhabit a twisted realm where openly condoning betrayal is acceptable and ‘healthy’, while any mention of personal struggle is shameful and without class. They live in a place where pseudo-psychology has been used to justify disrespect, undermine support, and promote shame. Through elitist comments and narcissistic attitudes, these relationships are then put to the test in order to gauge just how difficult life in the country can be for those without scruples outside their own interests.

The cast carry the themes explored in The Beast with brilliant delicacy, traversing controversial dialogue whilst also grappling with a snobby perception of modernity that falsely champions free-thought and multiculturalism, all of which is easily related to by the contemporary audience.

I advise against, for the narrow minded or faint of heart when choosing to attend the ‘worst dinner party ever.’ Complete with serves of steak tartare and canapés galore, The Beast is sure to captivate the audience by confronting them with a side of themselves that perhaps they didn’t care to sample. Running until the 10th of September at the Comedy Theatre, be sure to consider eating your meal after the show, as this is an event that’s sure to make your stomach turn from sheer laughter and mild trauma.

Written by Thierry Falcone. 

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A film that opens with a lens-flared shot of a forest is only ever going to be a particular kind of film, I thought. A twee, wilderness-worshipping kind of film with smug self-contentedness. But Captain Fantastic, written and directed by Matt Ross, is not really that kind of film. Or rather, not entirely that kind of film. Yes, it’s full of obsession over nature and that brand of anti-consumerism that we all learn during our teens that pretty much starts and ends with “stick it to the man” – but it’s a film that’s occasionally and increasingly quite charming and that allows its characters to exist as more than a mere stereotype, delving into their lives and minds. Disappointingly, though, that is only a minor achievement that doesn’t really make up for the overall lack of depth in the storytelling. Captain Fantastic centres on Ben Cash, a father who brings his kids up in the woods, training them up to peak physical and mental ability away from all the aspects of modern, artificial, commercial life. This is the life this family leads, a life that’s all-too-tragically interrupted when Ben calls to find out how his wife and the children’s mother Leslie is doing in hospital and is told that she has died. Ben Cash is played by Viggo Mortensen with his usual rugged, rough-shod manner coupled with an intensely warm paternalism. In fact the whole cast is commendable, especially considering most of them are children; they never reduce their personas into cartoons even while, for example, the eight-year-old kid reads George Eliot, or the eldest hunts and kills a deer. The way he regiments his family and has a cool authoritarian control over them is, let’s be honest, essentially one murder away from a cult. He uses his power over them as a father figure in the same way that the corporations and capitalists that he rails against do. In their world, he is the man. But they never stick it to him. They just stick by him. And it was rather frustrating that this aspect of the film was never truly scrutinised. It’s safe to say that the film’s loyalties never really stray from the side of the ironically-named Cash family. Their lifestyle is never used as a punchline, which is nice, but again not surprising given the film’s on their side. And it’s entirely clear that he loves his kids and they love him too. But their ideological standpoint is pretty much given a free pass, which is both the film’s drawcard and its drawback. On one hand it’s nice to see a film treat a group of people on their own terms, and on that front it paints a detailed and convincing portrait, but on the other hand it means that it’s never fully critical of them and while yes it’s nice as an audience to be able to conduct critical analysis on our own terms it feels like the film itself is not actively inviting of criticism. Of course, there are some moments of self-doubt and self-reflection, and actually the most engaging segments of the film come in the second half, when we start to see the cracks in Ben Cash’s parenting methodology. It’s during these segments that the film is at its best, presenting a moral dilemma and a conflict between Ben and his wealthy “real-world” parents-in-law. Unfortunately it very suddenly shifts back to its original vibe – and, without giving too much away, it seems to suggest that these conflicts were for Ben to overcome, not to learn from. There’s small changes in his attitude as he settles for a favourable compromise and slightly mellows, but on the whole he’s the same Wild Man of the Outdoors as before. Captain Fantastic is a film about a family but is not exactly a family film. I mean, can you call a film where you see Viggo Mortensen nude a family film? I’m not sure. Maybe. But it’s definitely aiming for feel-good and I can see that it will appeal to a lot of people. I just wasn’t one of those people. Captain Fantastic opens September 8th. Written by Ben Volchok

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Dangerous Liaisons by Little Ones theatre is a theatrical adaption of Pierre Chodelos De Laclos novel. The story takes place in France in the 1700s, It’s a long winding story of revenge and seduction. Two ex lovers have plans for revenge and humiliation; they try to out do each other in an attempt to dominate one another.  Little Ones theatre originally staged this in 2014 at MTCs Neon festival, since then it has toured across Australia to Darwin and Brisbane and has won and been nominated for multiple awards, and is now being restage at Theatre Works in St Kilda.

The set design and costume design was stunning and striking. It was a beautiful pallet of gold’s and pinks. There were shimmering golden curtains draped from the ceiling surrounding the space, with a sparkly golden floor with golden elaborate period couches. All the other props were consitant witht this colour sceme, all coloured gold, they appeared to be spray painted. The costumes were all period and lovely shades of pink.

The script was very dense and wordy, which the actors and director were up for the challenge. The direction was superb, it was intricate and precise. The actors held together and delivered the script in a phenomenal way, you could tell how well they knew their character and what their intentions were. 

This play spoke about complex issues around gender, manipulation and seduction though the lens of Little Ones camp, raunchy, theatrical style. It was extremely entertaining and fun to watch and be apart of.

Although it was beautifully designed and performed I did take deep issue with part of the story. There is a part in the play, towards the end, were one of the male characters quite blatantly sexually assaults a woman, who to my understanding is quite young. It is played as comedy and is brushed off quite quickly, which I found very uncomfortable and it a later scene it was suggested that it was consensual, which I just didn’t believe, it seemed to be like coercion, which was deeply upsetting. I’m unsure if little ones was trying to make a statement about sexual assault in some way with this scene, but it did not translate to me at all, if you’re going to take a path of making a stamen about sexual assault through satire, which is a rocky path to begin with, it must be overt, and obvious that you are no condoning the actions of person who committed sexual assault.  I don’t have an answer to what Little Ones were trying to say with this scene, but I must say that it did offend me, and I would like to know the answer.

Dangerous Liaisons by Little Ones theatre is showing at Theatre Works until August 20th.

Written by Ebony Beaton. Voiced by Adalya Hussein. 

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My Scientology Movie sees BBC presenter, Louis Theroux, attempt to infiltrate the Church of Scientology, an organisation infamous for being shrouded in secrecy. Curiosity about the mysterious inner workings of the church, along with reports of assault committed by leader, David Miscavige, motivate Theroux’s efforts to understand life inside the Church and why it is so confidential. 

Since first approaching the Church in 2002, Theroux’s pursuit to gain access to the Church and interview Miscavige had been denied. Classified under the spiritual state of Operating Thetan (OT) and one of the highest levels within the hierarchy, members of the “Sea Org” also declined to be involved. Without admittance to the Church or interviews with practising Scientologists, one would assume any plans for the documentary would be abandoned. Instead, Theroux sets out to re-enact incidences involving Miscavige, the Sea Org and high profile member, Tom Cruise by holding a casting call in Hollywood, where the Church’s Los Angeles headquarters resides. Theroux is aided by Mark “Marty” Rathbun, an ex-Scientologist who was previously Miscavige’s second-in-command. The casting call sparks bitter backlash from the Scientologist community, resulting in Theroux and his team being stalked and threatened throughout the film.

Casting actors to re-create Marty’s recollections of being a Scientologist works well to gradually introduce the audience to Scientology and awaken Marty’s memories. Most importantly, this approach compels Scientologists to engage with the documentary. Theroux appeals to the quality all scientologists, whether practising or excommunicated, seem to share in the film; an overbearing sense of pride. This could be attributed to the “auditing sessions” all members must undergo, which involve practicing intimidation techniques and dominating your opponent’s mind. Marty helps Theroux conduct a mock auditing session with the cast members to help them understand the harsh treatment within the Church and what motivates their characters. These techniques aim to instil doubt and distrust in the follower, hardening their mind but also weakening their empathy. Marty, despite having left the Church seven years ago, displays a similar type of pride when speaking about his previous role within Scientology, boasting that the “Church was absolutely at [his] beck and call”. Marty is a conflicted character, both reminiscing about former glory and bitter towards his past aggressors.

The main criticism against Theroux documentaries is the presenter tends to insert himself into the narrative, steering away from traditional methods of strict observation. Fans of Theroux will relish the moment he catches his interviewees off-guard with his quips and quirky interviewing style, a trademark of his documentaries. Those intrigued by both the subject and the way the presenter engages with the subject will find this film captivating. However, I can appreciate that those who prefer the traditional style would not welcome his techniques, which often blur the line between conventional documentary and reality tv. This is where the genius lies, though, for the cast of actors play two roles in this film; the fabricated re-enactment of Marty’s memories and their real experiences with Scientologists as they’re hounded during filming.

The switches between official BBC camera footage and mobile recordings suggests the documentary is largely unfiltered, and reinforces the idea of the film’s authenticity. This balances the growing suspicion you may feel when listening to Marty’s stories, a position I found myself in especially when he omits piece of information or becomes agitated without warning. I would highly recommend going to see this film, whether you’re a Theroux fan or not. It sees the talents of director, John Dower, and producer, Simon Chinn, come together and make a thought-provoking and entertaining film.

Written by Erin Connellan

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La Mama’s P.O.V. Dave is essentially a film noir play about a retiring press photographer who gets more than he bargained for with his last assignment. It definitely shows that most of playwright/producer Noel Maloney’s background is in screenwriting as he takes on the kind of story and genre that is much more acquainted with the screen than with the stage.

Dave’s profession as a merchant of dirty secrets working for his heartless editor, Bronwyn, has finally driven away his beloved wife, Susan (both played brilliantly by Eleanor Howlett) and, now that one of his assignments has driven a young girl to suicide, this job could also destroy his relationship with his son, Jack (the talented young Jude Katsianis) if he should ever find out. He plans to get out after getting one last fat paycheque that will set him up until he finds a more respectable job. He just has to get a few compromising shots of a sleazy priest named Kevin (Gabriel Partingon), although it turns that he and his saccharine wife Kathryn (Annie Lumsden) have been playing this game for some time and have long known how to win.

All of this is depicted in a long series of flashbacks that Dave is experiencing in his dying moments on a train. As such, much of the story is told through narration delivered by Dave, who is both our dying man looking back on how he ended up here and our jaded film noir detective whose gloomy inner psyche the piece is delving into. This is what Maloney turns to whenever he wants to write in a Hitchcockian scene that doesn’t translate so well to the stage. Strangely though, it’s also where he puts many moments that probably would have worked more powerfully if they were played out in full. Even though occasionally it offers a special insight into Dave’s thoughts, it’s still a rather clunky storytelling device, as is the overused framing of the wretched man’s life flashing before his eyes as he faces an untimely death.

What makes it work much better than it probably should is the inspired performance of Keith Brockett as Dave. Brockett is certainly not the typical film noir anti-hero, and as far as dying wretched men go, he is certainly one of the more interesting and entertaining ones. Brockett has such a powerful stage presence and has so finely perfected his characterisations of short, bumbling, amusing yet complex characters that Dave’s overindulgent amounts of dialogue are still a joy and a fascination to listen to. The same goes for the rest of the cast, who populate this familiar narrative landscape with characters that feel wonderfully fresh and exciting. Dave’s family, including his fading father (Peter Stratford) are the true emotional backbone and moral centre of the story. They definitely feel like a family worth fighting for, and their characterisations are much fuller than those of most of their cinematic counterparts. The seedy editor, Bronwyn, whose scenes are all angry phone conversations with Dave, is the kind of boss character you would only hear and never see if this was a film. However, director Beng Oh more than makes do with having Howlett perform her lines with her back to the audience and a cigarette in her hand. Partington and Lumsden, as the creepy priest and his manipulative wife, are two very striking villains and the perfect foil to the naïve Dave and Susan.

The final theatrical touch that enlivens the story and compensates for the clichés is Christina Logan-Bell’s staging and Tom Backhaus’ sound design. Just like the lead performances, the bookending scenes on the train that show Dave’s gruesome death manage are dramatized as an incredibly immersive fusion of the realism of the cinema and the hyperrealism of the theatre, which is what Maloney seems to have been aiming for in his writing.

Written by Christian Tsoutsouvas

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There is of course an old adage that comedy equals tragedy, plus time. In the case of Cholai, Arun Roy's black comedy about the Bengali hooch fatalities in 2011, not much time apparently is needed for us to be laughing about the thousands of deaths caused by a bad batch of illegal home liquor. Cholai is the local common name for this strongly addictive, very cheap and very lucrative brew. The Bengali government and law enforcement have been known to turn a blind eye to its distribution, until, as it is told in the film at least, the wife of a manufacturer accidentally tampers with the mixture. She only finds out that the results were toxic after it has sold and consumed across the entire village, killing nearly 200 of its most valued middle-aged male drunks.

Roy is supremely cynical in his depiction of this tragedy. The death scenes themselves are presented in a cold yet absurd fashion, one that suggests that the men had it coming, that they deserve their punishment for poisoning their minds and body with illicit substances. Their deaths are dealt with very quickly, as Roy is itching to get to the crux of the story: the fallout. The government is of course pressured for a simple explanation and a quick response. They are lightning-quick to offer compensation for the victims’ families, which they hope will also stop all of the questions.

The media, of course, spreads this information as far as it possibly can, along with every juicy, gruesome detail about the crisis that they can get their hands on. Where facts are sparse, they clutch at straws to get something that sounds newsworthy.

The movies usually portrays television news in one of two ways: docudrama realism or fanciful parody. Cholai definitely does the latter. It judges the media as cruelly as it lambasts the government, but not without a sense of fun.

Much of the film is very episodic and emotionally detached from its own story. After the effects of the chemical blunder have fanned out far beyond the small village where this all started, every second scene seems to be a self-contained vignette that tears a particular aspect of Bengali society. It would have probably been too messy to squash all of Roy’s criticisms into the main story, so this colourful collection of hit-and-miss subplots feels like the best way to get in some extra jabs at the region’s welfare system, health care, economy and even a confusingly patriarchal women’s protest movement. For good measure, Roy also throws in some scenes on a bus route frequented by a handful of amateur social commentators, who all seem to be the director’s mouthpieces as they express their profound disillusionment with the present state of the region.

There are a few political subplots in particular that leave a strong impression, in terms of both message and story: those that show the families attempting to exploit the bureaucracy around compensation for their own personal gain, and those that reveal the media’s penchant for milking sympathy for a reformed sinner.

However, quite a few of Roy’s statements do get lost in all of the chaos. Without the usual cinematic oxygen of emotional investment, some of the longer vignettes are very quick to run out of fuel. Fortunately, there is a consistent thread in the actions and reactions of the cholai manufacturer, Natah, and his wife, Bishu, who started this entire mess. Funnily enough, the two perpetrators are the characters that come out relatively unscathed by Roy’s fierce social satire. He seems to respect their intelligence more than those of the other characters (which still isn’t saying very much though). As mere inhabitants of this farcically defective society, these two are not painted as shameless opportunists, but more as perceptive people with enough common sense to know that they should take something if it is practically being handed to them by people who can well afford to have it taken from them. Unlike Natah’s honest, hardworking brother, whose decency has never been interesting enough to win him fame and fortune, Natah and Bishu are quick to spot and seize the unscrupulous shortcut to success that is staring them in the face.

Cholai has a lot of fun delivering uncomfortable truths such as these. By not asking its audience to really care about the characters it puts forward, it has nothing to lose by being as exaggerated and ridiculous as it wants to be, except perhaps the consistent interest of its audience.

Written by Christian Tsoutsouvas

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The first half of the Melbourne International Film Festival has flown by, and I've already seen some great films like Cosmos, Paterson and The Happiest Day in the Life of Olli Mäki. Among the films I've seen, though, there's been a fantastic selection of horror films, and I thought I'd spotlight four of them: three narrative features, all by first-time filmmakers, and a documentary.

First up, The Eyes of My Mother. An American film, but with occasional Portuguese dialogue, it's one of the first films I got to see and it's still stayed with me. One day, a little girl witnesses some terrible violence in her home; an intruder shows up but is subsequently overpowered, and from that moment that violence seeps through to her brain as she grows up and her life spirals into chilling psychopathic behaviour. Shot in black-and-white, there's a wistful, melancholy, poetic tone enshrouding the on-screen horror. With echoes of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, the film delves into some very dark places, both explicit and not. But despite the disturbing and violent developments the film manages to retain a beautiful, almost meditative atmosphere, and our sympathy for the central character never leaves even though she's doing awful, awful things. I mean, all she wants is a family... in a way...
A very promising debut by filmmaker Nicolas Pesce. Maybe hug a loved one after this.

Next up, there's Baskin. Another highly disturbing horror film, this time from Turkey, written and directed by Can Evrenol. A group of police officers receive a distress call in a remote building and head over to investigate. Once there they discover some truly hellish stuff. The film's got lots of graphic gore and screaming, with a shudderingly creepy main villain. The visuals are striking and colourful and the score is particularly vivid. Unfortunately, there's not much of anything else. The pacing is uneven and I didn't really find myself being invested in any of the characters, so despite several really interesting and horrifying sequences it all in all made for unengaging viewing. Some great ideas in this, but not entirely well-executed.

Moving slightly east again we have Under the Shadow, by Babak Anvari, set in Iran in the 1980s, after the Iranian revolution and during the Iran-Iraq conflicts. It centres on a woman and her husband and young daughter living in an apartment block in Tehran. Not only is there the constant threat of missile attacks but some strange, nightmarish things start to occur, and when the father is called away to military service the mother and daughter are left to deal with the supernatural dread that plagues them. Under the Shadow does a fantastic job of channeling serious political and parental fears into a deliciously slow-burning terror, the tension building and building, holding you captive until it explodes in the final ten to fifteen minutes, unleashing full-scale horror. All throughout it stays gripping, then right at the end it starts ripping. Excellently shot with some unsettling camera movements and production design that captures the period as well as the evil closing in. Probably my favourite of the three.

Finally, I saw Fear Itself, a documentary on horror films written and directed by Charlie Lyne. Or rather, it's not so much a documentary as a cine-essay, a stream of thoughts on horror films and the way that they relate to real human fears and anxieties. Impressive in scope and mesmerising in equal measure, the film itself is essentially a collage, in that it consists entirely of edited-together footage from existing horror films, and hypnotic narration over the top that takes you on an engrossing journey through humanity's darkness. The range of films chosen is admirable, encompassing a vast range of horror cinema from across the world and throughout history, even using some films that aren't traditionally considered horror films but which have certain elements that illustrate the points that the filmmaker is trying to make about horror films, which in turn ties back to the points he makes about humanity. And the exploration of the themes is engrossing, thoughtful and at times quite personal. It's transfixing and thought-provoking and highly recommended not just for horror fans but for anyone interested in the depths of the human soul.

And that's all the horror films at the festival that I've been able to see so far, but there's more to come! A few I'm looking forward to are Killing Ground and The Devil's Candy, both by Australian directors, as well as The Lure and The Love Witch, which from what I've heard are very very weird, and I can't wait.

There's still another week left of the festival, so get out there and start shitting your pants in terror. I'll be in the cinema with you, toilet paper in hand.

Till next time, see you there...

Written by Ben Volchok

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234 years after Pierre Choderlos de Laclos's novel Les liaisons
dangereuses was published, and 31 years after the premier production
of its stage adaptation by Christopher Hampton, this new production
from Little Ones Theatre comes to Melbourne as a fresh and lively
piece of contemporary theatre. Those who've studied the novel will
certainly appreciate how director Stephen Nicolazzo has captured the
sardonic spirit of the French aristocracy, while newcomers will surely
be enticed into discovering more about it all. Most importantly
though, this sojourn amongst the affairs of the French court has a
meanly entertaining story to tell and the courage to tell it like it
was.

It was a world where wit and amoral intellect was the currency of the
day, ruled by those whose minds were as nimble as their bodies and
even more adept at vigorous intercourse, but whose hearts were held in
as tightly as their bladders. Amazingly, Nicolazzo, and indeed his
nearly all-female cast, are daring enough to match the intensity of
the vocal sparring with raunchy nude scenes of masochistic intimacy,
sights that are capable of shocking today's audiences as much as the
sounds of blasphemy would have shocked 18th century audiences. He
introduces his audience to this arena with an onslaught of ridiculous
wigs, pasty white faces, exaggerated mannerisms, opulent set design
from Eugyeene Teh and a robot-like match of Four in a Row. Here the
original Connect Four is spruced up with some video game sound
effects, just as the rest of the play is peppered with interludes of
modern pop music.

While it's certainly been done before, and not always well, the songs
are well chosen to illustrate a battle between the two finest players
in the great game of courtship. Representing men, we have the
seductive Vicomte de Valmont (Zoe Boesen), and on the side of women we
have the decadent Marquise Isabelle de Merteuil (Alexandra Uldrich).
The two of them look to be evenly matched in cunning, arrogance and
education. They court each other for pride and amusement, just as they
carry on affairs with countless others as a form of recreation and
competition. Their relationship is the classic on-and-off mix of love
and hate, of devotion and indifference.
Both actors are outstanding as these familiar archetypes that, through
the immediacy of live theatre, are given new life. Boesen is as
convincing as she needs to be in the part of a man. It turns out to be
quite an inspired casting choice, seeing as many of the
characteristics that are now considered feminine would have been
regarded as masculine in the French salons. On the other hand, the
Vicomte's valet, Azolan, is played by Tom Dent, who towers over Boesen
as something of a gentle giant at first, before the Vicomte comes to
realise how much he underestimated him. As the Marquise, Aldrich
somehow manages to switch between, comical, despicable, likeable and
moving with the speed of a lighting change. Her endlessly expressive
face, richly intoned voice and slick movements make her a consistently
fascinating character to watch, even when the main scene is happening
elsewhere.

The Vicomte's latest challenge, to court the devoutly Catholic and
chronically morose Cécile de Volanges (Brigid Gallacher), forms the
crux of a narrative that exposes the naiveties of both characters. The
Vicomte believes that his heart can be contained again after it has
been let loose, that you can control love and prevent love from
controlling you. A parodic performance of Felix Jaehn's 'Ain't Nobody
(Loves me better)' succinctly captures the Vicomte's delusions about
these two of the many women in his life. While his twisted love for
the Marquise is sold successfully by Hampton's writing and by Aldrich
and Boesen's peformances, the love he eventually comes to feel for
Cécile is not given enough time or breathing space to feel real,
and certainly not enough to surmount the trite baggage that this plot
line has garnered over the centuries. Fortunately, the Marquise's
hard-learned lesson that emotions cannot always be suppressed for the
sake of the game is a much more convincing character arc. A playful
karaoke of Whitney Houston's 'I'm Every Woman' is similarly effective
at signaling the universality of the Marquise's doomed attempt to
fight with, and not against, the sexism of her world, to win at a game
that has always been rigged against her gender instead of seeking to
change the rules.

The only music that doesn't quite fit is the funk tune that plays over
a certain duel scene, one that felt like it was meant to be the
climax, but ended up being a slow build-up to a fierce contest that
never eventuates. One of the most common problems with many
tragicomedies, is that they often make promises they can't keep.
However, thanks to the talent of the creative team, and the strong
establishment of its setting and main characters, Dangerous Liaisons
delivers on most of the comedic payoffs it spends time developing in
its first act, and remembers to set up most of the dramatic payoffs it
launches itself into during the second act.

Written by Christian Tsoutsouvas

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Not-so-Raging Bull, Juho Kuosmanen's boxing biopic pulls the gentlest punches it can in telling the story of amateur boxer Olli Mäki, hailing from a small town in Finland and aspiring to not much more. It's warm and personable, and its deliberate type of simplicity is one that more filmmakers should aim for.

Affectionately put together, the film has a fantastic grainy black-and-white 16mm aesthetic that perfectly matches its subject. You're immediately drawn into its world when the lovely title music kicks in but, cleverly, that is just about the only non-diegetic use of music in the film. Script, camera, style, editing and mood carry the film on their own.

The narrative focus is always on Olli, and the boxing is always a background, echoing the way he feels about his chosen sport; his heart is never truly in his training until the motivation comes from Raija (the woman he falls in love with). He never wants to be a professional - even his fighting nickname is quite plain: "The Baker of Kokkola". He's in love and that's all he needs.

In English, the title is The Happiest Day in the Life of Olli Mäki, and it's signalled fairly early on that this his happiness stems not from his future boxing match but from love; the title is introduced, after all, when Olli and Raija are on their way to a wedding. But in Finnish, the title is noticeably shorter, and indeed on further investigation, I found out that its Finnish title - Hymyilevä Mies - translates quite simply to "Smiling Man". Bless.

Olli Mäki is less of an underdog and more of an underachiever. And this film about his happiest day is an unexpected delight. Truly a nice and nicely-made film.

Written by Ben Volchok

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First-time filmmakers seem to either stumble on their feet or find those feet immediately and use them to run away with a superb debut. Such is the case with Bi Gan, a poet-turned-director whose Kaili Blues is a simply staggering first feature.

The plot - in short, an uncle searching for a nephew - is central to the understanding of the film and yet absolutely irrelevant. It's a tale of repentance and guilt, of soul-searching and memory... all themes explored through the plot, for sure, but it's the mood and the technical audacity that drive this one home.

Poetic and hypnotic, the power of this film comes from its deceptive simplicity; it washes over you so easily that its depth and the contents themselves can too easily fall by the wayside. The whole film is a sort of daze and watching it in the uncertain hours of the night I wasn’t sure if I didn't dream it all. But to simply call it a dream would be to discredit the details and quirks - and the effort - of all those involved in putting this together.

No review of this film would be complete without mentioning the 40-odd-minute take, crafted beautifully in such a way that it's barely noticeable and yet right there staring you in the face the whole time. The camerawork in general is to be commended (by Tianxing Wang, another first-timer) but reaches a whole other level in this sequence. There's moments of stillness, moments of movement; one notable movement is when the camera takes a "shortcut" through some buildings as the scooter it had previously been following rides around and catches up with the camera a few seconds later.

I don't think I've caught up with it, though. This will definitely need some further processing. Really highly recommended.

Written by Ben Volchok

See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.